Crowam 281 (11 page)

“The hell do I know. Women are complicated as hell, I tell you. An enigma.”

“So what happened?” Charles asked again.

“We started necking again, before I heard a knock on the window. A bloody cop looking right at her tits, I tell you. I tried making a break for it. But they caught us before we even had a chance.”

I had to admit. I’d never been with a girl, either. Not that I wasn’t interested in them or anything. I certainly have an appreciation for the opposite sex. Women are certainly the more attractive of the species. I could attest to that considering I’ve seen the rest of the lads change in the locker room before our morning exercise. A not pleasant sight I can assure you. When I was younger, playing ball with my friends was the only thing that mattered. Hormones changed all that.

Puberty does the strangest things to a kid. That held true when I saw Hannah...Being around boys all the time, Hannah awakened a sense of arousal I’d never experienced before. I imagined her naked. I’d never seen a girl naked before, except the ones from the nudie magazines. “Say Thomas, you’ve ever been with a girl?” I asked.

“I suppose you mean make love?”

“Make love? Hey, get a load of this, guys. Making love. What a romantic,” I said.

“Oh, leave him alone. He’s a gentle soul looking for love, aren’t you, Thomas?” Owen said.

“I suppose.”

“Love is overrated,” I said.

“Why do you say that?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, how do you really know you’re in love? I mean, take Felix for instance.”

“Yes,” Felix said.

“That girl you were with. Did you like her?”

“Sure I guess.”

“Did you love her?”

“Absolutely not. “

“Well there you go.”

“That was lust,” Thomas said.

“Yea, but how can you tell the difference? Maybe love is just lust mixed with confusion and heartache,” I said

Thomas started getting visibly upset. He didn’t appreciate my critique of conceptual love. “There is more to love than just lust and f***ing.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard Thomas curse. I didn’t know he had it in him. Of all the people who I’d heard say f**k in my life, Thomas said it the best. He said it with a bout of intelligence and strength. When other people say f**k, they threw the word around without any meaning.

“Love is about empathy,” Thomas said. “Showing compassion for another person. Where you feel a unique bond, a connection that you don’t feel with other people. Love can be found with a beautiful woman. A friend. The love of parents...”

From the back of the room, a boisterous sound erupted from the darkness. “Parents? Are you kidding me?” Tom said.

“I never kid,” Thomas retorted.

“Do you really believe that nonsense?”

“It’s not nonsense.”

“Parents and love. It’s all lies.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh really? Then explain to me why we were deserted. Why our parents left us.”

“Sometimes you can’t explain why certain things happen.”

“Oh, is that it? Should we just accept it?”

“It’s all about how you look at it. Maybe this was meant to happen. Perhaps things happen for a reason, maybe because were meant to meet others who will love us.”

“I got news for you, mate.” Tom laughed. “Nobody loves us. We’re outcasts. A bunch of good for nothings that nobody cares about. And when we leave this place, nobody is going to be waiting for us in front of those gates.”

“Well, you sure as hell know how to brighten the mood,” Felix said as he took a swig of vodka.

“I’m just telling the truth is all.”

“Oh, the truth. What the hell is the truth anyway? Just a reminder of how bad things are? Lies, splendid lies. We can create a whole world out of lies,” Felix said.

“So, I speak the truth?” Tom asked.

“You are a prophet, my dear boy. A true prophet,” Felix said.

“Are you being smart with me?”

“Oh, calm your temper. Here, have a drink.” Felix handed the vodka to Tom.

Tom smacked it away. The glass crashed and splintered on the floor. “You people are pathetic! Look at you. Sitting there with your vodka, talking about love, women, and all sorts of nonsense.”

“You don’t like women?” Owen asked.

Tom was taken aback suddenly, confused, stuttering at his words on what to say. “Why…. I…. sure I do.”

“Why is it nonsense then?” Owen asked.

“Because women are nothing but trouble.”

“Why that’s what’s fun about them my boy,” Felix said.

“Why, haven’t you ever done it?” I asked Tom.

“Done it?” Tom asked.

“Yea, with a girl?” I asked.

Tom became agitated by the questions, especially when they made him feel small despite his size. You could tell he was clueless on how to talk to a girl, even if his life depended on it. To compensate for his ignorance, he used his brute strength to bully his way through life. “I’ve been with plenty.”

I could tell he was a liar. He reminded me of my old roommate, William. He talked a good game, but was full of shit. I could spot a bullshitter from a mile away. Tom wasn’t even a good bullshitter.

“Why, I used to go steady with two girls at the same time.” You could hear a pin drop before the boys digested what Tom said. The boys erupted in laughter with a jubilant outburst. “What’s so funny?” Tom asked.

“Tom, you are a treat. You really are,” Owen said.

I sort of felt embarrassed for the kid. An overgrown child who couldn’t defend himself intellectually. “What the hell do you know?” Tom yelled.

“Hey take it easy there, chief,” I said.

“We’re just having a little fun with you,” Charles said.

“Why don’t you shut your face, fat boy,” Tom said to Charles.

“Hey, that’s uncalled for,” Thomas said.

“Uncalled for?”

“Yes. There is no need for insults.”

“Oh but you can insult me?”

“Nobody is insulting you.”

“Liars, all of you. Tom speaks speak the truth.” Felix said so himself.

“What truth is that?” Owen asked.

“That nobody loves us,” Felix said. “Parents, what parents? They are no parents waiting for us. Nobody to love us.”

The room deflated like a balloon. I’ll never forget Petey’s face. A little boy who’s inner flame grew dimmer by the day. Felix was the boisterous, flamboyant type who exhumed the trait of being a rational optimist. He simply told what he thought everyone else believed in, that the world forgot about us, and love was a commodity unsuitable for orphans. Yet, he made the best out of the circumstances by enjoying the little things. My conscious compelled me to say something. I don’t know what compelled me to. I just had to say something. “I had parents once.” The boys turned to me. Their faces aglow by the flickering candle. Petey’s eyes blew up. Their faces peaked with curiosity.

“What was it like?” Owen asked.

The boys inched closer, crowding around the candle, eager for a response. I treaded carefully as what to say. I felt like I opened up a Pandora’s box. “Well, I don’t know. There were a lot of great moments from what I remember.” Memories of my parents seemed to fade every waking day. It became harder to even remember what they looked like.

I tried thinking about the good times when we were together as a family. All I could remember was Christmas time. “My dad would buy this big Christmas tree from the back of Mr. Harrison’s liquor store, which turned into a makeshift Christmas tree lot. You should have seen my dad try to carry that thing up three flights of stairs to our little one bedroom apartment. I did my part to help, but I was too little to be of any use. My mom cooked this meatloaf with mashed potatoes.”

“Meatloaf! How was it?” Charles asked.

“Best damn meatloaf you could ever eat. You should have seen my mom when my dad brought the Christmas tree in the apartment. She would laugh at him because he would get upset that the tree would barely fit through the doorway. My mother had this aura about her that was angelic. When she was in your presence, you knew no matter what the circumstance were that things were going to be alright. She could light up any room she was in, more than the Christmas tree we decorated. We sat around the tree while we listened to the radio. My mom would talk for hours about all sorts of things. My dad wouldn’t say much. He just listened. He was a good listener. If I begged enough, they would let me open a present.”

"You had presents!" Petey yelled, jumping from a wooden stool in the corner.

“They let me open one present on Christmas Eve. I would beg them to open just one. After I opened my present, my mom would tuck me in for the night. I wouldn't sleep the whole night. I could feel my mom watching me through the sliver of my door, checking up on me, my back turned to her. I don't know why I ignored her. I knew she was there. I pretended to be asleep until she left. I don't know why I did that. All I cared about were the presents. I waited 'til the morning to wake up my parents. I rushed to the Christmas tree and opened the rest of my gifts.

“My dad had gotten me my first baseball mitt. I can still remember the leather. It was weathered and old, broken in like a true glove. The glove has always reminded me of a better time. It was the last Christmas I spent with my mom.”

The boys remained entranced, still digesting the recollection of my parents. The night was no longer young. The candle still flickering brightly as we retired for the evening.

Thomas and I went back to our rooms. I plopped back on my firm bed and started reading more of Dickens. "You should be proud of me. I'm about half way through. What do you think of that?" Thomas lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, visibly upset. "What's wrong?"

"You shouldn't have told them."

"About what?"

"Your parents."

"Why?"

"Because they are your memories and yours alone."

"You told me about your folks."

"That was different."

"Why?"

"I guess because I made an exception with you."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"You telling them about your parents. It gives them hope."

"What's wrong with a little bit of hope?"

"In our circumstances...everything."

"I thought you were a romantic."

"I am a romantic, but I'm also a realist. These boys still think some fine family is going to come and whisk them away from this place. Hope is not based on reality. It can be dangerous, devious even. When one's hopes are dashed, it can crush one's soul."

"Then what's the alternative? Just live life expecting the worst?"

"No. As I said, I'm a realist. It's just about accepting certain things as they are."

"I don't get you, Thomas. You talk about love and romance, yet you claim it's wrong to hope for something better."

"Our circumstances are very different. There are some things that cannot be explained, such as, why are we here, and I suppose there are some things worth hoping for, but to believe that any would-be parents will come for any of us? I just can't do that, Jake. I'm sorry."

"Your parents would still want you to believe."

"My parents are dead! They're dead and they're not coming back. Of all people, you should know what that feels like. Aren't you the least bit disillusioned about what has happened?"

"I don't wallow around in my own self-pity. Maybe that's why you stick your head in them books. So you can avoid the real world."

"The world in those books is far more genuine and better than the one we inhabit. That's where romance and love flourishes. That's where it's real and pure." Thomas stared back at the ceiling, his eyes swollen with sleep. "Memories are so intimate. Hold on to the ones you have and pray that new ones will help you sleep better at night." Thomas's eyes closed as he drifted off to sleep.

I grabbed my copy of Dickens and threw it across the room. The book smacked the wall and fell to the ground, failing to awaken Thomas. I should have just thrown the book at Thomas, who slept soundly that night, as I stayed up, tossing and turning for the remainder of the evening.

I once again sat on the examination table. She walked in, this time with her blonde hair in a tight bun. Her eyes were still as blue as before. "Why hello there, Mr. Hudson," she said.

"Hi Hannah." She placed her notepad on the counter and approached me, examining me with those blue eyes. "I see your wound has healed up nicely."

"It's a lot better. Thanks."

"What seems to be troubling you now?"

"To be honest, nothing."

"Then what are you here for?" she asked.

"Well, to tell you the truth. To see you."

"To see me?"

"Yea, ain't that something."

"I have to say that I'm flattered. The reason most boys come to see me is because of either diarrhea or chicken pox."

"I don't have either last time I checked."

She started to blush a bit. She was cute when she blushed. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. "I was thinking about asking you out on a date. But I don't think Mr. Hugo would take too kindly to us going out for a movie."

"Mr. Hugo has other priorities, I can assure you. But you see, Mr. Hudson. I don't date... well, I think you get my meaning."

"Oh, I see. You don't date us orphans."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I believe it would be unethical for me to go on a date with a patient, especially someone so young."

"Well, technically I'm not sick. So I'm not your patient,” I said. “Plus, I’m not that much younger than you.”

"Mr. Hudson, I admire your wit, but I’m afraid us going out on a date would be impossible. Besides, I don’t think you would want to go out with someone like me."

"Why do you say that?”

“You know nothing about me.”

“So, we’ll get to know each other. That’s what dates are for.”

“ Mr. Hudson, it’s obvious you are not ill, which means you are preventing me from seeing patients who actually need treatment. So if you’ll excuse me.”