by Andrea Ring
“Mat,” I say, my voice a little too high. “What about you?”
“Cat,” she says, holding out her card to me. “We rhyme!”
I nod. It’s all I can manage with her so close.
“Maybe we can write a poem together,” she says.
I look at Dad, who’s grinning. He nods at me. I turn back to Tessa.
“That would…yeah. Great.”
“I’ll go first,” she says. She sticks the eraser end of her pencil in her mouth and thinks. Then she bends over her paper, writing. “Silly, silly cat,” she reads to me.
I write her first line on my paper.
“Silly, silly cat,” I say. Then I write as I say out loud, “Playing with yarn on a mat.”
Tessa giggles. “Good one.” She writes the second line.
“Run or you will get fat!” she says, laughing.
I laugh, too. “Be quick and catch the rat.”
We grin at each other and finish writing our poems.
Dad applauds softly. “Very nice,” he says. “Good teamwork.”
Tessa looks at Dad and her eyes glitter behind her glasses.
“Thomas is the smartest kid I ever met,” she tells him. “And I have three older brothers, and he’s smarter than all of them.”
“I’m not smarter than older brothers,” I say, but Tessa just nods her head.
“You are. Matty can’t remember his multiplication tables, and I can read better than Sam, and you read better than me. I saw you read a chapter book.” Her eyes are wide with awe. She leans over as if to share a secret with us. “And you don’t like Abbey and neither do I,” she whispers. “She’s a meanie.”
I would probably have agreed with her if Dad weren’t here, but my parents don’t like me to speak ill of others. “I thought you had play dates with Abbey,” I whisper back to her.
She shudders. “My mom babysits her sometimes. She bit the fingers off my Barbie doll.”
Dad and I exchange a glance, and I cannot tell from his expression what he wants me to say.
“Well,” I say carefully, “maybe my mom could talk to your mom, and you could come over to my house on the days Abbey has to come over.” I hold my breath, uncertain of her reaction.
“Really?” she says. “I could see your house?”
I nod. “I don’t have any Barbies, but we could do a puzzle, maybe. Or eat ice cream. Or…” I can’t think of anything else at our house that might interest her.
“Do you have Legos?” she asks. “I love Legos.”
“I do.”
“My brothers got the Harry Potter castle, but they wouldn’t let me help them build it.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Dad says. “I’ll buy you guys the Harry Potter castle, and when you come over, Tessa, the two of you can build it.”
“Really?” Tessa says with a grin.
“Really,” he says, winking at her. Tessa giggles.
I want to tell Dad that the Hogwarts Castle is close to a hundred dollars, and maybe he should wait and ask Mom’s permission to buy it. But I’m grinning too hard to speak.
I have a friend.
“I think they’re a bit messy,” I say as we walk hand in hand home from school. “I’ll have to sort them. Do you think I should sort them by color? Or maybe by shape? Probably by shape, size, and color would be best, but I don’t have enough bins for that. Of course, color isn’t really all that important. If I’ve got the Legos sorted by shape, we can just reach in and choose the color we want.”
I’m babbling, and Dad’s listening to me politely. I’m sure he doesn’t care one way or the other whether or not my Legos are sorted before my play date with Tessa.
“I should also dust my bookshelf. I dusted right before you came home, but you know how our house is. The dust just accumulates. What if she has allergies? I wouldn’t want to aggravate them.”
Dad chuckles, breaking his silence.
“What?” I ask.
“The house is perfectly clean, Thomas.”
“Yes, but it can always be better. I don’t want her to think we’re dirtbags.”
Dad laughs. “Most six-year-olds don’t think about that stuff, Thomas. Stop worrying.”
“I’ve never had a friend over before,” I say.
Dad stops walking and I pause beneath him. “Never?”
I shake my head.
“Well, you were being selective, then,” he says diplomatically. We start walking again. “I think you made a great choice for your first friend.”
“You do?” I ask, because Dad’s opinion is very important to me.
“Yep. She’s a keeper. And cute, too. You were right.”
I smile.
“Thank you for talking to Tessa’s mom,” I say. “You charmed her.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
I pull on his hand. “Let’s speed up. Tessa will be over in an hour, and those Lego bins really need some attention.”
Dad chuckles again, puts his hands around my waist, and hoists me up to his shoulders. He breaks into a jog.
“Time’s a-wastin’,” he says.
“Thomas!”
“What?”
I look away from the mirror to stare at Mom, who’s yelling at me from the doorway of the bathroom. She looks panicked.
“Are you okay?” She stands beside me and smooths a hand over the top of my head.
“Sorry. How long were you trying to get my attention?”
“About thirty seconds,” she says.
I sigh and lean into the mirror to study my eyes. The pupils have constricted back to normal. I straighten up and turn towards her.
“I was just regulating.”
Mom’s expression softens. “You’re that nervous, huh?”
I shrug. “I was sweating, my heart was galloping in my chest, and my pupils looked like saucers. I was afraid if I kept it up, I’d smell like b.o.”
“Six-year-olds don’t smell when they sweat,” Mom says.
“Why take the chance?” I say. “And besides, I was starting to feel like I needed to vomit. I do not want to vomit in front of Tessa.”
“Good thinking,” Mom says. “Everything… regulated?”
“Parasympathetic has kicked in,” I say, nodding. “I’m good.”
“Excellent.” Mom guides me out the door. “‘Cause she’s here.”
Tessa and her mother are hovering awkwardly just inside the front door.
“Hi, Thomas!” Tessa says, giving me a wave.
I wave back. “Hello, Tessa. Welcome to my home.”
Tessa’s mom laughs. “Well, aren’t you a polite young man?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Halter,” I say. We smile at each other.
“It looks like you’re in good hands, Tessa.” She plants a kiss on Tessa’s head and turns to Mom. “What time should I be back?”
“How about 5:30?” Mom says. “That’ll give them a couple hours to play.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.” And Mrs. Halter leaves.
Tessa and I stare at each other.
Mom tries to get the ball rolling. “Thomas, you said that Tessa likes Legos. Why don’t you show her what you’re building?”
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. I may have overcompensated for my nerves earlier—I feel like falling asleep.
“I would be honored to show you my collection,” I say to Tessa.
She giggles.
God, I’m an idiot. I can’t even be normal at home.
I turn without another word and head to our playroom. It’s a big space, originally an enclosed patio, so there’s lots of sunlight and great views of the yard. Mom insists that all my toys stay out here so I don’t clutter up the rest of the house.
Thankfully, Tessa follows me. As soon as we enter, she brushes by me and runs to the far end of the room, where I’ve created a giant marble contraption, with twisty slides, teeter-totters for the marbles to activat
e, and even a bucket with a pulley system.
“What is this?” Tessa asks, eyeing the thing.
I grab my jar of marbles from the bookshelf on the wall and hand it to her. “Marble contraption. It starts here,” I say, pointing to a slide at the top right. “Drop a marble in.”
She selects a large blue and white marble and drops it in.
“Cool,” she whispers as the marble slides and drops.
Tessa watches me watching the marble.
“Did you build this by yourself?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You’re more smarter than I thought.”
I beam.
Tessa wanders over to the bookshelf and peruses the contents. I keep most of my fiction in my room, and the books out here are mostly reference. She selects a large hardback on mummies and flips through the pages.
“Gross!” she says, slamming the book shut.
I take the book from her gently. “It’s not too gross once you understand it,” I say, opening the book back up. Tessa’s body tenses, but she doesn’t move away. Very brave of her. “Yes, mummies are dead people, but they became mummies because the people around them loved them so much. They wanted the people who died to be happy in their next life.”
“All dead people are happy because they go to Heaven,” Tessa says.
“In Egypt, the country where most of these mummies were made, they didn’t believe you automatically go to Heaven. They believed you had to wrap the body up in cloth and put it in a pyramid with gold and jewels before the person could go to Heaven.”
Tessa is now examining the pictures closely.
“Look at this cat,” she says, pointing. “They made a mummy cat!”
“They did,” I say.
“They must have loved that cat a lot,” she says.
“Yes. Cats were very special to the Egyptian people.”
Tessa looks at me. “Did you learn all that from reading this book?”
“A lot of it, yes.”
“Can I borrow it?” she asks. “I like cats, too.”
“Of course.”
She smiles at me, and I feel my heart stutter. Strangely, though, I don’t feel the need to correct it.
“Hey, guys.”
We turn to see Dad walking toward us, a giant Lego box in his arms. I run to him.
“You got it!” I say. Tessa squeals behind me.
Dad sets the box at our feet and we pounce on it.
“You need any help with that?” he asks.
I wave him away. “We’re good. Thanks, Dad.” I don’t even look at him.
He takes the hint. I’m concentrating on pulling the plastic bags full of Legos out the box, and Tessa is already flipping through the directions, but somehow I know Dad’s smiling.
Chapter Six
I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.
We’re in the middle of dinner, greasy slabs of lasagna piled on our plates, and I’m trying to lift the fork and put it in my mouth, but I stab my cheek instead.
“Ow!”
I drop the fork, splattering my t-shirt with red sauce, and rub the corner of my mouth.
Mom gets up and squats down next to me.
“I think it’s time for bed,” she says. She grabs my napkin out of my lap, dabs at my shirt and mouth, and helps me from the chair.
“Are you alright?” Dad asks me, rising from his own chair.
“Fine,” I mumble. “Just done. Sleep.”
Dad stands and watches as Mom guides me to my bedroom. She doesn’t even insist on pajamas—just strips my stained shirt over my head and replaces it with a clean one. Then she tucks me in, kisses my cheek, and leaves.
Ah, the pillow molds to my head and I feel better instantly. It can’t be much later than 6:30, so I’m not really sleepy, just physically tired. Regulating my body on purpose does that, though I don’t know why. Yet. As soon as I start my nervous system research, I’m sure I’ll have the answer.
I even out my breathing and take stock of my body. Viscera—all the major organs—functioning normally. Bones, muscles, blood, nerves, and…there are things in my body I’m aware of but have no name for. I haven’t studied them yet. Everything’s tip-top, except for the lethargy that forces me to remain in bed. The “rest and digest” part of my nervous system has kicked in, and unless I want to regulate again, I’m lying here.
I don’t know the long-term effect of self-regulating. I doubt anyone knows. So I just ride the feeling of rest and peace that has come over me, and listen to the homey sounds of dishes being washed in the kitchen and my parents chatting softly.
They’re trying to whisper, not to wake me, but I have super-human hearing. I would hear them even if they were standing in the yard. It’s simple, really. I expand my tensor tympani muscle, the large muscle in the middle ear. This muscle normally contracts involuntarily at loud sounds in order to dampen vibrations. It works all the time, especially when you chew, or you’d be deaf with the first bite of an apple. Some people can even contract it voluntarily, causing a rolling rumble in the ears. But I think I’m the only one who can expand it.
I do it without really thinking, because I love to hear Dad’s voice. It’s soothing, to know he’s there, just down the hall, safe with us. I don’t even care what he says. I just like that he’s near.
Plates clink. Water runs into the sink.
“Does this happen a lot?” Dad asks.
I snuggle deeper under the covers. Dad’s home.
“Yes.” Mom’s answer is clipped, emotionless.
“How often?”
Mom sighs. “Whenever he fights the normal responses of his body.” She turns the faucet off. “I want to take him to a doctor. The time is right.”
“Right for what?” Dad asks.
“I know I promised you…we put it off at first because it was so incredible, we didn’t think anyone would believe us. And Thomas doesn’t get sick—he’s his own doctor. But he’s only six. He’s not a doctor, no matter how many medical texts he reads. And he can finally explain what’s going on. I think he’s ready.”
“You said it yourself, Trish. He’s only six. And he’ll be a specimen.”
“We won’t let that happen. I…I’m…I need to know he’s okay.”
I hear Dad’s heavy footsteps as he paces around the kitchen.
“He’s fine, Thomas is fine. He’s better than fine.”
“Fine?” Mom’s voice shoots up an octave. “What if he has cancer, or tumors? What if a brain tumor is giving him this ability?”
Dad snorts. “Thomas would know if he has a brain tumor. I mean, wouldn’t he? He says he knows every part of his brain.”
“But he’s six! How would he know? How does he even know what his brain’s supposed to look like?”
“He understands those texts better than most doctors I’ve met,” Dad says. “There’s nothing wrong with him. You’re creating a problem where there is none.”
“Yes, I’m just the hysterical mother, worrying about nothing.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“But that’s exactly what you meant.” Mom takes a deep breath. “I know we agreed I would keep him away from doctors. But I’m scared for him. Truly scared.”
Dad heaves a sigh. “I know you would never harm Thomas,” he says. “I can’t prevent you from taking him, anyway. Fine. It’s your call. You’re the one here with him. I’ll support whatever you think is best.”
“Goddamn it, don’t do that to me!” Mom explodes, and my tensor tympanis contract before I even realize it’s happening. I sit upright in bed and expand them again. “…your son, too,” is all I catch of her last sentence.
“What? I give you what you want, and then you want to argue with me? You’re already the martyr in this relationship.”
“Don’t you dare put that on me,” she hisses at him. “If you have any guilt about the lopsidedness of our relationship, it’s all on you. I never throw it in your face. So don’t you dare try to turn this
on me.”
The faucet begins to trickle again.
“I want your honest opinion regarding Thomas, our son. I want you to take a reasoned stance—”
“I have!” Dad says.
“—and not a blind one that says he’ll be exposed and studied, no matter what. Weigh the costs and benefits. Support your opinion with facts.”
Dad actually growls. “Okay, here are the facts. One, Thomas would know if he’s sick, so there’s no reason to have him see a doctor. Two, he’ll be wanted by governments and researchers all over the world. Three, most doctors won’t believe him anyway. Four, if, and that’s a big if, something does go wrong, you can take him to a doctor then.”
Mom is silent for a while. Then she speaks. “One, he’s too young to understand his body the way an experienced doctor can. Two, I won’t let anyone study him. Period. Three, maybe it doesn’t matter if they believe. I only have to convince someone to check for tumors and disease, and if everything’s fine, I’ll let it go for now.”
“And if the doctor does believe? What then? How do you keep this under wraps?”
“I don’t know,” Mom whispers. “I know it might create issues, but I have to know. I have to know that he’s okay. That peace of mind is worth it to me. And I think it should be worth it to you.”
“Does Thomas…what’s his take on all of this?”
The splashing water stops again, and I can picture Mom turning around to face Dad head on. “He wants to go.”
“Why? Does he actually want to be studied?” Dad asks.
“We haven’t talked about that, but I assume he’d like to pick a doctor’s brain. Ask questions. It’s not easy for him, Mike.”
“If I were here…I don’t know. I don’t know enough about what’s been happening. I haven’t seen what he goes through.”
“I email you every goddamn day,” Mom says. “Whether you answer or not. I give you the updates. I include you as much as I can. You know everything I know.”
“But I don’t know him!” Dad says. “I don’t know my own son! I don’t know how he reacts to things, I don’t know how he makes his choices, I don’t know what he thinks about. You do.”
“Then figure it out,” Mom says through clenched teeth. “If that’s what you need to know to be able to weigh in on this decision, then spend every second of your leave with your son. I…I need you on this. It’s too much to ask of me. I know what I signed up for as your wife, and I’m there. I respect what you do…but Thomas needs his dad on this. I need my husband on this. Please.”
