When Jeff Comes Home (12 page)

"Thanks," I muttered.

"I don't like to lie, Jeff."

"I know, Dad. I'm sorry. Can I sleep now?"

Dad hesitated. "No. You're going to come downstairs and eat your dinner. And then we can watch a movie, or play cards or do
something.
I'm tired of you using this room as an escape."

"Dad," I said. "Instead of the movie or whatever, can I get rid of all this stuff?" I waved an arm to indicate the posters, the pictures, the eighth grade schoolbooks, the museum of the person I used to be.

Dad reached over and snapped on my bedside lamp. "That's a great idea," he said. "This is a thirteen-year-old's room, and you're sixteen. That's part of the problem, isn't it?"

That wasn't nearly the whole story, but I nodded.

"Okay." He smiled. "But come down and finish your dinner, all right?"

"Yeah, okay, but one more thing?"

"Yes?"

"The presents." I gestured toward the closet. The presents were still in there, untouched by me.

Dad was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "I should have cleared those out. I don't know what I was thinking. They were some kind of charm, I suppose, to bring you back. I should have—"

"Can we give them away? To a hospital or a kids' home or something?"

"Yes," Dad said. "That's a good idea."

I HAD EXPECTED BRIAN TO BE SCARED OF ME AFTER

our "Staredown" game, but he had been his usual self the next day, maybe a little more subdued. He continued, in fact, to trail after me like a lost puppy, the same way he related to Dad.

Rejection feels like home to him.

Brian watched me constantly when he thought I wasn't looking. When I caught him at it, he would whip his head around and pretend he'd actually been looking at, say, Jack the cat.

He irritated the hell out of me, but the little conscience I had left told me that except for Connie, Brian irritated the hell out of everyone.

Who cares? Life is hard. He's got to figure it out for himself.

But how could Brian figure anything out when he spent his time sniffing after Dad, who seemed to regard him as something like a mosquito, or me, who wanted nothing to do with him?

As if he sensed my thoughts, Brian came over to the couch I was slouching on. He stood in front of me, one leg crossed in front of the other, wringing his hands nervously.

"What?" I asked sharply, then sat up a little. "Sorry." He smiled, a quick smile that snapped right back off his face. "What do you want, Brian?"

"Well ..." He took a deep breath. "I was wondering, do you want to play Frisbee with me? I'm pretty good," he boasted, adding quickly, "not like you, though. You're probably a lot better, but..."

I sighed. "Frisbee? Where?"

Brian's grin returned, still tentative. "Just out in the yard," he said. "Do you want to?"

No. No, I did not. But I also did not want to spend any more time with him that involved close contact, and at least with Frisbee we would be outside, separated by the throwing distance.

And he could get away from me if he had to.

"Okay, meet me out there," I told Brian.

He clapped his hands once. "All right!"

Dad called to me from his office as I passed. I stopped, keeping one hand on the door frame.

"Going out to play Frisbee?" I nodded. "Would you like me to play too?" I stared at Dad, not sure what he was talking about.

"Frisbee," he said hesitantly. "Outside ..."

I closed my eyes for a moment when I realized that I had not been outside once without Dad since I had come home.

"No," I said. "You know, Brian ..." I tilted my head toward the front door and rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, he can be a pest, all right," Dad said, smiling. I felt guilty and looked around for Connie, hoping she hadn't heard. "He's not bothering you too much, is he? I can talk to him."

"Dad ..." I started, not sure how to put it.

You can't fix everything for me.

"No, it's fine," I said. He nodded quickly.

It was sunny outside, not warm, but not freezing either. Brian stood under the oak tree in the front yard, clutching a bright orange Frisbee. He smiled when he saw me, waving and calling my name.

God, is he really eleven! Was I that young at eleven!

"Hi," I said, forcing a smile to my lips, coming down the steps slowly, a little scared despite myself.

"C'mon, Jeff, let's play!" Brian flipped the Frisbee at me, trying to catch me offguard. I reached up and snagged it, flipping it back to him lightly, happy that my toss was on target.

"Throw it hard, Jeff," Brian yelled, running toward the edge of the yard, flipping the Frisbee wildly back at me. It soared straight up in the air, landing behind Brian in the vacant lot.

"The wind must have got that one," he said, running into the lot to retrieve it.

"Yeah, must have," I agreed, straight-faced.

Brian was hopeless at Frisbee. He kept trying to throw as hard as he could, not understanding that Frisbee required a certain amount of precision. Our game wound up with me standing and watching him as he flipped the Frisbee high in the air, out into the street, against our house, anywhere but at me.

"Brian," I said finally, hesitating when I saw he was almost in tears. "Look, I can show you a few things—"

"You don't need to show me," Brian yelled, backing up, clutching the Frisbee. "I can do it."

"But..." I shrugged. If he wanted my help he'd ask for it. I walked over to the porch steps and sat down. Brian watched me for a moment, then trotted over.

"You're not quitting, are you?" he asked, his voice spiraling into a whine.

"I think you need to practice a little more before we play."

Brian looked at the ground. "I'm good," he mumbled.

"No, you're not," I said. He looked up quickly. "That doesn't mean you can't get better. It's just a skill you learn. The first thing is, in Frisbee aim is way more important than power. Until you can get the Frisbee to go where you want, how hard you throw it doesn't mean anything."

He watched me carefully. "That's what Dad said."

I held back a smile, wondering how long Dad could have lasted in a game of Frisbee with Brian. "Well, he's right. You want to try again?" Brian nodded.

I stood next to him in the yard, cocking my wrist to one side. He held the Frisbee awkwardly in the same position, practically straight up and down.

"No, hold your wrist down a little . . . not that much! Okay, not bad. Now flip it
lightly
forward."

Straining, Brian tossed the Frisbee. It wobbled and fell to the ground a few inches in front of us.

"See!" he said, "I can't do it!" He turned away, his face red. I wanted to turn Brian around and show him what he had done, but I was afraid to put my hands on him.

"Brian. Brian!" I called as he hid his face from me. "Hey. That throw was the best one you've done today."

"Oh yeah," he said, turning back with a sneer. "That was the faggiest one I've done today."

I froze, feeling the color drain from my face. I watched him carefully. But Brian wasn't interested in me. He was furious with himself.

Don't be so paranoid. It's just an expression. He doesn't know. No one does.

Everyone does.

"I'm going in now," I said.

Brian focused his attention back on me. "No, don't go in, Jeff, please? I'll listen to you," he begged. "Really."

There was nothing to do inside but sit and think. I could also count on Dad asking why I had come in so soon. I picked up the Frisbee again.

"Okay," I said. "See, when you threw last time, yeah, it didn't go far, but it went straight." I demonstrated, flipping the Frisbee a few inches away. It landed softly on a small pile of dried leaves. "Try it a few more times, and see what happens."

"Okay, Jeff," he said eagerly. I stood back and watched him. After he hit five good throws in a row, I clapped for him. Brian blushed, grinning.

"All right, let's try to play a little.
Gently,"
 
I stressed. "I'll stand a few feet away, and you toss the Frisbee to me."

Brian undershot me, then overshot me, the throw sailing way over my head, but his third try was perfect.

"Hey, that's great, Brian," I said. "Good job!" I flipped it back to him and he tried leaping into the air to catch my gentle toss, tripping over his feet, and falling in a heap. This time he laughed, and I laughed with him.

"Hey! Jeff," someone called from behind me. I whirled around and saw a tall, broad-shouldered young guy walking toward us through the vacant lot across the street. Though I would not have recognized him, I knew it had to be Vin.

"Hi, Vin!" Brian scrambled to his feet, intercepting Vin as he reached the lawn. "Hey, I can play Frisbee good now. See?" He jumped around, tossing the Frisbee too hard toward the tree. It went flying down the street and Brian ran after it, calling back over his shoulder, "Don't go anywhere without me!"

Vin walked up to me, his last few steps tentative as I did not return his smile. "Hey, Jeff," he tried again. "How's it going?" I just looked at him.

Vin had always been an inch or so taller than me, and he still was. He also had a good thirty pounds on me now, all muscle, and I noticed a dark shadow of beard on his face. Next to him I felt like a child.

"So," he said, after a long pause, "I can't believe it. My mom said you changed ... I guess we both have. I missed you, y'know." Vin lurched forward suddenly, putting his arms around me in a brief embrace. Frozen with shame, I could not respond. The idea of responding filled me with horror.

Vin stepped back awkwardly, turning his head away. Looking down the street after Brian, he wiped a hand across his eyes.

He can't be crying. For me? Why?

"Um," I started, intending to tell him that I had to go in now—

To do what?

"It's good to see you, but..."

Brian raced up to us, panting. "Hey, Vin," he yelled, so loudly I winced, "want to play Frisbee with us?"

"Well," Vin said, glancing at me. "Uh, I kind of thought me and Jeff could take a walk over to the high school—if he wants. I was going to shoot some baskets myself, and I thought maybe ..." He stopped, this more than half-grown man I didn't know.

"I can't," I said, meeting Vin's eyes for a second, then looking past him. "I have to stay around here— you know." I gestured back toward the house and saw Dad standing at the living room window, watching us. Watching me. Humiliated, I kicked at the ground until I noticed Vin staring at me.

"Well, okay," he said, "but how about if I come in for a few minutes? You know, just to talk a little."

"Yeah," Brian said, "we can play Monopoly. Or Clue. Which do you like better, Vin?"

"Well..." Vin glanced at Brian, then at me, trying a half smile.

The front door opened and Dad called out, "Vin! Good to see you." He came down the walkway and stood next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. I looked down, wanting to shake him off, but comforted in some way by his presence.

Vin brightened, flashing a smile at Dad. "Hi, Mr. Hart. I just came over to see if Jeff wanted to play basketball with me at the high school. I'm parked over there. I mean, if it's okay with you."

"Jeff said he had to stay home," Brian piped up, "but he doesn't, right, Dad?"

I cursed myself for having anything to do with Brian.

"Well..." Dad hesitated. "I'm not sure. Jeff, do you want to go out with Vin?"

I looked at him quickly, wondering if I'd heard correctly:
Do I want to go out with Vin?
His look back was troubled, but innocent.

I didn't know what to say, or what I wanted to do, other than disappear and magically find myself in my bed under the covers. That wasn't going to happen.

"Can I go too?" Brian begged, eyes widening in shock when Dad, Vin and I all said yes.

Brian trotted along ahead of us, looking back every so often to make sure we were following him. I felt excruciatingly self-conscious. Vin had picked up on my nervousness. He was silent too, and he avoided looking at me. But his shoulders were back, his head held high, and he walked with an easy pride and confidence I envied.

"You said you were parked around here," I said as we neared the high school. "Does that mean you have a car?"

Vin looked over at me, smiling. "Yeah. A truck. My uncle helped me buy it. Wait'll you see it."

I didn't respond, more alienated than before. I did not even know how to drive.

"Hey, Brian," Vin yelled. "Show Jeff my truck." Brian looked back at us, then ran ahead to a late-model red Toyota parked in the student lot on the edge of the Wayne High campus. I looked at Vin questioningly.

"I took Brian for a ride once, the first day I got the truck. He saw me driving by your house and he flagged me down. Your dad gave me this lecture afterward—I guess Brian and Charlie aren't supposed to go anywhere without telling him."