by Glen Krisch
"Sorry, Mom," Kevin said, offering a blanket apology for both the reporter's appearance, and their argument. He felt deflated. Defeated.
"When you're older, you'll understand."
"I hope so." He would do anything to bring meaning to such senseless loss. He wanted to just move on, forgetting everything before his arrival at his grandma's house. He would be willing to not have a past, to forget all of his memories, both good and bad, if he could just move on.
She patted his knee and seemed even less interested in her needlepoint than when he entered the living room.
Kevin didn't take his eyes from the T.V. until after the end credits. He tossed the remote to the couch cushion near his mom.
"I'm going to see what Grandma's up to."
"I think she's out back, in the garden."
Kevin didn't make eye contact with his mom, but he noticed the tremor in her hand as she tried to make the next needle prick in the pale blue canvas. He headed out the front door. A pair of black streaks marred the road where the reporter's rust bucket sped away. Kevin hooked a right and followed the narrow sidewalk around the side of the house.
The feeling was deep inside, like the slow lurch of a stomach flu. Things were changing. Maybe it was school starting next week--the end of summer, chasing fireflies in the dusk, playing ball in the morning dew (ignoring the cold damp working into his feet), and a thousand other mindless summer activities--things done during summertime and no other time, those would soon be gone. But was it a summer to pine over and cling to, tasting every last hour of it until it was gone, and missing it when it was over? Kevin's stomach did another slow lurch, and he knew he wasn't going to miss this summer.
He went through the gate leading to the back yard and stopped short of closing the latch. His grandma sat on an old wooden crate, leaning over to pry weeds from the flowerbed lining the fence encircling the backyard. Her hands fluttered in the air, inches above the shriveled blooms of her flowers, as if sensing out the invading weeds. She worked her gloved hands down the stem of a thorny thistle, found its base, and gently pulled until the roots tore free. She shook it free of soil before tossing it over her shoulder, near a pile of other vanquished weeds.
"Come back to help your grandma?" She teased another weed from the ground.
"Sure." Kevin closed the gate latch and walked over to where she was working. The garden soil had a grayish, dry tint where she wasn't working. A moist, black circle fanned out in a semicircle from her improvised stool. The dried blooms clinging to the flowers had remnant traces of color, red turned to rust, yellow turned to mustard, all passed their shining days of early summer.
"Throw those weeds in the paper bag. I need to get this done before they stop picking up lawn waste for the year."
Kevin tossed the weeds into the tall brown bag. Her hands passed over the flowers, hesitated upon reaching a weed, and then carefully yanked it from the ground.
"Another reporter, huh?"
"Yeah. Mom chased him off."
"Good. I don't know how those people can stand being in their own skin. Some are good, reporting on things fairly and without causing additional damage with their questions. But they sure make it difficult for people to get over things."
"Yeah," Kevin said simply.
"Excited about school starting?"
"Sure," Kevin lied. He was glad for the change in subject.
"Starting in a new school is hard, but in a week or two it won't be so much. Soon you won't realize it's a new school." She stood and arched her back, groaning at her sore muscles."Grandma?" Kevin said, then hesitated.
"Yes, dear?"
"I was wondering… um, why do you spend so much time out here, if you know…" he said, unable to finish the question.
"Why do I bother with my garden when I can't see my garden?"
"Well, yeah," Kevin said, embarrassed. "Because your back hurts and your hands get stiff."
"When I'm complaining about my back or stiff muscles, that's just an old lady talking to make sure she's still alive." She took off her gardening gloves and left them near the flower bed. She placed her hand on his shoulder and together they walked over to the lawn chairs by the back door. "Truth is, Kevin, your grandpa was a country boy. He grew up on a farm. He didn't like the city one bit. Wasn't enough nature for him. But my doctor was in the city, in that old granite building on Westmont, and the doctors at Loyola were close by. I guess I knew he loved me when he said he would live in the city if I would marry him."
"So you couldn't see back then?"
"By that time, all I could see were little bits on the outside of my vision. You know when they say you see something from the corner of your eye?"
"Sure."
"It was kind of like that. By the time I met Howard, that is all I really saw, just glimpses. He didn't like the city, so we put up those high fences, and I planted as many green plants as possible. At least our property would seem like a little island he could escape to after work."
"Do you feel like you miss out on anything?"
"With my vision, you mean?"
"Well, yeah." He hoped he wasn't prying too much. No one in the family talked about his grandmother's condition. Everyone just accepted it as fact. He couldn't help a little curiosity.
"Seeing is subjective."
Kevin didn't say anything because he didn't know what she meant.
"How can I say this… well, I guess you could say I can still see, to a certain extent. Like you for instance." She turned to look at his face. "You, Kevin, are a royal blue in a black backdrop. Your mother's an emerald green, slightly darker than her father."
"You see us as colors?"
"The doctors always looked at me like I was crazy, so after awhile, I just stopped mentioning it. If I concentrate hard enough, I begin to see the shape of things. Not all things, just living things, people mostly. The shapes are small clouds of color. I call it the 'hidden color.'"
"What does royal blue mean?"
"Oh, I long ago gave up trying to put meaning to either the colors or why I even see it in the first place. It's just a blessing to see anything at all. The colors tend to stick to families, I know that much. Twins are the only ones with identical shades. Figures, since they're a part of one another, even down to the DNA."
"What color are you?"
"I'm a slightly lighter color of blue than you."
Kevin thought on this for a while. He imagined his grandma getting up in the morning, and seeing a blue-shaped cloud staring back at her in the mirror. He wondered why his mom never mentioned this before. "Can Mom do it?" Kevin instantly thought of a family of witches, passing on their talents from generation to generation.
"See the hidden color? I've never mentioned it to her. Around the time she was your age, the doctors were acting like they thought I was crazy for even mentioning it, so I gave up on mentioning it to anyone. Howard knew, of course, but now no one else knows but you."
"Is it a secret?"
"Just for you and me."
"Okay," Kevin said, happy to be a part of something secretive. His grandma's coolness factor just ratcheted up a few notches in his estimation.
They sat on the lawn chairs, and the only sound was the traffic that was starting to pick up a couple blocks over at the busy intersection. Kevin looked out at the backyard, with the horseshoe shaped garden, and the tall oak tree, and tried to see the "hidden color" of things. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, all he saw were the same old colors he saw every day.
"So what's wrong, Kev?"
"I can't see a thing. Nothing more than I usually see."
"That's not what I mean. You came back here for a reason. I could tell the moment you stepped foot back here."
"I don't know," Kevin said, feeling like he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.
"You know if you need to talk to someone, I'm always here. Even if you need to keep a secret."
"Thanks, Grandma." Kevin waited until he could leave withou
t his grandma thinking it was because she asked how he was doing. Because he didn't know the answer to that ever-present question. "I'm going to go wash up."
Kevin was flipping channels, not keeping a steady channel for more than a couple seconds. His mom was back at her needlepoint, and for all the time she put into it, she didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Neither one of them mentioned their earlier argument. He figured they had both decided it was better to just forget it and move on. His grandma had come in after another half hour, and she patted Kevin's hand as she walked by, a gesture that his mom probably didn't understand. She then went into the kitchen to start dinner.
A knock at the door broke the silence. When he looked up, his mom gave him a questioning glance on her way to the door. He heard murmuring voices, but couldn't place them. He hoped it wasn't another nosey reporter.
"Kevin, it's for you," his mom said. She walked back to the kitchen to help his grandma, leaving the screen door closed. From the brown head of hair showing through the screen, he could tell it was Reid.
"Hey, Reid. What's up?"
"We thought you were coming back to play."
"Sorry. I've been sick."
"Well, we were wondering if you'd be out tomorrow. Lucy has his cousins over for the week and we need all the help we can get to beat them."
"They can't throw like him, but they sure can hit," the catcher, Stephen Rose, said from off to one side. Both boys had their gloves with them, and Reid had a nicked-up bat resting on his shoulder.
"Tomorrow?" Stephen asked, hopefully.
"Yeah, about ten in the morning. We can get in a full game before lunch," Reid said.
Kevin was going to tell them no, that he was too tired. He had ducked out of playing since his visit with Dr. Bennett. He did feel tired. The guys seemed so intent on having him play, but his mind had just been… well, a mess.
"Come on, Kevin. We need your glove," Stephen said. He shifted his weight from one bowed leg to the other.
Kevin hesitated, but then gave in. "Sure. Ten o'clock."
"Cool," Reid said, with controlled excitement. Kevin didn't know he had made such a big impression with the other neighbor kids until he missed a couple days at the ball field.
"Yeah, it's probably the last ball before school starts. It'll be like playing in the playoffs or something," Stephen said.
"See you then," Kevin said, ready to close the door.
"Later," Stephen said, leaving the porch in the direction of the baseball field.
Reid stayed on the porch for a moment before speaking. "Hey, everything okay? We were wondering what was up."
"Yeah, I think I had a summer cold is all. Wiped me out. I'll make sure I'm there tomorrow," Kevin said.
Reid looked over Kevin's shoulder to make sure no adult was around. He lowered his voice, "I know how things can get. I've been there. You need anything, just let me know. It's shitty when your parents are fighting."
Kevin was going to say something about his parents, that he only had one parent, but when he just nodded, Reid took off after Stephen.
Chapter 11
Maury feared he wouldn't get the door closed before Kevin's nightmare woke up enough to lash out at him. The beast seemed to fill most of the room and gave off a stench that made Maury's eyes water. But he was able to get the boy out of there, and then his mom had practically carried him to her car without much of a thank you or good bye. When they left the museum, and he returned to Mr. Freakshow's enclosure, Maury knew immediately that he had discovered the star that would make him famous, someone who mattered.
Now, he was just waiting for Gage to show. Maury lounged as comfortably as he could at the old library desk he kept in the basement room that once housed Juliet. The room had become his makeshift office. It wasn't a practical working space, but he didn't like being around the rowdy workmen that were finishing up the last of their work above ground. Gage spent most of last night in Nika's room. Maury knew this from spending most of last night in this same office chair in the room adjacent to Nika's. Gage left sometime after dark, and hadn't returned. Maury wanted to bring his boss in to see Mr. Freakshow right away, but he guessed it would have to wait.
He thought of the boy, Kevin. He was ten, maybe eleven. In a way he sympathized with him, since at that same age he had gone through his own turmoil with the apartment fire, the months of recovery and rehab, and the death of his brother. Of course, he had secretly started the fire, and had been responsible for his neighbor's deaths. And by all accounts, the Steak Knife Killer had killed Kevin's father--a random act of violence. So it was a matter of semantics, but he still felt a connection with the boy.
Those troubles of Maury's youth were decidedly unpleasant, even depressing, but they didn't compare with his worst childhood experience. The white cinder-block room with the dozens of bunk beds. The emptiness of knowing his family had abandoned him. Knowing they would rather go on living without him. It was a dividing point in his life, even more so than the apartment fire. On the one hand, there was Maury's life with his family, and the other, his life on his own, a life of loneliness and painful introspection. The second half of his life continued. He dozed, thinking of his former family, and how he met his new family.
Maury was off by himself, reading the comics section of a Sunday paper. Well-dressed couples circled the room, yearning to make a special connection with one of the thirty or so kids in the playroom. This was one of the first weeks he was brought out for this procession of potential new parents. He'd been in therapy for months, and was now deemed mentally fit to move on with his life. His parents, his real parents, had never even called to inquire about him, at least as far as he knew.
No couple paid particular attention to Maury, not even the people with dollar signs for eyeballs that just wanted another check from the state. Couples would look at him, quickly avert their eyes, and continue their tour of the playroom. He was definitely not pretty to look at, and after awhile of seeing those averted glances, he didn't even bother meeting anyone's gaze. He imagined himself as a forty year-old cast off, still reading the newspaper, still waiting for someone to look at him with warmth.
Miss Harris, his caseworker since his arrival, approached him with a couple in-tow. She tapped a finger against the newspaper for him to lower it. When Maury reluctantly set it aside, a young blond man and a Hispanic woman were at his side. They both beamed with genuine happiness. Their eyes were strange. Maury looked around, but no other children were near him. They wanted him. The couple pulled up child-sized chairs, and the three of them chatted. Time slipped by. Miss Harris quietly left, wearing a delighted smile that wouldn't go away. They came to an agreement. Maury would come home with them and be their son. In return, he would have a new family, a fresh start.
The Unger's lived in a middle-class suburb of Chicago. Robert was a construction foreman on the new expressway. He made a decent living that allowed Eliza to be a stay-at-home mom. During their chat, Maury learned he would have a foster brother named Gabe, who was six months younger than him. Once school started, they would be in the same class. Maury didn't want to share a family with another boy, especially another foster kid, but he couldn't be choosy. No other family had spoken a word to him since he had become a ward of the state.
"This is your room. You'll share it with Gabe. You're lucky. He's a bit of a neat-freak. Just make sure your belongings stay on your side of the room and you should be fine," Robert told him, showing off the 12'x12' box of a room. With bunk beds in one corner and a large dresser in the other, there wasn't much space in between.
"This is great. Thanks again, Robert."
"No problem, son," Robert said, trying out the word. Paternal ride deepened his voice.
Maury ignored him, but continued, "So, where's Gabe?"
"Out back in the pool. You should go out and say hello. There are trunks in the dresser for you. I think we got the sizes right, if not, let us know. We'll make sure you get whatever you need."
Maury was
hesitant to wear just swim trunks, especially when he would be around people who were providing him food and a roof over his head.
"What's wrong? Can't you swim?" Robert had a concerned look on his face. He furrowed his light brown eyebrows. From his peeling red skin, it was obvious that Robert enjoyed the pool a great deal. "Gabe isn't the best swimmer, so don't worry about that."
Maury considered telling him that he couldn't swim, but didn't think that would be a good idea. Someone like Robert would probably sign him up for swim lessons thinking it would be a nice thing to do. Then Maury would have to flail in a public pool in front of all those other kids. All those watching eyes. "No, I can swim."
"Then put the trunks on," he said, his tone finding a sharpness Maury had never heard from Robert. "If you don't want to swim, at least put your feet in. It's nice. Gabe's been waiting all week to meet you."
"I'll be out in a few minutes."
Maury thought he looked ridiculous in the red Hawaiian shorts that he found in the top dresser drawer. They fit just fine, and he supposed if he kept a t-shirt on, he could get through the ordeal.
The Unger's house was nicer than the new house his parents bought from all the donation money after the apartment fire. It wasn't large or particularly ornate, just comfortable. Knee-high bushes lined the concrete walk that spilled out to a wide concrete patio. Eliza was pouring Robert a glass of lemonade, and when they both saw Maury, they smiled. There was a lawn furniture set, complete with a sun umbrella and an ice chest full of soda.
"Help yourself," Eliza said.
"He's waiting," Robert said, hooking his thumb in the direction of the pool.
"Maybe later," Maury said to Eliza, indicating the soda. He climbed the metal steps to the lip of the pool. When he reached the top, he saw a shimmering blob underwater as someone swam across the pool bottom. As his foster brother broke the surface of the water, Maury nearly fell down the steps. He had to steel himself so he wouldn't gasp.
"Hi, I'm Gabe. I'm gonna be your brother!" the boy chirped. The right side of his skull was shaved bald and was noticeably sunken. It looked like a sinkhole. When Gabe braced his arms on the lip of the pool to pull himself out, Maury was seeing the left side of his face. Perfectly normal. But then Gabe stood up, dripping water all over the place and Maury was faced with that caved in skull.
