An Ocean in Iowa (14 page)

“Say thank you,” Claire urged, but the Judge gestured for her to be silent.

“I saw that,” Scotty wanted to say. “I see everything.” He lifted the helmet and unwrapped the plastic that surrounded it. His fingers traced the white horns. The brightness of the Minnesota Vikings purple was as brilliant as a grape gum ball—he pulled the helmet over his head. The gray plastic face guard had two bars, like a quarterback’s helmet. Protection and visibility were both important. Two plastic holes muffled the sound.

“Can you hear us?” Claire asked.

Yes, I can hear you, Scotty thought. But he said nothing.

“I think he likes it, Dad,” Maggie said.

The Judge smiled and said, “Well, it’s what he wanted.”

***

Tom Conway knocked on the door around ten that morning, out of breath with the news that they’d been given a collie puppy.

Before Scotty showed Tom what he got, he put on the helmet. Only then did Scotty begin to show his other toys. “This is Fort Cheyenne. Indians and Cowboys fight their fights. The river divides them.” They assembled his new Hot Wheels track. Long orange plastic strips held together by purple connectors. Scotty had two loop-the-loops and he and Tom stretched track all over the living room, and played until Tom got bored.

After Tom Conway left, Scotty continued to wear the helmet. He even ate with it on. Maggie complained that the Christmas meal should be eaten in the best conditions. “Scotty’s helmet makes it impossible for me to take this meal seriously.”

Claire spoke gently. “You’re getting gravy on the face mask part.”

Scotty did not care. He wanted to wear it.

The Judge, hating the bickering, said in a resolute voice, the same voice he used when sentencing a criminal, “It’s a great day to wear a helmet.”

Victory. The helmet remained on and Scotty continued eating, occasionally leaving traces of food on the face guard. The chin strap made chewing difficult. He unsnapped it but the helmet began slipping all about so he snapped it back on. It made a loud
click
sound when he fastened it. No one looked at him, though. No one watched how he struggled: his bottom jaw unable to move, the top jaw and the head above it rising up and down. But it was good. Scotty was safe, the Minnesota Vikings helmet on his head, shoulder pads tied tightly, prepared in case. In case the roof caved in. In case a scout drove by and the team needed another player. In case a bullet from Vietnam came shooting through the back door. Scotty was prepared.

And so he waited.

It would be a week before school resumed.

By the third day after Christmas, all interest in the new toys had been exhausted. Television took up most of Scotty’s time. He watched his favorite shows—
Bonanza, My Three Sons, Family Affair. The Courtship of Eddie’s Father
.

New and Improved Tide laundry detergent was being advertised. New and Improved toilet paper. New and Improved soap.

Scotty stared blankly at the TV. He never told his dad or his sisters or even Tom Conway the whereabouts of his heart. He knew it was gone.

But he had his brain and that was what really mattered. With his brain he would outsmart his heart.

(1)

Bev Fowler held her new Betsy Wetsy in one hand and the Betsy Wetsy tote bag in the other. Pushing up her black horn-rimmed glasses, Bev said, “I like that she drinks, cries real tears, and wets her diaper.” She lifted up Betsy Wetsy for everyone to see.

“Make her cry,” Scotty called out.

Bev inserted a pink baby bottle filled with water into the doll’s rubber mouth.

“Thank you, Bev,” Mrs. Boyden said.

“Make her cry!”

“That’s enough, Scotty.” Then turning to Bev, Mrs. Boyden said, “Only a good girl would get such a nice gift. Have a seat.”

“But in a minute she’ll wet her pants….”

“Very good, Bev. You’ll make a wonderful mother one day. Next.”

Bev reluctantly moved to her desk, where later, unnoticed, she would change Betsy’s diaper.

“Who wants to go next?”

Hands shot above heads—fingers stretching—class members eager to show and tell. Scotty waited quietly with his arms folded. He wanted to go last.

Other boys couldn’t wait. Richard Hibbs showed his new underwater G.I. Joe; Dan Burkhett the G.I. Joe motorcycle with sidecar, and Chip Fisher the G.I. Joe jeep and trailer with lighted searchlight.

“Good boys, all of you,” Mrs. Boyden said. “And once again G.I. Joe seems to be very popular.”

Shari Tussey showed a blue saucer sled with yellow plastic handgrips. Ruth Rethman got a Kenner Easy Bake oven, which was too big for show-and-tell, so she held the torn page from the Sears catalog. She told how she’d already made brownies and devil’s food cake. Jimmy Lamson got Feeley-Meeley and the Game of Life; he couldn’t decide which to show, so he brought both.

“I’m lucky to have so many good students. Yes, I’m lucky.”

Throughout the classroom, those who hadn’t been called on switched arms, and continued to wave and stretch, eager for their turn.

Brian and Harry Hammer, the twins, went next. They each held a walkie-talkie. They pulled out the antennas, which extended almost two feet. “These are deluxe ones,” Brian said.

For their demonstration, Brian remained standing in front of the class while Harry went out into the hall.

“Can you read me?” Brian said. “Over.”

Harry’s voice came back with static. “I can read you. Over.”

“Where are you? Over.”

“I’m in the hallway. Over.”

“Uhm. Can you still read me? Over.”

“I can still read you. Over.”

Mrs. Boyden told Brian to call Harry back.

“Mrs. Boyden said for you to come back.”

Harry returned and some of the kids clapped.

“You must have been
very
good,” Mrs. Boyden said. And the Hammer twins smiled and took their seats.

Then Mrs. Boyden called on Scotty.

“I’m not ready,” he said.

“Well, it’s your turn.”

“No.”

“I hope we don’t run out of time.”

Time.

Scotty glanced at the clock on the wall, the red arm circling the clock face. He looked at his watch with the glow-in-the-dark hands. His classmates were waiting, and Scotty worried as he watched the second hand tick. If he didn’t show his favorite gift now, he might not get to show at all. So he grabbed the grocery sack at his feet and sped down the aisle. In front of the class he lifted the Minnesota Vikings helmet out of the grocery sack. He put it on his head and snapped the chin strap. He pointed to the helmet. He smacked at it with an open hand. Carole Staley giggled. Her father had been a football player in college, and she liked football. Then Scotty held the jersey over his head. He lifted up the plastic shoulder pads and the football pants with padding sewn into the knees.

“You must’ve been good, too,” Mrs. Boyden said.

Scotty leaned over the nearest desk, as if inviting Craig Hunt to pound the helmet. Craig took a whap and Mrs. Boyden said, “Now boys.”

Scotty turned and ran, his head down, and thumped into the concrete brick wall. He looked up, dazed slightly from the collision, and did a dramatic drop to the floor where he lay motionless. He squeezed his eyes shut and strained to listen for any reaction he was getting. But the helmet’s small ear holes made it difficult to hear. So Scotty stood, only to discover the class had gone on. Christine Bettis was standing in front of the class demonstrating her
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
car. With the touch of the brake lever, the colorful red and yellow wings flicked out. Some kids went “Oooo.”

Scotty made it back to his seat where he continued to wear his helmet in protest.

The rest of the children showed their favorite toys. Leann Callahan held up her Peggy Fleming ice skates. Tom Conway told about the collie puppy their father got them. The Conways named their puppy Lassie. “Because she looks just like Lassie,” Tom said. Craig Hunt, who went with his family to California for the holidays, told about his trip to Disneyland. He passed around pictures of the Disney castle and of Craig standing with Mickey Mouse in front of the Matterhorn.

As Craig was finishing, a knock came on the classroom door. Mrs. Boyden opened the door and said to the unseen person, “We’ve been waiting for you.” Tim Myerly’s mother, dressed in a pink parka, entered the room holding up a cage wrapped with an insulated blanket.

Tim Myerly stood and moved to the front of the class. His mother leaned over and whispered in his ear. Tim told the class to close their eyes. Scotty pretended to but squinted. He saw Tim’s mother unwrap the blanket.

“Okay, open.”

When the others opened their eyes, they saw what Scotty
had already seen—in the cage sat a green and yellow bird with a black beak the size of a grown man’s thumb.

“Does it talk?” was the first question.

“No—but it sings.”

“And it likes TV,” the mother added.

While the other kids looked at the bird, Scotty studied the mother. She wore a pink ribbon in her hair and her lips were made up to match. She was short, with black hair, wavy like cake frosting, ivory skin, and large, brown, Bambi-like eyes. She was the prettiest mother he had ever seen.

Scotty blurted out the first question that came to him. “Does the bird get lonely?”

Mrs. Boyden glared at Scotty. Not only did he not raise his hand, but he was still wearing his helmet.

Tim and his mother looked around for the person who had spoken.

Scotty said it again: “Does the bird get lonely?”

Tim Myerly stood motionless. He was stumped by Scotty’s question. He knew his bird’s age, its natural habitat, and favorite foods. He knew every fact imaginable, for his father had drilled him on the facts. But he knew nothing of feelings. Feelings were never considered, and the longer Tim stood unable to speak, the more Scotty wanted to look at Tim’s mother. Tim turned to her. She turned to Scotty and, without acknowledging the helmet, said something.

The helmet muffled her voice. Scotty stopped breathing in an attempt to hear better, but he didn’t catch a word.

“We try to give Tim’s bird the best home imaginable” was what she said.

Scotty nodded. Whatever she said must be right.

Then Mrs. Boyden allowed the students in small groups to
approach the cage and get a closer look. Scotty stayed seated. Mrs. Myerly sweetly answered the students’ questions. He studied how her mouth moved, and when it was his turn, he felt too shy to move toward her.

***

At noon Leann Callahan’s new lunch pail provided the boys with conversation material. Dome shaped, the pail was painted to look like a loaf of bread. The thermos was a replica of a Campbell’s tomato soup can. No one had ever seen a lunch pail quite like it before.

“Stupid,” Dan Burkhett said. “A loaf of bread. What a stupid thing.”

While the other boys laughed, Scotty (with his helmet still strapped to his head) sat across from Tim Myerly. In the weeks since Tim had moved to Iowa, the two of them had never really talked. And now Scotty didn’t know how to start. He looked to see what was packed in Tim’s Snoopy lunch pail: Snack Pack pudding, a bag of Fritos, a banana with the blue and white Chiquita sticker still on, a bologna sandwich, and a Twinkie. Tim’s thermos was filled with chicken noodle soup. He also had a milk card, which got him a small square carton each lunch. That day Tim had chosen chocolate milk, which he sipped through a white plastic straw.

Scotty broke off bite-size portions of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and fed himself through his face mask. He had his usual bare-bones lunch. The daily peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder bread, a Baggie full of Highland potato chips, a small, bruised apple, and a handful of butterscotch candies.

Not knowing what to say exactly, Scotty proposed a trade.

“My butterscotch candies for your Twinkie.”

“No,” Tim Myerly said.

“Okay,” Scotty said. “My potato chips for your pudding.”

“No way,” Tim Myerly said.

“Your sticker for my candy?” Scotty asked.

But Tim took the Chiquita sticker, peeled it off his banana, and stuck it smack in the middle of his forehead.

It became clear—Tim Myerly didn’t want to trade.

***

Later, while holding up flash cards and reviewing subtraction, Mrs. Boyden asked Scotty for a third time to remove his helmet. When he didn’t, Mrs. Boyden moved quickly to the back where Scotty was sitting. Scotty watched as she headed toward him, but since he hadn’t heard her, he wasn’t prepared. She grabbed at his helmet, pulled it off with such force that it hurt his ears. “See me after class,” she snapped. She took the helmet to the front of the room, placed it under her desk, and continued with her lesson plan.

“Why is subtraction important, boys and girls?” Mrs. Boyden’s flash of anger had left her students stunned. “Subtraction evens things out.”

***

At the end of the day, Scotty waited at Mrs. Boyden’s desk. He held out his hands. “Helmet,” he seemed to be saying.

“Of course.”

She reached under her desk and lifted it up.

He quickly pulled it over his head, snapped the chin strap, and said, “You can’t keep taking things from me.” He turned and marched out of the room.

***

Mrs. Boyden knew that he was referring to his self-portrait. And she didn’t tell him what she had learned. On New Year’s Day, she bumped into Miss Clarissa Jude at the home of a mutual friend. She told Miss Jude that her students still talk about the wonderful day she came to visit. Miss Jude said that periodic visits to young artists in schools was part of her “giving back.” Mrs. Boyden mentioned Scotty Ocean’s naked self-portrait. Miss Jude paused and said with a smile, “I really had no choice. I tore the painting into little pieces and put it in the trash.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Boyden said.

“I thought, Someone has to take a stand. So, that was that.” Then Miss Jude said she’d be happy to come back anytime.

Mrs. Boyden said nothing to Miss Jude, but she had thoughts on the subject: I might not know anything about art, but never again will you teach my class.

***