by L. A. Fields
So he went to a random backyard party in October, off-campus, thrown by a group of recent alums who couldn’t let it go. He held a plastic cup but refused to drink from it. He rooted for his ‘team’ in the guys vs. girls beer pong battle but did not play. He kept checking his watch and wondering, Is this long enough? Is this long enough? He’d walked there and could leave for home at any moment, but he kept delaying. It wouldn’t do to show up back home too early without enough details. He’d only be pressured to do it again if he didn’t return with a full thesis on why parties just weren’t for him.
The longer he stayed, the more he noticed a particular young man, the Chickenhawk as Noah had come to think of him, using the misnomer for convenience’s sake, in spite of himself. No matter where Noah moved—painfully close to the speakers, or over by the coolers, or braving the inside for the kitchen covered with chip crumbs and mystery smears—this kid was in his periphery, a pale shirt of either white or blue, glowing faintly in the night like a preppy ghost.
In less than a year, Noah would look back at this moment and think of it fondly, fatefully, even though he remembers perfectly well how it began. He became frustrated at some point and spat at the Chickenhawk, “What!”
In lieu of introducing himself, Ray asked Noah, “Would you like to know why some people call you Mr. Hyde?” He held out a hand to shake. “I’m the reason.”
Noah had shaken his hand without meaning to, and snatched it away when he realized they were touching.
“Yeah, well, you should hear what my friends call you.”
Ray smiled. “I’m also the reason you’re not going to be the youngest graduate of this place.”
“You think so?” he asked.
“I’d certainly bet on it.”
Noah said nothing to this, hoisted his cup up to block Ray’s face and crossed his other arm over his body to prop up his elbow. He turned away thinking, It has to be long enough now, I even talked to someone, when Ray said, “Are you even drinking that? What is it?”
“No, I don’t know, it was in a vat or something. Someone scooped it out and handed it to me. It’s making my hand sticky.”
Ray wafted a hand over Noah’s cup, smelling the drink’s bouquet. He wore a class ring that glowed under the low-hanging light strands strung up between tree branches.
“I believe the term is ‘jungle juice.’ Can I try some? I got here too late and they ran out.”
“Take the whole thing, I haven’t even touched it.”
Ray accepted the cup, took one gulp and nearly gagged, then drank the rest with a few struggling chugs.
“Thanks, it was disgusting.”
“Why did you drink it, then?”
“Because there are sober people in Africa.”
“Sober people in Africa,” Noah mumbled, nearly smiling. That’s also something his mother used to say about vegetables, that people were starving in Africa or North Korea or the Middle East, and that it was wrong to turn up his nose at good food.
“You like that one? People usually like that one, it’s a crowd pleaser.”
“Are you trying to be a comedian?” Noah asked, realizing that he was having a whole conversation and looking forward to the end of it, so he could go home and tell the family.
“I’m trying to make friends, and all the world loves a clown.”
“Okay.”
There was a lull. Noah looked his partner in interaction up and down so he could give his mother the details: the boy was another prodigy, dressed well and probably from a good family, very easy-going and friendly, handsome (his mother would know what he meant; open-faced, athletic). She’d want to know his actual name.
“So what’s your name?” Noah asked, just as he was being asked, “So why are you in college so young?”
“Raymond Klein.”
“Because I’m really smart.”
“How smart? Were you tested? I have a genius IQ.”
“Immeasurably smart. I’m literally off the chart.”
“And humble too!”
Noah opened his mouth to say that being humble is for the inferior when someone in a circle of pot-smokers vomited over the back of her plastic lawn chair, dangerously near Noah’s feet. The more gallant of the smokers got up to help her. Noah turned to leave.
“I’m done here, I never meant to stay long enough for puking.”
“I live nearby, want to go back to mine?” Ray asked, accompanying him through two backyards and out to the sidewalk. “I know where my brother keeps a stash of booze.”
“I live near here too, and I don’t really want to drink after that display.”
“Walk you home then?”
“Yeah, fine.”
They walked in silence for three blocks, Noah trying to think of something polite to say that was in no way an invitation. He’d reached his limit for the night of social stimulation.
“This is me,” Noah said as they approached his mailbox, which displayed 4754 S. Greenwood Ave. in little hanging signs.
“We’re neighbors,” Ray said. “I’m just over on Ellis.”
“Then I’m sure we’ll meet again.” Noah stopped and held out his hand again. “By the way, I’m—”
“Kaplan, Noah F., I just remembered.” Ray shook his hand with gusto.
“That’s weird that you know my name.”
“And you’re address too, now. See you around.”
With that Ray saluted Noah, and walked on.
4
RAY LOBBIED FOR TRACY TO be fired just days after he formally made Noah Kaplan’s acquaintance. It used to be that Ray was accountable to her only, and whatever infractions he committed were dealt with in-house, but college changed all that. She had no real control over him anymore—he knew it and she knew it, and he started disobeying her in overt ways, not doing her extra assignments, and not meeting her standards for his homework. His grades slipped a bit, yes, but for such a young man in his first year of college, no one batted an eye at Bs and Cs. In fact, everyone but Tracy praised him for holding his head up so well when he was so far out of his depth. She knew he could do better, and so did he, but why should he waste the effort? It all came out in the wash anyway. If he got Cs all through college, he still got the same degree as everyone else, and had enough time for some fun while he was at it.
“You really need to show me you can refocus,” she said as she packed up her ridiculous backpack covered in zippers, as if she might be headed out hiking at any moment. “I realize you’re more independent these days, a big man on campus, but now is the worst time to start slacking off. What you do in your first year will set the tone for the rest of your college career, and you don’t want to look back and know that just a little effort now would have saved you a whole lot of struggle in the long run.”
He was barely listening to her. He knew about this party, the announcement was sent to the whole student body—not an official school function, but some people who had kept their house off-campus sent it out, especially to new freshmen, to welcome them. Most of the people Ray knew weren’t going to be there; they were forming their own groups and didn’t want to know a bunch of graduated adults, but Ray prided himself on being comfortable in any group of people. After all his time alone, studying under Tracy’s thumb, he couldn’t get enough friends, or enough parties.
“I want you to study this weekend. I want you to have this work done by our Monday session. It’s important.”
But Ray knew that wasn’t true, and so he made a list of what he actually had to do to avoid failing, and tossed all of Tracy’s extras in the foot well under his desk, to rest his feet on.
He went to the party (scraggly, sparse, sad, barely better than studying), and managed to spot Mr. Hyde aka Noah Kaplan, and at long last there was no one better to talk to, so Ray watched him, and provoked an exchange, and became intrigued.
This kid was no liar; he didn’t have the finesse for it . . . but an off the charts IQ? If he was so smart, why couldn’t he fit in? Why
come out if he wasn’t going to try? Why take a cup and not drink from it? Fascinating.
Ray ended up home early that Saturday night, but let the party punch put him to bed. He didn’t do anything but his actual homework on Sunday night. Monday evening came around and he had nothing more than a few pages to show Tracy for his English class. She got so pissed she threatened to go to his mother. Ray called her bluff.
“Let’s go,” he said, “let’s find my mother right now.” He got up from the dining room table, and she followed, as dogged a poker player as himself.
Anna wasn’t in the kitchen (no surprise there), nor in the rest of the downstairs rooms. Ray bounded up the steps, Tracy following with a sigh and a crackle of knees. They found Anna in Dad’s office twittering away on the phone about gossip (not business), legs up in his overlarge burgundy leather chair, bare feet at the end of her slacks tucked underneath her.
She held up a finger to keep them both silent until she could extricate herself from the call. After hanging up, she tied her hair back before turning to them and raising an open hand.
“Tracy’s extra work is actually distracting me from my studies,” Ray said first. “She’s not helping me anymore.”
“I know he has a lot more work now that he’s in college, but it’s no more than he’s used to. It is harder material, much harder, and his grades have slipped because of it. In my opinion he does still need a tutor, now more than ever to keep him on task.”
“So I can go to college, but I still need a nanny? I can go to my classes and sit for exams and attend parties”—at this Tracy sighed—“but I can’t go to Europe,” Ray said looking sidelong at his tutor, “and everyone still knows better than me what I need?”
Anna pressed her eyes briefly and told her son, “Don’t work yourself into a rant, Raymond. Tracy is on a yearly contract, we can’t just fire her, which is obviously what you want. But you’ve got a point, it’s probably time to let you sink or swim, so Tracy . . . I think we won’t be able to renew your contract after this year.”
Tracy nodded her understanding. Ray smirked and said, “Finally.”
“You still have to listen to her for the rest of the year, I’m serious. Nothing has changed yet. And Tracy, if you want I can ask around for anyone who might need a tutor of your caliber. Of course you’ll get excellent recommendations from us.”
“Right; I would appreciate any referrals.”
Anna nodded perfunctorily and Ray and Tracy turned to leave. Outside the door of the office, Tracy drawing it shut behind them, they looked at each other.
“Your English paper needs work,” she told him, and moved past him to lead the way downstairs. Ray set his hands on the banister and watched her go, feeling victorious, but not feeling the need to gloat about it. He had won, and Tracy acknowledged it, and satisfaction fell over him with a languid warmth. It rolled down his body like an unfurling cape.
5
FOR HALLOWEEN THAT YEAR, NOAH stayed at home to hand out candy with his mother. He had stayed at home the year before, and the year before that. A few times as a kid she walked him around the block to collect candy for himself, but she could barely manage those short excursions, and soon Noah didn’t see the point of it. He could dress up at home, there was candy at home, why not just stay at home?
They set a couple of the iron chairs that usually sit on the back patio out on the sidewalk in front of their gate. Faye held (and grazed from) a bowl of candies with chocolate, Noah held a bowl of candies without. They kept a line of color commentary going on which costumes were best, and bestowed their favors accordingly. Noah wore plastic vampire fangs, a bloody bit of drool drawn by lipstick, and had blacked a widow’s peak onto his forehead with some eyeliner. Faye wore a white-striped fright wig and a lipstick bite wound on her neck. Noah was up and down, back and forth all evening—for candy refills, coffee, jackets—keeping his mother comfortable as the sun went down.
Just when it was turning full dark, Ray showed up.
“Good evening beautiful madam, young sir,” he said, walking with a guiding hand on the head of a little boy, no bigger than kindergarten.
“What do we have here?” Faye asked the child, who was dressed as a pirate. He had a plastic cutlass tucked in his belt, a lunch box shaped like a treasure chest into which he collected his edible loot, and a small tricorn hat with a Jolly Roger insignia patch sewn on one side, and a small stuffed parrot tucked into the corner of the other.
“I’m Jack Sparrow!” he announced.
“And you two are . . . Bela Lugosi and Morticia?”
“Lily Munster, notice the skunk stripes,” Faye corrected him, as Noah handed the pirate boy a few candies off the top, watching this interaction carefully. He had still not decided that Ray was worthy, and he was very protective of his mother.
“Ah, very pleased to meet you, then,” he said taking and lifting her hand towards him, though not being presumptuous enough to kiss it.
“And who are you supposed to be?” she asked Ray.
“Hmm, must be . . . Eddie Haskell!”
Faye laughed hard enough to surprise herself, wincing at the end of the yelp because she hadn’t braced her midsection, hadn’t been ready for it.
“If you don’t know Lily Munster, you’re way too young to know who Eddie Haskell is.”
“I’m too young for a lot of the things I know, isn’t that right, Noah?”
“Oh, yes.” Noah wakes out of the trance he had been in watching Ray charm his mother. “Mom, this is Ray Klein, the one I told you about who’s at school with me. My age, lives nearby?”
“And this is Tommy,” Ray said, gesturing towards his brother, who gazed longingly at the kid-swarmed street.
“Here, have an extra treat for being so patient, Tommy,” Faye said, handing over more candy. “You’ll have to come by sometime soon,” she told Ray, “when you can stay and chat a while.”
“Sure thing. I’m sure Noah will invite me any day now.”
“Huh? Yeah,” Noah said, as Tommy finally became fed up with niceties, took his brother by the finger, and dragged him away.
“Goodnight,” Ray called as he left.
“Goodnight,” chorused Noah and Faye.
Faye sighed extravagantly, more energized than she’d been all night, her posture straighter and her eyes more open.
“He’s a whirlwind, isn’t he? Do you know him well?” she asked her son.
“We met at that party,” Noah told her. “You know . . . ”
Faye nodded as they say together, “The one.” The only one.
Noah put his fingers, gone cold from holding the metal armrest of his chair, on the back of his neck, which was now feeling very hot.
“That might be nice, having someone your own age at school. Looks like he could bring you out of that shell of yours.” She reached to pinch the air in front of his cheek, a gesture of a gesture.
“What if I’m a turtle? My shell is my skeleton; I’ll die if I leave it.”
“Your shell is an egg, okay? Emerge already.”
“You just think my friend is cute. Please don’t be that mom.”
Faye hiccupped another laugh, not as vigorous as the one Ray coaxed out of her, but enough to assure Noah that his place was not about to be usurped.
They spent another hour and a half outside, Noah going in once to make them hot cocoa, since winter was coming on strong that year, with snow slated to arrive in early November. He and his mother both disliked winter especially. Some people in Chicago enjoyed the snow for at least the first few weeks, but Noah and Faye did not.
With full darkness finally fallen, a much colder breeze swept up the street, making Faye shiver. Noah stacked the candy bowls together, light enough for his mother to carry in, and he dragged the patio chairs to the backyard, thinking bitterly of the coming winter, until his thoughts turned to Ray.
He bore a striking resemblance to the best friend Noah imagined he’d have by this age. Someone strong, commanding, golden,
who appreciated the best in Noah, and wanted him around. He’d passed close to that kind before—he thought Omar was a possibility for a bit, and there was another boy in middle school who’d showed Noah how to find porn on the internet, that kid seemed pretty worldly at the time—but those friendships hadn’t been anywhere near as enduring as he’d hoped they would be. His friends were never as vibrant as they seemed on first interaction.
He decided to keep an open mind though, when he went in for the night and saw his mother still cheerful, humming “This Is Halloween” softly as she made her evening tea (for swallowing down her evening meds). If Ray Klein could make her smile while doing that, he must be something special.
6
TWO WEEKS INTO NOVEMBER, RAY and Tracy had another nasty spat, an occurrence more and more frequent as her tenure in the household slowly expired. Ray stormed out halfway through the session, tired of being picked at just because Tracy was pissed off. He snatched his jacket on his way outside, but was too incensed to remember his phone, his keys. He found himself stranded in his front yard, too prideful to go back inside, and he started walking, assuming rightly, that he would figure something out by the time he made it around the block.
He knew he would try Noah’s house after he turned his first corner, taking in huge brisk lungfuls of fall air, whistling a bit at the promise of something new to do. He felt sure that Noah would be home, remembering the kid’s pathetic schedule, and he was right about that, too.
“Oh, yes, Noah’s home. You’re the boy from Halloween, right?”
Mrs. Kaplan, “Faye, I insist,” invited him in with what at first looked like a hint of a bow, but as she continued to move, Ray noticed that her stoop stayed with her. Out from under the fright wig, her dim brown hair was tucked away into a squashed bun, and her cheeks, though strikingly prominent, were wan.
“I’d yell for Noah, but I might pass out,” she told Ray, walking directly back to a little nest on the living room couch—blankets and food detritus and a trashy book. “Just go on upstairs, he’s in his room, you’ll find it.”
