by Ben Clabaugh
CHAPTER 3
David stood in the shade of Shelton’s front porch trying to sound out the name on the brass plate on the front door. S-K-I-E-V-A-S-K-I. Pete woofed lightly as if to say, ‘Hurry up.’ David leaned toward the door and turned his head, listening, and heard the faint, tinny sounds of audience applause from a television.
He took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell. Before the start of the second chime tone, the television noises stopped. The final chime wound down to silence.
David waited, still listening, but heard nothing more. He was about to press his ear to the door when he heard a single, stealthy creak. He had cringed at the sound under his own foot in the middle of the night enough times to instantly recognize the creak of a floorboard.
He jerked upright, adopted his most sincere look, and tried hard not to stare into the peephole. Out of the corner of his eye he saw it darken.
A moment later, the clatter of a deadbolt—make that several deadbolts—resounded through the solid wood and the door swung open.
“Yes?” Mrs. Skievaski demanded. She looked him up and down, then stepped brusquely past him and glared up and down the street before stepping back and blocking the doorway.
“Uh,” David stammered, suddenly unsure of what to say. “I’m David.…,”
“Yes, yes, I know.” She fumbled a television remote out of a side pocket, pointed it over her shoulder, and the television lit back to life. Glancing distractedly over her shoulder, she hooked a thumb behind her.
“Shelton’s around back.” She stepped back, and the door swung shut.
David stood for a moment staring at the door. He looked across the yard and considered going home. He thought again of what his mom had said on the phone, and with a shrug, he stepped off the porch and rounded the house.
The back yard was a tangle of weeds, dandelion, and thistle. By comparison, his yard looked like a golf course fairway. As he rounded the corner of the house he saw Shelton sitting in the shade of the patio with his back against the house. He looked up as if he had been expecting David and patted the concrete next to him.
“What happened to you?” Shelton asked.
David stared for a moment, shrugged, sat down slowly, trying not to groan as his crusted scabs cracked and split. He meant to say, “None of your business,” but instead, found himself telling Shelton the whole story. He couldn’t stop. He felt as if his head, heart, gut, and mouth were being gently squeezed until everything he saw, thought, or felt poured out of him.
It felt good. He felt as if he was able to look back over everything he had been through, roll it around and examine it, only this time without the physical or emotional pain. He could look at it differently, and feel differently about what it all might, or might not, mean.
He finally told Shelton about getting home, the phone call from his mom, and his decision to come back over. He finished, exhaling deeply and stared at his shoelaces. Abruptly, David realized two things: First, his chin, palms, in fact his whole body, no longer burned or ached. Second, Shelton’s hand was resting on his forearm. Shelton sat looking at David, a slight smile on his lips and one eyebrow somewhat cocked, as if waiting for more.
David jerked away and stood, rubbing the place on his arm where Shelton’s hand had rested. He thought he should feel creeped out, but he didn’t—and that was confusing.
“Feel better?” Shelton asked, his voice sounding somewhat older and calmer than David remembered.
“Uh, sure. Whatever. I guess,” David answered. He glanced back toward his own house.
“Had lunch yet?” Shelton asked standing and opening the sliding glass door. He paused in the opening, one hand open, palm up, inviting David inside.
“Uh, yeah, uh, I mean, no,” David stammered. “I gotta go,” he said and hurried away to his house.
That night, David told his mom he had fallen off his bike (the truth) and that Shelton and he had hung out in the yard (also the truth, kinda). The latter made her so happy she never mentioned their telephone conversation. David watched and listened in barely concealed horror as she ran to the phone, called Mrs. Skievaski, and made plans for Shelton and him to spend at least the rest of the week together. David groaned and slipped off to bed.
