Little Boy (23 page)

“Why don’t you ask me if I flirted with any
girls?” I asked her.

“What?”

“You know, I was down there on the beach and
all the girls wore bikinis. Weren’t you worried or something?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because I trust you, that’s why!”

“Well, still, it would be nice, you know, to
sometimes think that you’re a little jealous.”

“Well, you should be happy that I trust you,”
she insisted.

“All right. I guess I am. But still...” And
with that I trailed off. It wasn’t the best of conversations. But,
then again, we hadn’t seen each other or spoken for a week, so it
was a little awkward. As usual, we ended the conversation
pleasantly, each with an “I love you,” and said goodbye.

After getting off the phone, I played
The
Long and Winding Road
.

Many times I’ve been alone
, it went,
and many times I’ve cried
.
Many words you’ve never known,
but many ways I’ve tried
.
But still they lead me back, to
the long and winding road
… I must have listened to it ten or
twelve times as I heard rain begin to fall outside, and stared
intuitively at the poster on my wall.

***

On Columbus Day weekend, Maria went to her
uncle’s house Upstate. I was still so in love with her. I thought
about her all the time, just like I do now, only back then I was so
happy. I remember having a strong desire to write Maria a poem.
Actually, it was a song.

What should I write about?
I kept
asking myself. It was tough to write a song, no matter what it was
about. I wanted this song to be special. I wanted it to illustrate
my feelings for her. Most of all, I wanted to make her cry tears of
joy and love. That was my plan. As I sat down at my desk with my
pen and pad, I envisioned Maria, upon hearing the song, weeping
like a little girl, embracing me as she’d never embraced anyone
before.
She’ll love it
, I thought. And I knew that after
hearing it she would love me more than ever before.

I remember that just as I sat down to write
it, I received the Air Force Academy information packet. I read the
brochures and discovered that I could probably get into the Academy
if I really wanted to go. And I did want to go—badly.

As a matter of fact, I was positive that I
could get in. All I needed was a recommendation from someone in the
armed services that knew me well, but also wasn’t related to me. It
was too bad, because I was sure you, Dad, would’ve written me a
great letter. Unfortunately, you weren’t allowed to write the
letter.

I was so excited that I forgot about the poem
and ran downstairs and told my mother and father all about
applying. Dad, you were enthusiastic about it. You really thought I
could follow in your footsteps, and that was sort of like every
father’s dream—to watch his son make better of himself. I remember
Mom’s advice: “You’d better keep those grades up in your last year
of high school. And don’t mess up with that girl.” It was just like
you to express so little confidence in me like that.

But I should’ve listened to you, Mom. I was
really pissed off at you that day, like I always was. I tried not
to let it bother me. As usual, I tried to escape from you by
thinking about jets. I remember imagining myself flying way up in
the clouds, soaring in an F-15 Eagle over the Rocky Mountains. The
F-15 is only 63 feet long and 42 feet wide, but it can fight like
hell. It’s WEFT: high-mounted wings; two rear-mounted engines; a
long, pointed fuselage; and two tail fins. Genuine American
artwork.

I’d fly in one of those planes someday. My
cadet uniform would command respect from all the goddamn losers in
my high school if they saw me. Even you couldn’t ruin the thrill of
wearing that uniform, and getting my wings. I kept thinking about
how you would visit me in Colorado, and I’d take you up in a jet
and I’d fly over the Grand Canyon.

With you guys, I’d be flying in the sky, but
with Maria it would be heaven. I was already in heaven with her on
the ground; it would be awesome to be in the sky, away from
everyone, with Maria by my side. I wasn’t even sure if the Air
Force would allow that sort of stuff, but I thought about it
anyway.

I called Paul and told him all about it. He
was pretty excited for me.

After I told him about the Air Force, I
mentioned what had happened in Virginia. I always told Paul about
that sort of stuff, and usually he was pretty happy for me.

“Paulie baby, how are ya?”

“Not bad. What’s up, dude?”

“Paul, my good buddy, you’ll never guess what
happened in Virginia beach!”

“How many girls did you kiss, L’Enfant?”

“Hey, how’d you know?” I asked. “Did I
already tell you this story?”

“No,” he said. “But a leopard doesn’t change
his spots.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind, L’Enfant. Just tell me what
happened.”

So I told him all about Lee Anne and Vicki
and the other girl. He was stiff that day, as if he didn’t care as
much as he usually did. I figured he was sort of jealous, maybe,
because I knew that I wanted to go into the Air Force, and he
really wasn’t sure about where he was going to college. But he
listened to my Virginia story, and I was happy telling it. Five
minutes into the conversation, as I was describing Lee Anne’s
breasts, I realized that I hadn’t told him about the Air Force
application yet.

But he interrupted the thought. “Did you tell
Maria yet about your little smoking habit?” I’d mentioned that Lee
Anne and I first went to the stairwell to have a cigarette.

“No, I didn’t. But what does that have to do
with anything?”

“Did you tell Maria about Lee Anne, and the
two other girls?”

“Dude, what’s your problem? Chill out, man.
You remind me of my mother, for Chrissakes!”

“All right, L’Enfant,” he said. “Forget it.
I’m only joking.” But he didn’t say he was sorry or anything; he
just changed the subject.

“Do you want to go play baseball today?” Paul
and I played ball in a park near my house every time the weather
was good. It was pretty cool, because I beat him in just more than
half of the games we played, and I knew he hated that.

“Sure, dude. Play ball!” And I yelled it out
just like an umpire does at the beginning of a ball game.

So we hung up and I met him at the park. He
beat me five to one—he hit one grand slam and another solo shot. I
got a bases-loaded triple, but I only got one run because I missed
the bag on the way around first. It didn’t matter; I was so happy
about the Air Force thing that I couldn’t care less about
baseball.

I couldn’t wait to tell Maria about what the
Air Force had sent me in the mail, and about how I wanted to take
her up in a jet over the Rockies. She’d given me her aunt and
uncle’s phone number, just in case I wanted to call her. I’d told
her that I’d probably be busy with work that week, and that it
would be hard to get in touch with her. But I only said that so
she’d be all the more surprised when I finally called.

***

I remember the phone ringing, thinking,
Maria’s gonna be home soon and I still haven’t written her
song
. For some reason, I had a severe case of writer’s block. I
was immersed in thoughts of my future in the Air Force, lost in the
clouds that I would someday fly through at Mach 1. Seeking
inspiration, I gave Maria a call. There was something peculiar
about her voice that day, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on
what it was. She seemed hesitant and quiet.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet?” I
inquired, anxiously.

“I’m holding my little cousin in my arms.
He’s only seven months old, and he just fell asleep.”

“Are you sure that’s all? Are you hiding
something from me?”

“No,” she said, exasperated, muffling her
little yell.

“Who have you been hanging out with all
week?”

“Well, mostly my cousins,” she whispered.
“That’s really it.”

“Are you sure you’ve been a good little girl?
I hate it when you’re so terse and quiet.”

“I told you, my cousin—“

I cut her off. I was too excited about flying
to bother pressing the issue. My heart was pounding.

“You’ll never guess what happened?” I
said.

“What?”

“I got some information in the mail from the
Air Force, and I think I’m qualified for the Academy.”

“Really? That’s great! I’m so proud of you.”
That’s what I liked about Maria—she was proud of me even though I
really hadn’t done anything yet. She was a lot different than some
people reading this letter, or anyone else for that matter.

“I’m going to take you flying,” I said,
whispering, even though the baby was in her arms and not mine,
“just like I told you a few weeks ago at the beach.” I was so happy
just saying that. “The only thing is that I have to get a
recommendation from a military person or something, and I don’t
know who to ask.”

Maria was quiet for a moment. I felt so
nervous. “A.J.,” she finally said, “I think I know someone who was
in the Air Force. But he doesn’t know you that well.”

I was busting at the thought. “Who?” I
asked.

“My father.”

Maria had never told me that her father was
in the Air Force. She wasn’t very proud of anything that he did.
He’d let her down so often, I’m sure she was afraid to mention
anything positive about the guy at all.

“But I barely know your father!” I’d only met
him once or twice. Just hello and goodbye.

“I know, but it’s funny you should mention
this, A.J., because this week I’ve been thinking about introducing
you to him formally, maybe over a nice dinner. I don’t know when
it’ll happen, but it’ll happen.”

“Holy shit!” I said. “That’s great! Do you
think he’ll like me?”

“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “He
will.”

I was shocked at the thought of having her
father write me a recommendation. From the way she described him, I
don’t know. He didn’t sound like a good guy. I didn’t get ahead of
myself, though. I didn’t want to expect the recommendation. After
all, I hadn’t really met the guy. But I have to admit, the thought
of having a pilot write me the letter made me smile. I was so
confident that day. Maria always seemed to make me feel that
way.

“I have to go—I have to change little
Anthony,” she said.

“Who’s Anthony? New boyfriend?”

She paused. “It’s my little baby cousin. He’s
so cute, you should see him. He looks just like you—cute as a
button.”

Shivers tickled my body when she said that;
she knew just how to compliment me, and I knew that she meant it,
too. I wanted to jump through the phone and hug her right then and
there, and sprinkle her with kisses.

“And just like you, even when he’s cranky, I
love him.”

I laughed. No, I guffawed. (That’s the first
time in this letter I used an SAT word—guffaw: to laugh loudly and
boisterously. “Maria, I love you so much. Thank you for—for being
you.”

Maria blushed. “I really do have to go,” she
said. Her heart was racing, and filled with joy. “But I’ll call you
when I get home in a few days.”

“Okay, baby, I love you.”

“I love you, too, A.J.” I loved hearing her
say my name. She said it like I was the coolest guy in the
world.

***

And I was.

Thing is, despite her love for me, I still
worried about Maria’s past every minute of every hour of every day.
It was the weirdest thing. All weekend long while Maria was away
Upstate, I envisioned her cheating on me. I’d sit in my dimly-lit
hazy room, swallowing cigarette smoke, getting angry over something
I knew wouldn’t happen. Even though I hooked up with those chicks
in Virginia, I still wasn’t—I still don’t know the word—

—
satisfied?
Yes, that’s it. I remember
being plagued with doubts that, despite Maria, I’d never be
satisfied. Whether sitting in class or walking to the store or
eating dinner or working in the deli, all I heard was this endless
echo of hollowness in the pit of my stomach. I felt like a
cave—solid on the outside, but dark and shallow within. I used to
wonder if I was truly going crazy. I was so sad about the imaginary
events swirling throughout my head.

I remember you and Tracy worrying about me.
I’d get home from school, looking depressed and angry, and Mom
would ask “What’s your problem?” Committed to my vow of silence, I
refused to respond. Dad, you were more subtle. “Is something wrong?
Is there anything you want to talk about?” you’d ask each day. “Oh,
no, nothing,” I’d respond. “I’m just worried about getting into the
Air Force Academy.” But that really wasn’t true. I should have been
worried about that. I should have been worried about college. But I
wasn’t. All that worried me was Maria.

When she returned home from her trip Upstate
she called me immediately. We talked for a while, but she seemed
diffident. Just to give you an idea of how paranoid I was, I
remember thinking:
She’s always this way—as if she’s hiding
something from me
. But that night it was painfully obvious. I
thought about attacking it from the beginning, asking her what the
hell was the matter real quick. But, for some reason, my plan was
to wait. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t push Maria to
reveal her secret.