Lunch was different the next day. Terry wasn’t waiting for me at the end of the serving line. In fact, I didn’t see him anywhere. I paid for my food and walked to the table we’d sat at the past couple days. Then I realized it’d be too small for the three of us and moved to a table for four close by.
I was laying my food out when I saw Terry walk into the cafeteria pushing John. John had a small cast covering his left wrist.
Terry looked over to “our” table, smiled when he saw me and pushed John over. I pulled a chair out and moved it to another table and Terry pushed John up to our table.
“Hi, guys,” I said.
They both said hi back, then Terry took off for the serving line. That left John and me alone again, and I even felt a slight twinge in my stomach when I realized this but, today, John seemed a little different. For one thing, he had a small smile on his face when he looked at me.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “he’ll be right back.”
I blushed. Was I that transparent? Or was this John’s sense of humor? Rather than feel insulted, I thought, if he was teasing me, I ought to tease him back, just to see how he’d take it.
“Damn, that’s too bad. Just when I thought I’d be able to have my way with you.”
John’s eyes snapped open in surprise, no doubt understanding the double entendre had a sexual innuendo with it, and then he saw my grin. He obviously had a quick mind, because he immediately replied, “Oh, you thought I’d be that easy, huh? No way, buster. My virtue doesn’t come without a fight.”
“It wasn’t your virtue I was after, fool, I was going for your hot body.”
“Oh, in that case, I might not fight so hard.”
Now my eyes opened a bit wider, and he started laughing. It was a wonderful laugh, sort of high-pitched but very gleeful and happy. I couldn’t help it—not that I wanted to—and I joined in.
When we stopped, he asked me, “Where did you move here from?” I told him Ohio, and he said he’d never been there, he’d lived here in the South all his life and they didn’t travel much. I started to compare the climate and geography and such but hadn’t got too far when Terry got back, holding two trays. He plunked one down in front of John and the other in front of the empty chair.
John looked at his tray, then back to Terry. “You could have got me the pork chop and corn on the cob like Tim got, you know. What’s this salad and jello stuff?”
“I thought it would be easier to eat one-handed. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be nice once in a while and maybe just say ‘thank you’ when someone does something for you, Mr. Bauer.” Terry said it with a sort of half humorous, half sarcastic tone to his voice, but with just a trace of acid underneath. I couldn’t tell if he were serious or not.
Evidently John could. He looked at Terry and grinned. “Gotcha,” he chuckled. Terry just looked exasperated, then turned to me.
“This little shit’s been asking for it all day. he weren’t such a cripple, I’d do him right here.”
Before I could respond, John jumped in with, “Hey, what is this? First Tim’s ready to jump my bones, then Terry wants some, too. I must have worn the wrong cologne today. I must have used the powerful stuff.”
Terry looked confused, and John and I both laughed. Although, while laughing at Terry’s expense, I wondered about him calling John a cripple, and John completely ignoring it. What was that all about?
“I don’t think John’s definition of you ‘doing him’ and what you meant by it are exactly the same,” I told Terry, and the light seemed to go on in his eyes. Then he asked, “But what did he mean about you jumping his bones?”
“We were just playing around,” I answered, thinking that if I tried to explain it further all the humor would be lost.
“Yeah,” broke in John, “we were just playing with ourselves.” Both Terry and I looked at him, and then all three of us burst out laughing. Damn that felt good!
While we were laughing, I glanced around the room, wondering if other people were noticing all the laughter coming from our table. I happened to catch sight of Eliot, and strangely enough, he was staring at me with the same blank expression he’d had the first day we’d looked at each other across the cafeteria. Only this time I thought I could see some resentment, too.
I’d developed a personal habit long ago of jotting down things that happened during the day that might be interesting to think about later. I wrote in my journal almost every night and I’d learned if I made notes of thoughts and incidents that grabbed me during the day, the nighttime writing was much easier to do. I could spend more time writing and less trying to think of things to write about, and the variety of things I could cover was enhanced if I had notes.
Eliot scowling at me, maybe resenting my laughing, or perhaps resenting my associating with other kids, seemed something to think about and maybe write about. I liked to write about human things, human reactions like that one. So I reached into my backpack, pulled out the steno pad-sized spiral notebook I always carried, and made a couple brief entries. Then I stuck the notebook back in my bag.
When I looked up, John was watching me, an interested and inquisitive expression on his face.
“What was that?” he asked.
I was a little surprised. I was so used to being alone and being a nonentity, I guess I took it for granted people wouldn’t notice what I was doing. I’d just acted without thinking about it.
“Oh, I just remembered I didn’t write down the history homework pages to read tonight. I just wrote them down now so I wouldn’t forget.”
John looked at me with measuring eyes and looked like he was going to comment, but then didn’t. Terry started asking about a project John was doing in art class, wondering if the wrist was going to interfere, and the subject was apparently forgotten.
While those two spoke together, I glanced at Eliot again. His eyes were still out of his book, and he was again looking my way. Weird. Terry had got the answer he wanted and now both he and Terry were looking at what I was looking at, and so the three of us were looking at Eliot.
“That’s odd,” remarked John. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him looking at anything but his book. Do you think he wants help with one of the words?”
The way he said it, his tone of voice and faked concern, was funny, and both Terry and I grinned. The reaction to that from Eliot was immediate. His glare turned acid. He abruptly stood up, grabbed his tray and, after dropping his unfinished lunch and tray at the window, he left the room.
“Wow, that was unexpected,” said John.
“I think he thought we were grinning at him, maybe making fun of him,” I said.
That got Terry’s attention. “Oh, shoot. I hope he doesn’t think that. I hope we didn’t hurt his feelings. Maybe I can talk to him.”
“Yes, Saint Terrance, you go find him.” Said sarcastically, that would have been an awfully rude and harsh statement, but in fact, John said it with both support and something like admiration in his voice, and Terry blushed.
“I’m going to try to catch him,” Terry said. “Will you get the trays if I’m not back?” he asked me, and then turned and walked after Eliot without waiting for an answer.
“That’s Terry,” said John, watching him walk away. “I think he’s the only 16-year-old in the world that cares so much about everyone else’s feelings. He’s incredible.”
“Maybe that’s why he started talking to me,” I said before even thinking how that would sound. I realized it immediately afterwards and looked down at the table.
John didn’t seem to find anything strange, however. “I don’t know what you mean. All I know is, he was quite enthusiastic when he told me he’d just met you. I never got the impression it was anything other than he’d met someone he liked.”
I looked up, and John was staring at me. When he’d held my eyes for a moment, he asked, “Tim, that notebook. Is what you said really true, that you were just writing down a homework assignment? The reason I ask is, I keep a notebook with me all the time, too. If I want to make an odd note to myself, I just grab any old scrap of paper. But I carry a notebook around for another reason. And the one I carry looks just like that one.”
“What do you use yours for?” I asked him, curious.
“I can’t do all the athletic things other kids our age can. What I do instead is, I write a lot. I use the notebook whenever I think of something to write about, so I can write it down and remember it. I carry it all the time. One of the things I hate about breaking a wrist or arm or finger is it makes taking notes and writing so much more awkward. But, the way you were looking at Eliot, then grabbed the notebook and jotted something down, I’d swear you looked just like I must when I’m taking notes. Same expression on your face and in your eyes that I get. Well, you looked the way I think I look; the way I feel.” He finished and kept his eyes on my face; they were asking questions I guess he didn’t want to ask vocally, maybe because he’d already asked once.
I didn’t see any harm in telling him the truth, and in fact was a little excited to find someone else who wrote. “You nailed me. You’re right, that’s exactly what I was doing. I thought about Eliot getting mad at me for laughing, and how I could explore that, and made a couple notes.”
“So you write, too?”
“Yeah, have done for a long time.” I didn’t feel at all uncomfortable telling him that.
“That’s neat. Can I read something? I’ll let you read something of mine, although I don’t usually do that. Somehow, you seem different from a lot of kids. I have a feeling you might see things that they wouldn’t. I’d actually like to have you read something and talk to me about what you think. And I’d like to read anything you might have, too.”
I thought about it briefly, then thought, what the hell? Why not? So I reached into my backpack and pulled out the story Terry had already read.
“I have this with me because Terry wanted to read something, too. He just gave it back yesterday. You want to read it?”
“Yeah, thanks! I don’t have anything with me, but I’ll bring you something tomorrow. This is neat.” Enthusiasm glowed from his eyes and face, and it invigorated him.
We were finishing eating, lunch period was winding down, and kids were lining up with their trays, waiting their turn at the garbage cans. I was working out how I was going to handle three trays and John too when Terry returned.
“Did you catch him?” John asked.
“Nope. I don’t know where he got to. I looked around a little, but he’d vanished. I’ll see him before long, though. And I’ll talk to him. I hate thinking how he must be feeling if he thinks we were laughing at him.”
Terry grabbed all three trays and asked me if I could take John to his next class. I said sure and asked him what time he wanted to meet at the park. He looked at John, then told me four o’clock.
I pushed John out into the hall, and he told me what room he needed to go to. I pushed him there, and the bell was ringing as we arrived. That meant I now had seven minutes to get to my next class.
“Tim, thanks for the help,” he said. I didn’t know whether to leave him there at the door or not, but he told me that was fine, someone from the class would take him in. Then he surprised me by saying, “You know, lunch was really fun. I see why Terry wanted us to get together, and it wasn’t just the writing thing. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
I wondered what he meant by that?
I rode my bike home after school where I changed into shorts before riding back to the park. I was really getting annoyed over not being able to ride my motorcycle, but to do that I had to have my driver’s license. Getting it was one of those frustrating things teenagers run up against so often, and this state made it a trying experience. First, I had to get a temporary permit and I had to have it for 30 days before even applying for a license. Also, here, and at my age, I had to have passed Driver’s Ed, which I wouldn’t be able to take till next semester due to the heavy demand for it. When I’d tried to include it in my schedule, all the available spaces in the classes were already taken because it was so popular, popular because it was needed to get a license.
I got to the park before either Terry or John. I left my bike at the bench and went to the bridge. The fall weather was still very warm and the shade over the bridge was comfortable and relaxing. I stood against one side of the bridge and watched the water flowing underneath. I thought of how I felt, versus how I’d felt a week earlier. It surprised me; I felt a good deal of contentment at the moment, something I hadn’t felt for a long time. I was much happier. Having Terry in my life had made a big difference, and now I was getting to know John too, and even though he was in a wheelchair and our first meeting hadn’t gone well at all, I felt a strange affinity with him. I felt that with Terry, too, and realized the two feelings were a little different. Weird. I couldn’t put my finger on the difference, but there was one.
As far as I could see, the park was empty except for me. Too-warm weekday mid-afternoons weren’t popular times at the park, I guessed. I watched the water flow under me and thought about Terry and John and felt myself mentally drifting. When I heard peripheral noises, I had to will myself back into the present.
Terry and John had arrived and Terry was pushing John up the sloping walk of the bridge to join me. When they got to me, John stood up so all three of us could stand together and look over the side of the bridge. I realized it was the first time I’d seen John standing. Looking at him, a slim, short, blond-haired, attractive kid, he looked like any other boy his age. You couldn’t tell he had a serious medical problem.
None of us spoke for a few minutes. We were content to watch the water flow and absorb the gentle atmosphere. We were soaking up the warmth of the afternoon air and enjoying the peaceful setting. I think we were all reluctant to break the mood.
After a time, it was John who finally spoke, and it was with a soft voice, unusual for him; he was usually forward in both voice and attitude. Now, perhaps because he was talking quietly, he seemed reserved and more within himself, a much different manner for him.
“This is really nice,” he said.
“It’s putting me to sleep,” replied Terry. He was, as usual, effervescent.
“Let’s go sit on the bench,” I suggested.
“I get tired of sitting,” John responded. “I’m going to walk on some of the trails in the woods.”
“John! You know you can’t do that!”
“Terry, stop being my mother! I can walk between you two, if you insist, and I know you’ll be watching more closely for anything that could trip me than I will. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
John started walking toward the woods. Terry had a look of disgust on his face. I couldn’t help it. I grinned. John happened to glance back just then, saw my face, and got a grin on his, too. He was normally a good looking kid, but when I saw him with a grin, I felt something inside me. He brought ‘handsome’ and ‘cute’ to a different level of meaning and made the words themselves seem insipid and totally inadequate. The slight nervousness I always felt around guys like that—a feeling it was hard to put into words just as it was difficult to say why they made me feel way—hit me then as it had before with John. I’d felt an undercurrent of that feeling ever since I’d first seen him. Now, smiling at me in what seemed to be a conspiratorial, just-the-two-of-us sort of way, the feeling was stronger.
Terry told me to stay with John and keep him safe, that he was going to chain John’s chair to my bike and the bench so they’d be safe while we were in the woods. He was already walking that way when he turned and yelled, “And if John does trip, you have to cushion your catch or steady him gently. Don’t grab him hard!”
He trotted away while I turned to stay with John. I was very conscious of how we were now alone with each other again, and how different the emotions I was feeling were from those I’d had when I’d been alone with him before.
The woods were cooler than the park and that was a relief. The shade was much thicker as the trees were mature and the canopy mostly unbroken. There was a mixture of various deciduous trees, some very tall with wide-spreading branches. Even though it was fall, this wasn’t New England and the leaves were still green and healthy.
There were four major trails, all of which crossed at various places. It was a place for jogging and meandering, just a comfortable spot for being away from the city for an hour or so. It was quiet; we were probably the only people there as it was the wrong time of day for most of the creatures living in these woods to be bustling about.
We walked slowly. Terry had caught up with us, and he and I watched the trail and John. I guessed John was used to Terry being with him and wasn’t watching the trail at all, mostly just looking around, drinking in the woods and enjoying being on his feet somewhere other than in the carefully controlled environments that for the most part were too familiar to him.
We chatted about not much of anything, just whatever came to mind. I realized Terry wasn’t asking me personal questions, and I wondered about that a little. Was it because John was with us? Or was he just enjoying the day as I was and didn’t want to spoil it at all? Whatever the reason, I was much more comfortable this way. I didn’t have to have my guard up at all.
We’d walked for about half an hour when it looked to me like John had begun laboring just a little. I asked him if he was getting tired.
“I’m not used to being on my feet this long, but, guys, I’m enjoying this more than anything I can think of. This is the best time I’ve had in months. We probably should head back, but I’d really love to do this again. This was great.”
Terry and I smiled at each other, and then John reached up and we all high-fived each other. Both of us were gentle with John. I’d been with him long enough now that I didn’t even give that a thought; being careful with John had simply become natural.
As we were walking back, John looked at me and said, “I see why Terry wanted us to meet, Tim. You’re awfully easy for me to be with, and I’m really enjoying this, and being with you. Can you guess why?”
No, I couldn’t guess why. I was enjoying myself, too, and all of us being together, but I didn’t think I was doing or saying anything unusual. I couldn’t think of any special reason he’d be enjoying being with me.
“No, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I told him.
“It’s because not once since we’ve been together, here or at school, have you mentioned the wheelchair or wanted to talk about what’s wrong with me. You can’t imagine how unusual that is. I can’t remember anyone else ever not wanting all the details, wanting to talk all about it, as though all I am is this strange, fascinating, defective thing. I get so sick of it, being this creature that everyone wants to know the details about, like a bug you’d poke at with a stick. No one wants to know me, just what’s wrong with me. And you haven’t done that. You don’t treat me differently than you would any other kid. You have no idea how refreshing this is, how liberating. I have to live with my problem 24 hours a day. I never get away from it. But you never have brought it up, so I’ve been able to forget it while I’m with you. That might not seem like much to you, but to me it’s very special.”
He said this with so much feeling, I had to blush. It was embarrassing, too. The reason I never asked him about himself wasn’t because I was sensitive to what he was complimenting me for avoiding. It was because I was so private about things that were personal to me, I didn’t like to impose on other people by asking them personal questions. I tried not to do that. I might wonder, but I seldom asked. A sudden thought occurred to me––was this the reason Terry thought we should meet? Had he somehow figured this out?
Now there was something to think about!