by C. S. Lakin
Simon turned, cocked his head. “Who cares?” He tugged on Levi’s arm to get him moving, but Levi stayed put. Reuben recalled Levi had been there that day when Joey supposedly healed their dad’s leg. Ever since then Levi seemed to act strange around Joey, Reuben noticed. Almost as if he was scared of something. No doubt the incident was just another example of their parents’ overexaggeration, yet again, of how wonderful Joey was, how special and different. Simon was right to complain, he had to admit. Joey did get all the attention.
Reuben scowled as Joey climbed up on the small “hill” beside them, thinking of the conversation he’d had with his dad just yesterday morning. How he really hoped his dad would loan him the money to go on the climbing trip to Zion National Park with his club, didn’t even ask for his dad to pay for it, just to help him out a bit. Reuben could pay him back in time, from the odd jobs he did for neighbors, but his dad wouldn’t even let him finish asking. Just told him it was too expensive, they couldn’t afford it, he was too young to go so far away. He was fourteen! He knew kids his age who’d flown across country alone, who went off to summer camp in Europe. He knew right then it wasn’t about the money—and it certainly wasn’t about his dad worrying over his safety or his welfare. His dad lit into him, then, about how he shouldn’t dream so much, shouldn’t have such lofty goals, how he should be more practical, because having those kinds of dreams only led to disappointment.
Well, just because his dad’s life was a bust, why should his be as well? His dad had given up all his dreams, just threw them away, with the lame excuse that he had a family to raise, he didn’t have time. But there was always time to pursue your dreams, if you really wanted them, if they really meant anything. You had to fight to attain them, and the bigger you dreamed, the greater the satisfaction when you finally saw their fulfillment. He’d seen the shows where the guys made it to the top of Everest. How exhilarated they felt to finally reach the peak, the entire freakin’ world spread out below them, everything under their feet. Those climbers dreamed and planned and trained for years to reach that goal, and those who didn’t have the temerity to laugh danger in the face and give it all they had failed. Reuben would not be like that, be like his dad. Hearing his dad say those things to him burned a hole in his gut. Even now the hole still smoldered.
All he had to do to get worked up again was think about this birthday trip to Disneyland. Joey’s birthday present. Dad asks Joey what he wants for his birthday and he says Disneyland. Does his dad start in complaining about how expensive it is? Of course not. Reuben had no clue what the admission price was until they’d gotten to the gate and he saw the prices. Why, paying for their entire family to come just this one day put his dad out a couple hundred dollars! Just for one day with nothing to show for it at the end. Joey was only five, for crying out loud. Like he’d really remember this? Two hundred dollars was almost half what Reuben needed to go to Zion—for a full two-week trip.
Reuben fumed, watched Joey take a stand on the rise behind him, stretch out his arms, like he was Moses about to part the waters. Simon and Levi stood still, stared at him, while kids ran past them, squealing, chasing one another.
“So, dreamer,” Simon called up to him, “tell us your stupid dream.”
Reuben turned away, stared at the giant paddlewheel scooping water from the lagoon, the murky water sloshing over the top as the wheel turned in circles, the boat slowly plying around the island. Joey’s voice, filtered through the ruckus around them, resounded as if meant for his ears only.
“I was a mountain—the highest mountain in the world,” Joey said.
Reuben swung his head around, paid attention. Levi’s eyes locked onto Joey, but Simon kicked at the dirt, fidgeted as usual.
“And way below me,” Joey continued, “were three smaller mountains that faced me, but they were a lot smaller. Then the three mountains started to move! They walked over to me and stopped. They saw I was the tallest, biggest mountain around, so they bowed down to me. And snow fell off their heads and I saw their faces.” Joey pointed at Simon.
“One was you.” He pointed next at Levi. “And you.” He then turned to Reuben, and Reuben felt Joey’s look hit him like a splash of cold water, filled with pride and arrogance, a rub-it-in-your face kind of smile. “And the third mountain was you, Reuben!”
Why, that little brat! Joey’d probably made this all up, knowing how much Reuben loved climbing. Just to show off. Even this young, his spoiled brother figured he was so much better than all his siblings. How his parents held him up high, high above the rest, putting him on some pedestal and practically worshipping him. No wonder Joey had these stupid dreams. No doubt Joey would tell his parents his dream and they would marvel at him, eat up everything he said like they always did. And his mother would claim God had given him the dream, no doubt. That it had great importance, signified something about his future. Sometimes his mom could be so clueless, duped, gullible. She clung to each word out of Joey’s mouth, like he was some Old Testament prophet sent to lead the way.
Thinking about Rachel made his heart ache. For years Reuben had hoped Rachel would learn to really love him, to be a true mother to him. He hoped that maybe she would be different than his real mom, would pay more attention to him, really listen to him when he talked. And she seemed to care—at least, at first. Until she had Joey. Then everything changed. He couldn’t really blame her, though. Joey was her child. She was bound to love him more than the kids she inherited when she married his dad. But still, he had hoped . . . and been disappointed. Reuben even went to church dutifully, even though he found it boring. He didn’t doubt there was a God—that wasn’t it. All you had to do was climb to the top of a mountain and look around to know God had to have made the world. It was just too perfect a place to have occurred by accident. But Rachel’s God made little sense to Reuben. A God who would pick out one person to be special. Didn’t the Bible teach that everyone was equal in God’s eyes? He’d come to conclude that Rachel was just being a hypocrite. Favoring Joey over the other kids, using his “gift” as an excuse to spoil him, and his dad seemed to buy into it without question.
Reuben looked back at Joey, who stood on his hill looking so smug, so pleased with himself. The feeling of disgust that Reuben had pushed down for so long rose to the surface of his skin, prickled him with anger until every limb shook in resonance.
He overheard Simon say to Levi, “Let’s ditch the dreamer.” Levi nodded.
Reuben looked back at Joey, who had gotten down on his knees and was carefully working his way down to the ground, to Reuben.
Reuben turned his back on Joey, came up to his brothers.
“What?” Simon asked, giving him a snarl.
“I’m with you. Let Joey figure out where we’ve gone.”
Simon and Levi shared a glance, then Simon shrugged. “Okay. Follow me.”
Simon tore off, Levi at his heels. Reuben resisted the impulse to check on Joey, see if he got down safely. Why should he worry about him—the special kid with the gift, with God choosing him, protecting him? Let God watch out for him.
Reuben ran after his brothers as they ducked into tunnels and climbed the fake steps, ran along the sculpted hillside made to look like some place other than Los Angeles, thinking how fake his whole life was, his role as the big older brother, in charge and watching over his siblings, this fake role his parents had thrust upon him, which he hadn’t chosen and frankly didn’t want. He was tired of being good and never getting recognition for it. How did all that good behavior reward him? It didn’t, so why did he keep on acting like he cared, when they didn’t and neither did he?
He was done with the act. He was fourteen, and he had big dreams. Dreams no one in his family believed or gave a hoot about. But he would show them, he would. He would prove to them he could rise above his life, his family, their efforts to pull him down to sea level, strip him of his goals. He would show them.
Breathless, he caught up with his brothers, found them hiding behind a tree at
the water’s edge. In that secluded place, out of eyesight from even the obvious Disneyland employees placed around the island to monitor the scene and make sure no one got hurt or broke any rules, Simon pulled out a pack of smokes from his back pocket, lit one, handed one to Levi. Reuben sucked in a breath. He’d seen Simon smoke plenty, smelled tobacco on him all the time. He didn’t know Levi was smoking too, just eleven.
Simon drew in the smoke, exhaled, tipped his head at Reuben. “Want one?”
Reuben was surprised Simon asked, knowing how Reuben felt about ruining his lungs, had made comments plenty of times about how a climber would be insane to smoke, your lungs being the thing you relied on in those high altitudes with little oxygen.
But, in that moment, Reuben squelched his self-lecture. He suddenly understood Simon’s need to smoke, its symbol of rebellion, of defiance, and Levi’s need to fit in somewhere, with anyone who would pay the tiniest bit of attention, that person alone being Simon. It all made sense now, their taking a turn onto the highway to the danger zone.
Reuben squatted down next to Simon, took the cigarette from his outstretched hand, let Simon light it for him with his lighter. Reuben sat back, took a hesitant draw of smoke into his throat, felt it burn, welcomed the searing irritation, the heady rush it sent to his brain, the dizziness and wonder of it, all the while hating it and hating himself and gritting his teeth to keep from calling out when Joey—a frantic, fearful expression on his face—ran by calling out his name, and Simon and Levi chuckled, sucked on their smokes, and slapped high fives.
“That looks high.”
“It’s not, Joey. Just get your butt up here. I wanna show you something.” Simon perched on the edge of the shingles, steadied the ladder with his hands. “Come on, I’ve seen you climb the bars at the park; you’re a good climber, just like your big brother Rube.”
Joey shook his head. “Mom would get mad.”
“She’ll never find out. She’s at the hairdresser’s, and we don’t have to tell her, do we?” His knees were starting to shake, leaned over in that position.
“What’s up there?”
Simon was getting tired of Joey’s whiny protests. “Well, you’re not gonna know unless you get up here.” Simon’s fingers twitched and adrenaline rushed through his body, thinking how the opportunity was finally ripe, this idea that had been growing like a cancer, eating at him, consuming him with this need to act. As Joey took a tentative step on the first rung, Simon thought about his little brother. So smug and holier-than-thou. Always tattling, always scolding him and his brothers. Simon mimicked Joey’s high-pitched prissy voice in his head. “You shouldn’t be doing that. God is watching you. I’ll tell Mommy.” How many times had Simon barely restrained himself from wringing Joey’s neck? Just the thought of making him squeal, watching him struggle, thrash for air, his cute pink cheeks turning white, eyes rolling back in his head made Simon’s heart race in anticipation. He would accomplish two long-wished-for goals at the same time—getting rid of his obnoxious brother who could do no harm in his father’s eyes, and break Rachel’s heart, for surely it would break. Maybe she’d be so distraught over poor little Joey’s death that she’d leave, or fall apart and have to be put away in some nuthouse.
Simon smirked, watched Joey take one shaky step after another, grip the ladder’s sides hard. This was perfect, just perfect. Sure, he’d get in trouble for climbing on the roof, for “not noticing” Joey following him up, for not being able to save poor Joey from falling, but hey, he would say he had his back turned, that Joey had been sneaking up on him, hadn’t said a word or if he had, Simon had his tape deck blaring Led Zeppelin, earplugs in his ears, just taking in the beautiful fall day, looking out over the roofs in the neighborhood, staying out of trouble, minding his own business. Fool-proof alibi.
Simon eased back as Joey reached the roofline. “See,” he said. “Piece of cake. I knew you could do it.” Simon reached out his sweaty hand; Joey took it and pulled himself up over the top rung, sat back on the shingles. “Isn’t it cool up here?”
Joey narrowed his eyes, glared at Simon. “I want to go back down.”
“In a sec. Just come over to the other side here. You can see something neat this high up. You shouldn’t be such a scaredy-cat. You’re five years old already.”
Joey stayed put. “I am not a scaredy-cat.”
“You are. Dad tried to take your training wheels off and you threw a hissy-fit.”
Joey pouted. “I wasn’t ready.”
Simon walked to the roof peak, stretched his arms up. “Well then, prove you’re not scared. Look, the roof isn’t steep; I’m holding my arms up—what could happen? Even if I fell down—” Simon dropped down, pretending to slip and fall, landed on his side, sat up and chuckled. “See?”
Joey stood, kept his eyes pinned on the roof, frowned. “Okay.”
“Good. Follow me.” Simon walked down the incline to the edge of the roof that hung over the kitchen. Below him was the concrete patio area where they kept the trashcans. He scanned a full circle around him. No one could see him from the street, or from any of the houses around. No way anyone could witness what would happen unless they were flying low in a plane with binoculars trained on their roof—and there weren’t any planes in sight. Simon had scoped out the entire roof; this was the ideal spot.
He made sure, for the tenth time, that he had put that tape in his player, that he had his earplugs. He needed his alibi to be sound, knew his parents, maybe even the police, would grill him. It wasn’t like he had a choice, was it? Something had to be done, something drastic. Ever since Joey had been born, his dad couldn’t take his eyes off him, practically ate up every word out of his mouth as if Joey spewed gold coins like in that fairy tale. And it was obvious to everyone that Rachel worshipped the ground Joey walked on, was almost all she could talk about. Made all the kids in the family feel like trash, second-class citizens.
Simon had listened to his parents, more nights than he could count, with his ear up against the bathroom wall, them thinking he was asleep in his room while he was reading magazines his dad would freak if he saw. And Rachel would burn or shred up in disgust. Well, not reading, that’s for sure. Like boys his age didn’t think about girls and sex? But what did his parents go on and on about in bed, in their hushed voices thinking no one heard? How special Joey was. Rachel spouting how he had some amazing gift from God, with his Dad doubting God would give anyone a gift like that, with Rachel insisting Joey had a calling—whatever that meant. Joey this, Joey that. How Joey was such an angel, never did anything bad, never got into trouble. Simon’d had enough; so had Reuben and Levi. None of them could even let loose a cussword without Joey running to Mommy and tattling.
How a five-year-old could be so full of himself, Simon had no clue. Other than it owing to his parents totally spoiling him, giving him everything he wanted—just bought him a frigging expensive bike, cost more than Simon’s new Fender guitar. Did his parents ever give him any money to buy stuff? Ask him what he wished for and just run off to the store as fast as they could to buy it for him? No, he had to earn every penny himself, doing chores, recycling bottles. It had taken him nearly a year of mowing neighbors’ lawns and filching bottles out of garages, hawking stuff he stole at the pawn shop, to buy his coveted guitar. Every time he’d looked at it at the store, when it was on layaway, he’d thought about Joey. How if Joey had asked for that guitar they would have said, “Why sure. Let’s go on in and buy it. Who cares how much it costs!”
Joey startled him out of his sour thoughts by a touch on the shoulder.
“Okay, so what am I sp’osed to see?” Joey asked, his voice now strangely calm. Simon looked in Joey’s eyes. His brother, now so naïve and trusting and gullible, who doesn’t see it coming. The sparkle in Joey’s eyes, with the sun practically smiling down upon him, strengthened Simon’s nerve. Well, that cute little face is about to get ugly. Serves him right. Serves them all right. He let the hurt and anger pump his resolve, unti
l it felt about to burst through his chest.
Without allowing another second to stand between Simon and his purpose, he grabbed Joey by shoulders, gripped his shirt tightly in both hands, swiveled him around, and flung him off the roof, the world screaming at him but Joey silent, not making a sound, or a cry of surprise, almost as if he knew it was coming and had nothing at all to say about it—
Simon froze at the edge of the roof, shaking so hard he stumbled back, sought purchase for his feet, fell back onto the shingles as a smack sailed up to him from below, and he raked his trembling fingers through his hair, the impact of the moment catching up to him in real time, the reality of his action overlying the many times he’d practiced it in his head, his mind reeling, dizzy, feelings of exuberance clashing with the terror of what he had done, staring at his hands and replaying their graceful movement, their strength, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief coupled with dread.
He heard a noise from below. Simon’s heartbeat ratcheted to double-time. He never considered that Joey could survive such a fall. He hadn’t prepared for that outcome, for injury over death.
He couldn’t have survived. Joey’d fallen fifteen, twenty feet, fallen hard. Simon had heard the loud thud of Joey’s body as it hit the ground.
Simon crawled to the ledge, unable to get his uncooperative legs to work, knowing if he tried to stand he might join his brother in a heap on the patio. He edged over and looked down, grabbed the top of the metal rain gutter, nearly fell anyway.
He blinked, shook his head.
Joey was standing, standing! Brushing himself off, pushing hair from his eyes. Then he tipped his head back, locked eyes with Simon.
No way! Simon knew he was just not seeing this. There was no way his brother could be alive. Or maybe he could have broken a dozen bones, been unconscious, but not this, standing for all the world like nothing’d happened, and looking at Simon in such a calm manner. It made no freakin’ sense!
