Cross Roads (15 page)

They arrived at the supported academic classroom where Cabby, and therefore Tony, would spend the better part of the day. The learning area for the developmentally delayed, which served about a dozen young adults in all, shared a campus with a local high school full of typically developing peers but was separated from the main building. Activity was constant, and Tony was repeatedly amazed by the skills
that Cabby had mastered despite his disabilities. His reading level was only prekindergarten, but he could do simple math. Cabby especially excelled in the use of a calculator, stashing two away in his backpack that he had secretly appropriated during the course of the morning. He also had considerable skill in writing words, almost as if they were drawings, which he adeptly copied from the whiteboard into one of many notebooks already filled with them.

Tony stayed quiet, trying not to draw attention to either himself or Cabby. The young man clearly understood the shared secret, but at every opportunity during the day he would find a mirror, lean close to it, and whisper, “Tah-Ny?”

“Yes, Cabby, I’m still here.”

Cabby would grin, make one sharp nod, and off they would be running again.

The kindness and patience of the teachers and staff, along with some of the high school students who dropped in to help, surprised Tony. How many people, he wondered, put time and care into the lives of others every day?

For lunch, Cabby ate reheated leftover burritos from breakfast, a cheese stick, and some Fig Newtons. Each one seemed his favorite food ever. Gym class was a combination of dance and a comedy of errors, but everyone survived. Tony was unaccustomed and captive to this world, but felt a grounding reality in each experience. This was life, ordinary yet extraordinary and unexpected. Where had he been all these years?
Hiding
was the answer that came to mind. It might not be the whole truth of it, but it certainly was a part.

Spending time with these children was both unexpected delight and difficult, his failures as a parent painfully obvious. He had tried diligently for a time, even read books on fathering and given it his best business try, but
after Gabriel… he had left such matters to Loree and returned to the safer world of performance and production and property. Any pang of regret that surfaced throughout the day, he would push back into the closets and corners of his soul where they could be better ignored.

Maggie arrived on time, still dressed in hospital scrubs. When she entered she lit up the room, her carriage professional and her personality gregarious. After she carted them home in her dented car, she busied herself cleaning a chicken, preparing some fixings, and tossing them into the oven to bake. Cabby, a little peeved that neither of his two new calculators had made it through final school checkout, occupied himself with puzzles, some coloring, and an extended battle on
Zelda
, a video game he had mastered. Every few minutes he would whisper “Tay-Ny?” just to check in, and when Tony responded, he was always rewarded with a grin.

When the chicken had cooled enough, Cabby washed up and quickly and efficiently removed the meat from the bones. His hands were a greasy mess, as was his chin and his mouth, into which scraps of favorite pieces had mysteriously found their way. Supper was simply the addition of mashed potatoes and a few cooked carrots.

“Cabby, do you need help picking out some clothes for church?” asked Maggie.

“I’ll help you,” whispered Tony, as if Maggie could hear him.

“Nah,” whispered Cabby, grinning as he headed to his room.

The two explored Cabby’s closet and drawers until they agreed on just the right outfit: jeans, belt, a long-sleeved shirt that had snaps instead of buttons, and a pair of black Velcro sneakers. It took time dressing and the belt was a
particular challenge, but finally finished, Cabby bustled back to the kitchen to present himself to Maggie.

“Look at you,” exclaimed Maggie. “You are such a handsome young man and you picked out all this by yourself?”

“Tay…,” Cabby began.

“Shhhhh!” hushed Tony.

“Shhhhh!” whispered Cabby, his finger to his lips.

“What do you mean, ‘Shhhhh!’?” Maggie laughed. “There is no way I am going to shush about how handsome and grown-up my Cabby is. I think I will announce it to the whole world. You go run along and play for a few minutes while I get ready for church.”

Church
, thought Tony. He hadn’t set foot inside one of those since his last foster family had been religious. He and Jake had been required to sit silently for what seemed hours, on hard wooden pews that seemed built to torment. Despite the discomfort they often managed to fall asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the monotone monologue of the preacher. He smiled to himself, remembering how he and Jake had schemed together and “gone forward” one night at church, thinking it would win them points with the family, which it did. The attention their conversions garnered was initially rewarding, but it soon became clear that “asking Jesus into your heart” dramatically increased expectations for strict obedience to a host of rules they hadn’t anticipated. He soon became a “backslider,” in a category, he discovered, that was profoundly worse than being pagan in the first place. It was difficult enough surviving as a foster child. A foster child who had fallen from grace was magnitudes worse.

But both Maggie and Cabby seemed excited to attend, and Tony was curious. Perhaps things had changed during the years of his absence.

Maggie, a zaftig looker of a woman, applied a reasonably visible layer of makeup, donned a comely dress that enhanced her most fetching features, and put on red high heels that matched her clutch. She gave herself the once-over in the mirror, smoothing out a few wrinkles while sucking in ever so slightly, before she nodded approval, gathered her coat, and took Cabby by the hand.

It didn’t take them long to reach the parking lot of Maranatha Holy Ghost Church of God in Christ, the good-sized city church that Maggie attended and Cabby often visited. It was midweek service and also youth night, so the place was full of hustle and bustle, the young and old in a mixing bowl of enthusiasm and holy intention. Tony was impressed at the blend of race and age, the financially secure rubbing shoulders with the less so. The ease of interactions was surprising, as was the general sense of kindness and community. This was different than he remembered.

Along their way toward the children’s classrooms, Maggie stopped and chatted with this or that person, her personality magnetic and charming. She was engrossed in one of these conversations when Tony heard Cabby whisper, “Tah-Ny?”

“I’m here, Cabby. What is it?” he asked.

“See?” He was pointing across the room at a young couple, a pair of teenagers enamored only with each other. They were oblivious to the world around them, holding hands and whispering harmless nonsense. Their universe was just to be near each other. Inwardly, Tony smiled. It had been a long time since he had stopped to notice innocent love. When, he wondered, had he forgotten that it even existed.

Cabby, however, seemed a bit agitated, as if he were tugging at Tony’s arm.

“What is it, Cabby? Are you okay?” he asked.

“Grl-frund,” Cabby mumbled.

“Cabby,” responded Tony, thinking that he understood. “That girl? You like her?”

“Ya… no.” He shook his head. “Cnabby want…”

Cabby wanted. Tony understood. He felt the raw, passionate aching in Cabby and sensed the single hot tear that climbed slowly from the corner of Cabby’s eye and rolled silently down his face. This young man somehow knew that a sweetness lay outside his power to have or hold, and he was sharing this longing with him. Cabby would never experience a gift that Tony had treated with callous disdain—the love of a girl. Cabby treasured what he had handled with reckless contempt. Again Tony realized how shallow were his assumptions regarding the maturity of this sixteen-year-old’s heart. It was not a painful, shaming self-judgment, but an exposure and uncomfortable. It seemed Tony was growing a conscience, and he wasn’t sure he wanted one.

I’m such an ass
, Tony thought.

“I am really sorry, Cabby,” he barely whispered.

Cabby nodded, still watching the two. “Sun-dy,” he whispered back.

Maggie, tugging on his hand, continued their walk, Tony silent and shaken. They reached the designated room, and as she signed Cabby into his class, Tony heard a couple of boys snickering, one of them loud enough to be heard, “There’s that ’tard!”

Cabby heard, too, and turned to face the boys. Through Cabby’s eyes, Tony saw a pair of gawky junior high boys snickering and pointing in his direction. Cabby did his best to come up with the appropriate response, but gave them the wrong finger—his index finger, straight up with arm
bent at the elbow—not quite remembering what he had been taught by his schoolmates.

“Wrong finger, Cabby, use the middle one,” Tony suggested. Cabby looked at his hand, trying to decide which was the middle one, and quickly gave up, raising both hands and wriggling all his fingers in their direction.

“Ha!” Tony laughed. “That’s it, give them all the fingers! Well done!”

Cabby looked down with a grin, delighted with the praise, but it made him self-conscious. He held up one hand, waving it slightly. “Stop,” he said, embarrassed.

“Oh, pay those boys no mind, Cabby,” encouraged Maggie. “They weren’t brought up properly. They’re not even smart enough to know what sort of ignoramuses they are. Anyway, I’ve got you all signed in, and I’ll be back in about an hour to fetch you home. Lots of your friends are here and Miss Alisa. You remember Miss Alisa, don’t you?”

He nodded his approval and was about to head into class when inexplicably he turned into the corner near the doorjamb and whispered, “Bye, Tah-Ny!” Tony was caught off guard and before he could say anything, Cabby turned and buried himself into Maggie’s arms, giving her a huge hug.

“My goodness,” expressed Maggie. “Cabby, are you okay?”

He looked up and nodded, smiling with his wide heart-filled grin.

“Good!” said Maggie. “Now, if you need me, someone will come get me, but I’ll be back regardless in a little while.”

“ ’Kay!” he acknowledged, and then he waited.

As Maggie had done a thousand times before, she leaned down and let Cabby kiss her forehead. This time she felt a breeze sweep through her body.
Wow
, she thought.
Holy Spirit, I will have more of that, please!
and after giving Cabby another squeeze, headed toward the service.

Tony was sliding again.

He knew instantly what had happened, but only now figured out the jump’s catalyst. It was the kiss that allowed him to slide. It felt exactly the same as before, face up and back, warm and embracing, and then he was viewing the world through Maggie’s eyes. The childlike wonder and simple colors—bright reds and greens and blues—of Cabby’s soul had been exchanged for an older, more crafted environment, with deep textures and patterns, complexity, along with a breadth of space and maturity.

Maggie, oblivious to the intrusion, decided to stop off at the powder room on her way to the sanctuary. She nodded hellos and greeted many of the other women before she checked herself out in the mirror, made a last-minute adjustment to her dress, and was about to leave when she decided she had better pee. One never knew for certain how long these services might last, and once started she didn’t want to miss anything.

Tony panicked. Maggie was just about to undo the necessities when he yelled, “Stop!” He did not know what else to do.

That is exactly what Ms. Maggie Saunders did. She stopped—stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped unbuttoning, stopped everything, for almost five seconds. Then she screamed at the top of her voice, “Man! There’s a man in here!”

Like a cannon blast full of confetti, the women exploded out of the ladies’ room in individual and corporate disarray.
Somehow in the exiting wave, Maggie successfully buttoned up. Gesticulating and hyperventilating, she attempted to explain to a cluster of women who stood outside the door and to the three ushers who had come running because of the commotion. They calmed her down somewhat, got her story, and approached the bathroom with considerable caution. What followed was a careful search of every stall, including the mop closet at the back of the room, turning up nothing. She made them look again, reiterating that a man had certainly spoken to her, even though none of the other women had heard anything, excepting Georgia Jones, who was ever hopeful a man would talk to her.

After confirming there was no man in the women’s restroom, the ushers gathered around Maggie.

“Maybe it was the Lord, Ms. Maggie?” offered one of the ushers, trying to be helpful. “We looked everywhere, and there is no way for a man to get outta there without being seen.”

“I am so sorry,” she apologized. “I really don’t know what to say, but I did hear a man in there and he did say, ‘Stop,’ I’m sure of it.”

Since there was nothing else that could be done, the group began to disperse. None of the women who had exited, however, were inclined to reenter the ladies’ room. None except Maggie. Thoroughly embarrassed, she was determined to go back in there and see for herself. If Tony could have banged his head against a wall, he would have. What was with this woman?