Adam Canfield, Watch Your Back!

by Michael Winerip

  The taxi driver knew the condo complex and Adam showed him which building. He felt funny standing there, watching the taxi disappear. Only then did it occur to him — what if Danny was in Paraguay?

  Adam pressed the buzzer for Danny’s condo. There was no answer. He pressed two, three, four times.

  There was a rustling over the intercom. “Yeah?”

  “That you, Danny? It’s me, Adam. . . . Danny, it’s Adam . . . your friend, Adam. . . . Danny?”

  Finally Danny said, “It’s not a good time for me. How about if I call you when it’s better? Put your dad on, I’ll tell him.”

  “I’m alone, Danny,” said Adam. “I really need to talk to you.”

  There was another long silence. Then Danny said he’d buzz him in, but Adam had to wait ten minutes in the lobby before taking the elevator up.

  When Danny opened the door, he barely looked at Adam. No bear hug like usual. No jokes about how much Adam had grown. No comments about the beautiful Jennifer. No nasty remarks about Adam’s ridiculous, overprogrammed life.

  Danny looked bad. He needed a shave, and what hair he had on the side of his head, was sticking out, Bozo-style. He was wearing a white T-shirt and sweatpants, and though it was late afternoon, he seemed like he had just gotten out of bed.

  Usually Danny was rushing around so much, he crackled with electricity. Today, he looked unplugged.

  The apartment was a mess. Even Adam noticed. Old newspapers were piled everywhere — the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, the Tri-River Post-Gazette. Dirty dishes filled the sink and kitchen counter. It was unbelievably hot and stuffy.

  “It’s burning in here,” Adam said. “Feels like a hundred degrees.”

  “Didn’t notice,” Danny said softly. “You think I should open a window?”

  “Might be good,” Adam said.

  Adam tried to make chitchat about the animal shelter, but Danny gave one-word answers. The man looked like he couldn’t get comfortable. He sat in the center of the couch, staring down, his hands clasped in his lap. Or he got up and paced back and forth across the living room. Then he’d lay back on the couch, his head propped on a pillow for a minute before getting up again and pacing.

  Finally, Adam could not ignore it. “Geez, Danny, are you OK?”

  “No, I’m not,” said Danny.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Adam, who suddenly was scared. “You don’t have anything like cancer? Oh please, no,” he blurted.

  Danny shook his head. “Nothing like that,” he said. “Physically, I’m healthy as a horse.”

  “Great,” said Adam, although it didn’t seem great.

  Danny continued pacing. “Look, Adam,” he said. “I hate people seeing me like this. I’ve got this illness. . . .” He stopped.

  “Illness?” asked Adam. “I thought you’re healthy as a horse.”

  “Physically,” said Danny. “It’s the head. Adam, you know. . . . Let me see how to say this. . . . You’re probably too young. . . .” Danny’s head was in his hands now. “You should go . . . please.”

  He paused. Adam stared at him. Danny lay back on the couch. His arm was over his eyes. He was quiet a long time. Adam was determined to wait this out.

  “Mental illness,” Danny finally said. “Ever hear of that?”

  “Sure,” said Adam. “Like when people are crazy.”

  “Well, I have a mental illness,” said Danny.

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Adam. “You’re, like, the neatest grown-up I ever met. Even Jennifer says so. You know all kinds of stuff, you know lots of good jokes, you like kids, you listen, you got that great job at the animal shelter. You’ve got the record for most pet adoptions in a day. Even you said, ‘Forty-nine, a record never to be broken in our lifetime.’ Danny, you seem like the least crazy grown-up I know.”

  “Right,” Danny said. “Well, I set the record when I was up. And I’m down now. I couldn’t do a single adoption right now. That’s why I’m on leave. It’s my illness, Adam.”

  The phone rang, but Danny didn’t move.

  “Want me to get it?” asked Adam.

  “I don’t care,” said Danny. Adam walked to the phone and checked the caller ID. “Tremble Animal Shelter,” Adam read. Danny shook his head.

  “They told me you check in every day,” Adam said. “Let them know you’re OK.”

  “I leave a message after it’s closed,” said Danny. “I really think you should go.”

  Adam didn’t budge. He’d worked too hard tracking down Danny. “What’s your illness?”

  Danny gave him an irritated look, but Adam stared right back.

  Danny took a pillow from the couch, put it on the floor, then lay down on the floor. “It has different names,” Danny said. “Manic depression is probably most honest. Mood swings. Up and down. The brain’s chemistry is all screwed up. Doctors don’t even understand it.”

  “They don’t give you medicine?” Adam asked.

  “Meds, oh yes, miracle meds,” Danny said. “I take every last med they give me. It doesn’t make you better. Helps a little around the edges. I can go months, sometimes more than a year being up. And then, down. Months of being down. Months of depression.”

  “You’re depressed?” said Adam. “Is that all? Why didn’t you say so? Come on, Danny, cheer up — you’re the best. After I was mugged, I was kind of down, but I got out of it. Think of good stuff. Like all the skips we’ve had by the river.” Adam was thinking of how for years the two had gone down by the river a couple of times a year to skip rocks. “You want to go get an ice cream? It’s beautiful out.”

  “It’s not like that,” said Danny. “It’s not something where you can be cheered up. You could eat a thousand ice creams, but your mind can’t feel the joy of ice cream. You’re numb. Dead inside. It’s like the brain’s ability to absorb happiness has been turned off. Click.”

  Adam thought about that. “Well, how do you turn it back on?” he asked.

  “You wait,” Danny said softly. “Take your meds and wait. For as long as you can bear it. If you can bear it.”

  The phone rang and again Adam checked. The caller ID said Dr. Rieder.

  Danny grunted but held out his hand for the portable. As he talked, he rubbed his forehead. Adam heard snatches of conversation as Danny walked in and out of the room. “On a scale of ten? Three. . . . No, I don’t think I need to go in. I really don’t. . . . I actually met my social goal today. I have a friend over for a visit. . . . Yes, I do . . .” The rest was mostly yeses and nos. Adam was sure of one thing: Danny talked a lot less when he was like this.

  When Danny hung up, Adam said, “I guess I’ll be going.”

  “OK,” said Danny. “I appreciate it.”

  Adam put on his jacket, then asked if he could borrow the yellow pages to look up the taxi number.

  “Taxi?” said Danny. “Is that how you got here? A taxi? Alone?”

  Adam nodded.

  “Does your dad know you’re here?” asked Danny.

  Adam shook his head.

  “I forget,” said Danny. “Why did you come?”

  Adam explained that he’d wanted Danny’s help. For himself and for some Slash stories. “It’s OK,” said Adam. “I didn’t know you were mentally ill. I’ll just ask someone else.”

  For the first time Danny looked at Adam like he used to. “You’re telling me you came all this way in a taxi by yourself? To ask me for help? Me? Oh, you beautiful child. Put the phone down. Come here.” Adam walked over and Danny gave him a big hug. Adam was crying now, and when he looked up, so was Danny.

  “I’m sorry, Danny,” Adam said. “I’m sorry I made you more depressed. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’ll go.”

  “No,” said Danny. “Oh, no. I’m feeling something. It’s so wonderful to feel something.”

  Danny made Adam call his dad, who insisted on coming to pick Adam up and said he’d be there in forty-five minutes.

  When Adam got off the phone, he noticed that Dann
y had a glass of water and was taking pills. “Every six hours,” Danny said. “I apologize ahead of time — they make me drowsy.”

  In the past, when Adam had asked Danny for help, the ideas popped out rapid-fire and Adam could barely keep up. This time, Adam had to go slow, and even then, Danny had trouble following, so Adam had to repeat some stories.

  Adam asked about their new principal, but Danny didn’t know Mrs. Quigley. Danny did seem interested in two things that Adam had barely given a thought: that Mrs. Quigley was the acting principal, and that she seemed like a grandmother.

  Danny said this might be very bad news. It might mean she’ll be at Harris a short time and will do whatever she is told. It might mean that if Mrs. Boland wants to destroy the Slash, Mrs. Quigley will look the other way, collect her paycheck, and be gone at the end of the school year.

  Or, Danny said, it might be good news. It might mean that Mrs. Quigley’s a seasoned pro, doing Tremble officials a favor filling in while they search for a permanent principal. And since Mrs. Quigley might not be worried about her bosses, she could be independent enough to do the right thing. “In my experience, only two groups of people speak the truth,” said Danny. “Kids and old people. Kids don’t know better; old people have nothing to lose. You might get lucky with this Quigley woman.”

  Adam liked that idea. It had never occurred to him that a principal might be brave. “Every time we meet,” said Adam, “she gives us Moisty Deluxe and milk.”

  Danny shook his head. “Can’t trust cookies and milk,” he said. “Even Moisty Deluxe. It could be taken either way.” Adam knew Danny was right. The moment Mrs. Marris had started smiling like crazy at Adam and Jennifer, that’s when things had turned into a nightmare.

  Adam looked at the clock; they’d used up half an hour. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but Danny seemed to be moving in slow motion now. He’d stopped pacing and was lying on the couch. He kept saying he was sorry, that his mind didn’t work when he was depressed, and he had to ask Adam to explain things a second and third time.

  After hearing the latest developments in the shoveling case, Danny agreed with Adam’s dad — it probably wouldn’t go to trial. The boys would most likely plead guilty, Danny said, and the penalty would be a lot less than the four years mentioned on TV.

  But Danny thought Adam should go to court and make a recommendation about the sentencing. He felt it was Adam’s duty. “You called the police,” Danny said. “They came. The district attorney, the judge — they’re part of a system that’s there for you. The court system is one of those things that separates us from cavemen. Everyone needs to do his share. You, too.”

  By the time Adam got around to the Bolands, Danny’s eyes were closed. It was almost dinnertime and the room was nearly dark. Adam’s dad would be there any minute.

  Danny’s answers were shrinking. Adam wasn’t even sure he was awake; sometimes it was like he was talking in his sleep.

  Adam told Danny about the Bolands boarding up houses in the Willows. Every few sentences, he had to ask if Danny was listening. And Danny wouldn’t even open his eyes. He’d just lift one hand off his stomach and make a slight wave.

  “My big worry is this isn’t a story for a kids’ paper,” said Adam. “I mean, kids don’t care about this stuff. So I think I’ll tell Jennifer we shouldn’t do it. That sound right, Danny . . . ?

  “Danny . . . ?

  “Danny . . . ?”

  “Kids live in the Willows?” Danny whispered.

  “Sure,” said Adam. “You know they do.”

  “They go to Harris?”

  “Yeah,” said Adam.

  “What if they disappear?”

  “Disappear?” said Adam, “Why would they disappear?” Danny said nothing and Adam was quiet, too. Disappear? Disappear! “I get it!” Adam shouted. “That’s our peg — the kids. Tell it through the kids. Oh, that’s great. Danny you’re unbelievable. You’re like this sleeping oracle. You’re like Superman fighting with his last ounce of strength before the kryptonite gets him. . . . Danny? . . . Danny?”

  Danny did not answer.

  Adam flopped in a chair. The room was dark, the only sound Danny’s snoring. Adam sat there, barely visible between the tall stacks of newspapers on each arm of the chair, waiting for his dad to buzz.

  On the way home, Adam’s dad grilled him about taking the taxi to see Danny.

  Adam told the truth, but not the whole truth.

  Adam did not mention asking Danny for advice about the shoveling case. He did not want his parents thinking he was going behind their backs and trusting someone else.

  Adam did not say anything about the stories he was working on. If his parents knew he was preparing to do battle with both Mrs. Boland and the Devil, his mom and dad would yank him out of Harris and homeschool him in the basement.

  All Adam said was that he was worried about Danny being depressed.

  It worked.

  Half the truth was plenty.

  His dad was amazed Danny had seen Adam. “When Danny’s down,” his dad said, “he won’t even see me. You really are something, Adam. I’m very proud of you.”

  Adam nodded and stared out the window. He loved his dad. For an adult, his dad really tried hard to figure out what was going on.

  After dinner, Adam grabbed the portable and went to his room to call Jennifer. He told her all about his visit to Danny. He explained to her that he had been worried about the Willows story not being right for a kids’ paper. “But Danny solved that problem. He’s amazing,” said Adam. “It’s more work for us. We’re going to have to —”

  “Talk to kids in the Willows,” said Jennifer. “Guess who I chatted up? Tish Osborne.”

  “Where’d you see him?” Adam asked.

  “I had my tennis lesson,” she said. “And my mom was late afterward. I was killing time, watching the boys play basketball.”

  “And you asked him?”

  “One of the things,” she said.

  Jennifer said Tish had heard his mother talking about the boarded-up houses. “Tish said people are nervous. He said a kid he knew lived in one of the houses. And after the Bolands bought it, the family couldn’t find another place in the Willows to rent and couldn’t afford anything close by and wound up moving someplace far away, like outside Tremble. Tish couldn’t remember where.”

  “Wow,” said Adam. “That’s exactly what we need. Can we use that in the story?”

  “I didn’t ask,” said Jennifer. “We were just talking about personal stuff. I would’ve felt funny. Tish can be kind of touchy.”

  “He seems a little mean,” said Adam, “but he did me a couple of huge favors. He’s a pretty surprising person.”

  “You know that?” said Jennifer. “You’re a pretty surprising person. I’ve known him a long time. We were together four years in a row in elementary. He acts so above everything, but he’s definitely got another side. Like that day at Pine Street Church, watching over the little boys.”

  Adam felt bad; he’d never thanked Tish about getting his ball back. He owed Tish.

  “He’s really smart,” said Jennifer. “But I don’t think he ever takes home a book, just gets by. The boy can play ball, though. Football, too. And is he hot or what?”

  Adam had lost track of the conversation. He’d been following it fine until the part about Tish being hot. He’d never noticed anything about Tish being hot. What was that? How did that get into the conversation?

  “Adam, you there?” asked Jennifer. “Adam, come on. There’s no need to get mopey. You know Tish likes that Ashley Wheatley,” said Jennifer. “She’s a lucky girl. . . .”

  Mopey? Why would he get mopey? A lucky girl? So that’s how it went. Jennifer just happened to be watching the boys play basketball. Right. They were just talking about personal stuff. Right. Adam had seen a few reality shows; he knew something about how the world worked. Jennifer was trying to deny everything, make a big deal about Tish liking this girl Ashley. As i
f that meant Jennifer couldn’t be liking Tish, too. Ashley is a lucky girl. Tish is hot.

  “The girl goes out with the second-hottest point guard on the team . . .”

  Adam couldn’t listen to another second of Jennifer’s malarkey. He had this terrible, empty feeling. He didn’t even remember saying good-bye. He tossed the portable on his bed, picked up his books, and trudged down to the computer. There was nothing worse than Sunday-night homework.

  And Tish was the second-hottest point guard?

  Adam froze. Tish was the SECOND-hottest point guard?

  He instant-messaged Jennifer. Did you say Tish is SECOND??? hottest point guard? he typed.

  Did I? she typed.

  You did, he typed

  Oh my, she typed.

  Don’t lie, he typed.

  Good-bye, she typed.

  It was midnight by the time Adam finished studying for Devillio’s unit test on the nervous system. Adam memorized the three types of neurons. He memorized the difference between a receptor and an effector. He knew that the trochlear was the nerve that controlled the superior oblique muscle of the eyeball and that the glossopharyngeal was the nerve that controlled the tongue muscle. He could fill out every line of the diagram showing what part of the brain controlled smell, speech, muscle movement, skin sensation, convulsions, and vision. The only thing he didn’t know was how his brain always managed to hold on to every last one of these dopey definitions and multiple-choice answers until he’d taken Devillio’s test and then instantly forget it all.

  Oh well, he didn’t have a clue how his brain worked, but was thankful to have one that got As.

  After turning off the lights, he lay in bed trying to hold on to the feeling of Tish being the second-hottest. It faded fast. His worries, on the other hand, would not fade. He wondered if Tish would talk to them for the Slash. Was Mrs. Quigley on their side or against them? And worst of all, Mrs. Boland. If they did the Willows story, they’d have to see her again. He’d show her this time. He’d spruce himself up so neat and clean, she’d be stunned. The thought of seeing her close up made Adam shiver, and he tugged the quilt up to his chin.