by K L Going
“God damn it! It’s here somewhere. Where would I have installed the stupid thing?”
“Why isn’t it on the wall? Smoke alarms are supposed to be on the wall.”
“Or the ceiling.”
“Or . . .”
“Well, obviously it isn’t, so if you’d stop telling me where it’s supposed to be and help me look for the damn thing . . .”
“Did anyone pop up the toast?”
I open my door the rest of the way and try to wave away the smoke as I walk across the kitchen and pop up the toast. Dino finds the smoke alarm under the sink and the piercing wail ceases abruptly.
“What are you guys doing?”
Dino looks up from under the sink, and Aunt Pete peers at me through the haze. Eddie is wheezing by the stove.
“Surprise,” they all say at roughly the same time.
“You’re making this for me?” I ask as Pete pries a piece of charred toast out of the toaster.
“Damn,” he says. “This was supposed to be a really nice breakfast. We’ve got presents and everything.”
“You got me presents?”
Aunt Pete nods.
“We figured since you were busy tonight, we’d surprise you with breakfast.” Pete fakes a laugh. “Heh heh. Bet that smoke alarm was a real surprise, huh?”
Eddie is trying to push the smoke out the open kitchen window with the broom.
“Why would anyone put their smoke alarm under the kitchen sink?” he mutters. Then he adds, “Guess we should forgo the candles.”
Dino hands me a tall glass of orange juice.
“Presents?” he suggests. My eyes are tearing. Maybe because of the thick smoke.
“Nobody’s ever done something like this for my birthday,” I say. “This is like . . .” I can’t think of the word.
“Mayhem?” Orlando offers.
I nod. It’s great.
Aunt Pete carries over a stack of presents and pulls up a stool.
“Open this one first. They’re from all of us,” he says. “We pitched in.”
I open a small square package. It’s a CD. Glam’s Greatest Hits.
“Uh, cool.”
“I wanted to get you a feather boa, but the guys said no.”
Eddie hands me a large rectangular box.
“This is your real gift,” he says. “You might not like it right away, but we’re pretty sure you’re going to need it someday.”
I study the present on my lap. It’s wrapped in last week’s comics section and tied with a piece of yellow string.
“Well, come on,” Aunt Pete says. “You want scissors?”
I shake my head.
“No, it’s just . . .”
Orlando hands me the scissors anyway. “Open it.”
I cut the string and tear off the paper. The box inside is a fancy black one, with gold embossed lettering on the front.
I lift the top and carefully pull out a large album. It has a black leather cover with clear pages inside. I run my hand gently over the surface.
“It’s for your portfolio,” Pete says.
I lift the cover gingerly and turn the pages. “I know,” I whisper. A thin piece of paper is tucked between the cover and the first page.
“It’s a gift certificate for . . .”
“. . . a photo session.” I touch the embossed gold letters with the tip of my finger.
“This is where Mom had her first photos taken,” I whisper. I can hardly breathe. Why would they do this for me? I look around and there’s Dino, who had to throw me in jail, and Orlando, whom I still owe an essay, and Aunt Pete, who’s put up with me way longer than he had to.
Pete nods at the gift certificate. “I remembered when Sarah went there,” he says. “I tried to get you an earlier date for the session, but you have to book them way in advance. The only reason they gave me that one is because I told them you were Sarah Geller’s son.” He pauses, watching me. “Do you like it?”
I try to nod.
“It’s perfect,” I say at last. “I’m going to talk to Dad about the modeling tonight, so I can show it to him.”
The guys look at each other, and Aunt Pete takes a deep breath.
“Good,” he says at last. His voice is tense and he doesn’t look at me, but he nods. “I’m glad we got it then.”
44
I LEAVE THE PORTFOLIO on my bed, still in its box, but I think about it all day. I don’t know why, but having it makes me feel like I have a future. One that I haven’t compromised yet. I imagine myself pulling it out and showing it to Dad. Telling him I’ve got a reason to graduate now, and maybe there’s a chance I’ll do something cool with my life.
Dad will see that, won’t he?
I start to get nervous. When I get home, the trailer still smells like smoke, and the living room floor is dirty from where we sat around eating breakfast, so I pull out the vacuum cleaner and push it distractedly. My head aches and my stomach twists, and the carpet won’t come clean, so I keep going over the same spot, again and again. After a while Aunt Pete comes down the hall and sighs loudly.
“Will you shut that off already? There won’t be any carpet left if you keep this up.” He’s carrying a microphone stand and a piece of Dino’s drum set. I shut off the vacuum abruptly.
“What are you doing?”
Pete puts the cymbal on the floor.
“Setting up for practice. What does it look like I’m doing?”
The knot in my stomach pulls tighter.
“Remember my father’s coming tonight?” It comes out higher and squeakier than I intend, and Pete looks at me.
“So?”
“Auuncle Pete . . .” I say slowly, aiming for casual.
He sighs. “Why don’t you just say ‘Aunt Pete’? I know that’s what you call me. It’s not a big deal.”
I swallow hard.
“Can I ask you a favor?”
Pete’s hardly listening. He’s moving stacks of records.
“I will never get these reorganized,” he mutters. “They were in order. The early seventies were under the couch. Midseventies next to the coffee table. Late seventies under the TV.”
“Are you listening?”
“Yes,” he says, knocking over a stack of records. “I’m listening.”
I pray silently, knowing there is no way he’s going to agree to this.
“Could you maybe not practice tonight?”
There’s a long pause while Aunt Pete stares at the records he just knocked over, but he doesn’t move to pick them up.
“No,” he says finally. “I’m sorry, but I could not do that. Not even for you.”
I bite my lip. “It would only be one night. And you guys are so good, you don’t need to practice.”
Pete sets the microphone stand very deliberately in the center of the floor and looks straight at me.
“I don’t expect you to understand this,” he says, “but a long time ago I made a promise that I’ve never broken. I promised myself I’d never be someone I wasn’t just to please my family. Now, I know you want to impress your father and I’ve tried to be patient with the cleaning and stuff, even when you cleaned my room, which you shouldn’t have been in to begin with, but I’ve got to draw the line somewhere, and the band is it. Allan can come in and listen or he can take you out to dinner, I don’t really give a damn, but I don’t cancel practice. Not for you, not for the screaming old lady three trailers down, and certainly not for my goddamn brother, who hasn’t spoken to me in years. Now don’t ask again.”
He pushes the microphone stand into the wall and walks back down the hall. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants.
Okay. That didn’t go so well.
I put the vacuum cleaner away and go back to my room to contemplate my wardrobe. Maybe that will distract me from thinking about the guys playing glam-rock seventies hits when Dad arrives.
Twenty minutes later I’m still trying to make a decision. The gray blue Dolce and Gabbana shirt Mom sent for my birthday
would look really nice, but Dad told me not to wear anything designer. Of course, he also told me to look nice, so I was planning to go for the more commercial name brands, but now I think I might just wear the shirt.
A car pulls into the driveway and I bolt to the window, but it’s only Eddie and Dino. Eddie comes in and stands in my doorway. “You look good,” he says, adjusting my collar. “Simple. Professional. Excellent selection.”
“You think?” I ask. “Because I could change . . .”
Orlando’s car pulls into the driveway, and I go back into the kitchen to stare at the clock. The guys get set up and start to tune, and Aunt Pete comes out of his bedroom wearing one of the worst outfits I’ve ever seen. High-heeled black boots and zebra-striped spandex pants that should have been retired in . . . well, they never should have existed in the first place. I take a deep breath. Okay. Fine.
Glitter is already into their second number before there’s a knock on the door. I’ve been staring out the window intently for the last half hour, but I got distracted by a huge cockroach that crawled out of the broom closet. I’ve just killed it when the knock sounds, so I’m standing there with a paper towel full of smooshed cockroach. I panic and throw it in the garbage, but the delay allows Aunt Pete to beat me to the door.
“Yes?”
I slide in beside him. I’m prepared. I look good, and I’ve got the portfolio ready to go. This is it.
Only it’s not Dad. A man in uniform is standing in the open doorway.
“Liam Geller?”
I nod.
“Sergeant Jim Braddock of the United States Army. Pleased to meet you.” The man sticks out his hand and I shake it dumbly.
“I can’t talk right now,” I tell him. “I have company coming any minute. My father is on his way and—”
Sergeant Braddock grins. “Actually, your father is the reason I’m here. I have a lot of respect for your dad, Liam. Allan is a good friend of mine, and I’m sure you know how lucky you are to have him.”
I nod, confused.
“Look, what’s this about?” Aunt Pete asks, interrupting. Sergeant Braddock glances from Pete to me.
“Liam, your father asked me to come talk to you today, as a personal favor. I understand you’ve been having some difficulties, and your father thinks you’d be an ideal candidate for the U.S. military. Now, I’d like to discuss your options with you. Maybe answer any questions you might have about the service.”
My whole body goes numb. The last words the sergeant says fade to a distant buzz.
Aunt Pete’s eyes bug out. “The hell you’re going to do that!”
“Liam,” the sergeant says patiently, “I’d be happy to take you out to dinner. Maybe we could talk in a less confined”—he coughs—“space.”
I want to answer, but I can’t focus.
“Would you like to go someplace else?” the sergeant repeats. “Perhaps we could take a walk.”
I’m clutching the door frame so hard my fingers ache. I pry them loose and point to the picnic table.
“We can talk out here,” I say. The words sound flat even to me. Sergeant Braddock nods, and Aunt Pete swears.
Dino steps up behind us and glances at me. “You don’t have to talk to anyone,” he says, nodding toward the sergeant.
I try to shake my head, but I can’t, so I walk down the steps and sit at the picnic table instead. Sergeant Braddock follows, sits down across from me, and pulls a laptop out of his briefcase. He opens it and brings up a full-color display.
“Liam . . .” Pete says from the door, but I wave him away.
It’s okay, I say, but maybe the words don’t come out.
“It never hurts to know what your options are, son,” the sergeant says. “Your father has gone to some trouble to see that I visited you today.”
I blink. Sergeant Braddock just called me son.
Everything swirls together, but every now and then a word slips into my consciousness. Benefits . . . training . . . GED . . . skills . . .
Sergeant Braddock takes out a new batch of papers. “You don’t have to sign right now. I understand if you want to think it over, but I happen to know that your parents wholeheartedly approve of this decision, so if you want to give me some information in advance . . .”
I look up.
I never heard the trailer door open. I’m not even aware of Pete’s presence until shreds of paper are raining down on the picnic table.
“He’s not giving you anything,” Pete growls. “It’s time for you to leave my property.”
The sergeant stands up. He looks Aunt Pete up and down, and for a moment I think he won’t leave, but in the end he hands me his card.
“Call me anytime,” he says. “Anytime at all.”
The sergeant ducks into his SUV, and I watch as he backs out of the driveway.
“Are you okay?” Pete asks. He puts his hand on my shoulder, but I flinch.
“Do you want me to call your father? I’ll get on the phone right now, I swear to god, that bastard . . .”
I look up. “Why?”
There’s a long pause while Pete scowls at the papers on the picnic table. “Because,” he says, “it’s your birthday and Allan told you he was coming to visit and then he sent a goddamn army recruiter and that’s a miserable thing to . . .”
I shake my head. “No,” I say absently. “It was my fault. Dad said to be ready Tuesday night and I assumed . . . well, I shouldn’t have assumed anything. I screwed it up. That’s all. It’s not like he didn’t show. He sent his friend.”
I turn the business card between my fingers. Once, twice, three times.
Aunt Pete takes a deep breath.
“Hell,” he says. “What your father did was wrong, Liam. Period. This is not okay.”
I put down the business card, but I’m not really listening to him. “Could you maybe go inside now? I’m just going to sit here for a minute.”
“Liam . . .”
“I’m kind of tired. Probably because of all the vacuuming. You were right about the vacuuming. Next time I don’t think I’ll vacuum as much.”
Pete closes his eyes and runs his hand over his freshly shaven face.
“Liam, we should talk.”
“No,” I say. I mean to say more, but I don’t.
45
I’M SITTING IN THE CROWD at a fashion show next to Tomas Feral. The lights have gone down and the catwalk is lit with deep reds and purples. The music is loud and pounds in my ears. The models emerge from the back one by one, steady, perfect, overlapping . . . I shouldn’t be here because I’m too young—only five—but everyone knows Mom always gets what she wants when it comes to Tomas. And I behave. I sit perfectly still while all the color, sound, and motion dances around me. I want to get up there so badly, but all I do is lean forward in my seat.
Tomas is watching me. He ought to be watching the show—his show—but he’s watching me, instead. His eyes move over my face every time the light changes, and at last I turn and look back. He leans close so he can whisper in my ear.
“Someday this will all be yours.”
I’m having a beautiful dream, or maybe it’s a memory, but it fades the moment I wake up. The portfolio Aunt Pete and the guys bought me is on the floor near my bed, but sitting on top of it is the business card from the recruiter. I turn over and go back to sleep.
Eventually, Pete pounds on the door.
“Get up,” he says. “You’re late.”
I get up and go to school, but it’s all a charade. I stare out the window, counting cars in the parking lot. Total tally: ten red, thirteen green, eight blue, eleven gray, sixteen white, six unidentifiably discolored.
Thursday I get up on time and Eddie drives me in, but I barely make it in for the announcements because he keeps asking if I’m all right, so I can’t get away from the car. When I finally arrive in the AV room, Raymond and Simon are sitting at the desk and Ms. Peterson is setting up the camera.
“Liam, you’re here,” she
beams. Simon gets up from the news desk.
“Simon could do the announcements today,” I say, but Simon shakes his head.
“No way,” he says. “You’re best at them.”
I shrug and sit down behind the desk. Raymond hands me the news, but I don’t look at it.
“Aren’t you going to read it before we begin?”
I shake my head. Ms. Peterson gives the signal, and I slouch low in my chair. I hardly notice when the red light comes on, and Raymond kicks me under the table. I start talking without looking up.
“This morning somebody has decided we all need to think about homecoming committees. Great. Fine. So join a committee.”
“Jen Van Sant is looking for seniors interested in modeling in the senior fashion show fund-raiser at the homecoming festival. See Jen.”
“The debate club won its match against Kingston. Yippee.”
“The homecoming nominations are in for king and queen. Of course, I’m on the ballot. That just figures. The one thing I wanted was a little unpopularity. Is that so much to ask? Well, apparently it is. Apparently I’ve failed utterly and completely at being unpopular, so fine. Go ahead. Vote for me. See if I care.”
Ms. Peterson is staring, bewildered, but I don’t stop.
“Today’s lunch is spaghetti with meat sauce, garlic bread, and milk. Bag lunch is tuna on a hard roll, chips, and milk. Once again there is no vegetarian option, but that’s okay because I really love eating bread and milk every day for lunch. Wonderful.” I set down the papers and finally look at the camera.
“Believe it or not, there are no more announcements, because there is absolutely nothing else going on around here. I would repeat them in French, but it’s hardly worth it, don’t you agree?” I sit back. “Raymond?”
For a moment Raymond looks surprised. Then he grins as if I’ve once again come up with something totally new and exciting. He puts on his shades and begins to read the sports. I don’t wait. I unclip the mic and slide out from behind the desk.