by L. A. Fields
This liberty was agreeable to Ray. He lingered over the family photos that hung along the stairs, trying to pick out every appearance of his new friend. He noted the interior design differences; someone in this house clearly didn’t find walls of dark cherry wood oppressive. Ray’s house was mostly pale marbles and cool blues, more reminiscent of a bathhouse. There were two closed doors, a bathroom, and a hallway on the second floor. The hallway appeared to lead to a more master area of the plane, if not a bedroom than an office. Ray decided to knock on both closed doors at once, hoping that Noah would emerge from one.
“How are you here?” was the first thing Noah said.
“Your mom told me to just come up and find you,” Ray said, stepping into the room even though Noah had made no movement to invite him in. He wanted to see Noah’s room in its untouched, unconscious state.
The books on the hutch above Noah’s desk, and the ones lining his dresser, and the ones stacked up underneath his imposing four-poster bed, all looked boring as shit, and Ray communicated this.
“These books look boring as shit. Don’t you read anything fun?”
“No,” Noah said, accommodating Ray’s invasion by moving into the room with him. Ray bounced down on the bed, while Noah rotated his desk chair and sat down somberly, like a doctor with an exuberant patient who doesn’t yet know there’s bad news. Noah wore the same buttoned-up outfit he wore on school days, even though Ray knew that it was not one of his school days.
“Do you ever do anything fun?”
“Not really. Most things considered fun are frivolous. I don’t enjoy the feeling of accomplishing nothing.”
Ray smiled. Noah told the truth as naturally and unabashedly as Ray told lies. He’d make a terrible alibi.
“Did you have a tutor growing up, is that why you’re in college already?”
“I had a nanny who started me in school early, and then I skipped a few grades on my own.”
“Why?”
“Why not? The material was easy, and the experience of being in lower education was not one I wanted to savor.”
Ray paused to underline a few things he knew about Noah, really underline, and highlight: unpopular, but not insecure about it; mouth like a dictionary.
“I have a tutor. She gets fired at the end of this year, but right now she’s still here, busting my balls.”
“My nanny was a very large, strict German woman, I’m not sure I have sympathy for you.”
“Just before I came over here,” Ray said, sitting up straight to take on the challenge of gaining this boy’s sympathy, “she told me, she said, ‘It’s mind-numbing trying to punch up your sub-par homework from C minus to B, it’s work a TA would be too good to do.’ And she always holds her hand up just like she’s got an invisible wine glass,”—Ray demonstrated this—“pontificating.”
“You get C minuses?”
“My grades are fine, she exaggerates. You’re just lucky you don’t have someone breathing down your neck anymore.”
“I breathe down my own neck. I want to be Harvard Law by the time I’m twenty.”
“For Christ’s sake, why?” Ray put his hands behind his head and leaned back against the nearest bedpost. “What’s your hurry?”
“You’ve met my mother. She’s sick, she’s been sick since I was born. I want her to see me accomplish something. I can have fun later, if I so desire.”
“You won’t be young later.”
“I don’t feel young now. I’m an old soul, I’ve been told.”
“Hmm.” Ray pursed his lips, even started to fidget, as he waited to begin his next conversational gambit. Noah only sat across from him, stoic as a beetle. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving? Because we have a great house we go to every year, in Charlevoix. That’s in Michigan.”
“I know that. We go to my grandmother’s every year.”
“Hmm.”
In the following silence, Ray stroked a toy hawk mounted to the nearest bedpost, like a scarecrow feature, a hell of a thing to want watching over you as you try to fall asleep.
“Next week though, it’s my birthday,” Noah volunteered. “And I always get my favorite food for dinner, and presents, and I’m allowed to invite a friend. Are you free on the nineteenth?”
“You don’t already have a friend lined up?” Ray teased, jovial because at last he seemed to have cracked this nut.
Noah tilted a skeptical look at him, but smiled as he turned back to his desk. “Dinner is at six. It won’t be kosher, and if you’re allergic to peanuts, you can’t have dessert.”
“There are no restrictions on me,” Ray said, standing and stepping to the door. “Keep your evening free after dinner, I have an idea for a present.”
“Wait, what kind of idea?” Noah asked, twisting around in his chair. “Because I have class the next day.”
“No, you don’t, you’re going to be sick that day,” Ray said. He knocked on Noah’s doorframe twice as he was leaving, and called back, “Trust me.”
7
NOAH EXPECTED TURNING FIFTEEN TO feel utterly meaningless, and to pass without any big to-do. He couldn’t drive yet, he wasn’t young enough to get excited over cake or presents (he did get a nice leather notebook for his collection of bird sightings, and a not-a-phone, not-a-computer thing for class). Birthday dinners usually meant the same three things: the main dish would involve steak, the vegetable would not be carrots, and afterwards there’d be a cake. Hooray.
Ray showed up right on time looking nice, his hair combed down with something slick, a present tucked under his left arm allowing him to shake hands with his right, first with Noah (which Noah found awkward), and then with Noah’s father (which went a lot smoother). There were four places set at the table.
“Don’t you have brothers?” Ray asked as he sat down.
“They’re older,” Noah said.
“Sam is at college, up at Northwestern, and Mike just got a job downtown, entry level, but he’s on his way,” Noah Sr. said.
“Not like this one, right?” Ray said, seating himself in one sliding movement, as Noah struggled to inch his chair over the carpet. “Fifteen years old and not even president yet, the bum.”
Faye and Senior laughed, and looked fondly at Noah. So accomplished, and now a funny friend! A friend who dominated dinner with stories of his brothers, acting out pranks so theatrically that he almost fell out of his chair once, but it was charming of him, to be so enthusiastic. He was acting his age, something Noah had long ago ceased to do.
As dessert wrapped up, Ray slid his gift over the table cloth as Faye said, “Oh, how sweet.”
Noah knew he was holding books right away (all his aunts give him books, but never with any thought to what kind of books Noah actually reads). Ray revealed a bit more creativity with his choices.
To Kill A Mockingbird, The Maltese Falcon, and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The first two were slim paperbacks, the third, a behemoth. What the French call ‘un pavé,’ a paving stone, and what Americans might call a roach killer.
“It’s because I know you like birds, get it?”
Noah nodded and said thanks and set the books aside. He wouldn’t get it until later that night, after he and Ray were left alone, and Ray said, “Let’s go for a walk. Bring Harry Potter.”
“Here, look,” Ray said, taking the book from Noah’s arms as soon as they passed under the first street lamp on the chilly autumn street. “Here’s your real present.”
Ray opened the book like a waiter uncovering a plate, flipping the front cover and about half an inch of glued together pages with one light flick, and presenting the heavier half with a flourish. The book had been hollowed out, a rectangle excised from the center of the pages, holding a big shiny flask.
“What’s in it?”
Ray dug it out. “Gin, I think you can handle it.”
Ray was right. It made Noah feel like he was drinking mouthwash, but he could still drink it, and soon enough he began to like it.
He felt deft yet clumsy at the same time. Ray began to giggle.
“Oh, look,” Ray said as they passed a house with bricks lining their flower beds. He bent dramatically to pick one up and pulled Noah quickly away from the scene of the theft. They rounded a corner and Ray started examining cars, choosing. “This is something I’ve been meaning to try.”
“Un pavé,” Noah told him, making a reference to his earlier thought, not fully aware that Ray would not and could not get it.
“You’re drunk,” he told Noah. “That’s so cute, you’ve barely had any.” He took another swig of the flask, handed it to Noah, took a pitching stance, and threw the brick at a car window. The brick bounced off, leaving a small scratch. Ray picked it up and urged Noah to ‘cheese it,’ laughing so hard he could barely get the words out.
“Did you just say ‘cheese it’? You’re drunk, who says that?”
“I picked it up from a book somewhere. Here, you try.”
“Why are we doing this?” Noah asked, taking the brick unthinkingly as Ray traded him for the Harry Potter book.
“It’s an experiment. I’ve looked up how to break side windows on cars, sometimes people have to, to save a dog or a baby or their keys or whatever, but it’s hard, all the windows are crash rated now, it takes a really specific angle and amount of force, and I’ve tried a few times, but I can’t ever break one.”
“What’s the point of this experiment? You know the windows can break, and that one eventually will. This experiment would not get funded.”
Ray bent double laughing at Noah’s logic, dislodging a lock of his hair, which hung dashingly over his forehead for the rest of the evening.
“The point is the experience, okay? I want to see if I can do it myself.”
“Well, then, here.” Noah set the brick on the book held securely in the crook of Ray’s arm. “If that’s the point, then I can’t do it for you.” He didn’t want to smash anyone’s window. He didn’t care particularly about his neighbors’ property, but there was still no point in it for him.
Ray scoffed, but was still smiling when he said, “Chicken.”
“Name-call all you want; your reasoning is flawed.”
“Nerd,” Ray said to him, laughing again.
Ray threw the brick at a few more car windows as they circled back towards their houses, Noah getting more and more paranoid about being seen and getting caught each time. Ray never managed to break one, and eventually chucked the brick into someone’s hedge, giving up for the evening.
“You still going to class tomorrow?” Ray said at the corner where they would part for the night.
Noah looked at his watch, couldn’t see it worth a damn in the dark, and answered, “I’m going to try.”
“Drink water before you go to sleep, then.” Ray held out his hand for a goodbye shake. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” Noah took the hand, and was thrilled when Ray pulled him closer for a very dudely one-pat, no-real-body-contact hug. In fact, that semi-hug was the best gift he’d gotten all night.
8
AT THE END OF RAY’S first semester, he received some good news he’d forgotten to wait for. Ray applied to transfer to one school in each state bordering Illinois, including Michigan across the lake. He figured a neighboring state was just far enough away for freedom, but still close enough that his mother might actually let him go. He didn’t really like the schools in Iowa, Kentucky, or Missouri (they were not at all on par with the prestige of the University of Chicago), so he ignored their acceptances in favor of sticking it out in Chicago, with his new friend who helped make home less of a stifling bore. The schools in Milwaukee and Indianapolis refused him, but at last the letter from Michigan arrived just before Christmas, an early gift: assuming Ray kept his grades at a B average or higher for the Spring semester, he was welcome. He could be a wolverine, the letter said; a phoenix no more.
Last day of term: the yards were snowy but the sidewalks salted and clear for walking, and he found his acceptance in the mail box when he checked it on arriving home. The snow stacked on top of their mailbox was thick, tall, sculpted, like shampooed hair. It slid off with an audible plop when Ray slammed the little hinged door shut with satisfaction. He loved seeing that word at the top of a letter, Congratulations.
Two nights later: Ray finally put a brick through someone’s car window and left it lying in glittered glass on their back seat. His success so startled him that he ran, scurrying and tripping, a full two blocks away. He cooled himself and circled back, and passed close enough to see a man in a bathrobe looking at the window with his hands on his hips. Ray didn’t approach him, but imagined what he’d say if he did (“Oh shit, is that your car, what happened?”), and he reviewed what flick of the wrist/angle of the brick finally brought him such success, and he decided that the next time it happened, he would keep his head, and at least rob the glove box.
Christmas Eve: Eric was home after a ski trip with his college friends, bonding with Dad about the experience because they were the only two family members who had been on the slopes. Allen would arrive the next day in time for Christmas dinner, having spent Christmas Eve with his girlfriend’s family in Skokie. The girlfriend would be coming too. Ray’s mother was on the computer half the time looking at pictures of the girl, and at the coffee table half the time with baby albums, looking at Allen. She couldn’t seem to decide if she was happy or sad that her first born was in a serious relationship. She was so distracted that Ray was able to dip into the adult eggnog without her noticing.
Christmas Day: it was seeing how Allen and Eric were treated that finally decided Ray on his acceptance to U of M. Once their sons went away and came back, Ray’s parents treated them with such friendliness. No more trying to mold them, no more criticism, because too much nitpicking might drive their young men away forever. “As long as you’re happy, we’re happy,” they said. “Let us know if you need any help.” It needed to be done, getting out of the house. There was no reason to delay.
New Year’s Eve: Noah’s household didn’t do anything for New Year’s Eve but watch the ball drop, and at Ray’s there was always a party. Ray invited Noah, said he’d come by and loiter at the Kaplan house while his mother was setting up (according to Anna, Ray still had the capability to be underfoot while she worked), and it was then that he told Noah about his choice first, before anybody else.
“Hey, so, I’m not going to be here next year,” he told Noah as he sorted through the kid’s closet for what should be worn to the party. Noah had a pitiful variety, probably because his mom was too unwell to shop for him. “I’m transferring to the University of Michigan.”
Noah’s heavy brows lowered, and gathered into a frown. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, clinging to his scarecrow freaky hawk post. “What for?”
“I applied before I met you, because my parents wouldn’t let me go to Europe last summer. I had to get out of that house and away from them. I still have to do that.”
“Hmm.” Noah stayed very stiff as Ray held up two incredibly similar shirts in front of him. “U of M has a good law program.”
“Ugh, I’d sooner go into medicine than law, and blood makes me puke.”
Noah’s frown deepened. “Neither of those fit me.”
“Wait, you mean you! You study law.” Ray tossed the shirts on the floor and squatted down over them to be on Noah’s level. “You’re thinking you’ll come with me, you totally should! We could be roommates. It would be awesome!
“Maybe.”
“Oh my God, you can at least apply, right? Think about it for a while, but apply right now. Today! Let’s do it now.”
Ray nudged Noah’s computer awake, put down all his open spreadsheets and study notes and shit that he shouldn’t have open over winter break anyway, and brought up the transfer application page for U of M.
“Fine,” Noah said, pulling himself up and sitting down at the desk.
“You won’t regret it,” he said, patting Noah’s slop
ed shoulders, and smiling, sure about his decision.
At midnight: Ray was looking forward to the brand new year, and bold on some more champagne than anyone intended to give him, he kissed Noah on the cheek and brought a mottled blush to his pallid face.
On New Year’s Day: Ray broke the news to the family, and greeted the new year with a shining optimism. His life was about to begin.
9
NOAH COMPLETED THE TRANSFER APPLICATION to Michigan. It was all Ray could talk about once he got in, and Noah wanted to join in his sunny speculation as their spring term started in the middle of a long, dark, sturdy Chicago winter.
Noah did a little idle studying of maps and pictures of the Michigan campus on his own some nights, did the work of imagining a parallel version of himself, and seeing that Noah in the dorms with Ray, really leaving home, really doing it. That Noah had his feet up on some dirty laundry, was learning how to smoke all kinds of things, had started listening to music in earnest, like it mattered. That Noah was carefree, cool, truly young.
“Have you heard yet?” Ray asked every time they met after the deadline for Fall term transfers passed, after February 1st. And when Noah said no, Ray would inform him of another aspect of his plan:
Swinging into an empty seat on the bus he would say, “If we go together, we can room together, if not I’m going out for a fraternity, I think. My father was in some stuffy house when he was in college, I’ll have to look around and pick one I can stand. I’m just too charming to keep to myself.”
Meeting in the student lounge after their Tuesday classes with cups of hot coffee around which Noah warmed his freezing-red fingers, Ray would tell him, “Once you’ve found out you’re in, don’t worry, I’ve already thought about everything we have to pack. My brothers left a bunch of stuff behind after they graduated—mini fridge, microwave, extra-long single bed sheets, we’ll have everything, and we’re close enough to come home if we have to, but . . . ” He’d lean close to Noah and touch his shoulder and look him straight in the eyes, and say, “Let’s not have to.”
