by Marisa Logan
He shook his head again. I wasn't that surprised. Lots of times kids were afraid to be a snitch. It usually led to them getting in more trouble with the bullies later on.
“I'll tell you what,” I said. “I'm not allowed to bring food out here, or I'll get in trouble. But if you don't want to sit in the cafeteria with the other kids, you can come to the special museum lunch room where only the employees are allowed to go. You can get some hot dogs there. How does that sound?”
He nodded, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. I got up and walked over to him, offering him my hand. He took it and I helped him up. Now that I could get a better look at him, I noticed he was pretty chubby. I knew what that was like. I'd been teased for my weight plenty of times as a kid. And a few times as an adult, even.
I led him inside and took him to the employee break room. I sent John to go fetch Mrs. Szabo and tell her the wayward child had been found. I brought TJ a soda, a hot dog and a little bag of chips. When Mrs. Szabo arrived, I stood off to the side, letting her talk to him. My job was just to give the kids a tour of the Brandenburg Railroad Museum. Taking care of disciplinary issues was their teacher's job.
They spoke quietly at first, but then TJ started saying “No” over and over again to everything Mrs. Szabo said. Then he slammed his hands down on the table and said, “I want to go home! I want my dad.”
Mrs. Szabo sighed and said, “I can call your mother to come pick you up.”
“No, not Mom,” TJ said. “I want Dad.”
“But your mother—”
“No!” TJ got up and ran into the corner, hiding under a table.
Mrs. Szabo walked over to me, crossing her arms. “Separated parents,” she said.
“Ahh. The mom has custody?”
She nodded. “His father is still listed as authorized to pick him up, but I've spoken to his mother a few times, and she doesn't want TJ going to his father's place except on his visitation weekends. I'm not sure what to do.”
I wasn't sure what to suggest. I felt bad for the kid. I'd been in his shoes more than once in my childhood. There was this one mean little girl who used to call me “Bubble Butt.” To this day, I heard her voice when I looked at my butt in the mirror. It had always been far rounder than I would have liked, even if I had grown more comfortable with my body as I got older.
“He can stay here if he doesn't want to join the other kids,” I said. “And I've got some activity books I can give him to keep him occupied.”
“That might be best,” Mrs. Szabo said. “If you'll excuse me, I have some calls to make.”
I eventually coaxed TJ out from under the table. I brought him some railroad-themed coloring and activity books and a box of crayons. I sat with him and colored as well, to give him the sense that he wasn't alone.
I was putting the finishing touches on a rainbow-colored locomotive when Mrs. Szabo returned. “Well,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Looks like you're in luck, TJ. Your mom is in a meeting and is going to be out late. She said it was okay for your dad to come get you. He's on his way.”
TJ didn't answer, but I saw the tension fade from his posture. I could only wonder what was going on between his parents that made him hold such anxiety about the thought of being picked up by his mom. I hoped it wasn't an abusive situation. Though he didn't show any signs of having been physically harmed. More likely, I figured, Dad was just the lenient parent and Mom was the strict one.
It was more than an hour before TJ's dad made it to the museum. Though I was sure that was mostly because we were located in Western Pennsylvania, a good distance from Philadelphia and most of its surrounding suburbs. Most of the school groups that came to the museum took the bus in from an hour or more away. The rest of our guests tended to be families on vacations. We weren't far from Lancaster, which was right smack in the middle of Amish country. A lot of people either came out this way for trips to see the rustic countryside, or stopped by on road trips on their way further west.
The rest of the kids were finishing up the tour, and about to get on their buses to head back home, when TJ's dad walked in the door. He was younger than I expected, maybe in his mid-to-late twenties, making me wonder how old he'd been when TJ was born. He was tall and a little bit overweight, though he wore the weight well and looked comfortable with himself. He was dressed in simple jeans and a blue striped button-down shirt. I wondered whether he had come in from work, and if so, what kind of place he worked in where he could dress so casually.
He walked across the lobby, looking around at the tables filled with model trains driving around miniature models of Brandenburg. “Hi,” he said. “I'm Tom Conklin. I'm here to pick up my son, TJ.”
“Hi,” I said, extending my hand. He shook it, and I noticed his grip was firm, yet soft. “He's been hanging out in the employee break room. He was upset earlier, but he's doing fine now.”
“Do you know what happened? His teacher wasn't too clear on the phone.”
“I think it was some bullies,” I said. “He didn't want to talk about it, but it was pretty clear he wanted to keep away from the other kids. Which is a shame. He missed some of the best parts of the tour.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Thanks for your help. We've been...well, we've been going through a lot lately.”
I gave him a sympathetic smile. My parents had divorced when I wasn't much older than TJ, so I had an idea what he might be going through. Though it was a bit harder for me to understand what his dad might be dealing with. I didn't have any kids, even though I'd once thought I'd be married and have two kids by the time I was thirty. I'd passed that benchmark a few years ago without accomplishing that goal.
I led him into the break room, where TJ was reading one of our gift shop books about railroad history. I noticed he had picked one of the more advanced books, one written at an adult reading level. I wondered if he always read at such an advanced level.
“TJ,” I said, “your dad is here.”
He looked up at his dad. “Hey.”
“Hey, Teej.” Tom walked over and gave TJ a hug. “You ready to head home?”
TJ looked up at me. “I didn't get to see the big trains.”
I smiled at him to show it was okay. “You can come back another time. The trains aren't going anywhere.” Our biggest exhibit was the Hall of Locomotives, where we had half a dozen real trains on display, from old 1800s coal-powered trains to modern electrical ones. The kids always loved climbing all over them, tooting the horns, and playing with the controls. And that was in addition to the Virtual Train Ride, where kids could operate the controls on a locomotive simulator, basically a realistic video game that let them experience what it was like to drive a real train. It even rumbled and shook while the screen showed a first-person view of the train racing down the tracks.
“Are you guys open on the weekend?” Tom asked.
“Yup,” I said. “We're open every day except Monday. And we close on bank holidays.”
“How's that sound, kiddo?” Tom asked. “We'll come back this weekend, just the two of us. I'm sure the nice lady...” He looked at me, making a questioning gesture.
“Amy,” I said.
“I'm sure Amy will be happy to show you everything. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” TJ said. They headed for the door, but Tom stopped and whispered something in TJ's ear. TJ turned to me and said, “Thank you. Sorry I was a pain.”
“You're welcome. And you were no pain at all.” Just before they stepped out, a thought occurred to me. “Oh, here.”
I grabbed the book TJ had been reading and brought it over to him. “On the house. You want to see how it ends, right?”
TJ grinned and clutched the book to his chest. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” Tom said. “We'll see you this weekend.”
The other kids were already getting on the bus to go home. Tom stopped and talked to Mrs. Szabo for a few minutes, then took TJ to his car. I watched them drive off, then turned to find John w
aiting for me with a pair of brooms.
“You know what time it is,” he said.
“Yay!” I said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “My favorite part of working in a museum. Cleaning up after little kids.”
“Oh, come on,” John said, taking off his cowboy hat and bandana as we headed for the cafeteria. “Isn't this what you were hoping for when you got your art degree?”
I laughed and shook my head. John and I both had our master's degrees. I'd actually been a triple-major for undergrad: art, history, and the German language. I'd gotten an internship at the railroad museum my senior year, and had turned it into a full-time job. My main work was as assistant curator, organizing the displays and helping with new acquisitions. No one had told me when I was hired that I'd also be serving as tour guide.
And maid. John and I joined the cafeteria crew and started sweeping up the mess the kids had left. The museum was understaffed, with only one full-time janitor on the payroll. He usually had his hands full with the bigger tasks, like polishing the brass fixtures on the displays, waxing the floors, and cleaning the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the length of the lobby and several other rooms. Until the museum could afford to hire an assistant janitor, little tasks like sweeping the cafeteria and cleaning the bathrooms fell on John and me.
I set about the mundane task, thinking to myself that this was what a master's degree in art got you, and wondering how little TJ was doing. I found myself looking forward to seeing him and his dad this weekend. Though I still had to wonder just what had happened on the train ride that had upset him so much.
Chapter 2
I was pretty worn out by the time I got back to my apartment that night. It was a small place, filled mostly with the same furniture I'd had in my college apartment over a decade ago. I still had the bunk bed my old roommate and I had shared, though these days the top bunk was mostly a repository for laundry I hadn't gotten around to folding yet. The walls were decorated with my own paintings, works I'd done over the course of many years, from my earliest abstract pieces that had mostly been experiments in color balance, to the tigers and panthers I'd painted when I was going through my “wild animals” phase, to depictions of mechanical contraptions covered in brass and gears. These last pieces were part of the steampunk phase I'd been in for the last few years. I had even sold a few at some steampunk conventions, though my favorite pieces I kept for my personal collection at home.
I changed out of my professional work clothes and into pink polka dot pajama pants and a tank top. Also known to my ex-boyfriend as “clothes a heavy girl can't pull off.” I'd stayed with him far longer than I should have before I woke up and realized how toxic he'd been for me. Some of the things he'd said still stuck with me.
When I logged onto my computer to check my email, I found a Google Hangouts message waiting from my mom. I sighed and checked the message to find out, surprise surprise, she wanted to chat. Ever since my mother had discovered video chat a few years ago, it was her preferred way of keeping in touch with me. Especially when she was babysitting my niece and nephew.
I was still pulling my hair up into a scrunchie when Mom called. As usual, the video took a few moments to connect, though I could hear the sounds of Mom moving things around on her desk. When the video feed finally connected, I saw Mom had company. My little niece Gracie was sitting on her lap.
“Hi, Amy,” Mom said.
“Hiiii!” Gracie said, waving enthusiastically.
“Hey, guys.” I waved, missing the days when video calls were a thing seen only on the Jetsons and Star Trek. Then I wouldn't have felt so self-conscious about my appearance.
“Gracie and Travis are spending the night with me,” Mom said. “And they were so eager to talk to their Aunt Amy!”
“Aww, that's so sweet,” I said. I forced a fake smile. I knew how this video call had really come about. Mom had no doubt asked the kids if they'd be excited to chat with me, and of course she had gotten them all worked up about it. She couldn't just call me because she wanted to. No, she had to show off my sister's kids. It was the modern grandmother's way of hinting that it was past due time for me to give her some grandchildren as well.
“How are you, Gracie?” I asked. As much as I could resent my mom for using the kids as a way of guilt-tripping me, I did miss my niece and nephew. My family lived in Eastern Pennsylvania, a good two-hour drive from where I now lived and worked. I usually didn't get the chance to see them except for on the holidays. Video chat helped us close that gap.
“I have a girlfriend,” Gracie said.
“Oh?” My eyebrows went up. I was as liberal as they come, though when my niece was only six years old, I had to wonder whether she even knew what the word “lesbian” meant.
“Oh,” my mom waved a hand dismissively, “her and this little girl in her kindergarten play at being girlfriends. Annabelle gave Gracie some flowers, and Gracie gave Annabelle a...what was it?”
“A Shopkin,” Gracie said with pride. “I gave her my favorite one.”
“Shopkins, that's it,” Mom said. “You know those little things she loves so much.”
“I remember,” I said. “But wait, what happened to that boy you were telling me about a few weeks ago? Jeremy?”
“I don't like him anymore,” Gracie said. “I only liked him because I thought girls had to like boys, so I picked him cause he has a bicycle. But then Mom told me about Ellen, and said that she had a girlfriend, so then I thought it would be okay if I did too.”
“Ellen from TV?” I asked.
“Uh-huh! I like her. She dances a lot.”
I laughed. I only caught Ellen's show every now and then, but I did remember the dancing.
Gracie soon got bored with the video chat and climbed down off Mom's lap. When she was away from the camera, I asked, “Does she know that Kimmy is gay?”
“No, I don't think so,” Mom said. “Well, it didn't come up. But at least now we know the conversation will be easy when she asks about it.”
“Easier than it is with Grandpa,” I said. “Or Uncle Joe. Or Uncle Phil.” A lot of my extended family didn't know my cousin Kimmy was a lesbian. Though I think a lot of them knew, and just kept themselves in denial. Kimmy kept up a certain image with my mom's side of the family, bringing male “dates” to family gatherings every now and then, just to keep our more conservative family members from harassing her. Dad's side of the family accepted her just the way she was, and so did I.
Mom and I talked for a little while about work, and how Gracie and Travis were doing, and that sort of thing. Though it didn't take long before she finally got around to what I was sure was the real reason she'd called.
“So,” she said, “Easter is coming up.”
“Yup,” I said, holding back a scream of frustration. “Just like it does every year.”
“We're having the picnic at the same place as always. You know the one.”
“Yeah, Mom,” I said. I sighed. “We've been going to Cardell Park since I was Gracie's age, I know.”
Sometimes I wished Mom would just come right out and say what was on her mind, instead of dancing around the subject like this.
“Well, your Aunt Teresa wants a head count. I told her I was definitely coming, and I know Dana is coming with the kids. And Peter, obviously. And Edward's even flying in this year.”
Here it came. I could almost taste it. “That's great, Mom. I'm sure everyone will be happy to see Edward.” My brother lived out in Seattle now, working for a big computer software firm. He came back to see the family even less often than I did.
“And the thing is, Edward sent me an email the other day. He said he's bringing a girl.”
Bingo. There it was.
“That's great,” I said. “Is it something serious?” I clenched my teeth, but forced a smile onto my face. Mom bringing up my brother's new girlfriend could only mean one thing.
“I think so. Well, I'm not sure. He didn't really say. But how long has it been since he brou
ght someone to Easter? Anyway,” she waved a hand, “that makes eight from our clan, counting you. Unless you're bringing someone, too?”
I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, trying to hold in my frustration. I hadn't really dated in almost two years, since I broke up with my ex. My mom kept asking me when I was going to find someone new. I kept telling her it wasn't that simple, but she wouldn't listen.
“I haven't met anyone, Mom.”
“Have you tried looking online?” she asked. “You should go on Match.com. My friend Regina met a guy on there last year, and they're so happy together.”
“I'm not really interested in doing any more online dating.” I'd done the e-dating thing before. I usually ended up finding someone who lived 700 miles away, which was a recipe for heartbreak. I'd actually tried a long distance thing for almost two years, just after college. It had ended when he wanted me to move to Georgia to be with him, and I wasn't willing to leave my life and my career behind to do it. And of course, he'd been shocked at the very suggestion that he might be the one to move up here for me.
“Well, I'm just saying—”
“I really need to get going, Mom,” I said. “I've got a lot of work to do tonight. The Steampunk World's Fair is coming up in a few months.”
“Oh, it's good that you're still doing your art. You were always so talented.”
“Doing my art” was what Mom had started calling my painting when I'd told her to stop calling it a “hobby.” Even though I sold several paintings each year, it didn't count for her unless I could make my living off it.
“Good night, Mom,” I said. I didn't have the patience to get into another debate about my art with her so soon after getting into another debate about my love life.
“Good night, dear. Oh, and don't forget about the banner!”
“I won't, Mom. I promise.”
I ended the call before she could fit in another word. I made dinner, then settled into the cramped corner of my apartment that I called my “art studio.” It was really just a desk, a bookshelf filled with art supplies, an easel, and an old, rickety stool. But it was where I worked my magic.
