by Jonah Black
“I’ll help him with his signals,” Honey said.
“That’s my angel,” said Mom.
She hugged us both, one with each arm. “I have two special kids,” she said.
“You know it,” Honey said.
Dr. Aristotle Chamberlin
Principal, Don Shula High School
Pompano Beach, FL 33092
September 13
Dear Dr. Chamberlin,
Recently I was informed that I was to be a junior at Don Shula this year instead of a senior. I believe an injustice has been committed. I want to petition you to reconsider this decision because it is unfair and detrimental to my education.
It was explained to me by Mrs. Perella that I did not finish up my junior year at Masthead Academy in “good standing” and therefore I cannot get credit. However, I took all of my final exams there except for German, so I should get credit for the year.
Mrs. Perella said that because Don Shula is a magnet school in languages, my German grade was the one that really made a difference. Although I did get a D for the year I would have gotten a higher grade if I had been able to take the final exam for that course. But I had to leave the day of the exam, which wasn’t my fault.
I believe I have performed adequately as a student and should be a senior because, no matter how the year ended for me, I am a good student and do not deserve to be in the eleventh grade again. I want to go to college next year.
I hope you will consider my request to be moved back up to the senior class. I’d be grateful to talk to you about this at your earliest convenience, or sooner.
Sincerely,
Jonah Black
I almost didn’t mail this to Dr. Chamberlin because I was afraid it sounded desperate. But then I realized I am desperate. I’m doing the Civil War for the second time in American history and I can’t stand it.
So I mailed it. Of course it’s still possible that Dr. Chamberlin might not even exist, since no one’s ever seen him. If that’s true, then this letter is completely worthless.
Sept.14
After school I walked down to the beach to watch Posie surf with her team. It was a whole big scene down there. People were hanging out, lying on towels, listening to music, drinking beer on the sly, smoking. Not everybody was from Don Shula, but I recognized some of them. There were people from Pompano Latin and Ely High and Milhaus Community College. A lot of the kids who usually hang out in the IHOP.
So Thorne and I stood on the beach watching Posie and Wailer and Lindsey LeFarge, this other girl from Don Shula. Posie is so damn good. I mean, when she dropped down into the shoulder of a wave everybody on the beach got quiet and watched her, and when she finished up, people applauded. To be honest, there was some of the same admiration for Wailer, but when he surfed everybody just nodded and cheered. Posie made people fall silent.
“She’s the golden girl,” Thorne said.
“I know,” I said.
“Hey,” Thorne said, perking up. “You don’t have the hots for Posie, do you?”
“Thorne,” I said, like it was the stupidest thing he’d ever asked me. “Get real. She’s my friend.”
“Well, I’m trying to get you back into form,” Thorne said. “I bet Posie would do it with you if you asked her.”
“Hey,” I said, really annoyed now. “She’s in love with Wailer, okay?”
“Yeah. You’re right,” Thorne said. “She probably wouldn’t do it with you after all.”
“Well, what’d you bring it up for then?” I snapped.
“I don’t know, Jonah,” Thorne said. “I yam vast. I contain multitudes.”
“Are you high or something?” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Dude,” Thorne said. “It’s Walt Whitman. The poet? Oh,” he said, pretending to be embarrassed. “I forgot they don’t teach Whitman in eleventh grade!”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I said, glaring at him. “You think it’s funny that I’m a junior.”
“You want to know the truth?” Thorne said. “I think it bites worse than you do. I was looking forward to having you around, Jonah. Classes suck.”
We both watched as Posie glided across the water on her surfboard. Talk about poetry.
“How’d you like to be able to do something that well?” I said.
Thorne smiled wickedly. “Dude, I already do.”
“What?” I said. But now that I think about it I know what he was talking about.
Right about then, Lucy McIntyre walked over to us.
“Hi, Thorne,” she said. “You going to Luna’s Friday?”
Thorne frowned, like he was really stressed about his superbusy schedule. “I don’t know,” he said. “I got a lot going on.” He is so full of it sometimes.
“Okay,” Lucy said, flustered. “Call me, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Thorne said.
“Maybe I could come over to your house before the party. And then we could go over together,” she suggested.
Thorne frowned again, but this time it looked real.
“Friday’s not a good day,” he said. “At least not to come over.”
“Thorne,” Lucy said, and now her voice sounded desperate. “Call me?”
“Okay,” Thorne said. “Whatever.”
Lucy walked away, her shoulders slumped. I felt sorry for her.
“Hey, Thorne,” I said. “What was that about?”
“Just keeping her guessing,” Thorne said, like it was no big deal.
“But I thought you liked her. I thought you were going out with her.”
“I am,” he said. “Come on, Jonah, don’t tell me you don’t ever give the tuna a little yank on the line?”
“Tuna?” I said.
He nodded, like it was the one thing he knew for sure in the universe. “Tuna,” he said.
“But you are going to Luna’s, right?”
“Absolutely, are you kidding? Her parents are going to France. It’s the first certified blowout of the fall season.”
“So why didn’t you tell Lucy you were going?”
But Thorne wasn’t listening anymore. He was looking at this tall girl wearing a St. Winnifred’s Academy uniform, standing on the beach a few feet away.
“Uh-oh. I gotta go,” Thorne said. Then he got up and walked over to talk to the girl. Something about Thorne seemed weird to me. I feel like I’m not getting the whole story from him sometimes. But then again, I haven’t exactly given him my whole story either, so I guess we’re even.
I stood around for a little while longer and then I got my bike and walked it along the shore toward Lighthouse Point. Seeing Posie surfing made me feel kind of depressed. It’s like I’m jealous of her, not for being such a good surfer, but for knowing exactly what she wants to do. I mean I wouldn’t be surprised if she did wind up dropping out and going pro and living with Wailer on the beach and making babies. Maybe that’s what she’s meant to do.
I guess it makes me sad that our lives have gone in such different directions, too. Three years ago, Posie and Thorne and I were pretty much inseparable. And now Thorne is this smooth operator and Posie is a surfer goddess and I’m this loser who looks exactly the same as he did in ninth grade.
There’s really nothing wrong with our lives going in different directions. I just wish mine was going forward instead of backward.
I reached the old lifeguard tower and leaned my bike against the base and climbed up the ladder. There was a big brown pelican perched on the lifeguard bench, but it took off when it saw me.
A moment later I heard someone singing, “’Hello young lovers, wherever you are. . . . I’ve had a love like yours. . . .’”
Then a Red Sox cap came bobbing up the ladder. It was Pops Berman.
“Move over,” he said, and I shoved over on the bench so the old man could sit down.
“Hi, Pops,” I said.
“Hello, Chipper.” Pops wheezed throatily. He looked tired.
“How’s it going?�
� I asked.
“Lousy,” he said.
“Lousy? How come?”
“What? You want a list? Kidneys, failing. Liver, failing. Gall bladder—hell, kid, I haven’t seen my gall bladder in forty years! I’m a mess!” He started coughing into his fist.
I felt bad for him. “I’m sorry, Pops. Have you seen a doctor?” I asked.
“A doctor? Ha! You know what they tell me? Lay off the booze! Lay off the coffee! Lay off the cigars! Lay off the doughnuts! What? Are they trying to kill me?”
“Well, what you eat does kind of affect your health,” I said.
“What am I gonna do with health? Tell me that? I’m supposed to eat twigs and berries so I can keep on doing this?” He coughed into his fist again. Then he whacked me with this wooden cane he carries around but doesn’t really use. “It’s you I’m worried about, kid. You’re in a state, aren’t you, Chipper? You’re pathetic.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, rubbing my arm where he’d hit me.
“I seen you down at the surfing beach standing all by yourself, watching that girl with the pumpkin butt out on the waves. You’re not going to let her walk your doggy, are you? You’re too darn stupid.”
“Posie? You’re talking about Posie?” I said, a little freaked out that he’d been watching me.
“I don’t know what her name is. All I know is, you’ve given up. You aren’t even trying! Goddammit, I don’t understand you. Look at you, you got all the catnip in the world! Young fella, good-looking, not too stupid. And you’re just letting her get away. You think you’re going to be proud of yourself when you’re like me? A disgusting old derelict? Well?”
The conversation was getting ridiculous. “She has a boyfriend, Pops,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t give a goddamn about her boyfriend. Don’t talk to me about her boyfriend! Don’t . . .” He stood up, heading for the ladder.
“Where are you going?” I said.
“I gotta get away from you, Chipper. You’re making me too mad. I’m gonna get a heart attack and drop dead this instant if I don’t stop talking to you.”
“I thought you didn’t care about dying,” I said.
“I don’t care if I die, I just don’t want to do it today.”
But I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted to hear what he had to say. “Wait. Stop,” I said. “You think I should go after Posie?”
Pops leaned against the railing and adjusted his baseball cap. “Tell me the thought’s never entered your mind,” he said.
I sat there for a while, not sure what to say. The old guy is definitely sharp. He’s practically psychic.
“Okay,” I said. “So I’ve thought about it.”
“Atta boy. Now you get in there and start walkin’ the doggy!” Pops shouted.
“I don’t know, Pops. It’s different with Posie. She’s my friend,” I said. “I’ve known her since we were eight.”
“Exactly!” said Pops. “Who else are you gonna play hide-the-salami with? Some girl you don’t even know?”
“She’s taken,” I said. “She’s in love. She wants to live on the beach with her boyfriend and make babies.”
Pops just shook his head. “I don’t know what’s more pathetic. That she believes him, or that you believe her.”
“You think he’s lying?” I said.
Pops just laughed. “Hmm. Let me think. Yeah, it’s a big mystery, all right. That’s his line, stupid. I bet he’s used it a thousand times.”
This was the best news I’d heard in a long time, but also the worst. I didn’t like to think that Posie was being played.
Pops coughed into his fist again. “Let me ask you one question, Chipper. What did I tell you last time? About why we’re here, the purpose of life?”
I remembered what he’d said. “To love women?” I said.
Pops nodded, and his face took on a happy glow. “You’ve got it. What the hell. Maybe you aren’t so stupid as I thought.”
“All women?” I said.
Pops smiled even wider. “Oh, yes,” he said, with an expression of bliss and utter calm. “All women.”
He climbed down the ladder and as he walked away I heard him singing again.
Now I’m back home again and I’m writing this in my room and I have this crazy feeling that Pops Berman might be right about Posie. But as soon as I start thinking about being with her I feel like I’m entering forbidden territory and I kind of stop myself. Maybe I should be on some of those drugs Cheese Girl was talking about. I need to relax.
Sept. 15
I went to work at First Amendment today and I knew something was up because Mr. Swede wasn’t there and Mrs. Swede kept referring to him as “zat man.” I wonder if they’re getting divorced. I always thought they were perfectly happy together, but who knows. I guess you can never tell with couples. I don’t remember Mom and Dad ever fighting. It was like they were together and then suddenly Dad wasn’t coming home anymore. Then one Sunday Mom sat us down and told us Dad was moving to Pennsylvania. I kept waiting for her to tell us when he was coming back, but she didn’t.
I had five pizzas to deliver—two pepperoni, one regular, a sausage, and one veggie. The pepperonis went to a small brick house in Cresthaven. A girl answered the door wearing a long Japanese robe. Her house was full of little yellow birds singing in cages.
She had me wait in the hall while she got the money. I could smell incense burning and I could hear water trickling in a fountain but I couldn’t see it. The girl came back carrying a tray with a tea service on it and she says, “Would you like some tea?” and I nod my head yes. I take my shoes off and follow her into a garden with a flagstone floor and little wind chimes hanging in the trees. The girl kneels down to pour the tea into tiny cups without handles. Her hair is pulled tight into a ponytail and there are tiny diamond studs in her ears.
A white horse nibbles at a flowering bush in the garden. It stamps its foot and snorts.
Sophie holds out a cup and I take it and the tea is warm and tastes like licorice.
“There’s more,” Sophie says. “Do you want some more?”
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
As she leans over to pour the tea her robe falls open and I take the kettle out of her hand and put it on the floor. Sophie kneels in front of me and says, “Jonah Black opening the door of love to enter the green ocean of bliss and homecoming.” Then she begins to unbutton my shirt. Japanese music tinkles in the background, and I close my eyes.
“I’m sorry, the birds are so noisy tonight, I didn’t hear you. Would you like some tea?” the girl asked, tucking her thick brown hair behind her ears.
“No, thank you,” I told her. “I have more pizzas to deliver.”
I got back on my bike and rode down Dixie to an apartment in a four-story building across from the airport. It was full of all these college girls smoking a big bong in their underwear, and they were laughing their heads off. The girl that paid me was giggling so hard she had to put the sausage and the regular on the floor and sit down to try to get control of herself. Her friends were all howling at her like it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. I didn’t say anything. It was none of my business.
The last delivery was at a nice-looking stucco house near Kester Park. At first I didn’t think anybody was home. I had to ring the bell like three or four times and this little dog was barking like crazy. Finally a girl shouted from an upstairs window, “I’ll be right down, come on in.” A cloud of steam drifted out the window as she called to me, and her hair was wet.
So I went in and stood in the front hallway, waiting for her but she didn’t come down. I could hear the water running and I kept waiting for it to shut off and for her to come down the stairs, but nothing happened. This little brown toy poodle kept running around my legs going “Gwipe gwipe gwipe.” Finally, I walked over to the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “Hello?” I heard this kind of frustrated sigh of exasperation. So I shouted, “Are you okay?”
�
�Would you mind coming up here for a second?” the girl called back.
So I climbed the stairs. It was a very nice house, with green wall-to-wall carpeting and white walls, and it looked like no one else was home. The little dog followed me and when I got to the top I said, “Hello?”
The girl came out of the bathroom with her hair in a towel, wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe.
“Are you all right?” I said.
“I’m okay, it’s nothing, forget it,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”
“Thirteen dollars,” I said.
She dug around in her wallet and handed me fifteen bucks.
“Thanks,” I said, and turned to go.
Then she says, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Do you think you could put some of this lotion on my back?” she asks. “There’s this one spot right in the middle and no matter what I do I can’t reach it.”
She hands me a bottle of Lubriderm and I squirt some on my hand. Then she turns her back and lets her robe drop to her hips. I run my hand over her pale, freckled shoulders. Her skin is very soft but I can feel the hardness of her bones underneath. I cover her back with lotion and then she turns around.
“Do my front, too,” she says.
So I squirt more lotion into my hands and rub her chest and her stomach, trying to be professional about it.
And then she says, “Now I’m going to do you, Jonah Black.” So I take off my shirt and she starts rubbing the lotion on me but it’s disappearing fluid, and everywhere she spreads it, I disappear. She works all the way down my body until I’m just a pair of shins and feet, and then she does those and I’m totally gone. Then she fills her hands with the thick cream and rubs it all over her face and arms and stomach and legs, until she disappears, too. I feel an invisible kiss, a kiss without any bodies at all. And Sophie whispers, You see, this is the only way we can be together, if we’re totally invisible.
Sept. 18
I’m sitting in Miss von Esse’s homeroom, waiting for the day to begin. I’ve been an eleventh grader almost two weeks now. I haven’t heard anything from Dr. Chamberlin. You’d think if someone didn’t exist they’d at least have the courtesy to let you know.
