“Hi, Laurie. Hi, Brad.”
“Hi, Alex. Hey, Sarah. You’re fashionably late.”
(Yeah, and your partner is fashionably rectangular. So?)
“Well, we ran into a little obstacle.”
Brad’s nearly subsonic voice lumbered into the fray. “Oh, like a lawn gnome, maybe?”
I thought, Wow, we ARE really late. Laurie had time to teach Brad to SPEAK! But I didn’t say it, because I’m above that sort of thing. Oh, and because Brad could basically reach out one granitelike finger and smear me into a thin paste. So I just chuckled. “Good one, Brad. No, actually we had to stop at the hospital on the way over.”
I stopped and waited for that to sink in. While Brad was probably still struggling to cope with my daunting use of a three-syllable word, Laurie asked, “The hospital? Why? What’s going on?”
“Uh, Sol has pneumonia.”
“Oh, my God! How is he? Can he speak? Is he coherent? I have to go see him.”
Sarah saw her opening. “Don’t worry, Laurie. He thinks you already did!”
Laurie raised an eyebrow, and reached out to grab my arm. Sarah was probably about ready to reach into her bag and spray me with Mace, and it might have been my imagination, but I think Brad was actually RUMBLING at me. Laurie said, in that totally characteristic, I-don’t-care-what-anybody-else-thinks way, “Alex, take me to the hospital!”
Who knew that three people from such different backgrounds, and with such varied emotional needs and perspectives, could all say, “BUT…” at exactly the same instant?
“No buts. I’m sorry, but this is a life on the line, not some cheesy high school theme dance. Look, Sarah, was your date with Alex going well?”
“Uhh…”
“My point exactly. And Brad? Do you feel we’ve made an immortal, transcendent soul-to-soul connection tonight?”
“Huh?”
“See? Brad, meet Sarah. Sarah’s a very talented musician. And Sarah, meet Brad. Brad does the most amazing impression of a Himalaya! Alex, get your coat back on and let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”
Twenty minutes later, we were sneaking up to Sol’s floor on a service elevator. A nurse busted us, but Laurie did this whole Oscar-winning performance as Sol’s frantic granddaughter, and she granted us a small exemption from the visiting-hours rules. There are times when I have to admit Laurie is very nearly a superhero of some sort, although it would have been tricky for her to conceal a costume under the particular dress she was wearing. Sol noticed the outfit right off the bat. “Laurie, it’s wonderful to see you again so soon. You changed your dress. This one is a lot nicer. I hope Alex told you that.”
I blushed and bit my lip.
Laurie went through a big Q&A about Sol’s whole health situation while I tried not to check out her whole skintight-dress situation. He assured her that he was fine, and his color definitely DID look better than it had even an hour and a half before. Then he asked Laurie if he could speak to me for a moment alone, man to man. She raised the old eyebrow, but kissed him good-bye without a peep of protest and walked out into the hall. Sol patted the edge of his bed, and I sat there. “Boychik,” he intoned in a manly-man-giving-another-manly-man-advice voice, “That’s the girl for you. That’s your dance partner, not some tuba-honking mouse.”
“Sol, Sarah plays the trombone.”
“Whatever, do what you want. Go, date your little Sousaphone player. I’m old, what do I know? But when you’re done messing around, I hope Laurie is still going to be waiting for you. From the look of her in that red dress, I wouldn’t count on it.”
It had been an odd day, so maybe my guard was down more than usual. “Sol, I wouldn’t mind going out with Laurie. But SHE doesn’t notice ME that way.”
“Alex, you really are a meshuggener sometimes. This girl follows you around, she worries about you all the time, she even plays nicely with your grumpy old friend Sol. She notices you, all right. And she notices you noticing her. You just don’t notice her noticing you. Oy, this is giving me a headache. But the point is, time is precious, and a girl like that is precious. Now stop wasting both of them and let me get some sleep. On second thought, maybe call that beautiful nurse in here and see if it’s time for my next dose of cough medicine. I love that stuff!”
As Laurie and I left, Sol had another huge paroxysm of coughing. It was almost as if he had been putting the cough aside in order to concentrate on his advice to me. And when Laurie leaned her head on my shoulder in the elevator, I was really hoping the advice had been right. “Where should we go now?” she asked me. “I don’t think Sarah and Brad will be so excited to see us back at the dance, do you?”
“No, and I’d rather be with you tonight. I mean, all the time. I mean…”
She put a finger to my lips and I noticed that her short, bitten-down fingernails were polished red to match the outfit. “Shh,” she whispered, and tilted her head up to me. Did she want me to kiss her? How weird was this going to be? Should it be like a real kiss, with passion and stuff? Or more of an experimental, pecking kind of deal? And why did this elevator smell like month-old cabbage?
Putting aside my deep thoughts, I made my move. Suavely, with one deft motion, I reached behind her and pushed the red STOP button on the elevator’s control panel. And an alarm started blaring at a bone-shattering volume. Laurie jerked up off my shoulder so fast that we banged teeth. As I slapped frantically at the controls to pull the button back out, Laurie started cracking up. My blushing reflex was sure getting a whole lot of practice for one day. When I got the button released, there was a shocking silence. Laurie reined in her guffaws, and was just sort of letting off a random giggle every couple of seconds as she stared at my lip. “Alex, you’re bleeding! Let me—GIGGLE—help you.” She fished a dubious-looking tissue out of her purse and dabbed at my face. She leaned closer to get a better look, and it was almost starting to look like Round Two, when we reached the ground floor. The doors opened onto a packed lobby, with two aging security guards right in front.
“Everything okay, kids? We heard the alarm.”
“Yes, sorry, sir. I just…uh…needed to stop the car for a second. Because…”
“Yeah, I can see the ‘because’ with my own two eyes, son. Hey, aren’t you the kid with the lawn gnome?”
“Uh, Sarge? Is that you?”
He gave me a long glare, which relaxed into a grin. “Yeah, I moonlight here—hey, I got two daughters in college. You’re looking a little better than the last couple of times I saw you. I asked your judge, and she said you’re keeping your nose clean. Anyway, you’d best be moving on now—and stay out of trouble.”
Laurie and I walked through the crowd, as Sarge’s partner said, “Wow, did you see the way she looked at him? If that boy stays out of trouble tonight, it’ll be a miracle.”
GOOD MORNING, WORLD!
The day after the dance was interesting. Because V-day had fallen on a Sunday, and our school’s Student Council was a bunch of idiots, the dance had been held on the actual evening of the fourteenth, and we were all staggeringly tired at school on Monday morning. When I collapsed into my homeroom seat, all I wanted was to slump there and pray the gigantic cappuccino thing I’d guzzled en route would start waking me up soon. But Bryan Gilson must have had a quicker metabolism, because he was totally alert and all ready to gloat. “So did you have fun with Sarah last night? You owe me one, buddy. Somebody had to get tired of watching you drool all over yourself in front of Laurie every day and get you a woman. And somebody had to spare Laurie the inconvenience of denying your sorry booty if you finally ever got the courage to be a man and ask her out. So I got my boy Bradley to help her out, too. And now you and the ninja master can settle down and be normal friends, right?”
Laurie walked in, sort of sashayed and glided her way past Bryan, and leaned over me. She put her arms around my neck from behind and kissed the top of my head. “Mmm,” she purred. “You smell like French vanilla. How was your very short sleep, sweethe
art?”
NOW I was awake. Considering that nothing had happened after the hospital except one of our usual three-hour frozen talks on my front porch while we were on a stakeout for my mom’s return, this was news to me. But even though Bryan couldn’t see Laurie’s battle-hardened fingers digging into my abdomen, I could feel them. And for once I actually got the hint. “Great, honey. I was dreaming about you all—night—long.”
“Mmmm…that wasn’t a dream, sweet boy. It was a telepathic promise.”
Did you ever play Ping-Pong in front of a cat? They sit right down as close to the net as they can, and watch in astonishment as the ball pings and pongs back and forth. And they look rather astonished every time a new volley starts, like it is just an almost unbearable source of wonderment that this hollow plastic sphere is flying in a pattern before their very eyes AGAIN. Well, that was basically the vibe Bryan was giving off as he tried to make sense of this exchange.
The bell rang for the end of homeroom, and Laurie squeezed my bicep, bumped me with her hip, winked, and slipped around Bryan out the door. He and I walked out into the hall together, with him squawking little sounds like, “Wha-huh? Umm-urk. Lau-you-I-huh? Ugg.”
I said, “Yup, you really did fix me up. Thanks, bud. By the way, I think it’s great that you’re now relaxed enough around me to reveal your inner caveman.”
And then the shadow fell. Brad! Astonishing. He actually dwarfed Bryan. In case I’d been wondering what astronauts feel like when they come around the dark side of the moon, and see the Earth taking up the entire sky, now I knew. His hand fell on my shoulder, and if my knees hadn’t already been weak from Laurie’s advances, they sure were wobbly under his massive body force. His tremendous head was mere inches from mine. And there was this twisted grimace on his face. “Hey, Gregory!”
Whoa, I thought, here comes the killing part of my morning.
But then a strange realization came over me: The contorted expression was what happened when a football lineman attempted to smile. He thundered, “Thanks!” And I noticed that crunched in under his other redwood-like arm was a petite little shape with brown hair on top.
The voice of Brad’s new girlfriend reverberated from his right armpit: “Yeah, Awex. Fanks!”
Walking home from school that afternoon, Laurie was in an exuberant mood. “Did you see how I got Bryan going? He really thinks we hooked up last night!”
Of course, her act had been so good that I, myself, had been halfway caught between wanting that, and believing it. But if she could be casual, I could be casual-er. More casual. Whatever. “Yeah, we’re a great team. We should be secret agents. You could be the deadly martial-arts assassin…”
“Great! I love those slinky black Kevlar outfits they wear.”
“Yeah, me, too. And I could be the…uh…”
“Slightly deranged ex-convict? Elevator saboteur? Drunken getaway driver? Lawn Gnome Terminator?”
Really, with a life as entertaining as mine, who needs caffeine?
February 16
Dear Judge Trent,
I just realized that I never wrote to fill you in on the results of the big concert at the home. All of the attendees had a wonderful time, and several people commented on the excellent guitar playing.
Not my guitar playing, though. The big surprise of the night was that my friend Solomon Lewis used to be a professional guitarist. Evidently, he swore off playing many years ago because he blames himself for a drunk-driving accident in which his wife died. It’s really sad, and I am starting to understand why Mr. Lewis is sometimes rather bitter. He has a grown-up daughter who is a lawyer somewhere, and she doesn’t speak to him. It’s pretty horrible, really, because he wasn’t even in the car with his wife when she crashed, but somehow the fault falls on him anyway.
I guess I would be snappish, too, in Mr. Lewis’s place.
Anyway, we gave Mr. Lewis a chance to play at the concert. I felt great that he got an opportunity to entertain people in such a positive way, especially because now he is in the hospital with pneumonia. This may have been his last chance to play the guitar for an audience, and I am proud to have provided it for him.
Sincerely,
Alex Gregory
February 19
Dear Alex,
I am glad your event went well. What you have discovered about your client’s tragic past is very interesting. Perhaps, given the nature of your offense, you were deliberately assigned to Mr. Lewis so that you could learn some lessons together.
That is, after all, the point of the Full Circle program.
Do keep up the good work, and continue to keep me informed of your progress.
Sincerely,
Judge J. Trent
THE MISSION
Later that week, Sol pitched a plan to help me out. He was back at the home, and was having a postpneumonia burst of energy. “Hey, Alex, you haven’t played guitar for me in a while.”
“Well, Sol, don’t hold your breath. I can’t play in front of you now that you blew me off the stage. It would just be stupid.”
“Stupid, schmupid. What’s stupid is to quit when you have a good thing going.”
“I’m not quitting, I’m just not playing here. And besides, I don’t have a good thing going. I have a mediocre thing going. You had a good thing going. And come to think of it, you quit.”
“For this, I came back from the hospital? Boychik, I’m not trying to fight with you here. I’m trying to help you out, to make you an offer, to give your life a meaning and a purpose. So you don’t just stumble around like a schmegegge all the time, drinking too much, stealing cars, and who knows what other hooligan foolishness.”
“Wow, I’m glad you’re not trying to fight. But where’s the help part?”
“Here’s the help part, Mister Smart Aleck. Next time you come, you bring your guitar here, and I’ll teach you some things you need to know. Then you’ll practice them and come back for another lesson. I figure if you really set your mind to it, and don’t get all distracted chasing around everything in a red dress, you’ll be ready for your next concert in six weeks.”
“What next concert?”
“Well, the one I set up in April.”
“April? I don’t even know whether the other musicians are available in April.”
“You mean, Steven and Annette? You just missed them the other day. They visited when you left, and we picked a date for you to play again. And not to compare you to anybody, but Annette brought a lovely fruitcake. You brought me bupkes.”
“I don’t believe you, Sol!”
“What? It’s true. When was the last time you brought me a little snack? I don’t expect much, but some baked goods once in a while would be a nice gesture.”
“Not about the fruitcake. I can’t believe you set this up without asking me.”
“I’m asking, I’m asking. Of course, I’m asking for maybe some cookies next time you come, too, but what are my chances?”
“You’re not asking me, you’re telling me. And the answer is no. I don’t want to be embarrassed again.”
“You know what, Mr. Sensitive? When I was coming up, if a guy got shown up on the bandstand, he woodshedded. He went back home and practiced. Then he practiced. Then he practiced some more. Then he got back up onstage and—maybe, just maybe—he was ready the second time around. So what are you going to do, cry in a corner forever, or be a man and take some free guitar lessons?”
“I’ll tell you what, Sol: I’ll play the concert…”
A smile began its slow spread across his wrinkled cheeks.
“…as long as you play it with me. So how about it, Mr. Jump Back in the Saddle? Are you with me?”
Sol thought it over through the course of a moderately gross coughing fit. After he spat, drank, and took a few really slow breaths, I got my response. “I’ll tell YOU what, boychik. I’ll see you in two days. Bring a guitar, some sheet music, maybe some blank paper. And would it kill you to stop and pick up a Danish or two?”<
br />
At home, I found my dad in the kitchen, wearing an apron and cooking for my mom. I asked whether he was officially moving back in, and he smiled. “I don’t know, bud. You know we’re trying to go slow and easy with this, but I almost think it might be time to try being under one roof again. Here, try this.”
“What is it?”
“Alfredo. It’s a creamy cheese sauce.”
“Since when do you know how to make ANYTHING, much less a so-called ‘creamy cheese sauce’?”
“Oh, Alex. Gimme a break. People can change, right? Now, taste it already.”
“I don’t know, Dad. I’ve been burned before.”
“Hmm, is that a resentful little metaphor?”
“No, it’s a statement about something that sometimes happens to the roof of my mouth when I consume hot foods.” I took a wincing little mini-sip off of the wooden spoon my dad was holding out to me. “Hey, not bad. Maybe an old dog can learn new tricks.”
“Or at least new recipes. I’ll just add a little more Parmesan, turn up the heat a bit, and…”
Just then we heard a big clattering crash upstairs, followed by a piercing screech from my mom. I charged up the steps right behind my father, who was still holding the spoon in his right hand. He was ready for action, in a chef-style kind of way. “What is it, Janet?”
She was standing over a shattered picture frame, sucking her thumb. “Oh, Simon, look at this! I was trying to hang our wedding portrait back up; I thought it was time. But I banged my finger with the hammer, and dropped everything. The frame is broken, and the picture is probably scratched up. I’m afraid to move. Can you look?”
Dad handed the spoon off to me, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled through the chaos of shattered glass. The picture was flipped upside down, and was resting against my mom’s bare foot. Dad gingerly lifted it off, and I saw that the actual photo looked fine—but something had cut the top of my mother’s foot pretty hideously. Since Mom is a nurse, once there was a bloody wound she took control right away. “Simon, pick me up. No, under the arms. Now carry me to the bed. Alex, don’t just stand there—go get the vacuum and a garbage can, and start picking up the broken glass. All right, Simon, watch out for the bedspread. We’ll need—uh—two towels and some gauze.”