by Geof Johnson
At first, it bothered Jamie to see the sad, almost desperate faces of the people who came to the warehouse, but the look of gratitude they gave him when he helped load their cars — he’d never forget that. It made him feel good inside, made him understand why his grandmothers did it. He realized that helping others was not only good for the people who got helped, but also for the people helping.
He had a brief flash, an almost-memory of someone asking him for help long ago. That couldn’t be right, he thought, he wasn’t old enough for a memory like that. Besides, in the almost-memory, he’d said no. And he wouldn’t do that. He would help people, just like his grandmothers. He quickly forgot about the little memory and ran back to his Gramma, pushing the cart.
* * *
“Jamie, quit spinning before your ice cream flies off your cone.” Evelyn grabbed the chromed edge of Jamie’s stool. They sat at the counter of Mike’s on Main Street. Behind them, a row of booths stretched the length of the long, rectangular room and a white tin ceiling overhead gave it a quaint, cheerful look. The last bite from Jamie’s hot dog bun was still on the plate in front of him
“Yes ma’am.”
“Why did you only want one scoop?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. “I feel guilty eating so much when them people —”
“Those people.”
“Right. When those people at the food bank didn’t have much.”
“Did you learn something today?”
“Um hmm,” he said, licking his ice cream. “That people can be grateful when you help them.”
“What else? What did we talk about?”
“That…that helping others helps yourself.”
“Good boy. I’m proud of you.”
He smiled and took another lick. “Gramma, can I go back sometime?”
“Sure. We’d love to have you.” She rubbed his curly head. “Let me hold your cone so you can give yourself one good spin before we go.”
* * *
When Jamie started first grade, Evelyn was better prepared for the silent, lonely house that went with it. She knew she’d miss the noise and chaos of Jamie and his constant companions, Fred and Rollie, and the excitement and energy they brought to her life, so when some ladies from church asked her to join their Wednesday bridge club, she accepted.
Since Jamie’s was born, her life revolved around her little family and church, and she’d had no need to cultivate friends her own age. But with school starting and long hours of dreadful isolation looming, she jumped at the chance to join the club.
* * *
“Anybody hungry for lunch? I just cut up some fruit,” Rachel said from the sink, as Carl and Jamie stepped into the kitchen from the garage.
“Not hungry.” Jamie headed straight for the family room couch.
“How was soccer?”
“Rollie and Jamie were out of it today,” Carl said.
“Probably tired from the sleepover. How did that go?”
“Pretty good, I think, for their first one. Adele said they finally got to sleep around midnight, and they woke up early and watched cartoons.”
“Did Jamie have any nightmares?”
“About the guy in the purple cloak? I don’t think so.”
“That’s starting to worry me.” She frowned. “It’s the same bad dream, over and over. Maybe we should take him to the doctor.”
“Let’s wait and see.”
Rachel put the apple slices in the refrigerator. “Did Fred ever calm down?”
“I guess. She came over and watched movies with them for a while last night, but she wasn’t happy about not getting to spend the night. Adele said it wasn’t appropriate.”
“I’d let her.”
“You would?” Carl raised his eyebrows.
“Sure, why not? They’re only six years old. What are they going to do? They’re not going to fool around.”
Carl scratched his chin. “Sooner or later, they’re going to want to camp out in the clubhouse. I could stay on the bottom floor in a sleeping bag, if it wasn’t too cold.”
“I like that idea a lot. I’m sure they will, too. Jamie, what do you think?” But when she looked into the family room, she found him fast asleep on the couch.
* * *
Jamie liked first grade. He liked his teacher, Mrs. Barnes, and his classmates, especially since Rollie was one of them. Fred wasn’t, but she had the same recess period.
One thing Jamie didn’t like was lunch. That was because first grade and fifth grade shared the same lunch period and had assigned seating. Unfortunately for Jamie, his table was right next to a fifth grade table, and at that table sat the meanest kid in school, Darryl Dempsey.
On the first day of school, Jamie noticed that some of the kids at his table ate their dessert as soon as they sat down. Before he could ask why, Darryl got up from his table, walked over to Jamie, and grabbed his pudding off of his tray.
Jamie tried to grab the plate. “Hey, that’s mine!”
“Not anymore, twerp,” Darryl said.
That night at dinner, Jamie told his parents about lunch.
“Jamie, You can’t let him push you around like that,” Carl said.
“But he’s bigger than me.”
“You still have to stand your ground. If you don’t, he’s going to keep taking your dessert.”
That was a lot to think about. Jamie liked dessert.
The next day at lunch, Darryl walked over to Jamie and reached for his chocolate cake. Jamie grabbed the edge of the little plate and held on with all of his might. But when Darryl pinched him hard on the fleshy part of his upper arm, Jamie cried out, getting the attention of Mrs. Barnes. Jamie’s teacher made Darryl spend the rest of lunch at the time out table at the front of the cafeteria, which the kids called the Table of Shame.
At the front of the school the next morning, Jamie told Fred and Rollie, “I left my book on the bus. I’ll meet you inside.”
Jamie retrieved his book and hurried through the front doors, looking for his friends, who were already halfway down the main hall. But as he walked toward Fred and Rollie, he didn’t see Darryl Dempsey step out of a doorway behind him, a vengeful look on his face. He didn’t notice that Darryl followed him as he approached his friends, but he did see that they had wide-eyed expressions of alarm.
“What —” he started to say, but suddenly felt a terrible shock in the back of his head as Darryl slugged him with all of his pent-up fury. The next thing Jamie knew, he was on the hall floor, a stabbing pain in his skull. He sat up and looked around and saw Darryl on the floor, too, curled up in a fetal position, both hands on his groin. Fred was standing over him, looking madder than ever.
Jamie spent the next hour in the nurse’s clinic with a bag of ice on the back of his head. Through the open door, he could see across the hall into the Principal’s office, where Darryl sat by himself at a small desk, looking miserable. Surprisingly, Fred wasn’t there. She wasn’t in any trouble. Darryl was probably too embarrassed to admit that he’d been kicked in the balls by a first grade girl.
* * *
Rachel called Carl at work and told him about the incident, and that night after dinner, Carl paid a visit to Darryl Dempsey’s house, where he had a little talk with his father. The following week, Darryl transferred to a private school.
* * *
“Carl, you’ve still got your gun on,” Rachel said, as he walked in after a long day at work.
He put his hand on the bulge beneath his coat. “Sorry. I’ll go lock it up.”
“While you’re in the garage, grab some more sodas.” She tapped the computer keyboard wildly. “Darn! Lost the Internet connection again. Will you go get Jamie, please?”
“I can fix it.”
“No, you can’t. Get Jamie.”
“We don’t need to bother him. Scoot over and let me have a look.”
“No, Carl. Every time this happens, you waste an hour sitting here at the computer getting frustrat
ed and mad, then you start cussing and my mom gets mad. Then we end up getting Jamie and he fixes it in about two minutes. Can we just skip all that and get Jamie now?”
A few minutes later, Jamie tapped at the computer, his blue eyes focused in an unblinking stare at the monitor. After a minute or so, he put his hand on the modem and closed his eyes briefly. “Okay, it’s working.”
“Can you show me what you just did?” Carl said.
“I’ve showed you before, but you don’t listen. You try to do it your way and it doesn’t work.”
“Hey, now, I —”
“It’s true, Carl,” Rachel said. “You’re too stubborn to listen to your six-year-old son, even though he’s better at computers than both of us.”
“Don’t know about that.”
“Don’t take it personally. Most kids are better at this kind of stuff than their parents.” She kissed his cheek. “Speaking of stubborn, Fred’s going to be staying with us all day tomorrow. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s okay with me. What’s up?” Carl said.
“Lisa has to go to Charlotte tomorrow to visit her great aunt and Larry’s out of town.”
“Can Rollie come over, too?” Jamie asked.
“He’s going on a church retreat.” Rachel picked Jamie up from the computer chair. She sat down and put him in her lap. “But we’ll do something fun.”
“Can we go to the movies?”
“Sure, that’s a great idea. You and Fred can have a date. Your first date!”
Jamie narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his mouth.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You look like an old man when you do that.”
“Fred is not my girlfriend,” he said flatly.
“Well, don’t tell her that. She might kick you again.”
“Fred kicks too much, Mom. I bet you don’t kick Daddy.”
“No, but I give him a pinch every now and then.” She glanced at the bulge underneath Carl’s coat where his holster was. “And I’m going to give him one right now if he doesn’t lock his gun up.” She laughed and reached toward Carl, who jumped out of reach and scurried to the garage.
Chapter 17
Not all of Jamie’s dreams were nightmares about the man in the purple cloak. Some of the good ones were of him as Walter the Wizard, all grown up. He could do all of the things Walter could do, and more, and he didn’t need a wand like the little wizard. His power flowed straight from his fingertips, like bolts of lightning. It was exhilarating to feel the energy fill up his body and surge from his hands in tingling streams of fire.
The best dream came the night of the first campout in the clubhouse with his friends.
* * *
Carl lifted the trapdoor to the second floor of the clubhouse and said, “It’s time to turn off the DVD player, guys. If anybody has to use the bathroom, let’s go now.”
“We don’t have to go, Dad,” Jamie said. He wasn’t calling him Daddy anymore around his friends.
“Okay, but you’ve had a lot of soda, so if you boys have to go in the night, you can pee on a tree. Fred, you wake me up if you have to go, and I’ll walk you to the house.”
“I’m not peeing on a tree,” Rollie said. “There might be snakes out there.”
“Rollie, I told you ten times, there ain’t no snakes,” Jamie said.
“There aren’t any snakes,” Carl said. “And how do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“I can hold it, Mr. Sikes,” Fred said. “I can hold it way longer than they can.”
“It’s not a competition, Fred. If you have to go, wake me up. Your mom told me you could get a bladder infection.” There were still no takers on his bathroom offer, so he said, “Let’s get some sleep. I’ll be right down here so there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“We’re not afraid of anything, Dad.”
“’Cept snakes,” Rollie said.
“There aren’t any snakes!”
Carl closed the trapdoor, stepped off the ladder, and settled into his sleeping bag. It was a nice spring night, cool but not cold, and the air smelled fresh, reminding Carl of his camping experiences as a Boy Scout. The pad underneath him cushioned the hard wooden floor. Snuggled inside his sleeping bag, he was comfortable, and the night was peaceful.
Except that the kids were still talking. After about fifteen minutes, he said, “Guys, time to hush.”
He heard a muffled “Okay” from above, and they got quiet. Carl settled back in, ready for sleep, but some animal, probably a frog, was making a chirping sound, endlessly. He tried to ignore it, but the harder he tried, the more it bothered him. He finally gave up, climbed the ladder, lifted the trapdoor and said, “Jamie, can you get that animal to hush?”
“Uh huh.” Jamie opened the door and said, “Hey, could you please be quiet?”
The noise stopped immediately, so Carl closed the trap door and slipped back into his sleeping bag. He lay awake for a few more minutes, listening for the sound, but all was quiet.
I don’t how he does that, but right now, I don’t care.
* * *
Jamie’s dreams that night were clear and rich, vivid to the point of being real. He was a young man, doing magic that Walter never would’ve thought of. He was in a room somewhere, a stone tower, surrounded by books and flasks and small mechanical contraptions, little clockwork gizmos. With his finger, he traced the glowing outline of a door, pushed on it, and it opened. He stepped through it into an amazing landscape. He was on an expansive rocky ledge and it was night, but there were three moons overhead, their bluish-white light illuminating the valley below.
He picked up a rock about the size of a baseball, hefted it for a moment, and threw it out over the valley. He quickly raised his arm, pointed his finger, and fired a bolt of energy that blasted the receding rock into a puff of dust. He picked up another rock, threw it straight up, and fired again, catching the rock at its zenith and disintegrating it instantly. Laughing with enthusiasm, he eyed a small boulder, too heavy to pick up, and made a lifting motion with his hand. The boulder rose and hung in midair. He made a throwing motion and the boulder flew out over the valley. He spun in a circle, pointed his finger and fired again, exploding the boulder with a loud bang that echoed off the mountains on the other side of the valley.
He walked to the very edge of the cliff, put his feet together and his hands by his side. Then, bending his knees, he jumped, or dove, like he was at the pool, out into the vastness below. But instead of falling, he flew, arms in front of him like Superman, straight out over the valley. He rolled his body and flew down, down, faster and faster, rocketing to the valley floor, the wind buffeting his face, with impossible, exhilarating speed. At the last moment, he pulled out of his dive and flew parallel to the valley floor, turning as he shot over the landscape, corkscrewing through the air toward the mountains on the other side.
He turned and flew up, past the rocky ledge, higher and higher, until the moonlit mountains seemed like little sand piles below him. He paused in midair, hung for a moment halfway between the three moons above and the mountains below, and took in the magnificent view. He remembered thinking, the way you sometimes do in dreams: I hope Fred and Rollie have dreams like this.
* * *
Rollie’s birthday was a few weeks before Fred and Jamie’s, so technically, he was the oldest of the three. This bothered Fred. She tried telling her parents that someday she’d be older than Rollie, but no matter how hard her parents tried, she couldn’t, or didn’t want to, grasp the idea that birthdays weren’t flexible, Rollie’s would come before hers every year, and he would always be older.
“When I’m president,” she said, “I’m going to change that.”
* * *
For Rollie’s seventh birthday, his parents bought him a basketball goal, a real one, not the little plastic kind that little kids play with. It had a pole attached to a base with wheels, so they could put it anywhere, and it was adjustable. Garrett put it on
the edge of his driveway, halfway between the street and his house.
“Mr. Wilkens, it’s too high up,” Jamie said.
“It’s only nine feet,” Garrett replied. “It supposed to be ten.”
“But I can’t get the basketball up there.” Jamie heaved again, but came up short.
“I can do it,” Rollie said confidently. He picked up the ball and grunted as he flung it, sending it all the way over the backboard.
“I can, too,” Fred said. She carefully eyed the rim, gave the ball a two-handed push with all her might, and banged it off the bottom of the rim.
“You just need a little help with your mechanics.” Garrett picked the ball up, dribbled it twice, then jumped and shot with one smooth motion. Swish.
“Wow,” the kids said together.
“Maybe it is a little high for right now.” Garret went to the garage, got his stepladder, and lowered the rim to eight feet. He moved the ladder aside and said, “Try that.”
Rollie tried first, and nearly sank it.
“Yeah, that’s better,” Garrett said.
The kids resumed their attack on the goal, and before long, Rollie made his first shot, throwing his arms up exultantly. Fred, with her usual firecracker determination, managed to sink one not long after. Jamie was the last to score, but it didn’t bother him much. He was playing with his friends. That’s what mattered.
* * *
One morning in late June, Rachel found Jamie watching television in the family room.
She sat next to him.“Whatcha watchin’?”
“It’s a nature show about dogs.”
“How come you’re not watching cartoons?”
“I can watch those when Fred and Rollie come over. They don’t like nature shows.”
“So what are they doing on this show?”
“These people are learning about dogs. Dogs are smart. The people put these little thingies on the dogs’ heads, and when they show the dogs pictures of people’s faces, they can tell how the dogs look at the faces, what they look at first.”
“Which is…?”
