Warhead

by Jeff Henigson

  I had just closed the book with all those numbers when the librarian stopped by my table. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  My whole face was crumpled into a frown. I could feel it. “Oh, yeah, fine,” I said, straightening in my chair.

  “Well, this was just returned,” she said, holding up a book with a smiling little girl on its cover. The title was Journey to the Soviet Union. I accepted it from the librarian and thanked her.

  Samantha Smith wasn’t the best writer—she was the kid on the cover and the author of the book—but her story was amazing. It was also pretty heartwarming, especially considering the super-dark stuff I’d just been through. When Samantha was just ten, she wrote a letter to the head of the Soviet Union, Yuri Andropov, asking why they wanted to blow us up. He wrote her back, saying they desired peace, and he invited her to visit. She went the following year.

  The librarian came by a while later to tell me that the library was closing. I pointed to Samantha’s book. “I really loved this one,” I said.

  “It’s delightful,” she answered. “I wish that young girl was still with us.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “She died in a plane crash with her father.”

  My hand flew to my chest.

  “In the Soviet Union?”

  “No, back home. She was in one of those small planes.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I must’ve just sat there blinking, because after a while the librarian gave me a sad smile. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “But the library is closing.”

  * * *

  •

  The interview with the Starlight Children’s Foundation took place just a few weeks after my visit to the library. It was a Sunday, and I’d slept in late, lying in bed after waking up with a smile on my face, finding it hard to believe things were actually moving forward. A week before, a Starlight representative had called to let me know that I’d qualified for a wish, and the next step was the interview. Only one parent technically needed to be present for it, but I wanted both of mine to be there.

  Dad had calmed down a bit since the night when the Jeep got stolen, yet he seemed distant. I’d been wondering if he was still angry with me. Mom encouraged me to invite him to the interview, but I held off. At dinner on Saturday night, the day before the volunteer couple was coming over to our house, she brought it up.

  “Jeff, tell your father about the interview.”

  “What interview would that be?” Dad asked.

  I wiped my lips with my napkin and sat up straight. “Some volunteers from the Starlight Children’s Foundation are coming over tomorrow afternoon to interview me about my wish.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d made one.”

  “I haven’t yet. That’s what we’re going to talk about.”

  “I see,” Dad said.

  Mom looked at me. “And?” she said.

  “So maybe you could sit in on the interview, if you want. I mean, they’d like you to.”

  “I see,” Dad said again. He stayed quiet.

  Mom turned to him.

  “Bob, did you hear your son?”

  “I did, Phyllis. I’m afraid I have to head to the office this weekend.”

  I felt a lump in my stomach. I was a fool to even think he might no longer be upset with me.

  Mom frowned. “Well, I’m sure I can have them come another time, Bob. When would work for you?” I couldn’t believe she said that. She hardly ever pushed Dad.

  For several seconds, Dad rubbed his jaw, finally pinching the tip of his beard. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go ahead with the meeting tomorrow.”

  The morning of the interview, after showering and putting on some nice clothes, I headed upstairs. I was grabbing the milk out of the fridge when I practically bumped into Mom, turning the corner with a stack of fine china. She looked a little winded—she’d probably been scurrying all around the house, standard practice for her when people were coming over.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  Mom set down the plates and put a hand on my shoulder. My eyes shot to the carport. Dad’s slot was empty. “You’ve got to be kidding, Mom,” I said, shaking my head. “Did he actually ditch me? Is he at his office?”

  “I’m sorry, Jeff,” she said.

  I pushed her hand away. “Why are you sorry? Why bother? You can’t do anything. It’s me. I’m the problem, Mom. He doesn’t want to spend time with me.”

  “That’s not it, honey,” she said.

  “Then tell me what it is.” I watched her. She searched for something to say, but found nothing. “See? I knew it.”

  Then I noticed the pools forming in Mom’s eyes. In an instant, my rage drained out. It was replaced with guilt. How could I put all my problems with Dad on Mom’s shoulders?

  I gave her a long hug. “I’m sorry.” With one arm still around her, I quickly wiped my own eyes. “Honestly, Mom, everything is cool. Let’s do this meeting.”

  She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Okay,” she said. “Have some breakfast. I’ve got to finish getting ready.”

  The folks from Starlight arrived exactly on time. When the doorbell rang, Mom emerged from her room beautifully dressed. I buzzed them in so they could open the gate from the street.

  A couple walked down the stairs. They looked like total yuppies, neatly dressed and nicely tanned, with perfect hair. We greeted them at the front door, along with Amiga, who gave them a comprehensive sniffing. They introduced themselves as Matt and Teri Haymer.

  “It’s an honor to have you here,” Mom said elegantly, and she escorted everyone to the living room.

  My eyes almost popped out when we got there. It wasn’t just the fine china that Mom had been carrying, which was beautifully set up on the coffee table. There were also crystal water glasses, bowls full of fresh fruit, and a serving tray loaded with cookies. We hardly ever have cookies in our house. She’d seriously prepared.

  We chitchatted for a while, until Teri asked if I’d come up with my wish. “We understand from your mother that you’ve got a deep interest in the U.S. space program.”

  “That’s definitely true,” I said to Teri. I focused on her eyes. There was something I had to get out of the way. “You don’t think there would be any way to get me on the next space shuttle flight, do you?”

  Mom was sipping from her coffee cup; she actually spit some out.

  Matt jumped in. “I can say with confidence that the organization would be unable to grant a wish like that.”

  Mom exhaled sharply, wiping her lips. I sighed. Teri gave me a sympathetic smile.

  “I figured. I mean, I knew that. I just had to ask. Anyway, I’ve been trying to come up with something more meaningful.”

  “What do you find meaningful?” Teri asked.

  “Like maybe doing something good for the world, not just for me.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Jeff,” Teri said.

  Matt leaned in. “Do you have anything in mind?”

  “Kind of. Do you know that girl who wrote a letter to the head of the Soviet Union a few years ago, Samantha Smith?” I’d been thinking about her off and on since my visit to the library.

  “Yes,” Matt said.

  “I remember her,” Mom said. “Didn’t we see her on TV?”

  I nodded.

  “I think she wrote a book,” Teri said.

  “I just read it. And I found out she died in a plane crash a few years later.” Mom winced, touching her lips. “Anyway, she didn’t live very long, but she did something meaningful.” I looked at Matt, then Teri, then my mom. “That’s what I mean by something meaningful. Something that could build bridges, that could matter, you know, beyond me. I just can’t quite figure out what.”

  I reached for my water glass and took a sip, my eyes shifting towa
rd the wall of windows behind Teri and Matt. I could just make out the hills across from us. The smog made them seem so distant. Even the sun was obscured, the normally yellow daylight more orange. It reminded me of a picture I’d seen at the library, of a nuclear detonation in French Polynesia in the 1970s, with the orange gaseous plume of the explosion penetrating grayish-white clouds.

  “Wait a second,” I said. Something was coming to me.

  “Tell us,” Teri said.

  “I want to follow in Samantha Smith’s footsteps. Not just play with Soviet kids, though. My wish is to travel to the Soviet Union and meet with Mikhail Gorbachev so that we can discuss bringing an end to nuclear weapons and the Cold War.”

  Mom’s jaw dropped. Teri and Matt looked at each other, smiling, eyebrows raised.

  “That’s quite a wish,” Matt said.

  Teri nodded. “Indeed it is. It’s also a really big one. Just in case we can’t make it happen, do you have another?”

  “A backup?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” Teri said.

  I thought about it for a second. What I’d come up with definitely wasn’t something for kids. It was substantive, truly meaningful. It might even make my father proud.

  I shook my head. “It’s my only wish. If you can’t grant it, I’d totally understand, but I don’t want anything else.”

  * * *

  •

  “That was the most absolutely fantastic meeting in the history of the universe,” I said to my mom after Matt and Teri left. I plopped myself on the couch in the living room, leaning back against the pillows with my fingers locked behind my head, feeling completely satisfied. Mom didn’t say anything. She was loading a tray with coffee cups and dirty plates. “Mom, wasn’t that just amazing? I mean, I didn’t even know what I was going to wish for going in, but it all came together so perfectly.”

  “It was definitely interesting,” she said. She kept stacking plates. I sat up, raising an eyebrow and wrinkling my nose.

  “Interesting?” I said. “You don’t think that was the world’s most perfect wish?”

  Mom’s eyes were pointed at the floor. “I’m just not sure how safe it is to travel to the Soviet Union.” She looked up at me. “The Communists happen to be our enemies, you know.”

  Oh. My mother was freaking out.

  I hopped to my feet and pulled my mom over to the couch. She sat down with me. I cupped her hands in mine. “Mom, think about that little girl, Samantha. She went there when she was ten. She came back in one piece. Plus, I can absolutely guarantee you that Dad is going to be blown away by this wish. He soooo wants to end nukes.”

  Mom wasn’t convinced. “You’re sure it’s safe to go there?”

  I put on the most confident face I could and squeezed her hands. “Mom, I’m absolutely completely totally one hundred percent certain.” I honestly was. If a preteen could go there all by her lonesome and come back without incident, an almost-adult wasn’t going to have the slightest problem.

  “Okay,” she said, sighing. I let go of her hands. She stood to pick up the tray.

  I leapt to my feet and snatched it. “Let the cancer-conquering purveyor of world peace get this,” I said. That finally got her to laugh, and boy, was I grateful.

  Even though I was furious with my dad for missing the meeting with the Starlight folks, I wanted to tell him about the wish. He made it home in time for dinner, which I wasn’t expecting—Ted did, too—and I decided to share the news with everybody.

  Dad interjected just as I began. “Excuse me,” he said, “but I wanted to say that I regret missing today’s meeting with the wish-granting organization.”

  “The Starlight Children’s Foundation,” I said.

  “Yes, that one. I simply had too much work on my plate. But I am eager to hear how things transpired.”

  Ted and I looked at each other. We’d only heard an apology from our father once, when we were seven and nine and he came home angry one evening. He clomped down the outside stairs with his briefcase in a death grip, and then, at the dinner table, shared an animated story about how the judge that afternoon had ruled against his client. He was quiet for a few seconds when he finished, but then his jaw started flexing, and everyone’s tension grew. Suddenly, he slammed his fist onto the dinner table, hitting it so hard that his wineglass launched into the air. It shattered when it came back down, leaving pieces of glass in the chicken and rice Mom had cooked for us. Dad stopped by our rooms that night to apologize, saying, “My behavior at the dinner table this evening was discourteous and undignified.”

  I didn’t know what either of those words meant, and I’m not sure Ted did either, but we could tell he was saying he was sorry, and we never heard that from him again. Until now.

  But I didn’t focus on that. I went through the details of the afternoon meeting. When I got to the part about asking if I could get onto the next space shuttle flight, Ted shook his head in amazement, his jaw dropping. “You on the space shuttle? No way. Is that even possible?” I loved his reaction. I looked for one on Dad’s face, but there was nothing there.

  I told them I wanted my wish to be more meaningful.

  “More meaningful than going to outer space?” Ted asked.

  I nodded and smiled. “Yup, more meaningful.” I told them how the conversation with the Starlight people switched to the Cold War and nuclear weapons, and then I revealed my wish. I was happy to get it out there. I even felt proud of myself. I leaned back in my chair, grinned, and looked around the table for reactions. Ted, for once, was stunned into silence. Mom was beaming. Dad’s face hadn’t changed at all.

  I watched as Dad poured himself another glass of wine. He asked Mom if she wanted any. She said no. He took a long sip and let it swirl around in his mouth, like he did when we went to nice restaurants and the waiters gave him a taste from the bottle he’d ordered. Still he didn’t say anything, or seem to notice that the whole table was waiting for him to speak.

  “Was your wish accepted?” Dad finally asked.

  “They’re considering it,” I said, straightening in my chair. “Why?”

  “I’m simply curious,” Dad said.

  I waited for more. He just sat there, occasionally sipping from his glass. It really seemed like not only was he not proud, but he just didn’t care. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe that was all he had to say. Slowly, I squeezed my eyes shut, furious.

  “I’ve got some calls to make,” I heard Ted say as he pushed back from the table.

  “Please clear your plate, honey,” Mom told him.

  I felt so small. So completely unimportant to my father. If that was all he had to say, it meant he didn’t care about me. He didn’t want me in his life. Hell, he couldn’t even say “I love you.” Maybe it was because he didn’t.

  After several seconds, I opened my eyes. I fixed them on my father’s. “Is your curiosity”—I said that word slowly—“producing any other questions?”

  Mom, picking up on my frustration, turned to me. “Jeff,” she pleaded.

  “What, Mom? I want to make sure I answer all of Dad’s questions. Is there a problem with that?” She moaned and rubbed her forehead.

  “I have none at the moment,” he said. It felt like confirmation of everything I’d suspected, of my father not caring if I was in his life.

  I started to cry.

  “You know what I think, Dad?”

  He was silent.

  “I think life would be easier for you if the tumor had killed me.”

  “Jeff!” Mom said, gasping. Dad stiffened, but he didn’t speak.

  I grabbed my napkin out of my lap and threw it on the table. “Don’t you worry, Dad. The doctors seem pretty sure it’s going to come back.”

  He stayed quiet as I stormed off to my room.

  * * *

  •

 
An hour later, downstairs, after telling Mom I didn’t want to hear any excuses for the jerk she’d married and sending her back upstairs, I decided I really needed to call someone. I’d been avoiding Monique, since she didn’t seem too supportive of any wish that wasn’t one hundred percent pure fun, but my only other option was Paul, and I knew he’d be busy doing something with his family. I figured I’d better call Monique.

  She was happy to hear from me. “I was wondering when you’d call me back. Is everything okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Things are fine.” They weren’t, not at all, but I didn’t want to waste a single word talking about my dad. “How are you?”

  “I’m really good, thanks. But I want a wish update. Have you come up with anything?”

  I felt my stomach tighten. “Yup,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Actually, I met with the Starlight people.”

  “Oh my God, Jeff—how come you didn’t tell me? I mean, that’s fantastic! Did you give them your wish?”

  “I did.”

  “Tell me!”

  I drew in a breath and blew it out. “I asked to travel to the Soviet Union so that I could meet with Mikhail Gorbachev and make an appeal for an end to nuclear weapons and the Cold War.”

  “Oh,” Monique said. For several seconds, she was silent, not that different from what had gone down upstairs. I kept quiet, just breathing into the phone. She finally added, “I mean, that sounds really good.”

  “You sound about as enthusiastic as my dad.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just—”

  “What?” I said sharply. I felt a surge of anger go through me.

  “Well, you seemed really excited when you were talking about catching a ride on the space shuttle.”

  “The Starlight people vetoed it. Even if they hadn’t, the missions have been grounded ever since Challenger exploded last year. And if Starlight said yes and the space shuttle flights were running, do you really think NASA would let brain-tumor boy hop onto one of them? Not a damn chance.”

  Once again, Monique was quiet. “I just want to make sure you’re doing something you love,” she finally said softly.