A World Away

by Nancy Grossman

  “So, if I can just get into the garage, I’ll be out of your way.”

  In the garage, I found the button and pressed it, startled by the instant rumbling sound as the door crept up on its hinges, filling the space with dusty sunlight. Returning to the cool of the house, I watched from the front window as Josh walked up and down the lawn, making neat rows in the grass. Our mower at home had big blades that turned, and James worked hard to push it, while this machine seemed to be leading Josh across the lawn.

  I went back to the dusting, finishing the bedrooms, living room, and family room before the doorbell rang again. Josh was on the front stoop, his T-shirt damp with sweat. “All done,” he said. “I put the mower back in the garage.”

  “Thank you.” I turned to leave, but then I heard his voice again.

  “So, what’s your story?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, where are you from? I’ve never seen you at school.”

  “I’m from Iowa,” I said. “I’ll be living here for the summer to help Mrs. Aster with the children.”

  “Cool,” said Josh. “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

  “Okay,” I said, and waited for him to step off the stoop. But he was still there, looking at me in a measured way.

  Then he said, “Is it okay if I come in for a pop?”

  I stepped back and let him come in, assuming that Rachel wouldn’t mind. Josh walked ahead of me to the kitchen, his long legs making easy strides. “I guess you know the way,” I said as he opened the refrigerator and helped himself to a can of pop.

  “Yeah, my parents are good friends of Sam and Rachel’s. I practically grew up in this house.” He sat at the kitchen table and opened the can, slugging down its contents. I sat down in the chair across from him. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hands, so I hid them in my lap. Josh was looking at me, and I thought it might be my turn to speak.

  “So,” I said, searching for a conversation, “you work mowing lawns?”

  “I’m trying to buy a car,” he said. “So I’m spending the summer doing everything I can to make some cash. My main job is at the Apple store, but I also mow lawns in the neighborhood.”

  Somehow, I couldn’t picture this boy selling apples.

  “So,” he asked, “how do you like it here?”

  “Well, it’s only been one day, but so far I like it.”

  “And you’ll like Sam and Rachel,” he said. “For older people, they’re actually pretty cool.”

  There was that word again that he had said before. I’d heard the children say it, too. “Cool?” I asked.

  Josh pushed back in his chair so the two front legs rose up in the air and the back legs balanced his weight with a barely perceptible sway.

  “Hey, you’re really not from around here, are you?” he asked.

  I shook my head, feeling a blush rising.

  “It’s hard to explain ‘cool.’ Cool people are part of the times; they live in the moment.” He paused. “But sometimes people spend too much time trying to be cool. Which is not cool. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded, knowing one fact with absolute certainty. I was not cool. I also knew something else. I liked the way this boy grinned.

  “Sam and Rachel still go to rock concerts,” Josh said. “In college they were Deadheads. They followed the Dead everywhere.” I tried not to look as shocked as I felt. “You know,” he added. “The Grateful Dead.”

  I looked at him, waiting for more of an explanation. The front legs of Josh’s chair landed on the floor with a thud, and he looked at me for a long moment before he spoke. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” There was no accusation in his voice, only a faint sense of wonder.

  I shook my head. Josh’s eyebrows slanted downward. “I don’t get it. Iowa’s not so far away.” I couldn’t help smiling. “I guess I didn’t mention that I’m Amish.”

  ‘Whoa!” he said, a word that sounded funny to me when there was no horse in front of us. “You mean the people who have no electricity?”

  “That’s us.”

  “So no TV? No movies? No cars?”

  “They’re forbidden,” I said, trying not to sound too serious. “But while I’m here, I’m allowed to live as you do.”

  “Well, we have a lot of work to do,” Josh said. He got up from the table and headed toward the living room. I followed him, the casual way he said “we” sending a thrilling ripple across my chest.

  “Here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the living room rug. I sat down and twisted my legs pretzel style. He reached for a box on a lower shelf that was filled with flat squares. “My iPod needs charging, so we have to do this the old-fashioned way.” Then he looked at me and said, “Well, that’s fitting, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, pretending to understand. As I watched Josh rummage through the box, I realized that I was actually alone with a Yankee boy. This was definitely not Good Amish. But I wasn’t nervous. I felt like a different person, a cool person.

  “So,” said Josh, “have you listened to any music at all?”

  “I heard a little on the radio in Rachel’s car on my way here. And I’ve been to a few parties where music played in the background. But I didn’t know much about what I was listening to.”

  “Okay,” said Josh. “So we’ll start with the basics. There are lots of different kinds of music, but the first thing you should learn about is rock. It started in the fifties, and there are a lot of different bands that play rock music.”

  “Is he in one of them?” I asked, pointing to the long-haired man on Josh’s T-shirt.

  Josh nodded with a sad smile. “He was,” he said. “This is John Lennon. He was with the Beatles, pretty much the greatest band ever. He was all about world peace.”

  “Was?”

  “Until some crazy guy shot him. It was a long time ago. Before I was born.”

  So, Josh wore the picture of a man he spoke of with reverence, but who had been dead his whole life. I wanted to know about feeling a passion so strong you needed to wear it for the world to see.

  “Anyway,” he said, “we’ll work up to some newer stuff. But let’s start with the classics. The Beatles, the Stones, Dylan.” I tried to remember all the words he was saying. Josh went back to the flat squares and pulled one out. “Speaking of classic,” he said, holding up a square with a picture of a colorful tongue protruding from a pair of blue lips. “Tell me what you think of this.”

  He opened up the flat box, pulled out a silvery circle, and placed it in the music machine. A sustained vibration burst into the room, and I kept hearing the same line over and over, the singer complaining about being unable to get satisfaction, the double negative bursting out unapologetically. His voice was loud and hoarse, as though he was frustrated and proud at the same time. Josh was watching me as I listened to the music. “You don’t like this, do you?”

  “Well, the words don’t make sense to me, but there’s something so lively about it. I feel like I want to sing along even though I don’t understand it.”

  Josh smiled. “Yep,” he said as he pressed a button that stopped the music. “That’s rock.” He returned to the box of flat squares, sorting through them one at a time, sometimes shaking his head and tossing one back, like a fish that was too small. “Here’s one you’ll like,” he said, holding up a square that read, “Dylan & the Dead.” I didn’t like the picture of the gruesome-looking skeleton, but Josh was already opening the box, pulling out the silver circle, and placing it in the music machine. That circle had a name that I couldn’t think of, something with two letters. Josh interrupted my thoughts.

  “Dylan’s more than a musician,” he explained as he pressed a button. “He’s a poet.”

  I listened to another wave of music flowing from the machine. This time the lyrics about heaven’s door rang out with clarity. I grew still as the words floated through the air, repeating again and again until they rose silently to my lips like a familiar greeting. I f
elt a rustling on the rug and looked up to see Josh gathering himself in the same pretzel shape facing me, his knees almost touching mine.

  A warm tickly sensation crept into my knees, as though we were actually touching.

  The music continued. The mix of voices, high and low, sounded friendly, like people coming together to share a task. It was exhilarating yet tender. I felt my head nod at intervals, determined by some unseen force. The crooning sounds swirled around me and through me. The sounds weren’t coming from one place; they resonated from all over the room. I glanced up to see if Josh felt the same sensation. His eyes were closed and his right hand was curved into a loose fist, as though he were banging a hammer, his hand moving slightly each time I felt my own head nodding. My eyes traveled up from his imaginary hammer back to his face, to find his brown eyes staring at me. There was hopefulness in his expression, and I knew that the way I felt about the song was important to him.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Jah,” I said. “It was such a happy sound.”

  “Jah?” he asked, a tease in his voice. “Is that the way they talk in Iowa?”

  Just then, the front door swung open, and Rachel was framed in the doorway, her book bag over her shoulder. I worried that she wouldn’t be happy to find me alone with a Yankee boy. But instead she smiled. “Well hi, Joshua. I was going to call and tell you about Eliza. But I see that you’ve met her on your own.”

  “Hi, Rachel,” said Josh, his tone smooth and casual. “I hope you don’t mind us listening to your CDs.” CD, I thought. Those were the two letters.

  “Of course not,” said Rachel. “I hope you like our taste in music.”

  “Some of it,” I said honestly. Josh and Rachel laughed, and I wondered if I’d said something wrong.

  Josh stood up. “I’ve got to get back to work. I hope you enjoyed your lesson.”

  “I did,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Good,” he said, walking toward the door. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

  As Josh closed the door behind him, I thought of those words. I’ll see you around. I hoped they were true.

  Over the next three days I slipped into the rhythm of life with this family. I let Ben teach me about baseball, and I taught him to bring in the newspaper in the mornings. I learned which book Janie had to hear right before she fell asleep, and she taught me to leave a cup of water on her nightstand in case she had a dream that made her thirsty. I learned what Sam liked to eat for dinner and when Rachel needed the children to be quiet so she could concentrate on her work. And I figured out how to work the television so I could watch the morning news when I was the only one awake.

  And every afternoon when I was alone in the house, I listened to music. I marveled at how each CD produced a different sound, and how the two minutes a song lasted could tell a whole story. I loved the satiny bursts of noise that took charge of my limbs, so doing my chores was what I’d imagined dancing to be. I found myself singing along to songs about love and sadness and hope until my voice mixed with the musicians and I was a part of the music.

  On Thursday of that first week, the doorbell rang after the children left for camp. On the front stoop was Josh, his grin inching up his face. My heart knocked against my rib cage at the sight of him. “I’ve got some more music for us to listen to,” he said. “Can I come in?”

  I nodded and stepped aside. He was striding toward the living room the moment I opened the front door, his black backpack slung over one shoulder. By the time I caught up to him, he was bent over his open sack. I liked the idea that he had gathered these CDs for me. So maybe he had been thinking about me over these last three days. I knew that I was thinking about him.

  I sat down on the floor, the backpack between us. He pulled out a CD and showed it to me before opening the case and putting the disc in the player. “Aerosmith,” he said as music pulsed into the room.

  I smiled, remembering another CD that Rachel had played for me. “I like the song ‘Dream On.’”

  Josh dropped the case with a tiny clattering sound. When he picked it up he smiled at me, looking both surprised and impressed. “You’ve been doing your homework.” I nodded, a quivering feeling in my chest. “What else have you been listening to?”

  “I really liked the Beatles.” I watched Josh’s grin widen.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I knew you’d like them. Go on.”

  Pleased at Josh’s response, I tried to remember names. “The Doors, The Clash, The Velvet Underground, Madonna, Stevie Wonder.” Josh was still nodding, so I kept going, “Johnny Cash, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, some kids called the Jacksons. There were five of them.”

  “All right.” Josh’s voice was filled with approval, like my teacher when I advanced a round in the spelling bee. With each correct word, the teacher smiled and nodded, and my throat and cheeks warmed, just as they did now.

  “I think my favorite was Mr. Armstrong,” I said.

  Josh’s brows rose for a second before he smiled with recognition. “Louis Armstrong?”

  “Yes,” I said. “His voice is like sandpaper. But it’s smooth at the same time.”

  Now Josh drew out his “Yeah” so that it sounded like a very long word. “That’s jazz, Eliza.” I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but Josh’s smile took up his whole face. I swallowed back an unfamiliar sensation. It felt like pride.

  I wanted this glowing feeling to last forever. “Rachel showed me her favorite CD, and I liked that one, too. Have you ever heard of Billy Joel?”

  The smile slipped from Josh’s face. “Oh, no.” His voice was a groan. “Not Billy Joel.”

  Incorrect, the teacher had said when I forgot a letter. Return to your seat.

  My heart pumped heat to my face. “What’s wrong with Billy Joel?” I asked, trying to sound as though it didn’t matter what he thought.

  Josh’s face had a sour look, like there wasn’t enough sugar in his lemonade. “Let’s just say nobody our age listens to him.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I had an original thought.” The anger in my voice surprised me.

  Josh flinched a bit, his eyes scanning me. “You’re one to talk. Aren’t you the people who have to dress alike?”

  It was that age-old question about the Amish that my mother had answered a dozen times over apple pie on Stranger Night. I didn’t want to talk about how dressing alike keeps us humble and prevents feelings of vanity and pride. So I just said, “Sure, we dress alike, but we’re all different.”

  Josh nodded slowly, as though trying out this new idea. He said one word in response: “Cool.” Then he picked up the backpack and continued rummaging through the discs.

  “Cool?” I had expected an argument.

  Josh set the pack aside. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s cool to be your own person without having to prove it with your clothes.” He paused, seeming to mull over what he’d just said. “And, I guess if you want to listen to Billy Joel, that’s okay.” He turned to the CD player and inserted a disc. “Let me know what you think of this.”

  Josh replaced the Aerosmith CD with a new one and pressed the button, sending angry sounds pulsing into the room, sounds that were more like shouting than singing.

  He looked at me. “What do you think of rap?”

  “Not much.”

  “I get that. It’s not for everyone,” he said, turning it off. “And I shouldn’t have said that about you guys dressing alike.” He paused before adding, “I guess we’ve had our first fight.” I didn’t like the sound of that. He seemed so certain that there would be more.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, reaching into his backpack. “I have a song on my iPod that I think you’ll like.” He pulled out a black rectangle smaller than a deck of cards.

  “What’s that?”

  “My entire music collection,” he said. “There are thousands of songs in here.”

  I stared at the tiny device cupped in the palm of Josh’s hand. It didn’t seem possible that it held such riches. His th
umb moved around a small circle, and I watched as words flowed down a tiny screen. Then he reached into the pack and pulled out what looked like a thin white wire with two white buttons dangling from the end. Josh fitted the end of the wire into the iPod and handed me one of the small buttons. I took it in my fingers, not knowing what to do with it. It felt hard and spongy at the same time. “We can listen together,” said Josh. “We’ll each take an earbud.” Once again, something new had a name, and it pleased me. I watched as Josh put one of the earbuds into his ear.

  As I reached to do the same, the thin wire went taut between us, and Josh scooted closer to me. The bud was in my ear now, and I realized that if we were both going to listen, we would have to be inches apart. I felt the warmth of Josh beside me, and a shiver coursed through me. His nearness was awkward and exciting and just a little bit indecent. But I didn’t have too long to think about it because suddenly music was pouring directly into my ear. Words flowed through, sweet and smooth, about a blackbird with broken wings learning how to fly. It was poetry and music together. It made me think of Daniel’s gift, and of my dreams to feel free in another place. I listened to the music and the words, and I felt the farness of home and the nearness of Josh. I couldn’t move because then the music would stop. And I couldn’t stay because I was too close to this boy who I didn’t really know. But then I realized that I wanted to know him, so I chose to stay.

  The song ended, and Josh took the bud out of his ear, and I took mine out too. We were still sitting in that same way, and with the song over, we didn’t need to be this close to each other. I shifted a bit and faced him. “Did you like it?” Josh asked.

  “I loved it. I feel like it’s still playing inside my head.”

  Josh smiled. “Hey,” he said. “Do they ever let you out of here? Maybe we can go to a movie together.”

  It was an effort for me to keep my voice calm. “I’d like that.”

  “Great,” said Josh. “How about Saturday night? I can get my dad’s car.”

  “I’ll have to check with Mrs. Aster. But I think it should be all right.”

  “Is there anything special you want to see?” Josh asked.