by J. D. Netto
He jumped back on the truck’s tailgate. “You’re welcome!” He shoved my shoulder forward while singing. “’A modern-day warrior, Mean mean stride’—Come on. Sing with me.”
“’Today’s Tom Sawyer, Mean mean pride,’” I rushed the lyrics to catch up with the melody.
A duet ensued. He grabbed a water bottle from the cooler and held it like a microphone, swaying his hand to the song.
“’Today’s Tom Sawyer, He gets high on you, And the space he invades, He gets by on you.’”
I waved at Jonahs. “Can you lower the volume?”
“’No, his mind is not for rent’—”
“Hey!”
“What, Paul? This is the best part!” he shouted.
“Lower the volume!” I repeated.
He did as I requested, coming back with slumped shoulders and a pout. “Dang, you can kill a mood.” He sat on the edge of the tailgate, arms crossed over his chest.
“There’s this secret I’ve never told anyone. Not even Olivia.” I slouched forward, elbows on my knees.
“Now I’m interested.”
“I named my heart Tom Sawyer,” I whispered.
“Are you serious?” His eyes widened, hands spread in the air. “You followed my advice all those years ago?”
“I did. And it’s helped me deal with him.”
“How come you never told anyone?” he asked.
“Feels good having a secret broken friend. Anyway, thought I’d tell you.”
“I will carry this secret to my grave,” he said solemnly, hand on his chest and head bowed.
We both laughed.
My gaze turned upward. “Would you look at that? So many stars.”
“No light pollution.” He pointed to one of the constellations. “There’s the Big Dipper. If you’re ever lost, that star will always point north. It’s visible all year long.”
“Shame it can’t guide me to a healthy heart.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Shame.”
“Do you actually believe in God, though?” The look he gave me signaled that I had just ruined the moment. “I’m not talking about church. Just asking because you said you believe in God. And you’re right, some in the family question it. But with so many unanswered questions, different religious systems, and all the scientific facts—how do you know there’s a higher power out there?”
“Can’t you feel it?” he asked as if it was obvious.
“Feel what?”
“For a moment, forget the do’s and the don’ts. Forget the how’s and the where’s. Let go of all the rules and regulations we were taught.” His gaze shifted back to the stars. “Just look up at the sky again.”
I did as he requested, even though I didn’t really agree with his statement; the do’s and don’ts pointed us to the truth.
“Can’t you feel it?” His voice echoed in my ears. “God was there before we used religion and politics to control things. He created each of us to be different and saw that it was good. I don’t believe God wants everyone in the same belief system. He has a different adventure for every single one of us. And yet, there’s so much shaming toward people like me who simply want to investigate the beauty beyond the things I already know.”
“What do you feel?” I asked.
“I’m like a moth surrounded by butterflies; harmless, but I still seem like a threat. The misfit will always be judged until understood.”
Jonahs got off the back of the truck, walked to one of the pine trees, plucked a pinecone, and came back. “While some go into a building made of dead trees to have a spiritual experience, I come here where the trees are alive.” He smiled and stabbed a finger at the pinecone. “Church definitely doesn’t smell like this.”
I leaned closer and inhaled the pine scent. “No, it doesn’t. But I can pack some for the next time you decide to go to church.” He tossed the pinecone on the ground, a defeated expression on his face. “Sounds like you’re just challenging tradition,” I added as he sat beside me.
“I’m just trying to balance my pursuit of truth as both a scientist and believer of a higher power. Galileo was accused of heresy by the church when he suggested the Earth wasn’t the center of the universe. He had the scientific facts, but theologians decided it was the other way around. According to them, the sun revolving around the Earth was an undisputed fact of scripture. Maybe they were just upset the information came from a scientist and not one of them first.”
“Interesting,” I mumbled.
“You know what else is funny?” He leaned closer. “If Galileo was alive today, his hypothesis might go something like: The Earth is no longer the center of the universe. People are.”
“No lie there.”
“Galileo’s truth made him guilty in the eyes of religion. They banned his book and stopped him from teaching. He spent the rest of his life under house arrest. Three hundred years later, the Vatican admits the guy was right all along.” He scoffed and shook his head. “I’m willing to take the fall for the truth I discover in this life even if people only understand it after I’m long gone.”
“I admire you.” My words triggered a broad smile on his face. “Your determination to discover something new is what many wished they had. I just hope you have the same determination to understand the truth that’s already in front of you.”
His lips became a rigid line again. He startled me when he suddenly rushed toward the back door, grabbing an old acoustic guitar tucked up against the back window.
“What else do you have in there?” I asked as he approached.
“The doorway to Narnia.” He sat back on the tailgate and began tuning the strings.
He played a melody I knew far too well. “How Great Thou Art” was one of the songs they played almost every time I attended church. It meant so much to me, I ended up recording a rendition of it.
His fingers fiddled with the strings. The stars held his gaze. He’d strike a wrong chord here and there. I could tell he was rusty, which probably meant he wasn’t really playing music with his friends after all. Or maybe he was just rusty when it came to playing hymns. I wondered what else he kept hidden. What other things did he bottle up inside? Maybe what he called a pursuit was actually an attempt to run away from something.
Jonahs was only twenty-nine, but he had wisdom far beyond his years; his words whirled in my head like the wrong notes he struck while playing the song. There was truth to them, but they were out of order, muddled together by a spark of rebellion. I wanted to question more of his comments, but unlike him, I could keep my own rebellion at bay.
THE MAN I NEVER KNEW
They say he was a handsome man,
slight of build and not too tall.
Full of charm and charisma,
he easily had the attention of all.
At twenty-one, he met himself a lady.
Soon he made that lady his wife.
But war broke out in a foreign land,
he had to leave his newly wed behind.
He became a traveling soldier.
Fought for his country in World War II.
He became a traveling soldier.
He’s the man I never knew.
Well peace came,
he returned to the valley
finally to settle down with his bride.
Bur perhaps what he did
in those South Pacific seas
wouldn’t let the man sleep at night.
Well five children later
and growing discontent.
He was waiting for his ship to come in.
He started hitting the bottle too hard
as he turned to a lifetime of sin.
He became a traveling merchant.
His wife and children
didn’t know what to do.
He became a traveling merchant.
He’s the man I never knew.
Roaming around this great country,
the days of Denver
with Jack Kerouac on the road.
Could he have been in New York City
when Bob Dylan was singing
“Pretty Peggy-O”?
Well times got hard. He hit the bottle.
Then the bottle took over his life
with unpaid bills and disappointment.
Then the love he lost
when he cheated on his wife.
He became a traveling hobo
to phoenix town the rails he rode.
He became a traveling hobo.
He’s the man I’ll never know.
Well out on the streets,
he lived as a drunkard.
He was still waiting for his ship to come in.
And often times he would sit and dream,
“Where are those five pretty children?”
There were forty empty bottles
scattered all around.
The dirty mattress
where he’d lay on his side.
Alone there in his woe and petty,
that poor lost soul quietly died.
So tell me, dear granddaddy.
Where is it now you’re traveling to?
Tell me, dear granddaddy.
‘Cause you’re the man I never knew.
Tell me, dear granddaddy.
Where is it now you’re traveling to?
Did you make it into heaven or get sent down below?
You’re the man I never knew.
You’re the man I never knew.
Tom Sawyer
JULY 1986
Laughter echoed around the house as everyone got ready for dinner. Dad wanted us all at the table to celebrate, well, me. I’d finally completed all of the requirements and earned enough merit badges to be an Eagle Scout. As part of the celebration, Mom made enough food for an entire battalion; I asked if I could invite a couple of friends from school, but she told me dinner that night was for family only.
There was a knock on my bedroom door. Which was, in fact, a room located in the basement, shared by me and my brothers, Dan and Jonahs.
“Come in,” I said.
“Hurry up.” Jonahs walked in and sat on his bed, wearing a blue button-down and khaki pants. Mom had probably tried combing his hair, but he had this thing where he never wanted his hair to look too polished, so he’d run his hand through it, making it look like a dark bird’s nest.
“Liking the hair,” I said, looking at mine in the mirror hanging on the wall, making sure all strands were still glued in place by some cheap hair gel.
“Don’t be jealous of my looks.”
Sharing a bedroom with my brothers assured me of a couple of things: a) We’d never go to bed on time, b) It was their right to barge in on me whenever they felt like it, and c) Due to their annoying behavior, a fight was bound to happen at any moment.
But sharing a room with Jonahs came with other side effects. I’d sometimes find bugs hidden under my bed or in my closet; he had a habit of trapping them inside glass jars and keeping them around without telling anyone. The one time he captured a cricket, none of us slept a wink.
“I can’t even get dressed in peace,” I said. “And I still don’t understand why it took everyone longer to get ready for a dinner party happening at our own house than it does to go to church on Sunday. Seriously.”
“You’re the special sibling.” Jonahs lay on his side. “The Eagle Scout with a broken heart.”
“Very funny.”
Jonahs sat up on the bed, looking as if he had discovered a treasure. “You should name it!”
“Name what?” My brows pulled together.
“Your heart. If I had a heart like yours, I’d look at it as a messed-up friend or a wounded hero.” He pursed his lips. “Every broken hero needs an epic name.”
“You think my messed-up heart is a hero?”
“It’s keeping you alive.”
I buttoned up my shirt in silence.
“I’d name mine after a character,” he continued. “Or a song!”
“I think that’s your ten-year-old-head talking, buddy.” I took a step back from the mirror, checking myself one last time. “Maybe you could name yours after a bug. You love those.”
“Say what you want. I think it’s a great idea.” He leapt to his feet and walked to the door. “See you at the table. Everyone is waiting upstairs.”
After he closed the door behind him, I spotted my copy of Huckleberry Finn on the floor by my bed. The edges of the cover were torn and the spine bent from all the hours spent reading it. The sight sparked fond memories of my favorite character and song, “Tom Sawyer.”
With a hand over my heart, I said, “Sawyer…Sawyer…”
Everyone was gathered around the table, their chatter turning to unrehearsed claps once I walked into the dining room. My older siblings, Kirsten and Carla, stood to their feet, clearly cheering me on only because Mom and Dad had asked them to. I called them The Unrelated Twins since, despite being born on the same day, they looked nothing alike. My older sister, Molly, sat beside them. Jonahs tapped the empty chair beside him.
“Proud of you, Paul,” said Dan as I took a seat next to Jonahs. “You’ve got your Eagle, but remember, I was the first to learn how to swim and jump off a diving board. You have some catching up to do.” He was my younger brother, though still older than Jonahs. “But look at you.” He nudged me with an elbow. “Becoming a family legend already.”
“Yes, Dan,” I said in an English accent, my fingers laced over the table as if I attended some fancy dinner party. “I’m aware you’re Superman.”
“It’ll do you good to remember that.”
Janice and Greg, who were eight and three, looked at us like we were cartoon characters.
“Alright, alright. That’s enough.” Dad was up on his feet, hands spread out. “Let’s settle down. I know we’re all hungry.” Everyone fell silent. His eyes bore into mine. “But before we eat, I’d like to honor Paul for this incredible achievement. I’m extremely proud, Son. Very few young men are ever able to get the Eagle Scout rank.” He choked up.
I immediately knew who he meant. Dad told me he was a scout leader, but due to life’s unexpected surprises, he never got the Eagle. He didn’t speak of his childhood or teenage years much, his parents’ divorce a painful memory to this very day.
“And to get an Eagle Scout award at thirteen…” He continued after finding his voice again, “So proud.”
My eyes scanned the faces of everyone around me, eventually landing on Jonahs. He rested his forehead on the edge of the table face down beside me. He seemed to be examining something.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Just looking at something,” he said softly, still in the same position.
“Mom, will you pray and thank our Father in Heaven for His love and support?” Dad asked.
Everyone folded their arms on their laps and closed their eyes, listening to Mom pray. My eyes were half open during the prayer. Jonahs held his position until she was done.
“Dude, are you alright?” I asked, trying to peek at whatever held his attention while the others went for the food.
Mom approached Jonahs and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“What do you have there?” she asked.
He quickly lifted his head. “It’s a secret.”
Mom bent down, meeting his gaze. “You can tell me.”
Jonahs’ hands were cupped together. He beckoned Mom closer with a nod. She leaned in, curious. He whispered something in her ear, earning a few giggles from her. They looked alike. They had the same hazel eyes and
chiseled chin. Jonahs opened his cupped hands, and I spotted the fluttering wings of a gray moth in his grasp. But one of them was broken.
“Their wings don’t heal,” Jonahs whimpered. “I know it looks scary, but moths aren’t bad.” He pouted his lips. “Can I keep it in my room?”
I shook my head at Mom. I had enough jars with bugs under my bed as it was.
“Sweetheart, you can’t,” Mom whispered. “It’ll die inside a jar.”
“But it’ll also die out there,” he retorted.
“Wouldn’t it be better for it to die in its home rather than ours?” Mom smiled.
“Okay.” Jonahs’ eyes welled up.
“Want me to set it free through the back door, honey?”
Jonahs handed her the wounded moth like it was a baby. Mom retreated to the kitchen, opened the back door, and then returned to the table. She wiped her hand on her apron, a bottle of salad dressing in the other.
Dad asked where she went, and she simply shook the bottle in the air, sending Jonahs a wink.
“How did you get a moth in here?” I asked him.
“I didn’t get it in here, genius. It was on the leg of my chair, but I had to get it out before anyone saw it. Kirsten would’ve flipped out.”
“Like she did with the cricket?” I grinned.
“It was just that one time,” he said.
Different subjects came up as we ate; the majority of them being about my achievement. It felt good to have my family celebrate something I thought was impossible for me to do. I listened and chimed in, but watching Jonahs build a dam out of his mashed potatoes was far more entertaining. He was completely engrossed in the act, even building a river with his gravy and planting trees out of broccoli.
Mom and Dad tried to get him involved in the conversation, but no subject was interesting enough to hold his attention for long. He was too busy creating a new world.
Darkness
JULY 1986
I woke up the day after the celebration dinner to find the other empty beds still messy. That meant Mom was waiting for me to wake up so she could help me tidy the room.
