I looked at the picture for a little while. Then I turned it over to see if he’d written anything on the back but he hadn’t so I put it aside and slid the letter out of the envelope. I hadn’t taken a breath in what seemed like a long time. For some reason the letter was trembling as I unfolded it.
Derek—
Guess who’s not grounded anymore?
I’ll be flying a sortie in a little while and wanted to write before I left to wish you good luck in your play. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see it. I know you’ll be great and I’m proud of you for trying something new (even if it’s only because there’s ghosts in it).
I was sorry to hear from Mom that Budgie’s giving you some trouble. I bet she’s telling you to be the bigger person, right? It’s a good idea but honestly, an idea won’t stop him from bugging you. Don’t give up though—every problem has a solution, even if it’s not clear at first. You’ll find it.
Zeroman sounds really cool. I can’t wait to watch it with you. It might not be for a little while, though, so you’ll have to fill me in on all the details when I get home, O.K.?
Love,
Dad
P.S. How do you like my chopper? Her name’s Buttercup.
When I finished reading it I read it again. I studied the way each letter ran into the next, the way his n’s sometimes looked like h’s and how there were some letters that didn’t look like letters at all but were weird squiggles instead and the only way to figure out what he meant was by reading the stuff around it. I had joked with Mom about it but Dad’s letters really were written in a kind of code. It was just a code I’d gotten used to cracking.
I put the letter and the picture back into the envelope and put the envelope under my pillow. Then I lay back with my hands behind my head and stared up at the hook where my Apache helicopter used to hang. Maybe it was because it was directly overhead or maybe it was because it was the only spot on my ceiling that didn’t have a model hanging from it but the empty space seemed huge. If it were a voice, it’d be yelling. I didn’t like being yelled at.
I got up, went to the linen closet, and found the hook-ended stick we used to pull down the attic stairs, reminding myself to get out of the way this time. The door sproinged downward and the steps came clattering out.
“Derek!” Aunt Josie called from downstairs. “Are you okay? What was that?”
“Nothing!” I shouted back. “I’m just getting something from the attic!”
“The attic? Why? What are you getting?”
But I was already halfway up the stairs and pretending I didn’t hear her. It was cold in the attic and my breath came out of me in little clouds as I felt around for the pull string that would turn the light on. I almost went back down for a sweater but then my fingers brushed the string and I grabbed it and gave it a tug. The light came on, dim at first, but getting brighter as it warmed up and I watched the shadows retreat into the corners. I wasn’t scared—I just hoped what I was looking for wasn’t back there in the dark.
It wasn’t.
The Apache helicopter had fallen behind some boxes and the fishing line was all knotted and tangled but luckily nothing was broken. I picked it up and used part of my shirt to dust it off, figuring I could untangle the fishing line in my room where the light was better. Then I clicked the light off and hurried down the stairs before the shadows could jump out and get me.
* * *
Untangling the fishing line didn’t take long and when I was done I got a sock from my dresser, put it on my hand, and wiped the rest of the dust off the helicopter. Then I took the chopper into the bathroom, got a Q-tip, and cleaned the spaces in between the missiles where they attached to the wing pylons and where the rotors snapped into the body—anywhere I hadn’t been able to reach with my dusting sock. I held the helicopter up and the light seemed to bounce off of it. I’d swear it was cleaner than it had been when my dad and I had first put it together.
I went back to my room, sat at my desk, and went through my drawers until I found my modeling paints and a brush. Using white paint, I very carefully wrote the word ‘Buttercup’ underneath the cockpit on both sides, twisting the bristles into a point with my fingers each time before dipping it in the paint so the letters would be sharper. It was taking a long time but I stuck with it. I mean, drawing the scales on the piranhadiles had been harder and this meant way more to me than that did. After the paint was dry I stood on my bed and put the helicopter back on its hook. I looked at it for a while as it twisted slowly back and forth and was so focused on it I almost didn’t hear the tapping at the door.
“Derek?” Aunt Josie said. “You’ve been up here for a while. Everything okay?”
“Yup.”
“Can I come in?”
I opened the door and we looked at each other for a moment or two without saying anything. Aunt Josie searched my face while I looked at the ring in her nostril, deciding it must’ve hurt when she got it even though she’d said it hadn’t. She must have found what she was looking for because she smiled.
“You’ve got some updog on your shirt,” she said.
“What’s updog?”
“Not much, what’s up with you?”
“Hardly har-har.”
“Isn’t it hardy har-har?”
“Not this time.”
“Ouch,” she said. “Hey, what’s that paint all over your hands?”
“I was painting my Apache helicopter. Y’know—the one Dad and I built? The one Mom took down without asking? I painted ‘Buttercup’ on it.”
“You painted flowers on a war helicopter?”
“I painted the word ‘Buttercup.’ That’s her name. Dad said so in the letter.”
I showed Buttercup to Aunt Josie and I showed her the photograph. I didn’t show her the letter though, because it was private and none of her business. But not in a bad way. She told me I did a killer job on the lettering and that a lot of tattoo artists didn’t like to do it because it was really tough to get just right.
“I’ve gotta get dinner started,” she said. “Wanna come give me a hand? I totally get it if you don’t want to though.”
I told her I’d be down in a few minutes and she gave me a hug and said okay. When she was gone I hung Buttercup back on her hook, lay down on my bed, and watched her swing. When she stopped moving I went downstairs and found Aunt Josie in the kitchen chopping carrots, humming along to a song on the radio.
“What’re you listening to?”
“Oingo Boingo,” she said. “C’mon—dance with me!”
“What? No, wait… what are you doing?”
“The Shopping Cart.”
“What?”
“You’ve never heard of the—oh, you poor boy.”
She showed me how to do the Shopping Cart. And the Sprinkler. And my favorite—the Fisherman. Then we just held hands and twirled around the kitchen and even though I hadn’t wanted to dance at first I was kinda sad when the song ended and we stopped. I grabbed a piece of carrot off the cutting board and popped it in my mouth.
“Save some for the salad, please,” she said.
Aunt Josie picked up the cutting board and dumped the carrots into a big bowl that already had lettuce and sliced cucumber in it. She scratched the side of her nose and stared into the salad.
“What’s missing? What’s missing?” she mumbled. “Blue cheese!”
Aunt Josie opened the fridge and practically dove inside. I hoisted myself onto the counter, sat, and snagged a carrot from the salad bowl, popping it into my mouth and chewing quickly.
“Blue cheese, blue cheese… I could’ve sworn… aha!”
Aunt Josie emerged from the fridge with a plastic container. Then she pulled the lid off and shook some crumbled cheese into the salad bowl.
“Wait! Stop!” I said. “I think the cheese went bad.”
“It didn’t.”
“But it looks all moldy.”
“That’s because it is moldy.”
“Aunt Josie?”<
br />
“Yes?”
“Is there anything else for dinner?”
Before Josie could answer, a song by something called The Jam came on and we were dancing again.
* * *
The good news was that, in addition to the salad, Aunt Josie had also made baked ziti. The bad news was that she said I had to eat some salad anyway. I did a pretty good job of picking out the cheese but a couple times I ate some cucumber that tasted a little bit like feet so I obviously didn’t get all of it.
After dinner me and Aunt Josie did the dishes then went into the living room and put on the TV. We played rocks, paper, scissors to see who got the remote control and I won because Aunt Josie always threw scissors first. I flipped through the kid channels but couldn’t find anything I wanted to watch or hadn’t already seen like a hundred times already so I handed over the remote.
“Can I stay up until Mom gets home?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Aunt Josie. “Do me a favor, though? Could you get all ready for bed first?”
I sprang up and tore through the kitchen and up the stairs. I changed into my pajamas and put a sweatshirt on and went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth and was back downstairs before the commercials were even over. I flopped down on the couch and pulled the blanket over me because it was a little chilly even with the fire going.
I snuggled in against Aunt Josie and put my head on her shoulder. Then she tucked the blanket in around us and we watched a show where all the men wore ties and everyone smoked cigarettes and acted very serious and there weren’t any car chases or zombies or anything. It would have been way better with zombies. Everything’s better with zombies. I closed my eyes and thought about how cool it would be if there was a show with zombies who got into car chases.
“Derek?” Mom’s voice. Her hand. Warm. Shaking me gently. “Wake up, Piggy-pig.”
“Time izzit?”
“It’s late, sweetie. Come on up to your room. Here, lean on me.”
Mom scooped me off the couch and put her arm around my shoulders and steered me up the stairs to my bedroom. Then she helped me into bed and tucked me in and sat, brushing the hair off my forehead.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Mm-hm.”
“What was in the letter?”
“Words.”
Mom was quiet for a minute. It was warm in my bed. I was comfy and Mom’s fingers in my hair felt good. I drifted. Mom said something. I almost didn’t hear it.
“Whuzzat?”
“I just asked if the letter said what you needed it to.”
I opened my eyes. The door was open and a rectangle of light fell into my room from the hallway casting all sorts of shadows. These shadows weren’t scary, though. These shadows were familiar. I knew all about these shadows.
I thought about Dad’s letter—about all of Dad’s letters—and how, in one way or another, they’ve always said exactly what I needed them to. I knew which ones to read if I needed cheering up. I knew which ones would make me feel good about myself and which ones would make me feel like I could conquer the world. I knew which one to read when I forgot Mom’s birthday. I remembered what Budgie said about how even when my dad wasn’t here, he was still here—how our letters kept us connected.
“Are you cold?” Mom asked.
“No. Why?”
“You’re shaking.”
My eyes prickled with tears and deep inside me it felt like something was trying very hard to get out. I took a deep breath. Mom had taken her hand off my head but still sat on the edge of the bed looking down at me. I was grateful for the dark. If she could see my tears she didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really any need to. We were both sad and we both knew why. We’d probably both be sad for a while.
“It was a good letter,” I said finally.
She moved a little and I could tell she was smiling even though her face was covered in shadows.
“I’m glad. We’ll get through all of this, I promise.”
“I know. There’s a solution to everything. Even if it’s not clear at first.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Dad said it in the letter.”
“Well, your dad’s right. There is a solution to everything,” she said. “I’m right down the hall if you need me, okay? I love you, Derek. Very, very much.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
She gave me another kiss, stood, and walked out of the room, leaving the door cracked a little to let some light in.
I pulled the quilt up around my chin and stared up at Buttercup. In the half-dark I could just make out the Hellfire missiles underneath the wings. I imagined I could see her name painted in white under the cockpit and as my eyelids began to get heavy I heard a noise—soft at first but getting louder and louder until my head was filled with the sound of rotor blades chopping the air apart.
* * *
I’m buzzing over a mountain range wearing one of those old leather flight helmets with the goggles fixed over my eyes. The glare off the snowcapped peaks is blinding. Something is different. I’m sitting up front in the gunner’s seat and I never sit up front in the gunner’s seat because I’m not the gunner. I crane my neck back and forth, trying to see behind me but I’m buckled in tightly and can’t turn around all the way.
“Is anyone back there? Hello?”
My voice cracks, like when I’m trying not to cry or I’m scared. I’m not though. At least I don’t think I am. I tell myself that the reason my hands are shaking is because it’s cold.
I hear a crackling in my headset—the kind you hear when somebody’s about to say something and I listen hard for what seems like forever and then I hear the crackling noise again, which means the person on the other end is done talking even though I didn’t get to hear what they were saying.
“I can’t—I didn’t hear you! Hello?”
My headset crackles again and I close my eyes, suddenly remembering this thing Budgie said one time about blind people having superhuman hearing abilities and even though I don’t believe him I figure it can’t hurt to try.
The voice in my headset is a familiar one—one I haven’t heard in a long time. I keep my eyes closed, as if opening them would allow it to escape.
“Hey, Kiddo,” says Dad. “Mind if I fly for a while?”
So we fly like that—me up front in the gunner’s seat and Dad in the pilot’s seat behind me. The sky is big and endless and empty. No Japanese Zeros fall toward us out of the sun. We aren’t a pair of sitting ducks, caught in the Luftwaffe’s crosshairs. Not today.
22
THE NEXT DAY AFTER lunch Aunt Josie had to go to the mall and I had to go with her. Mom was working and I wasn’t allowed to stay alone in the house for that long, which I didn’t really understand. I mean, it wasn’t like the chances of something happening increased by the half-hour or anything. I was just as likely to play with matches ten minutes after being left alone as I was after an hour. I didn’t feel like arguing though so I shuffled a few steps behind Aunt Josie with my hands stuffed into my pockets and my eyes on her feet in front of me, thinking about all the TV I was missing.
“Derek!”
“What?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“It’s time to go home?”
“No. I said I need to exchange a few things in this store. You can come in but I’m warning you right now—it’s pretty girly. Do you want to wait out here for me?”
“Can I go get a doughnut?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, the food court’s right there. I’ll get a doughnut and come right back, okay? I won’t be two seconds.”
She caved then and agreed to my terms with the condition that I bring her back a doughnut as well but I was so excited about the prospect of freedom that I forgot which kind she wanted. I figured I’d just get her something with pink frosting. Or sprinkles. I was pretty sure Aunt Josie liked sprinkles.
> I took my time walking down to the food court because I liked the way my reflection looked in the store windows without Mom or Aunt Josie right there with me. I looked independent—a free man at the mall just minding his own business. And if this man’s business happened to involve doughnuts, then nobody could say boo. Even if one of them did end up being pink and sprinkly.
I got in line at Mojo Donuts and started to check out the selection, but after two minutes the only concrete decision I’d made was to return as soon as humanly possible with more money and buy the place out. I ended up getting a lemon glazed French cruller for Aunt Josie and something called Da Bomb for me. It was a cream-filled chocolate doughnut with chocolate frosting and mini chocolate chips with a red licorice fuse.
The doughnuts were boxed up separately and put into a white paper bag. I took it and as I was leaving recognized someone sitting at one of the tables. There was an open Mojo Donut box in front of her with a partly eaten doughnut inside. Raspberry filled? How had I missed that one? Her nose was in a book. As usual.
“Hey, Violet!”
“Derek! Hi! What are you doing here?”
“Getting doughnuts.”
“Are you here with someone?” she asked.
“My aunt’s exchanging some stuff and I got hungry so, y’know… you?”
“My dad’s in the photo booth,” she said. “You can sit down if you want.”
“What’s he need pictures for?” I said, sliding into the chair across from her.
“He needs a new passport.”
“Where’s he going?”
“Wales.”
“Cool. Is he going to see all of them?”
“All of what?”
“All of the whales. There’s a lot of them.”
“Not the mammals,” she said, smiling. Her nose crinkled a little, making her freckles crash into each other. She only had one dimple. It was awesome. “The country.”
“Oh.”
Me and Violet sat there for a minute and didn’t say anything. She picked at her doughnut a little, breaking a piece off and scooting it around in the raspberry filling before eating it.
The Saturday Boy Page 16