The Notations of Cooper Cameron

by Jane O'Reilly

  Tall Boy stomps the ground and howls like a lonely animal. “Master, what is this I hear?”

  Tall Boy has skipped parts of the good and famous book. Pages turn. The lines race through Cooper’s mind until he finds the right one. “This is the powerful state of souls unsure.”

  “Let us not speak of them,” Tall Boy says as he lowers his arms, laughs, and steps out of character. The fear recedes in Cooper like a single lapped wave. Tall Boy is clapping.

  “Wow! You’ve read Inferno? Already? I can’t believe it! I love that book! I had to memorize that scene for my drama class.”

  “And so you are well read, my fine fellow.” Cooper bows.

  Caddie claps her hands quickly. Smiles. She is pretending too. “I guess we better get going,” she says. “Mom?”

  But then Mike bows and Cooper’s mother and Ron begin to clap.

  The Grinner does not clap. He slugs Tall Boy in the arm. “You weirdo.”

  “This is Cooper,” his mother says.

  “Cooper must like to read as much as Mike here,” Ron says.

  “Nobody likes to read as much as Cooper. It’s impossible,” Caddie says. “Say goodbye, Cooper.”

  “Adieu, for now,” Cooper says. “For I will remain strong and resolute.”

  “Mom,” Caddie says.

  Cooper’s mother puts her hands on his shoulders. “Maybe we’ll see you all up there later,” she says.

  But Cooper is still wary of The Grinner. And he must warn Caddie. He wriggles free from his mother’s hands. “Then fare thee well, but Caddie—”

  “What is it now, Cooper?” She rolls her eyes.

  “Beware the bitter one.” He looks at Caddie. Locks eyes with The Grinner.

  The Grinner has been warned.

  The car doors slam. One, two, three: Ron, The Grinner, and Caddie.

  “So let your sadness be disburdened,” Tall Boy says over his shoulder as he climbs into the driver’s side and takes the wheel. He slams his door. Waves through the windshield.

  “Do not forget, I am always at your side,” Cooper calls out, then bows. His horned crown falls to the ground.

  Fireworks

  The phone rings. The clinking of pots and pans halts. “Cooper, can you get that?” his mother calls from the kitchen. “My hands are all wet.”

  Cooper closes his book. Walks to the old black phone on the desk. The phone with the cord. He touches its curls. One, two, three . . .

  “It’s probably Dad,” she says.

  Cooper stops. He feels the cord wrapped around him like The Father’s angry words. Feels the cold in The Father’s voice. Shivers. The phone rings again. Cooper cups his hands over his ears.

  “Cooper?” His mother comes around the corner, drying her hands on a dish towel. The phone rings again. She picks up the receiver. “Hello,” she says, and then she smiles a sad smile at the air.

  Silence.

  Cooper sits back down on the sofa. Reaches for his notebook.

  Smiles are like costumes.

  Cooper watches his mother like a tourist watching Old Faithful. Waiting for the geyser to burst. Spew. Any second now. His mother’s lips almost move. She breathes. Her eyes glisten. She smiles again, this time at Cooper. “He’s right here,” she says. “He’s growing like a weed. Do you want to talk to him?” She nods a happy nod at Cooper.

  Behind her, overhead, Cooper sees the box. Birds of the World. He imagines the box open, spewing, colored cardboard pieces falling like rain. He imagines a flood of puzzle pieces rising around him. Imagines drowning in a sea of puzzles. His arms and legs tied together. Cooper holds his breath so he will not drown. And shakes his head.

  “Oh, never mind,” his mother says into the phone. “No, it’s okay. I know what that promotion means to you. Us.”

  Cooper hears the dial tone. The phone is as good as dead. Dead as a doornail. Nothing you can do about it now. He feels his mother’s heart sink. Sees her smile above her sunken heart.

  Sometimes you can be standing right next to someone and still be completely alone.

  Cooper knows what it is like to be completely alone. To see. To hear. To talk. To breathe. To wait. To worry. In the middle of a crowd. Alone. And keep it all a secret.

  “Dad can’t get away,” she tells him. “He has a big project and his promotion depends on it. We’ll have to watch the fireworks by ourselves.”

  Cooper exhales his deep breath.

  His mother looks out the window, toward the pink sunset on the lake. “It’ll be dark soon. Why don’t we get going so we aren’t late?”

  They are not late. They park by the old fire station. Cooper can hear the music playing inside as they walk past the brick wall toward the hill overlooking the lake. The sky is the same blue-gray color as the water.

  His mother shakes out the blanket and lays it across the weeds. A blanket with brown and yellow squares. The blanket from Grandpa’s fishing boat. Cooper runs his hand across the soft blanket. Squeezes it. Pulls it across his shoulder.

  The crowd grows. The hill is dotted with more and more blankets and quilts and beach towels and lawn chairs. Soon the sky settles dark and close all around them like the warm fishing blanket.

  Cooper lies on his back and stares at the dark sky. He sees, hears, breathes, waits, worries. Caddie is with The Grinner.

  Ka-thunk. Whistle. Spew.

  The first rocket shoots into the black sky. A sudden dawn. Then black again. Suddenly, sparks trickle like icy rain. Cooper watches the whole sky, certain he can see its curvature from edge to edge. He watches his mother relax and smile. True smiles as she oohs and ahhs with the crowd.

  But Cooper cannot relax.

  Ka-thunk, whistle, spew.

  Cooper closes his eyes. Covers his ears. Caddie should be watching the fireworks with them. Not dancing with The Grinner.

  Cooper’s stomach is sick with worry.

  He sits up and watches the big open door of the old fire station. He watches as boys and girls like Caddie spill out of the dance and move across the lawn in the shadows. Then he spots Tall Boy. In the doorway. Alone.

  “The dance is over,” Cooper says. “I’ll go get Caddie.”

  “Come right back,” his mother says.

  Cooper steps between the blankets and chairs. “Hey, watch it,” someone says.

  Watch it. Watch it. Watch it.

  Behind him, another rocket shoots into the sky. Ka-thunk, whistle, spew.

  Tall Boy leans against an old green gas pump, watching the sky shatter with color. “Hi, Mike,” Cooper says.

  Tall Boy shifts his stance. Looks away as if Cooper is a stranger.

  Cooper stands in front of him. “It’s me. Cooper. I’m not wearing my horns and cape, so it’s hard to recognize me.”

  “What?” Tall Boy frowns at him. Cooper can see him remember. “Oh, yeah. Hi.”

  Ka-thunk, whistle, spew.

  Tall Boy looks back at the sky. “Cool,” he says.

  “Cool,” Cooper says, looking where Tall Boy looks. “Where’s Caddie?”

  Tall Boy’s arms are folded. He doesn’t turn his head to talk to Cooper. He talks to the sky. “She took a walk.”

  “A walk?” Cooper says.

  “Yeah. A walk. With Todd.”

  Ka-thunk, whistle . . .

  The rocket shakes the ground. Vibrations rise from Cooper’s feet into his stomach. That word, Todd, burns in his gut. Just like that word, Dad. Worry spews from Cooper’s mouth and he imagines himself a fire-breathing dragon. “WHERE?” Cooper shouts at the top of his lungs above the cacophony of music, laughter, crackles, and millions of oohs and ahhs.

  Tall Boy loses his balance. Slips away from the pump. Catches himself. “Geez. Keep it down.” He looks around. Whispers, “In the park.”

  Cooper wishes he still had his helmet and cape. And the pitchfork. “Help me find her.”

  “No,” Tall Boy says. “They want to be alone.”

  Cooper imagines every nerve in his body alive, desper
ate, reaching out. The gravel burns hot beneath his feet. Burns through his shoes. Every last drop of water in the moat has evaporated. He pulls on Tall Boy’s arm. “Help me find her,” he says, and then he runs.

  Runs and runs. He runs past the shops. Runs across the parking lot of DJ’s Liquors. Runs across the painted turtle and the circle racetrack. Across the railroad tracks. He trips on a fallen branch. Picks it up. He carries it like a club and keeps running. He runs all the way to the dark and still park, where no one swings or slides because the whole world is watching the fireworks. The slide shimmers in the moonlight.

  Tall Boy catches up to him, breathing hard.

  “Cooper,” Tall Boy says, chugging and panting, “they want to be left alone.” He leans on the lid of a yellow metal garbage can to catch his breath. “Trust me. I feel left out too.”

  “But how can I know she is safe if I can’t find her?”

  “Safe?” Tall Boy says. “Oh, Cooper.” Tall Boy says Cooper the way Caddie says Cooper—with all hope lost in the long “ooo.”

  Behind him, in the dark, comes a sound. A distant giggle. Caddie’s laugh.

  “See?” Tall Boy still gasps for air. “I told you.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Tall Boy drops to the ground. “Because.”

  Cooper drops his stick.

  Fireworks ka-thunk and shoot through the air.

  Another laugh. Then a loud, “C’mon.”

  “No,” Caddie says. “Help me.”

  Help me. Help me. Help me. Cooper’s whole body surges with worry.

  “Did you hear that?” he says. “She’s in danger. She’s calling for help. We have to help her.”

  Tall Boy looks up at Cooper. His eyes are shiny. Like new quarters. He picks up the stick and runs toward the voices. Into the dark. Cooper runs behind Tall Boy. He runs until he sees The Grinner’s silhouette. His white teeth glow like fangs in the moonlight.

  “No way!” Caddie yells.

  “Todd!” Tall Boy shouts. Then stops. He winds up, gathers his strength, and throws the stick. Like a dart, sharp and accurate, it hits The Grinner in the stomach. Knocks him to his knees.

  Tall Boy is the hero. A knight in shining armor.

  The Grinner moans. “Mike? That you? What gives?”

  “It’s time to go home.”

  “What’s going on?” Caddie says from thin air.

  Cooper turns and turns, searching for Caddie.

  The Grinner stands. “You . . . ,” he growls at Tall Boy, but he doesn’t finish his sentence. He jumps into the air and lands on Tall Boy. Takes him down. Tall Boy and The Grinner roll side to side like wrestling bears. Slaps and groans seem louder than the fireworks. A single punch. Tall Boy’s fist to The Grinner’s jaw. The Grinner coughs and spits.

  Cooper wants to stomp. Wants to count. Wants to wash. But he must find Caddie.

  The Grinner stops fighting. Stands like a question mark. Stands like Mr. Bell, crumpled and weak.

  “What’s with you lately?” The Grinner says.

  “With me?” Tall Boy says. “What’s with you?” He spits on the ground.

  “Where’s Caddie?” Cooper says. “Caddie!” he calls.

  “Up here,” Caddie says.

  Cooper looks up. Caddie sits on a giant tree limb hanging over their heads. Her eyes blink in the darkness like stars. Her white dress puffs like a cloud. “I can’t get down.”

  Fireworks ka-thunk, whistle, and rain in the sky. Pop and rain. Pop and rain. Crackle, ka-thunk, pop, and rain. Ka-thunk and spew.

  The grand finale.

  “C’mon, Todd. We better get back. My dad’s probably looking for us,” Tall Boy says.

  “I’ll get my own ride,” The Grinner says. “From a friend.” He limps into the woods like a wounded animal.

  Tall Boy stands under the tree branch and looks up at Caddie. “I’ll help you down,” he says.

  “I don’t want your help,” Caddie says. “I’ll get down by myself.”

  “I thought you needed help,” Tall Boy says.

  “Not from you,” Caddie says. “And I’ll get my own ride too.”

  Tall Boy. He is different from The Grinner. “Mike is not the foe,” Cooper says.

  “So what,” Caddie says. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  “You were in danger. I came to your rescue.” Cooper leans against the trunk of the big tree.

  “I don’t need to be rescued, Cooper. I just need to get down. And I’m not going to jump from way up here.”

  “I’ll get Mom.”

  “No!”

  Cooper scans the pitch-black park. Spots the garbage can. Points. “I’ll get that old garbage can.”

  Now Mike is nowhere in sight. Cooper turns. Searches the darkness. Turns again. And there he is. At the edge of the park. Watching. Watching to make sure everything is okay. Mike watches him make sure the lid is on tight before Cooper pushes the garbage can to its side. Watches him roll it beneath the tree. Watches as he uses all his might to turn it right side up again.

  Caddie reaches with her legs. Lands on the lid of the garbage can with a clunk. Cooper holds her hand. Helps her jump to the ground. “Your breath smells like Dad’s,” he tells her.

  “Don’t tell Mom,” Caddie whispers. “Promise?”

  Promise, promise, promise. “I promise,” Cooper says. “But I don’t think you should ever do that again.”

  Mike is still there. A shadow at the edge of the woods. Still watching. Then he turns and disappears across the train tracks.

  Car engines start. Headlights come on. Cooper and Caddie walk along the edge of the parking lot. Don’t tell Mom. Don’t tell Mom. Don’t tell Mom.

  Caddie still holds Cooper’s hand. Their mother leans against the van. Waiting.

  “I’ll ride home with you guys,” Caddie says. She lets go of Cooper’s hand.

  “Sounds good,” their mother says. “How was the dance?”

  “Great,” Cooper says.

  “How would you know?” Caddie says.

  Their mother laughs. “Caddie?”

  “Great,” Caddie says.

  “You missed the grand finale, Cooper,” his mother says. She hands Cooper the folded-up fishing blanket.

  “No, I didn’t,” he says. He gets into the van and they ride home in the dark, watching far-off fireworks light up the sky above the tops of pointy black trees. Silently.

  He writes in his lap, in the dark.

  Taking risks and avoiding risks can be very confusing.

  Sometimes they are the same.

  In his room, Cooper picks up the small pale rock and hugs it to his chest. He is glad the big dark rock is at home. Alone. Glad The Father does not know about this night. He gives Amicus a food nugget. “Tonight I was almost as brave as you, little fella.” And then he realizes That Boy wasn’t there. That Boy didn’t try to help him. He writes this in his notebook:

  It is hard to know if you are doing the right thing.

  Especially if you have to do it alone.

  Cooper pictures the fireworks. The ka-thunk, whistle, and spew. He thinks of the grand finale. Thinks of Caddie’s white eyes, like stars in the sky. The brightest novae. He crawls under the covers, safe in Grandpa’s bed, and opens Inferno.

  Where. Where. Where. We. We. We. Came. Came. Came . . . Where we came forth and once more saw the stars. The. The. The. End. End. End. The end. The end. The end.

  Across the lake, icy rain sparkles in the sky.

  Cooper has definitely seen the stars. And now he has finished his grandfather’s good and famous book. He is done. He has read it all, every sentence, every paragraph, every page, three times three. But the world is still not safe. Caddie has had a close call.

  Cooper flips the pages of Inferno back to the beginning.

  And starts over.

  Friends

  Caddie lies in the sun. Her body is shiny like the foil landing strip on Tezorene, the molten planet where there is no garbage. Everything ca
n be pushed to its center, melted, and reused. All food is served piping hot. The magnificent structure includes a factory for spaceships made of shells and acorns.

  Cooper sings the national anthem of this great orb and its kind Tezornaut people. “O Tezorene, where no one’s mean . . .” He holds the red bucket at the shallow shore of the lake.

  “Cooper,” Caddie says.

  He cringes at the first sound, the extra-hard C of his name. Caddie wants to tell him something. Something he knows will singe his feelings. But he doesn’t turn around.

  “I know there’s no planet called Tezorene,” he says. “I just made it up.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  Cooper freezes. His heart beats hot. Hotter than the sun on Tezorene. He waits for Caddie to speak. But he doesn’t want to know what he has done wrong. He is trying hard to be good. So hard his brain hurts with trying.

  Cooper steps back from the shore. From a hilltop on Tezorene, he squints at a different galaxy. A sun pierces the ozone, burns through the atmosphere, and shines through the treetops to a beach. The otherworldly sun shines on a boy named Cooper who holds a red bucket full of water and shivers. The boy named Cooper is an alien being. No one understands the message he brings to helpless Earthlings.

  “About the other night,” Caddie says. “At the fireworks.”

  Cooper pours the bucket of water across the lands of Tezorene so his feet will not burn. The sand mounds slide low, like liquid lava, and melt into the earth. “Did I embarrass you one more time?”

  Caddie laughs. “Yes, you did. But it’s okay. This time, anyway. Todd’s cute, but he’s not my type.”

  “I tried to warn you, my lady,” Cooper says.

  “I guess. If you want to call it that. But, Cooper?”

  The sand grows hotter beneath Cooper’s feet. Tezorene is shifting on its axis. Don’t tell Mom. Don’t tell Mom. Don’t tell Mom. “I didn’t tell Mom,” he says.

  “That’s good because that’s what I’m trying to tell you. You need to mind your own business.”

  Cooper is braced for more. Braced for catastrophe. And shame. “What else?” his heart beats like the fireworks. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk.

  “Nothing,” she says. “That’s enough. For now.”