by Alexie Aaron
“No, knowing your parents, it’s ice cream,” Susan said.
“Susan, you don’t understand. I’m failing English Composition.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “A failing grade is going to get you put on the bench until you prove yourself at the beginning of the new term.”
“I know. I don’t want to let the team down.”
“I think they will just have to learn to do without their star player. School work is important.”
“It’s not that I haven’t been trying. Math and science come a lot easier to me.”
“It does to a lot of young people,” Susan commented. “But communication is important, and English helps us to communicate with each other. Back in the old days, people would write letters instead of picking up a phone. I still have a few of my parents’ letters to each other when my father was in the war.”
“Love letters?” Dieter asked.
“Some of them. But quite a few where more informational. My mother wrote about what she and her family were doing, and my father talked about his concerns. He didn’t write about fighting. I think a lot of the men omitted the horrors of war from their loved ones.”
“It’s understandable. The world can be very cruel,” Dieter said.
“Yes, it can. Maybe you could use your experiences in some of your writing assignments.”
“I think they would laugh at me. Dieter Martin, crosser of spirits.”
“You could write about other things.”
“There are also a lot of horrors in my past, Susan.”
Susan reached out and hugged the boy. “I wish your youth could have been a better story. Maybe write about your birth parents.”
“I barely remember.”
“Write what you do remember. I think, once you start writing, you’ll be amazed at the good things you’ll remember.”
“I could try.”
They heard the key in the front door.
Dieter walked quickly to greet his parents and then stopped halfway down the hall.
Susan walked around him and continued to the door. “Chicken,” she hissed.
Mia walked in. “We brought ice cream,” she said, handing a plastic bag filled with pints of hand-packed ice cream to Susan. “I couldn’t remember what you liked, so I got a variety.”
“If it’s cold and full of sugar, it’s fine,” Susan said, peering in the bag.
“Are the boys sleeping?” Ted asked, hanging up his and Mia’s coat.
“The two little ones are. Dieter is lurking in the hallway, or he was. I think he’s worried about what his teacher had to say.”
“Dieter, we do need to have a discussion, but you’re not in trouble,” Mia said. “Come and have a bowl of ice cream, and then we’ll go over what Mr. Goldsworth had to say.”
“I don’t have an appetite,” he said glumly.
“He’s worried,” Susan said. “I think I’ll take some chocolate to go.”
Mia handed her the pint, and Ted helped her on with her coat before walking her to her car.
This gave Mia a little time alone with Dieter. She plucked his sleeve and pulled him along into the kitchen. “Come on, it’s not that bad. Let’s look at this like a challenge instead of a problem.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I rather like Mr. Goldsworth.”
“He’s not bad, just confusing.”
“He likes you,” Mia said. “But I expect most people do.”
Dieter’s shoulders relaxed.
“Where’s my Snicker Swirl?” Ted asked, walking in. He set the syllabus down and accepted the pint and spoon from his wife.
“I was looking over this while I was waiting for Mia to decide on what ice cream she wanted, and I don’t blame you for being wary of starting your project. It’s worth seventy-five percent of your grade. I figure, you just need a high B to get a C in the class.”
“Mark already has his done. I’m so far behind,” Dieter moaned.
“Step one is easy. All you have to do is pick a poet. Work with Jake to get information on the poet, and see how his or her life influenced his or her writing,” Ted said. “You have to get credible reviews, nothing from the dark web,” he warned.
Mia spoke up, “Tell you what, tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s go downtown early and peruse some of the independent bookstores for poetry. Your classmates will surely already have most of the bestselling poets covered. Cid’s going to want to go, but we can say no,” Mia said. “It can just be a mother and son adventure.”
“Cid can go. I don’t want to leave him out. You know how he loves books,” Dieter said.
“He’ll understand if you change your mind,” Ted said. “Pick up an empty journal while you’re there. Something with a cover that you can relate to.”
“A journal?” Dieter asked, looking a bit green.
“I think I can get you extra credit if you write something in it every day,” Ted said.
“Can’t I just do it on my computer?”
“No, you can’t,” Ted answered.
“Here’s an idea,” Mia said, “I’ll get a journal too. I’ll write in it daily at the same time of day. Maybe we’ll form a good habit this way.”
“I don’t know when I’m going to find the time?” Dieter said honestly.
“Son, you have to make the time,” Ted said. “When I’m working on a project, it would be faster if I just built things, but by keeping a log, I can go back and see where the experiment or project went wrong. Scientific observations are sometimes more valuable than getting a fast result.”
“Burt does it when we’re investigating,” Mia told him.
“But he uses the computer…”
“Actually, he transcribes his written notes from his journal,” Mia corrected.
“Poetry is hard to understand and harder to write,” Dieter said.
“True, unless you relax. Take my ice cream for example,” Mia said. “Rum raisin would be a lot more fun…”
“If it had less raisins and a lot more rum,” Ted finished.
“I know, cheesy but fun,” Mia said.
“Do my ice cream,” Dieter challenged.
“What kind is it?” Mia asked, looking over.
Dieter took a big spoonful out. “Vanilla.”
Ted and Mia looked at each other, communicating that this was going to be a tough rhyme. Mia gave Ted a nod to start.
“The monster movie was cool, the ice cream cold, the flavor, Vanilla,” Ted recited.
Mia frowned a moment and continued, “It fell off my spoon, decorated the room, all because of Godzilla.”
“That was bad,” Ted said.
“It was horrible,” Mia agreed.
“But I got your point,” Dieter said. “Don’t be afraid of poetry; the worst that can happen are groans from the listeners.”
“But, with practice, you may discover you have a talent for prose,” Mia said.
Cid, who had heard most of the ice cream prose on his way into the house, recited, “The ice cream was butter pecan. A small cone it sat upon. It started to shake, with a little earthquake, then rolled down my leg and was gone.”
Mia and Dieter clapped and cheered. Ted just shook his head. He handed the syllabus to Cid.
He fanned through it and commented, “Challenging. Dieter, I think they may have put you in an honors class.”
Dieter sat up a little straighter.
“We’re going to Chi-town to pick out a poet for Dieter tomorrow morning. Would you like to come with us?” Mia asked.
Cid’s face lit up. “If I wouldn’t be imposing.”
Dieter’s eyes twinkled.
“I know just the spot. It’s dusty, dark, and has the grumpiest proprietor I have ever come across,” Cid planned.
“Hold on, cowboy. The idea is to get Dieter interested in poetry, not scare him away,” Mia said.
“Mia, Mia, Mia, have some faith,” Cid said. “I know what I’m doing.”
Dieter and Mia looked at each other.
“It’s up
to you.”
“I’d love to meet this grumpy proprietor,” Dieter said. “I wonder what color his aura is?”
Cid winked at Mia. He did know what he was doing.
Chapter Five
She had never experienced the pull before. It felt as if her soul was being scraped along a gravel road. She fought the pull hard. Had she simply let go, the experience would have been quite pleasant. She would have been able to see where she had been taken to. Instead, she found herself alone in the dark closet beside her tether.
The energy it took her to manifest wasn’t with her yet. She would have to bide her time. When she had enough, she would make them pay for taking her away from the school, taking her away from where she needed to prove herself. She would move heaven and earth to make those inconsiderate idiots suffer for her treatment. In the meanwhile, she would rest and think about her last routine.
Mia woke early to the sounds of Varden needing her. She scooped him up in her arms and dance-walked him to the changing table.
Varden looked up at her sleepy, but smiling, face and burbled a good morning.
“Varden, you’re going to spend the day with Daddy!” Mia said enthusiastically. “I have to take Dieter to find some materials for school. Brian will be home with you too.”
Hearing Brian’s name made Varden smile.
“I thought you’d like that. Now let’s go down and get you a bottle,” she said, lifting him up. “Oof, you’re growing so fast. I’m going to have to get back into shape.”
Mia padded down the hall, taking the stairs carefully before walking down the hall into the kitchen.
“Morning, Mia and Varden,” Lazar said, handing Mia the heated bottle.
“Thank you, Lazar. Was I too noisy? Did I wake you?”
“No, I was already awake when the little guy here called for you.”
“You mean bellowed. I think Brian is teaching him that, but I can’t prove it.”
Mia tested the bottle and said, “Perfect as usual,” before she put the bottle to Varden’s mouth. He latched on and drank deeply.
“He’s a robust boy,” Lazar said as he measured the coffee.
“He is indeed. Today, Cid, Dieter, and I are going downtown. Is there anything we can bring back for you?”
“No, I’m pretty stocked up. Why are you going downtown?”
“Cid knows of an independent bookshop owned and operated by a curmudgeon. Dieter needs to find a poet to study.”
“Oh, this is for that class he’s having a hard time in?”
“Yes. Evidently, I made an error, according to Cid, and signed him up for an honors English composition class. The teacher seems like a treasure, so we’ll just have to help Dieter catch up.”
“I think he took that course because Mark was in it, if memory serves me,” Lazar told Mia. “I know you had him in English 101. He transferred.”
“Yikes, well, he’s paying for it now. A lot of work, but it will do him good, I guess.”
Lazar could tell by Mia’s expression that she was a little put off by Dieter changing his schedule. He felt guilty that he had ratted Dieter out, but he couldn’t have his boss, and friend, feel bad because she thought she had erred when she had signed him up for the class. “Most kids handle their own schedules. Try not to let it bother you,” he counseled.
“You’re right.”
BURP!
“Varden, you’ll never be mistaken for being subtle,” Mia said, patting his back.
BURP!
“That’s two,” she said and set him down in his carrier.
Lazar handed Mia a cup of coffee. He walked over and began rummaging in the coat closet.
“Can I help you find something?” Mia asked.
“I’ve been hearing odd sounds down here. I swear they are coming from this closet.”
Mia set her coffee down and walked over. “You look high, and I’ll look low,” Mia instructed as she got on her knees and began sorting through the outdoor footwear supply. “What kind of sounds?”
“A rustling.”
“Huh.”
“Wait, what’s this?” Lazar said, pulling out a plastic garbage bag. He opened it up and pulled out a set of red and white pom-poms.
Mia looked up. “Now that’s odd.”
“Is this yours?”
“Do I look like the cheerleader type?”
Lazar knew this was a loaded question and changed direction. “I think that the heating/cooling vent must have been blowing on the bag. This could be the sound I heard,” he said, shaking one of the pom-poms.
Mia got up. “What else is in that bag?”
Lazar pulled out a red and white uniform. The red sweater top had a large red W, emblazoned on a white megaphone, centered on the chest. There was also a short red pleated skirt in the bag. “Are you sure these aren’t yours?” Lazar teased.
“No, but I bet I know who brought them into this house.”
“What’s going on?” a sleepy Ted asked from the stairwell.
Mia walked around the corner and wiggled her finger. “Come here, Teddy Bear.”
Ted smiled as he followed Mia into the hall. Then he saw the pom-poms that Lazar had abandoned on the floor in his haste to leave the scene of the coming altercation. Ted took a few steps back, giving him running room, and started to explain, “When I was at the college collecting equipment for Susan, I had this great idea. Cid warned me it wasn’t such a great idea, but did I listen to him? No. I grabbed these and brought them home. The more I thought about it, the more I knew I had blundered. You aren’t interested in playing cheerleader and nerd… No, of course not.” Ted picked up the white bag and tossed the pom-poms in atop the uniform. He started to put the bag back in the overcrowded closet when Mia grabbed it.
“These go in the charity pile by the back door,” she said, walking through the kitchen and dumping the bag unceremoniously on top of a large pile of other bags. “Guess who just volunteered to take all of these to Goodwill?”
“Me,” Ted said sheepishly. “I’ll do it when I next go to town.”
“Cool beans,” Mia said to diffuse the tension. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Is it poisoned?”
“No, Lazar made it.” Mia poured him the cup and watched as Ted added a multitude of sugar and milk.
Lazar walked out holding Varden in his arms. “I hear we’re on kid watch today,” he said.
“That’s right, you’re going to Chi-town,” Ted said. “I’m going to take the kids to the aerie and have a lesson about gravity with Brian. We’re going to talk about why a wagon simply pushed off can’t fly.”
“It’s going to be a science day,” Mia acknowledged.
“Magic, I leave to you, Minnie Mouse. I am sorry about the cheerleader costume. I should have remembered how you were tortured by the Big Bear Lake cheer squad when you were in school.”
“Hey, a guy can’t remember every torture a girl’s been put through, especially when he’s had a few of his own,” Mia realized. “You should hear Cid’s stories about how his sister’s squad used to torment him.”
“Damn it. I forgot about that too. What is with my memory these days?” Ted said. “The poor guy, humiliated like that by his own sister.”
“Not all cheer squads are bad,” Lazar reminded them. “Some are quite good for the school.”
“They are nice to look at…” Ted said and received a punch to his arm from Mia.
Varden’s eyes opened wide.
“Look what you’ve done. Spousal abuse in front of our young son.”
Mia turned around. “He wasn’t looking at you. Look!”
Ted turned around, and upon the kitchen wall was a rainbow. Ted turned his wrist, and the rainbow moved. “It’s the crystal on my watch and the morning sun coming in the window,” he explained.
Varden reached a hand out towards the rainbow. Lazar walked him over to the wall, and the two chased the light for a while.
Mia smiled. She couldn’t remember
why she was mad in the first place. All she saw was the joy a crystal rainbow could bring.
~
Dieter moved amongst the racks very aware that he was being shadowed by the tall gargoyle hiding in the guise of the middle-aged proprietor of the bookstore. Gargoyles have distinct auras. As one would expect, they are coffee colored. He wasn’t sure that Mia knew this Mr. Calcar wasn’t human. Cid definitely was under the assumption that this cranky old human was, as represented, a cranky old human.
“What are you looking for?” Mr. Calcar asked.
“I’m supposed to find a poet whom I can relate to. This is most difficult as I’m not only not fond of poetry, but don’t understand it. Why can’t people just write things plainly?”
This brought a sniff from Mr. Calcar. “Maybe because they want it to appear pretty.”
“Isn’t honesty beautiful?” Dieter argued.
“It can be, and it can be hurtful,” the gargoyle reminded the youth. “For instance, I honestly thought you were here to rob me.”
“Ouch. I thought you were human,” Dieter fired back not thinking.
A hiss escaped the lips of Mr. Calcar. “Yet, you’re still here. I’m thinking you aren’t as advertised.”
“Oh, I’m human. But I am also an attrpeur-âme.”
“Have you come to catch my soul?”
Dieter laughed. “No. I’m on a leave of absence until I’m thirty.”
“Someone wise knows that you must have a normal youth in order to understand why these powers were given to you.”
“I’m sure my boss would be very amused at being called wise.”
Mr. Calcar laughed. “Let’s continue to discuss why some people won’t write things plainly.”
“Please, I would like to hear your argument.”
“Aside from appearing pretty, they want to make the reader do more than read their words; they want the reader to feel their hurts, joys, and such. Sometimes things are written in a tricky way so that the meaning is only known to a few. Also, there is a genre called magical realism. This is how dissidents can make fun of the government without ending up dead or incarcerated.”
“Or sued,” Dieter added. “You know these poets much better than I. Can you lead me to a few who you think I might like?” he asked.
