The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle

by Leslie Connor

  He still stares. Yes.

  And then I think this: Threw it to hide it? So you wouldn’t find it?

  The lieutenant says, “Mason . . . I know how it is. Once something goes so terribly wrong, fear can make a person do things tha—”

  “You think it was me who did that.” I gulp. “Oh my god!” There is so much green I cannot see the lieutenant. I say, “You think I sawed that rung. You think I did the thing that killed Benny Kilmartin.”

  chapter 57

  THE BIG WRONG PIECE

  Tell you what. When something is said, it is said for good.

  It doesn’t matter that now the lieutenant is saying that the handsaw is just something he thinks about a lot. And that he would like to know where that is.

  I know what he thinks. I’m sick about it. I’m sick that my grandma heard. My uncle Drum. Shayleen.

  I watch the lieutenant go out our door. I see ugly green puffs happening all on top of each other. I blink my eyes. I hear his shoes on the sheet of plywood out there. He’s leaving. But he’s staying inside of me. Because I know what he thinks. All the blood in me knows it and my heart knows it. With all of these dull thuds.

  Uncle Drum and Grandma are talking. They try to comfort. They say there are still plenty of pieces to the puzzle. Shayleen’s voice is there too. But I can’t listen. I get up. Rush outside. I call to the lieutenant. It is dark but I see him beside his car.

  I say, “Lieutenant! I need to tell you something.”

  I try to look at him. But I got this mess of sick green blobs. I try to speak but my voice croaks. It is hard knowing what he believes about me.

  I say, “There have been a lot of times I have talked to you. And listened to you. And you say something and I say, yeah. To agree. Because it seems rude to say that you are not right. But you’re not. You have things wrong. About me. There is a big wrong piece in your puzzle.”

  I see him nod. He says, “I would like for that to be true. The trouble is, Mason, I have to draw all conclusions on my own. You were the last one to see your friend alive.”

  There that is again. Makes me sound special. But it is not.

  He says, “But you and I have a problem. I feel like you don’t give me much to go on. You have the notebook. And you don’t even have to write it by hand anymore. I told you the typing is fine with me. Fine.”

  I know the lieutenant is right about that. Takes me down to nothing but a whisper. I say, “I’m sorry! I am too now and then about it. I am that way about a lot of things.”

  He says, “And see, it’s more important than that, Mason. Finding out what happened to Benny should matter most of all.”

  The lieutenant tells me to think that over. When he drives away I wait there.

  I start to think about all the sad-to-see-you faces in Merrimack. I see them. Andy and Franklin. And the clerk at Bishell’s Hardware. Irene in her hairnet and Stewart at the grill. Margie up at Calvin’s house. All of them.

  I think this: It is not just the lieutenant who believes all this bad about me. I see dark on dark out here in the night. I blink. Then taste a splash of salt.

  I put my hand in my pocket. Close sweaty fingers on the loyal rock. Smooth and round. I pull it out. Draw my arm back. I wing that rock across Swaggertown Road. I hear it hit pavement somewhere not far up on Jonagold Path.

  I go back inside. Walk past my supper. On through to the stairs. I cannot look at Uncle Drum or Grandma or Shayleen. Not even when they call my name.

  I go upstairs to the bed where I sleep. I roll up small. Small as a kid my size can be. And I close my eyes. Dig my fists into the sockets. And I sweat and sweat. And my heart pounds. Sicker and sicker. Because I get it now. All the sad-to-see-you faces are not just about me being Benny’s friend and losing him. There are people who think I did something awful. They have been thinking it through two apple seasons. All this time I have been too stupid to know that.

  chapter 58

  THE BEST BOY

  I am up and at the kitchen counter before daylight. I’m awake because of what the lieutenant said. I have the notebook open. Right in front of me. Those couple of Dragon writing pages sticking out of it. I don’t put on the light. No point. It’s not like I can write in it. I keep sticking the point of that orange pencil into the fold. Watch it stand. Then watch it fall.

  I think about what the lieutenant said. That I haven’t given him much. Then I try to remember what more I have said into the Dragon. I know some is about Benny. And the tree house. I wonder if something there could be a piece that he needs. A piece to make him believe in me. Trouble is, I have already told all of it to him. Way back.

  Grandma comes in. She whispers, “Oh . . . Mason, honey.” She says it because I am here, is all. And it is way early. She puts on the light. Tunes her National Public Radio. Just low. She starts the coffee. Then she leans on the counter.

  She says, “You okay, Mason?”

  I shake my head no. I say, “I couldn’t sleep. Just can’t believe . . . well . . . about the lieutenant. And all that.”

  She says, “I know.” Her voice is soft.

  I say, “He really thinks it. Thinks I did something to hurt Benny. And he thinks I lied about it too.”

  Grandma sighs. She says, “He seems to have an idea that he can’t let go of.”

  I say, “Yes! That’s it! It’s killing me, Grandma. Like a hole gone through. Like losing Benny again. Sort of.”

  She says, “We have to try to understand how hard his job is. He has to piece together a story. But he also has to prove it.”

  I say, “I want him to have the true story. For everyone. And . . . because, Grandma, I think this is bad. What if . . . well . . . couldn’t I be in a lot of trouble?”

  Then I see it. Her eyes fill up. Tears drowning the minnows.

  I say, “Grandma, did you ever think it? This whole time? That I did it? Did you think I hurt Benny?”

  She flicks the water out of her eyes. She says, “Not for a minute. And neither did your uncle Drum. But what’s even more important is that we know you don’t lie, Mason. That’s why we decided it’d be okay for you to talk to the lieutenant. We could have refused. But we know you are a good boy. The best boy.”

  She reaches. Takes my earlobe in her finger and thumb. I forgot she used to do this. When I was small. She rubs it—little squishes, like I am dough. She looks me over and I feel like I am small. So small. Like my own mom—gone so long—will walk into the room behind me. And why that? Why? When I cannot even remember her so well. Why do I feel her now? I don’t ask it out loud. I don’t think anyone could answer.

  Grandma gets breakfast started. I lay my head down on my arms. Close down on my eyes. Kind of like I am going to tell something to the Dragon. But I know I’m not at school. I am home. I’m glad for it. The kitchen is warm. Coffee smell in the air. I still feel small and tired. So tired.

  I think this: Grandma knows I wouldn’t saw up a rung. She knows I wouldn’t lie. She said I am the best boy . . . best boy . . .

  Then there is Shayleen. Standing beside me. She says, “Ew! Your head is touching the counter. Mason. Ew! Sit up!”

  I do that. I look around the kitchen. See Grandma at the far end. She is pulling laundry out of the dryer now. National Public Radio is up a little louder. Sun is coming in.

  Shayleen says, “Here. I got you something.” She slaps down a package. Bandanas. Folded stack. Must be six. All colors. She says, “These are one hundred percent cotton. I got them during Made in the USA week on the shopping channel. You need to carry one of these all the time. Always, always. Actually, you might need two because you sweat like a . . .”

  She thinks that over.

  She says, “You sweat excessively. These will help.”

  I say, “Thank you?” Comes out of me like a question because I am confused. She is sort of yelling at me. But being nice. Because she did buy me something. But then I wonder who paid for the bandanas anyway?

  Shayleen says, “And Mason,
I know you are upset. You have good reason. But you need to get a grip. Because that lieutenant is way off when it comes to you. Okay? You hear me?”

  I nod. Because I sure hear her. She is right in my ear.

  She says, “Now, I’m also going to get permission from Drum and order you some new pants. You’re thinning out and shooting up. And you’re going to need a razor because your chin is fuzzy.”

  I gulp. Slap my hand over my chin. I do not want Shayleen talking about chin hairs.

  She says, “Now swab that sweat.”

  So then I sit here with my new bandanas. I pull on my chin to check for hairs. While I do that I wonder how it was that Shayleen got all flipped around to where she is for me instead of against me.

  I take a bandana. The pink one. Open up the wide square. I think this: Pink is the color of good. So maybe the bandana can bring some to me.

  chapter 59

  THE TRUTH FROM THE DRAGON

  The bus takes the loop through town. It is quiet. Not so many kids riding. That is partly because this is the Friday running right into Columbus Day weekend. Some families cut out early. Not the Drinkers. They will leave this afternoon. Anyway, I have my seat to myself. I sit up high. I’m keeping up with Merrimack. Watching for all my checkpoints. But tell you what else I do. I think.

  What I decide is this: I need to stop being now and then about all the things I am now and then about. I need to do things right. Better. In my head I make a checklist. Hope I can remember it all. This morning, I need to get to the Dragon. And I need Ms. Blinny’s help.

  In the SWOOF I find Annalissetta Yang. She is standing near to the Dragon. About to sit down. That is not a good start. Not for me.

  I tell Ms. Blinny, “I need something. Real bad.” I say, “I need to print from the Dragon again. I can’t wait through the long weekend. Columbus.”

  I think she knows I need something for the lieutenant. She says, “Oh. Okay. I have two afternoon meetings. Hmm . . . let’s see when we could do that?” She looks at the clock. She looks at a list on her desk. Then she looks at Annalissetta Yang.

  Annalissetta smiles with her tiny teeth. She says, “You want my turn, Mason? Want the Dragon now?”

  I say, “If you could give it to me. Please.”

  She says, “Sure. That’s okay with me.”

  Ms. Blinny says, “Annalissetta, you are very kind.”

  Annalissetta says, “Not a problem!”

  I tell her that I owe her a favor.

  Annalissetta says, “I will hold you to it, Mason.” She turns her Crocodile around. Away from the Dragon desk. She goes to the soft couch. She gets busy with a book.

  I whisper. I tell Ms. Blinny what the lieutenant told me. How he thinks bad of me.

  She is quiet about it. She says, “We’re going to find what you need.” She scrolls through all the things I have fed to the Dragon. There is a lot of writing here for a kid like me. Surprised to see it. I wipe my face with the pink bandana from Shayleen. I watch over Ms. Blinny’s shoulder. Try to read. The letters blur. They fatten up. Go splotchy.

  I tell Ms. Blinny, “I am looking for something that was about the last time I saw Benny. It is about me jumping down from the tree house.”

  She scrolls some more. She says, “Oh, here! Here!” Then she reads it. She does not skim. She is careful. She stops. Looks at me. She says, “One second.” She reads it all again. She breathes out. She says, “Ohh . . .”

  I wait for her. Then I say, “Does it make sense? Mostly?” I ask because I know the Dragon is tricky. I am not the best at using it.

  She says, “Mason, I think this is very, very good.” She says, “One thing is certain. Lieutenant Baird needs to see this. There is so much of your story here. More than I think you have ever been able to tell him.” She is getting tears in her eyes. Not sure why. She says, “I wish I had—known that you see colors in this way.” She points at the screen.

  I say, “You mean that part about the pink cloud puffing out of Benny’s mouth?”

  She says, “Yes.”

  I say, “I don’t tell about it. I figured out that nobody really gets that.”

  She says, “Yes! Because it is uncommon but it is real. Real for you! It is called synesthesia.” She makes bright eyes like I should like that a whole lot, that synesthesia. She says, “I had a student in another school who told me all the even numbers are yellow and the odd ones are blue. Some people say they can smell a color. Or hear one.”

  I say, “Whoa!” I wait. But then I tell her, “With me it is the feeling. Inside of me. Like coming from in my heart. I see mud green for bad. Like for pressure. And not knowing the answers. It’s pink for the good. Like for being happy.”

  She says, “Wow! Amazing!” She puts her hand on her heart.

  I think on it some. Then I shake my head. I tell Ms. Blinny, “But can you delete it?” I point to the Dragon screen. “I don’t want to bother with that part for the lieutenant. I don’t want him to read about the pink cloud puffing out of Benny’s mouth.”

  She sits tall in her chair. She says, “I will if you really want me to. But I would much rather you leave everything just like it is. This is clean and straightforward.”

  I say, “But the lieutenant thinks that’s a bunch of baloney. I’ve told him all of it before. But he stops me at that part. He interrupts.”

  She says, “Well. I think if he reads it here, just like this, he might understand all the truths of your story.” She says, “I say we print it.”

  I wonder. I worry. But Ms. Blinny is usually right. So we do that.

  I get home on Friday afternoon. I put that printout from the Dragon right into the notebook. With the orange pencil.

  Then I run down to the Drinker house. It’s the beginning of Columbus Day weekend. I have a job to do. A great one.

  chapter 60

  COLUMBUS DAY COMES

  Mrs. Drinker is excited to go away for Columbus Day weekend. They are going to see Matt’s dad. He is traveling again for his work. Staying somewhere in a nice hotel. Fancy room and a warm swimming pool. So they will join him.

  She is talking a blue streak. She says, “There is dog food in the bin. Plenty, I think. But just in case, a delivery is on the way. I tracked it. They said late afternoon today. So should be here anytime now.”

  Matt Drinker is sighing. A lot of times over. He leans against the wall. Playing a game on his phone. Jacket on. Stuffed backpack at his feet. He doesn’t look up. But a couple of times now he has said, “Mom. Are you kidding me? Let’s go already!”

  Mrs. Drinker keeps her eyes on me. She says, “So Mason, the new dog food gets stored in the garage until the indoor bin is empty. It’s a huge bag but if you can please get it onto the shelves out there, that’s the best place.” She says, “Sometimes the rain blows in under the door—and it does look like it’ll rain—and that can ruin the whole bag. So keep it high and dry.”

  I say it. “High and dry.” The rhyme will help. I won’t forget.

  Matt stamps a foot. He says, “Let’s just go. Mom! We’re going to miss the flight.”

  Then Mrs. Drinker keeps thinking of one more thing to tell me. About the mail. About the thermostat. About the lights at night. About Moonie’s water bowl. But I already know.

  Matt groans about all of it. But he keeps tapping his thumbs on his phone. I hear the sounds. Pow-pow-pow!

  I listen to Mrs. Drinker. Best I can. I am blink-eye tired. If that is even a thing. It’s good that I already know how to take care of Moonie.

  Now Mrs. Drinker wonders if she should write everything down for me. I tell her that won’t help me much. Then she remembers. She says, “I’m sorry.” She forgot I am not a reader.

  Matt rolls his eyes. Pretty sure he mouths stupid into the air. Then he goes back to clicking around on his game. I think of that shirt he made me. The STOOPID one. How Ms. Blinny made it into a curious statement. It was early apple season then. Paula Reds and Macs. Here we are now. Late season.

 
Mrs. Drinker picks up her bag and her keys.

  Matt says, “Finally!” He starts kicking his backpack toward the door.

  Mrs. Drinker says, “Pick it up, Matt.” Then she turns to me. “Mason, we cannot thank you enough. There is no one we’d rather leave our Moonie with.”

  I think this: It is going to feel good to be with him.

  She stops. Leans down and hugs up the dog. She says, “Be a good boy for Mason, Moonie. Good boy!” He wags and leans into her. He kisses her good-bye.

  And then there I am alone at the Drinkers’ house. With the best dog in the world. I am welcome to eat from the Drinkers’ fridge and pantry. I can play games here. I can be here as much as I want. I have to put Moonie in for the night and make sure I get back in the morning to let him into the yard. It’s easy. I would never forget him. I am all in for this dog. Moonie is all in for me too. He is resting beside me. Chin on my foot.

  Here’s the thing. Calvin is home and I am aching to see him. The Chumsky parents said I am invited to visit and I can bring Moonie too.

  But I have this job. I want to do it right. Been a day of gray skies. Could mean rain. So I decide to wait for that dog food delivery.

  I take Moonie out. Throw a ball for him. I keep watch. Up and down the street for the truck. Tell you what. Funny feeling it is. Playing in Matt Drinker’s yard with nobody else around.

  Moonie barks when the UPS truck pulls into the drive. I say hello to Jerald. Same driver who drops off all Shayleen’s shopping channel merchandise. Moonie puts two feet on the step of the truck. He is polite about it. Jerald hands him a biscuit. Then that dog wags while Jerald passes the bag down the steps of the truck to me. It sure is a big bag of dog chow. Jerald says, “Thirty pounds. Sure you can manage it?”

  I can. I put it on my shoulder. Steady it with one hand. Wave good-bye with my other. I carry the bag right into the Drinkers’ garage.

  I see the shelves. There is some space kind of low. Some way up. I remember high and dry. So I balance that bag on my shoulder. Kick open the Drinkers’ stepladder and climb up. I raise the bag, push it into place. Takes a couple of big shoves. Tell you what. It can be good to be tall. Then I wipe my hands. Pull up on my pants. All the time Moonie sits below. He is waiting for what we will do next. I come down the stepladder. Fold that up.