Miles

by Carriere, Adam Henry

  * * *

  V I

  His heart and hand both open and both free

  For what he has he gives,

  what he thinks he shows

  Troilus and Cressida

  You know you've had an awful weekend when you're happy to get back to school.

  My family spent the rest of the holiday weekend staying in our rooms and alternating our visits to the kitchen so we wouldn't run into each other. I almost sat down at the dinner table with my grand dinner of peanut butter, bacon, and jelly sandwiches before Mom came downstairs to start a pot of strong black coffee. I left when she began slamming the cabinets, noticing we were out of sugar.

  I didn't listen to any of my new records.

  I got an A- on my Italian exam, and 96% on the Asian History test, so I was confident I did just as well with my music essay, even though I had butterflies about seeing Nicolasha again, with or without his clothes on. I tried staying focused on what was being said in my classes, but I couldn't keep from daydreaming about the album of photographs I was carrying around with me, or agonizing about how I was going to return them.

  Was there such a thing as a wet daydream, I wondered?

  I stalled at a water fountain, watching Nicolasha confer with Principal Connelly while my classmates walked past them into the music room. The old boy had an over-dressed (and rather short) new student with him, ridiculous in a double-breasted blue jacket, yellow tie, starchy white dress shirt, grey slacks, blue argyle socks, and tan suede saddle shoes. He even had a traditional raincoat draped over his arm, which looked like my Dad's Burberry. What, no morning coat?

  The shoes were cool, anyway.

  He was perfectly groomed, his parted black hair swept off to one side of his bright, anxious baby face, complete with thick eyebrows, somewhat feminine dark eyes, and tiny pink lips, which were sculpted like a child's. I self-consciously glanced down at my dull ski sweater, turtleneck, jeans, and hiking shoes. The Principal saw me and held his hand out, indicating the classroom door to me like it was a five-star grand hotel. I was the only student left in the hall.

  The new arrival looked sheepishly at me as I walked toward him, sizing up his flawless, 'Young Republican from Hell' Halloween costume. We glanced at each other with mock disregard. Nicolasha patted me on the back as we went in. I took my front corner seat. The little senator sat in the empty desk to my left, folding his raincoat into a neat pile and putting it on his lap. He sensed half of the room was staring at him, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  "Good afternoon, friends. As you all have noticed, we have a new student who has just transferred in. Principal Connelly has asked me to introduce you to Felix Cromwell, and for you to welcome him to our family." Nicolasha smiled warmly at Felix, who gave a friendly little wave to each side of the room. I was not the only one whose eyes widened at this Felix character's silly gesture. Maybe I should have reached over and messed up his tidily groomed hair, but I was afraid he might stand up and punch me in the knee.

  "As for your essays, they were quite creative and very well written. I would like to read a few of them, if you do not mind." Nicolasha sat down on his desk, next to the school phonograph. Our eyes met for a moment.

  I pictured him crossing his arms over his head and pulling his jeans down as he began to read this rather odd, stream-of-consciousness poem about Soviet leprechauns dancing in a corn field made out of rifles, and then played the introductory Allegro from the Age of Gold which Farrah based it on. She was always out in the bleachers.

  (I liked the recording Nicolasha gave me better than this one.)

  He skipped to this riotous song, a collection of rapid-fire words and phrases that our teacher struggled to enunciate in coordinated time with the Suite's Polka that Zane conjured it up to. Of course, that's pretty much how Zane talked when he cornered some poor idiot into a conversation with him.

  Nicolasha then spent almost ten minutes reading an incredibly rich and detailed portrait of a chaotic night at the circus. Kim had composed a nearly perfect accompaniment to the Suite's Dance. She looked around her desk casually, but I could see that gleam of triumph in her pale green eyes. The whole time, Felix sat there smiling, openly impressed by what he was hearing.

  Nicolasha reached for another essay. His eyes linked up with mine, and I began to wish I had missed my train that morning.

  "Picture a very large and empty courtyard, a field of cobblestones. Far in the distance, the field is lined by dark, unoccupied, but fabulous old palaces. The firmament above is a sunset mixture of orange clouds and blotches of deep blue sky peeking out from the thick cumulus veil. The courtyard is littered with music stands that face in every direction and surround a tall monument topped by an archangel reaching up to the spectacular heavens. A cold wind flips the blood red pages on the stands. Suddenly, a ragged young boy, dressed in beggar's clothes, dances onto the courtyard, holding a wood-carved toy violin to his coal-smudged cheek, playing the instrument from the crimson sheets of music. The archangel's arms move gently in rhythm to the unseen orchestra that wells up from the unlit palaces, accompanying the boy until he cannot keep up and drops exhausted to the damp, hard cobblestones. The red pages are swept off of the music stands in a savage blast of wind, a scarlet tornado that pulls the toy violin out of the boy's dirty hand and across the courtyard. The archangel sees this and floats down from the monument, hovering over the sobbing child and taking him in its stone arms back to the top of the monument, where another violin appears, and the boy begins to play, even while his body and his clothes turn grey and then to stone."

  I was so embarrassed, I could have died, right there in my desk.

  I could feel Kim's glare burning itself through my back. Nicolasha played the recording of the suite's Adagio, sweeping his arms back and forth, conducting the piece with erotic precision. Felix now looked at me with wide eyes.

  "That was really beautiful," he whispered. "It's even better than the music." He reached out to shake my hand. His grip was warm and firm, even if his hands were a little on the small side.

  "You should hear Nicolasha play it live."

  "Who’s that?"

  I pointed my thumb toward our teacher as he brought the selection to a close. From the look on Felix's face, he had never referred to a teacher by their first name in his life. Until Nicolasha came into our lives, the rest of us hadn't, either.

  Our music teacher handed back the essays and assigned a chapter on Prokofiev in our text for homework. He waved us out of the room, even though it was almost ten minutes before the final bell was due to ring. For his consideration, Nicolasha was nearly run over by escaping students. I used the ensuing chaos to slip out of the room before he could call out after me.

  *

  I bolted down the stairs and collided into the locked half of the Pilot Institute's north door, which led into the labyrinth of brooding, gothic buildings found at that end of the University, a fine place to lose anyone tailing me. I was interrupted by Felix, who slid down the wooden banister and landed beside me with a happy grin.

  "You sure know how to beat feet at the end of a school day."

  "I have to go, Felix."

  "Let me come with." He took hold of one of my arms, but let go when I glared at him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry. I just want to talk to you for a couple of minutes. Please?"

  He had a pretty cute smile, I'll say that. I was torn between blowing him off him and messing up that perfectly parted hair. I heard people entering the staircase from the floor above. He yielded to me as I exited out of the door's open half, and did so with hurt in his eyes. I sighed and waved for him to join me. "Are you ready to go?"

  Pulling a plaid scarf tightly around his neck, he smiled again. "Where to, buddy?"

  Buddy, huh? I looked at the classical spires around us and suddenly felt adventurous. "We’re going to Checkpoint Charlie. That would be the 55th Street IC train station." I pointed northwest, eleven o'clock. "We're in East Berlin now, and have to get these pla
ns away from a dangerous Soviet agent." I held up my leather book bag. "The last one there buys dinner!" We began walking quickly into the nucleus of the acclaimed campus.

  Felix was excited, and smiled again. He smiled a lot. "How about the loser has to have the winner over to their house for dinner?" My face fell as I stopped in my tracks, giving Felix a cold look. His hand touched my arm again in apology. "I only have enough change to get home."

  I wrapped my arm around Felix, pulling his trench coated shoulders close to me as we continued on. He smiled again. "We're buddies, right?" He nodded quickly. "Good. Then I can trust you." His arm reached around my back. This was pretty cool. "I'm going to get to Checkpoint Charlie first, because I know Berlin better." Don't bet on it, his shaking head said. "But if the Russians get me and you escape, than its dinner on me, OK?" He nodded with another damn smile. Stop it! "Well, Felix, let me tell you, 'home' really blows for me, nowadays. I mean, it really sucks whenever I'm there, so, if I don't want to be there, it wouldn't be fair to subject you or anyone else to a visit, now, would it?"

  "Then you better cross the border before I do, pal!" With a friendly slap on the back, Felix pulled away from me and charged up a short, grassy incline between two maroon brick buildings, heading through the common and the nearby dormitories toward the train line.

  Wait until he sees the size of the fence which separated that end of campus from the tracks, I thought to myself with a grin. I shot due north, keeping to the hard, discolored grass of the block's front yards for better traction, up to the bustling 55th Street, where I spun around a bus stop and stayed close to the curb as I maneuvered away from a few shoppers before reaching the underpass station. I fumbled for my ticket pass, slapped it into the turnstile, bound up the short wooden steps three at a time, and crashed through the flimsy spring doors that opened up to the long, empty Hyde Park station platform. I trotted further down, hoping to catch a glimpse of Felix struggling around the fence.

  "Drop the bag, you son of a bitch!"

  Felix rolled out from under the edge of platform to the gravel carpet beside the inside rail, his hands cupped, holding an imaginary pistol at me. I dropped my bag and dove down, stomach first, to the opposite side of the deck, taking cover behind a large, two-sided metal bench. I held my own illusory handgun, a simple Colt .45 automatic, it had to be, and peered around the base of the seating area, ready to unload the gun into the little creep.

  Felix fired three times from behind my back. Shit! I jerked my back and cried out, before slumping to my death against the bench. I lay completely still, waiting until I heard my short buddy climb up from the tracks. How the hell did he get under the platform? I looked up at Felix's grinning little face, and then at his blood-stained leg. The right knee of his dress slacks had been torn open, and, apparently, so had his knee.

  He helped me to my feet and patted me on the arm. "You should see what it looks like under there." We sat close together on the bench.

  "No thanks. Are you OK?" I brushed his hands off of his lap and looked at the bloody horizontal gash running across the top of his kneecap. "What was it? Nothing rusty, I hope!”

  Felix's smile was forced, this time. "I think it was a bottle. Damn."

  I shook my head and reached for my school bag, pulling a souvenir bottle of cheap Smirnoff vodka out as I propped an elbow over his leg to get a better angle. "I can think of a lot of things I'd rather do with this than pour it down your leg, Felix, but since we're buddies and all that, I'll make an exception, just this once."

  Felix seized the bottle out of my hands. "Give me a sip, first." He took a little swig, made a dirty look, and handed it back to me. I had one, too, before leaning over to pour a few drops across the entire gash. Felix moaned painfully. "God, that stings."

  "Not as much as a tetanus shot would." I bounced my fist on his thigh a few times before throwing the empty bottle onto the tracks. His moan felt like it was caught in my ears. The buzz of the neighborhood was a little quieter than usual, as if the world had suddenly decided to be quiet and catch its breath for a moment. I could feel the late afternoon sun on my face, and wondered if Nicolasha had gone straight home, or might be watching us from the street below. The wind was pretty calm. I assumed it was Chicago's way of telling me a particularly fearsome winter was on its way.

  In fact, it was something I was too unfamiliar with to recognize.

  "So why does home suck so bad for you, nowadays?"

  I began eyeing the old bank across the street and exhaled tiredly. "It's a long and boring story, Felix."

  He patted me on the back again. You know, I thought, I've been touched more this month than I had for the last three, maybe five years? "That's what friends are supposed to be for."

  My face and voice were blank. "I thought we were just buddies."

  "Well, I'd like to be friends, too. Wouldn't you?"

  Sure I would, Felix. I'm just not very good at it, that's all. Ask the guys I used to play ball with. "I'm really kind of a loner."

  "So am I. We can be loners together, you know." He nudged me in the arm and held out his hand. I took it and we smiled at each other for a couple of seconds before the gleaming double-deck train rolled up to a halt on the northbound side of the platform.

  Felix stood, trying to cover up the pain I could see he was in. He waved at the graying, impatient conductor who stepped from the train doors as a few passengers got off. All stops at 55th Street lasted for a few minutes.

  Felix wrapped an arm inside of mine. I tried not to blush. "Why don't you come home with me?"

  Could I stay there? "It's a school night, Felix!"

  "Oh, big deal. I didn't pick up my books because I wanted to catch you before you left, so I can't do any homework. My mother is cooking a big dinner tonight, we'll eat, you can tell me all about school, and I can study one thing while you do another. My building has a pool, so we can take a dip afterwards, sleep, and come back here tomorrow morning. This way you won't have to go home, and we loners can keep each other company."

  Do you like classical music? "Where am I going to sleep?"

  "I’ve got a bunk bed. When I was a kid I was afraid of floors in the dark, ha. Now I just like being up in the air. But you can be on top if you want."

  The conductor looked at the large, round pocket watch attached to his vest by a silver chain, and stepped back into the belly of the train car, waiting for us to make a decision. Felix held up a one-more-minute finger.

  Now, let's see. Dad didn't usually roll home until at least eight. Mom was already off teaching, and had to be at the hospital by eleven. I debated whether either of them would notice if I didn't come home. Now there was a stupid question!

  "Wouldn't you rather wait until Friday, when we can stay up later?"

  "We can do it Friday, too."

  "What about your parents? I don't want to impose on them."

  Felix walked me onto the train by the arm as the conductor closed the sliding metal doors shut behind us. "They love company. Besides, I won the race, so shut up and pick out where you'd like to sit."

  * * *

  V I I

  There is no evil angel but love.

  Love's Labor's Lost

  Felix Cromwell lived in a chocolate-brown skyscraper near Wacker Drive, one that looked more like an office building than an apartment complex. I always figured a condo or flat in the Loop would be big, luxurious, and expensive, but Felix's current home wasn't very big - two bedrooms, a bath for each, a large living-dining area combo, a kitchen, and a tiny vanity bath. Hell, my Dad's bedroom was that big. Even if the apartment had a great view of the Chicago River, the Wrigley Building, and the Merchandise Mart, it couldn't cost much. Furnishing-wise, Felix's parents went in for the modern, Scandinavian look, which I'd hardly call luxurious. Any furniture that makes the hardwood floor seem appealing wasn't luxurious. No. What made the Cromwell apartment special was the Cromwell family.

  Felix's hyper-ingratiating chit-chat ("What kind of sports, movies,
books, music, clothes, travel, people, etc. etc. etc. do you like?") and manner (smile, nudge, pat, smile, laugh, touch, smile, hold, and so on) had been driving me nuts from the minute we got on the train until we walked into the apartment and I was greeted with the rich aroma of broiling steaks, and a very warm welcome from Felix's good-looking mom, who was happy to abandon dinner to give her only child a hug and his new friend a very unexpected kiss.

  "I'm Arlene, the person responsible for the little guy." Her face was deeply tanned, soft and friendly. The large curls of her dark blond hair were thrown back with abandon. She wore a fuzzy red turtleneck, tight blue jeans, and snakeskin cowboy boots rather well. Her smile was wide and sincere, and was already making me feel very comfortable.

  "It's good to meet you, Mrs. Cromwell." We shook hands.

  "Call me Arlene or I won't let you stay for dinner."

  Felix shifted on his feet and cleared his throat as Arlene's eyes zeroed in on his torn slacks and bloody leg. Her glare could have stopped a tank division in its tracks. "Can he stay over tonight, too, Ma?"

  She looked at the gash, seemingly satisfied it was nothing dramatic, and then detected the faint smell of cheap American vodka. The glare moved in my direction.

  "I couldn't think of anything else to use, Mrs. Crom - Arlene."

  Felix blushed. Arlene peered at me with the patented you-can't-fool-me look known to all mothers. I shrugged my shoulders and tried my innocent look, unsuccessfully.

  "Do you always bring vodka to school?" She propped one of her hands on a hip. No, I thought, I'm usually just equipped for little things like broken hearts and sexual confusion. Poisonous leg wounds and making friends are new to me.