The Saturday Boy

by David Fleming

  “Is there something you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Anything.”

  “No thanks.”

  I listened to her breathe for a minute or two. Her breath was a little bit choppy and I was pretty sure she was crying. Or trying not to. She kept on stroking my hair.

  “Would you like a song?”

  I hadn’t had a song in a long time. Dad usually sung them to me.

  “Yeah.”

  “What song do you want?” she asked, clearing her throat a little.

  “‘Sunday Morning Coming Down.’”

  “What? How do you know that song?”

  “Dad sings it to me.”

  “He does?”

  “Yeah. It’s Johnny Cash.”

  “I know who it is. I’m just not sure you’re old enough to—why don’t we do ‘Ring of Fire’ instead?”

  “What about ‘Boy Named Sue’?”

  “‘Boy Named—’?” She laughed. I think it surprised her. “Is there anything your father won’t sing to you?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The Jonas Brothers.”

  We finally agreed on “Walk the Line” and she cleared her throat again and started to sing. She didn’t really know all the words, though, so she sang the ones she did know and la-la-la’d the rest. I was warm with her body pressed against mine. Her fingers were in my hair.

  “How many days did they search before they found Dad?” I said.

  Mom stopped singing.

  “What?”

  “Those people on the news said they found Dad after days of searching. How many days was it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Was it four days?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “A week?”

  “Stop it.”

  “Ten days?”

  “Derek, stop. It wasn’t ten days,” Mom said. “It was… it was nine. Nine days.”

  “Oh.”

  Suddenly I didn’t feel so warm anymore. It was like the whole room had gotten colder even though I knew it hadn’t. I curled into a ball and hugged my knees but it didn’t help. At that moment I didn’t think anything would.

  “How do you know?”

  “There was a man—a soldier—an… officer. He came to the house last week while you were at school,” Mom said. She was playing with my hair, twirling it around one of her fingers. I didn’t think she knew she was even doing it.

  “What day?”

  “Thursday.”

  “I had rehearsal that day with Violet and Mr. Putnam.”

  “Okay.”

  “We went over the blocking for our scene.”

  “Okay.”

  “Blocking is how the actors know where to go onstage.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. “Is there anything else?”

  “Violet doesn’t have a television.”

  “Derek.”

  “Isn’t that weird?”

  “Derek, don’t you want to hear my story?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I already know how it ends.”

  I reached out and placed my palm flat against the wall, feeling the plaster that was a little bit rough in some places and a little bit smooth in others. It was cold. I could hear Aunt Josie moving around downstairs. I held my palm against the wall for as long as I could, until it got too cold, then I put it between my legs to warm it.

  “I’m going to tell the story anyway,” Mom said. “For me. You don’t have to listen.”

  I held my palm against the wall again. Longer this time. Till I was sure my fingers would snap off. I pictured them breaking like twigs, coming off neatly at the knuckle and falling between my bed and the wall. I imagined them being carried away by mice.

  “An officer came to the house last week,” Mom started again. “His name was Llewellyn Moore. He was a captain. He told me that your father’s helicopter had been shot down in Afghanistan and he was missing and that they were looking for him and he was sorry.

  “After he left I stood there. In the doorway. Just staring down the driveway for I don’t know how long. At first I told myself it was all a mistake and that I was standing there because I knew he’d come back and apologize but deep down I knew it was because if I let go of the doorknob I’d fall down.”

  Mom kept talking, telling me the story of the worst week of her life—how she panicked every time the phone rang, how she stopped eating and couldn’t sleep without having nightmares. She told me that one day she even tore the house apart looking for hidden cameras because she’d become convinced that she was on a reality TV prank show and that Aunt Josie had come home and found her sitting on the kitchen floor crying in the middle of a pile of broken dishes.

  “But Aunt Josie said she—”

  “I know she did,” said Mom. “She was covering for me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry,” Mom said. “I’ve never felt so helpless and scared. It crushed me. It almost killed me. Not knowing if your father was alive or dead made me sick. I just couldn’t do that to you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Then yesterday morning Captain Moore came back and well… now I know. I was going to tell you. I swear I was. I never, ever meant for you to find out that way.”

  I didn’t say anything. It was kinda hard to breathe. My chest suddenly felt like someone was sitting on it.

  “He’s actually a very nice man.”

  “Do you think he was scared?”

  “I don’t know about scared—a little nervous maybe. It must be hard to give such bad news to a complete stranger.”

  “I’m not talking about that guy. I don’t care about him,” I said. “I’m talking about Dad.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you think Dad was scared? Y’know—in the end?”

  It was Mom’s turn to not say anything. Maybe she hadn’t thought about that. I thought about that kind of thing all the time.

  “I don’t think he was scared,” I said. “I bet he was brave.”

  “Fear is natural, Derek. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”

  “Budgie says only wussies say stuff like that.”

  “Budgie’s an idiot,” Mom said. “Would you like to know what true bravery is? True bravery is all about conquering fear; so in order to be brave you have to be afraid first. You can’t have one without the other.”

  I thought about that for a minute. Then I remembered a couple of things Budgie had done that I thought were brave but now I wasn’t so sure.

  “What about the time Budgie made those wings and jumped off his garage?” I asked.

  “That wasn’t brave. That was stupid,” Mom said. “But getting back to your father, I do think he was scared but only because he was in a scary situation. I do not think, however, that he would let fear stop him from doing what he needed to do.”

  What she said about bravery made sense. What she’d said about Budgie had also made sense. He was kind of an idiot. Now that I thought about it, making wings out of two old umbrellas and jumping off a garage had never seemed stupider.

  I thought for a little while about fear and courage. I thought about my dad and wondered what it must have been like toward the end. Had he known he was dying? Did his life flash before his eyes? Was he thinking of me and Mom? Of home?

  In the movies the dying soldier always pulls out a picture of his family and traces the surface of it with a trembling, bloody finger. Then, right before he dies, he says something like, “I’m sorry we never got to build that tree house, Billy,” and the picture slips from his hand and the camera follows it to the ground.

  I didn’t know if Dad even had a picture of me with him. If he did, I hoped it wasn’t the goofy one from first grade where my hair’s all messed up and I’m missing my two front teeth. That would be embarrassing.

  “Does your life really flash before your eyes right before you die?�
�

  “That’s what they say.”

  “All of it or just parts?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And does it happen with all types of death or just the ones where you have time to think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because if it happened suddenly like in a car crash and only parts of your life flashed before your eyes and they all happened to be the bad parts, then well… don’t you think that’d be kind of a rip-off?”

  “I suppose that would be a rip-off. That’s why I think probably only the good parts flash by. Like a highlight reel.”

  “What’s a highlight reel?”

  “It’s like a movie of only the best parts.”

  “Hm.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So what’s on your highlight reel?”

  “Let’s see—my highlight reel,” said Mom, sniffling a little. “The day I met your dad, obviously. Our wedding day. God, we were so young.”

  “What else is on it?”

  “The day you were born and every day since.”

  We were quiet for a little while then.

  “Do you think I was on Dad’s highlight reel?”

  “Derek, I think you were Dad’s highlight reel. He was so proud of you. It was like you were all he ever talked about.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” said Mom. “And frankly I got sick of hearing it after a while.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course I didn’t get sick of it. Turkey.”

  “But he did talk about me?”

  “Yes.”

  “A lot?”

  “All the time.”

  It felt good to know my dad had spoken of me because it meant he’d been thinking about me as well and it was nice to be thought of. And if he’d been thinking about me in the end, then he hadn’t really died alone after all. Not really.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did he go have to go back?” I asked. “I thought he was finished.”

  “He was.”

  “Then why did he go back?”

  “Because when he enlisted he signed a piece of paper saying he would if they needed him,” said Mom. “And I guess they did. I know it doesn’t seem fair.”

  “That’s because it’s not fair. So he signed a piece of paper—so what? It’s not like he took a blood oath or anything. Wait, he didn’t, did he?”

  “No, he didn’t,” said Mom. “But he gave them his word.”

  “So?”

  “So sometimes in this life your word is all you have,” said Mom, “and if you are an honorable person—a person with strong character—you will stick by your word even if you don’t want to.”

  “And did Dad?”

  “Did Dad what?”

  “Want to?”

  “No of course not,” said Mom. “But he did. And I know for a fact it was the hardest thing he ever had to do.”

  “How?”

  “Because having to say good-bye to your father again was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

  The phone rang and I heard Aunt Josie answer it. Then I heard her coming up the stairs and down the hall. My bedroom door was open so she knocked a little on the frame.

  “You guys awake up here?” she asked. “Annie? It’s for you.”

  “I’m with Derek right now, Jo. Can I call them back?”

  “I think you’ll want to take this. It’s the army.”

  Mom rolled over and got out of bed, taking the phone from Aunt Josie and stepping into the hallway. Josie stood there like she didn’t know what to do—like she was wondering if she should stay in here with me or go join her sister. In the end she stayed standing right where she was and offered me a sad kind of smile. I did my best to smile back. I’m not sure it worked.

  Mom came back in and sat down on the bed, the letters crackling underneath her. She took my hand. Held it. I didn’t let go because I figured that, at that moment, she needed somebody to hang on to. Aunt Josie sat on Mom’s other side and took her other hand. We stayed like that for a while. Connected. Just being there.

  Mom started to say something but she stopped and cleared her throat a little. Then she tried again.

  “Jason’s coming home,” she said.

  14

  MR. HOWARD MET ME when I got off the bus on Monday morning. It was cold and windy and his bald head was chapped. I wondered how long he’d been standing there. He was wearing big wool mittens and a matching scarf and it didn’t look like his little beard was doing a good job of keeping his face warm because the tip of his nose was red and drippy.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lamb,” he said. “How are you feeling today?”

  The wind yanked the breath from his mouth and carried it off.

  “Okay I guess. A little tired.”

  Kids moved quickly around Mr. Howard and me as we walked to the door, and I caught a couple of them looking back over their shoulders at me. They must have thought I was public enemy number one to have the principal meet me at the bus like that. I wondered what they thought I’d done. I hoped they thought it was something cool.

  “Could I speak with you for a moment in my office?”

  “I don’t want to be late.”

  “I’m the principal, Derek. It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll give you a note for you to give to Ms. Dickson when we’re done.”

  Mr. Howard put his hand on my shoulder and steered me into his office. He closed the door and pulled his mittens off and started to unwind his scarf. It was longer than I thought it’d been. It just kept going and going. When he was finished he sat down and opened a binder on his desk and looked at a page. Then he pushed it away and leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. He cleared his throat before speaking.

  “Derek, I—that is to say—we here at the school—the administration and the faculty have—” he said, pulling the binder to him and checking the page again. When he looked up it was right into my eyes.

  “We were all so very sorry to hear about your father, Derek, and I wanted to let you know that if you needed to talk or—or anything—that we’re here to listen. My door is always open.”

  “Okay.”

  I think Mr. Howard expected me to say more things but I didn’t so we just looked at each other instead—almost like a staring contest. We stayed like that for a while.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “Of course.”

  “It’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

  “Of course. Go ahead.”

  “Why do you keep paper clips in your candy jar?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It says ‘candy’ right on it but there’s no candy,” I said. “That seems a little bit like cheating.”

  “It used to have candy in it,” Mr. Howard said. “But I noticed the same few students were turning up here more and more often—twice, sometime three times a week, and I suspected it was because of the candy. So when I ran out I filled it with paper clips and I haven’t seen them since.”

  I didn’t have any more questions and there wasn’t anything I felt like talking about. Mr. Howard told me again how his door was always open if I needed anything. Then he wrote a note to Ms. Dickson and handed it to me.

  “Wait, Derek, there’s one more thing.”

  He got something out of the top drawer and put it down on the desk.

  “A peanut butter cup?” I said. “I thought you said you didn’t have any candy in here.”

  “All I said was I didn’t keep candy in the jar. I never said anything about not having any candy in the office.” He winked. “Have a good day, Mr. Lamb.”

  When I got back to the classroom everybody was doing math. On the whiteboard was another word problem about Kate and Timmy. This time Timmy had taken one-third of Kate’s apples. He was always doing stuff like that and it made me wonder why Kate was friends with him at all.

  I went in and put Mr. Howard’s note on Ms. Dickson’s desk and
took my seat. When I looked up I noticed some kids staring at me. This one kid in the front row named Xavier had even turned all the way around.

  “I should be seeing eyes, not backs of heads,” said Ms. Dickson.

  Xavier and the other kids faced front again and Ms. Dickson went back to the problem on the board. I was glad she’d said something but I didn’t have to turn around to know some of the kids behind me were still staring. I scrunched down into my chair and tried to become invisible. I guess it kinda worked because normally when I do that Ms. Dickson tells me to stop slouching and sit up straight but this morning she didn’t. She didn’t even call on me for answers or anything. I mean, she barely even looked in my direction. Then after recess she asked us to open our desks and take out our history workbooks and that’s when I found the envelope. It was cream colored and had my name written on it.

  I looked around to see if anyone else had gotten one but they were all pretty much fumbling around in their desks or trying to find the right page in the book or whatever so I figured it was just me. Then I looked up at Ms. Dickson and, for the first time today, she was looking right back at me. She smiled. Then the corners of her mouth turned down a little and she put her hand over her heart. It seemed strange but in that moment it was like she stopped being my teacher and became my friend instead. I slid the card out of the envelope.

  Derek,

  There are far too many Rory McReadys in the world and not enough Jason Lambs.

  With my deepest sympathies,

  Charlotte Dickson

  I wondered who Rory McReady was for a second and then I remembered. He had been in my dad’s eighth-grade English class and was the one who kept throwing his desk at Ms. Dickson. I felt myself smile a little. Not because of the desk-throwing thing but because I totally understood what she meant. I wanted to send her some kind of signal but when I looked up from the card the moment was over and she was a teacher again.

  The rest of the day went like the morning had—kids looking at me when they thought I couldn’t see them but I could. I could see them. It made me feel uncomfortable and I didn’t like it. When we were let out at the end of the day I was surprised to see Mr. Howard waiting in the hall outside the classroom. He took me aside as the rest of the kids passed us on their way to the buses. I noticed a few kids looking over at me. I heard my name whispered. It was starting to make me angry.