Chapter
1: A Strange Day Indeed
He awoke in an
abnormal state; it was late, he was confused, scattered, and disoriented. He
felt like he’d lost time and space-like he woke up in a strange body and a
strange bed. He slowly came to recognize the familiarity of himself and his
physical surroundings. This is me, Ben,
and I’m home with my family. I’m late getting up; I need to feed the animals, he thought to himself as he became
aware of the growing cacophony of hunger and restlessness churning in the barn.
He thought about
the last time he felt this way as he stumbled into the bathroom, pulled on his
dirty coveralls and worn sweatshirt, which Natalie had begged him to turn into
a kitchen rag, drove himself downstairs and out toward the barn. Definitely not feeling it this morning. It was two weeks ago, he remembered same
hangover except he hadn’t had so much as a beer since Friday, and this was Tuesday.
Natalie’s car was gone; she and Djuna already went to school. Good he thought, he didn’t want to face
his family feeling like this.
He
fed and freed the chickens, pigs, and goats for the day. He then milked the cow
and hauled the milk inside. He returned to the barn to let Mrs. Piggy—Djuna insisted
on naming the animals—out to the pasture, set to cleaning the pens and the coop.
It was ten-thirty before he finally tasted coffee and was able to quell the
caffeine withdrawal headache that was already setting in. Normally he would
have had breakfast with Natalie and Djuna but whatever affliction struck him in
the night prevented that. He wondered why Natalie didn’t wake him up.
Now with coffee
and food in his belly he began feeling a bit more normal. He strolled the
quarter-mile down the driveway to get the mail. Standing by the road he
discarded the substantial pile of junk mail into the bin he left by the mailbox.
This was his solution to carrying a load of junk mail to the house only to have
to haul it out to the recycling center, which was some distance away. Among
what he decided was junk mail were a few letters from various universities and
two from Stanford, his alma mater and former employer; ever trying to lure me back he thought.
As he turned to go
back he noticed that it was actually warm, hot even, and with his sweatshirt
and coveralls he was sweating uncomfortably. Time to plant veggies he thought as he struggled to unhook his
coveralls and peel his ragged sweatshirt over his head. He awkwardly attempted
all this while still holding the mail because there was nowhere to put it down
that was dry. His coveralls fell to his ankles as he drew his sweatshirt over
his unruly head of unkempt hair and untended beard when he heard the approach
of a slow-moving car. Peeking through one of the many holes in his sweatshirt,
he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Kunkle. She drove by slowly and shot Ben a stern
glare out of her SUV. It was at this moment that he realized he wasn’t wearing
underwear. He was so tangled in his sweatshirt that he had to actually tear it
off. What once was his favorite sweatshirt fell to the ground in tatters. Now
that his arms were free and the mail was in a puddle, he frantically struggled
to yank up his coveralls so quickly he wrenched a testicle, and tore out
several pubic hairs. Wincing in pain and unsure how to salvage the moment, he held
up his manure-stained coveralls with one hand, and plastered an exaggerated
smile across his face while waving with the other. Mrs. Kunkle then sped away,
leaving Ben to contend with her exhaust and his disheveled embarrassment.
The
sound of a rooster crowing broke his hypnotic fixation on thoughts of Mrs. Kunkle
nailing him to a cross and hanging a sign around his neck that read: “PERVERT”.
He realized the sound was coming from his phone, which had also fallen on the
ground along with the mail during the lurid exchange with his right-wing
Christian neighbor.
“Ben?” his wife’s
voice chimed.
“Natalie!”
he burst out, a bit too loudly.
“Are
you ok?”
“Um…
yes, I think,” he lied, ”I’m not sure the Kunkles are going to make it to the
potluck on Saturday.”
“Did
you talk to Mrs. Kunkle?”
“We
ah…communicated,” he replied. Before she could dig further he asked “Why didn’t
you wake me up this morning?”
“That’s
what I’m calling about I couldn’t get you up!” There was concern in her voice. “When
your alarm went off you didn’t wake up. I tried to get you up and you told me
to let you sleep and that you’d be along soon. Before I left you were still in
bed, I tried again and you said ‘I’m getting up now.’ then I had to leave.” She
was obviously unsettled, and now Ben was reminded that this was not normal; he
had no recollection of saying anything to Natalie this morning. “I wasn’t sure
whether or not to believe you but I didn’t have time, I had to go.”
“I’m
ok, I think I was fighting off something, I feel fine now.” Feeling uncomfortable
he changed the subject, “I re-purposed the sweatshirt, it’s now a kitchen rag
like you always wanted,” he said staring down at the stained and torn remnants
of his favorite winter sweatshirt. It’s
getting warm now anyway.
Her
voice started to break up, “I need…for…home…five…” then nothing. Ben realized
that the phone was wet and now dead, probably for good this time. He pocketed
the phone corpse, gathered up the now soggy mail, the new kitchen rags, and
walked back to the house. The straps to his coveralls rubbed his nipples as he
walked and it didn’t take long before they became quite irritated, I need to put on a shirt or get some
Band-Aids or pasties or something, he thought chuckling to himself.
Despite the
inexplicable and unfortunate start, it turned out to be a lovely day; the fruit
trees were in full bloom and the birds that wintered elsewhere were returning,
filling the air with competing amorous melodies. All seemed right again in his
mind and body—minus a pair of angry nipples—as he poured another cup of coffee
and set to laying out the mail on the porch to dry in the midmorning sun.
As
he carefully opened bills, correspondences, and the job offers that managed to
slip through his preliminary junk mail vetting, he heard the growing buzz of an
approaching motorcycle. He didn’t pay it any mind until he heard it turn down
the road that connected with his driveway. He knew the sound of every vehicle
that went by—there were only a half-dozen or so—and this motorcycle wasn’t one
of them. He then felt a twinge of…something; panic? Surprise? No, it was
realization. He knew even before he was aware of the sound of the motorcycle
that it was coming. The twinge he felt was from becoming consciously aware that
somewhere deep down he expected this visitor. Before he was able to grapple
with these unsettling notions the motorcycle turned, unsurprisingly, on to his
damp dirt driveway. He could hear its engine change gears as it dodged puddles
and came into view. The rider was wearing a nondescript grey riding outfit and
a black helmet. He was riding a BMW with hard case saddlebags. Michael.
Ben
walked towards the rider as he pulled up, took off his gloves and helmet, and walked
towards Ben smiling broadly, “Are you John Benjamin Fullerton?” He asked in a smooth
tenor voice.
“Yes,”
Ben eyed the visitor with an uneasy mixture of suspicion and confusion.
“I’m
a courier with Andras & Associates. I have a parcel for you, but first I
need to see some identification.” The man was in his mid to late thirties, of
African descent, was very handsome, and had striking green eyes. He spoke with
a smoothness and eloquence that was both soothing and unsettling, out of place.
Ben patted at his pockets and realized that he didn’t have his wallet, and was
still wearing his stained coveralls without a shirt. Now he felt embarrassed
again, faced with the formality of this well-groomed seemingly perfect specimen
of the male species. I’m glad Djuna’s and
Natalie aren’t here, they’d be fawning all over this guy. Hell I’m almost fawning over him and I don’t
go for guys. This man doesn’t seem
like a courier.
“I
need to get my wallet.” Ben said awkwardly as he turned to go inside.
“Take
your time sir.” This guy could be an NPR newscaster. He could charm the habit
off a nun. Andras. Distracted by the
familiarity of the name he rifled through the house for his wallet, and realized
he had no idea where it was.
Ben
went upstairs to look in the bedroom and it occurred to him that he should
explain the delay to the “courier”. He opened the window to call down and
noticed with surprise that the man—Michael—was
at the fence with Natalie’s ornery mare—Mr. Boo-boo—burying her giant head in
the crook of Michael’s neck while he scratched behind her ears. Mr. Boo-boo—so
named by Djuna when she was five—was old, only liked Natalie and Djuna, and ran
away from all others including Ben. Apparently the mare was not immune to
Michael’s charm, and they were fast friends. Ben yelled, “I see you made a
friend! I’m having trouble finding my wallet, make yourself at home!”
“Check
by the computer!” Michael yelled up, now receiving sloppy horse kisses on his
ear. Ben was a bit perturbed by this, the only time Mr. Boo-boo wasn’t avoiding
him was when he was carrying a bucket of oats or had an apple in his hand.
“Would
you like a cup of coffee?” Ben asked, trying to be polite.
“Sure,
if it’s not too much trouble.”
Ben
changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, cleaner than the coveralls though
he did pull them out of the overflowing hamper. Oh yeah, today is laundry day, another reminder of how shot-to-hell
this day is becoming. Still he was happy to have this out of place stranger, he
seemed very nice and Ben was beginning to warm to him.
He charged
downstairs and put the kettle on, one of those antique copper affairs with the
curvy spout and a wooden handle. He then went to the study and there his wallet
sat, right next to the computer. This made Ben uneasy, he decided that he had
two choices: freak out, or just go along for the ride. He chose the latter.
When he turned to go back to the kitchen to make the coffee, Michael was standing
just inside the front door holding a plastic briefcase, one of the type you see
used for transporting electronics.
“I wasn’t sure if
I should come in,” he said in perfect tenor mid-west English. Chicago maybe, very educated thought
Ben.
“Sure,
come on in, I’m making coffee. You were right, it was right next to the
computer like you said…” He waited for Michael’s reply while they headed toward
the kitchen, hoping for an explanation other than supernatural powers.
“I
love your place. I grew up on a farm, this takes me back.” Michael said,
sitting in the chair that Ben offered glancing around the 200-year-old
renovated farmhouse. He placed the case on the table. “I like that you made an
open floor plan, and that you obviously took pains to preserve the rustic
charm,” he said pointing to the giant stone fireplace with the twisted slab of
oak that served as the mantle.
“The
fireplace is original, but the mantle is from one of the supporting beams from
the old barn, which was about to collapse when we bought the place.”
Now
eyeing Michael with suspicion Ben blurted out, “Michael, how did you know where
my wallet was?”
Michael
replied without hesitation, “how did you know my name was Michael?” before Ben,
whose mouth was now stupidly agape, could rake together an answer Michael said,
“I can assure you that I’m not psychic, it was merely an informed guess. I know
that living out here forty miles from the nearest store you must make most of
your purchases online, and for that you need your wallet next to your computer.”
How did I know his name was Michael? Ben
repeated to himself dumbly. Weirder
still, Michael doesn’t seem the least bit surprised that I somehow knew his
name. Ben felt suddenly weak and sat down with a thud, his mouth still
fixed open.
Michael added, “So
I would submit to you that it is far more interesting that you knew my name
than my guess about where your wallet was; there are millions of names and only
a couple of likely locations for your wallet, most of which I assumed you had
already eliminated when you called down to me from the second floor.” Ben’s stupefied
trance was interrupted by the eardrum-splitting squeal of the kettle, which was
now boiling. He realized that he hadn’t even ground the coffee yet, and moved
to do so. He muscled the handle of the antique, wall-mounted grinder until the
receiving cup was sufficiently full, and then filled the French Press.
“It’s
ok, I was told about you, and I’ve done some research,” Michael said while Ben
poured them some coffee.
Ben
gathered himself and asked politely, “Milk or cream?”
“If it’s from that beautiful cow out there I’ll
take cream please.”
Ben
pulled a mason jar from the fridge, “it is in fact; the cream floats on top so
just pour carefully.” While Michael poured the cream with a genuine smile on
his face Ben said, “you have a way with horses, Mr. Boo-boo doesn’t let many
people get near her.”
“I’m
guessing your daughter had something to do with that name.” Michael said as Ben
returned the mason jar to the fridge.
That smile could melt a glacier. “Yes
she did. Djuna was five when we got her, and she had an infected wound on her
hindquarter. Djuna kept saying ‘he has a boo-boo he has a boo-boo, we need to
help.’ From then on she called her Mr. Boo-boo.”
After Michael took
a metered swallow of the coffee he relaxed back in his chair with his eyes
closed and a look of deep satisfaction. He spread his arms wide and held them
there for a moment, and then with eyes still closed, Michael said, “Starbucks
can’t touch this.”
“We’re trying to
produce everything we consume, or at least get it from nearby. I can’t let go
of coffee though. I can’t imagine life without it.”
“You and me both.”
Michael said as he opened his eyes, sat up, and spread his arms before him,
“I’d like to formally invite you to visit our little firm in Charleston, once
you have had the time to peruse the contents of this,” he said now placing his
hand on the case. “Jeanne Andras would like to catch up with you, and I would
welcome more conversation with you, as I regret to say that I must cut this
most pleasant interaction short. I have another appointment for which I mustn’t
be late.”
Mustn’t? Who says mustn’t? “So you’re
not really a courier.” Ben said flatly and Michael finished his coffee and
stood up. Jeanne! Ben remembered his
old college girlfriend.
“I’m a lawyer by
training but I hate desk work, and I detest court. I have a certain knack for
negotiation and reason, I’m a people person as it were, and Mrs. Andras makes
use of my talents for certain larger goals, big picture aspirations which she
and I share.
“I went to school
with her.”
“Yes, I know.”
“We were very
different.”
“You still are,
but you do share something very important with her as you shall soon see.” With
that he stood, downing the last of his coffee. “Thank you for the hospitality
and the privilege to sample that magnificent cup of coffee,” he said with genuine
appreciation. While they walked back outside Michael added, “I look forward to furthering
our acquaintance Mr. Fullerton. While researching you and your family I’ve come
to admire you greatly, and I look forward to meeting Djuna and Natalie. Please
let me know when you plan to come see us.” He handed Ben his card, donned his
helmet and gloves, started his bike, and roared off, leaving Ben to contemplate
what was turning out to be a very strange day indeed.
“Wait, I never
showed you my ID.” Ben muttered, mostly to himself as the sound of the
motorcycle faded, then it sounded as if he turned towards the Kunkles. Ben
shrugged, he’ll figure it out. He
wondered why he didn’t feel creeped out by the whole thing: A smooth-talking stranger executive shows up
on a motorcycle to deliver a package of who-knows-what, he instantly makes
friends with a socially paranoid horse, he’s investigated my life, and he says
that he admires me. The creepiest part is that I don’t feel creeped out. How
the hell did I know his name and why wasn’t he the least bit phased that I did?
The vision of Michael, his warm smile, and his unrestrained, seemingly
euphoric enjoyment of the coffee lingered in Ben’s mind.
The sound of the
motorcycle was replaced by silence, then birds; hundreds of enthusiastic birds
celebrating spring and probably trying to get laid. Ben closed his eyes and
spread his arms much like Michael savoring his coffee; only Ben was savoring
life itself. He took it all in, the symphony of life around him, the warmth of
the sun, the smell of last night’s rain mixed with the new blossoms, just
opened. Ben couldn’t resist lying down in the damp grass and surrender to the
glory of it all.
He fell asleep and
dreamed. He dreamed mightily. It was a multi-ringed circus of insanity,
complete with a barker who was a cross between a narrator and a dues-ex-machina.
The audience was all him, and the performers were various friends, family,
acquaintances, historical figures, and movie stars. The central figures were
Natalie, Djuna, Michael the “courier”, Jeanne Andras, and Danny the neighbor
kid. All were dressed in various colored sequin jumpsuits. Michael was doing
tricks on his motorcycle while Natalie and Jeanne were doing a juggling
routine. Djuna and Danny were performing scenes from Romeo and Juliette. The
barker’s face seemed to always be obscured, Ben could never get a clear look at
his face, he was jabbering nonsense and gesturing to various performance areas
randomly without regard to whether or not anything was truly happening there;
he was totally disconnected to the performance he was barking about.
Ben walked up
behind the barker and tapped him on the shoulder. Without turning around he
said in Ben’s own voice, “only you
know what’s to come,”
At that moment a
thought exploded in Ben’s mind: tidal
wave, he shouted, “everybody grab something that will float!” Then he found
himself drowning, under water, which way
is up? He thought, swim that way
follow the bubbles he told himself, or he was told, he couldn’t be certain,
but he swam. Then he surfaced and was alone clutching onto a floating barrel, where is everybody? He was answered from within his thoughts, listen,… you can hear them,… follow the
sounds. He listened carefully. All seemed quiet except for the sound of the
ocean gently lapping against the barrel, then he heard the sound of voices.
They were laughing about something, it was Natalie’s laugh, followed by Djuna
giggling. There were other voices too but he couldn’t make them out. Ben let go
of the barrel and swam towards the voices. He needed to pause from time to time
and listen to make sure he was heading in the right direction. Then he was hit
in the head by a life preserver and after he secured himself, was hauled up
into a small ship. Now lying cold and wet on the deck his dog Seldom came
running to greet him, then a serious licking session started…
Ben,
now waking up became aware of an eager wet dog tongue making an heroic effort
to evenly coat every inch of his face with dog spit, “Seldom!” Ben cried as he
sat up. “Where have you been?” The dog had been gone since yesterday morning.
The back of his shirt and his pants were cold and wet.
“He
was at our house, I think he likes our dog.” Said an awkward male teenage voice,
which cracked often.
Danny, why am I not surprised? Thought
Ben.
“Are you ok Mr.
Fullerton? When I saw you lying in the ground I thought I was gonna have to do
CPR or something.” Ben’s dream was already a thousand miles away, and pushed
farther away by Danny’s awkward voice.
Definitely not a candidate for NPR
thought ben, with Michael’s voice still fresh in his mind, now being flushed
out by the wavering adolescent cracks and squeaks of his neighbor Danny Kunkle;
quite the contrast he mused as he
tried to shake off the dream.
Ben,
realizing he must have slept for hours turned around to see Danny on his bike
with a very heavy looking backpack weighing down his scrawny shoulders. “Hi
Danny. Aren’t you home from school a bit early?”
“No
sir, we got out at 3:15, and since I don’t play sports or nothin’, I came
straight home.”
Ben
tried to hide how mortified he was that he’d slept away most of the day, a day
that once had a long list of chores, but now was a list of reasons why he was
experiencing the growing, nagging, feelings of guilt. “Well thank you very much
for bringing Seldom home Danny. Would you like some juice or something?” He
said, stiffly getting up and stretching. His clothes were wet and cold where he
laid on the grass, but the day was still warm and beautiful.
“No
thanks sir, actually he just followed me here from the road… I came to… ask….”
“Call
me Ben, you came to ask what?” Why I’m a
pervert who likes to expose himself to your mother?
“…Um…if
you could….help me with school stuff?” Danny finally ground out. Ben breathed a
sigh of relief. “…And I could maybe help around the farm?”
“Does
your mother know about this?”
“Yes
sir….err…B-B-Ben,…it was her idea.”
When he said “Ben”
it sounded like he was being tortured to do so, It was awkward and painful, far
worse than “sir”. He decided not to force the formality issue from then on. “Have
you talked to her today?”
“Not
since this morning before school.”
“Call
her, I want to make sure it’s ok.” I
might as well use this as an opportunity to face the music. Danny climbed
off his bike and leaned it on its kickstand. He dropped his formidable backpack;
it must weight fifty pounds or more.
It didn’t seem to improve the look of his wiry frame, like it had permanently
been molded by his daily burden. Ben felt a pang of sympathy for the boy at
that moment, he must get teased and
bullied at school.
“Mom?”
Danny squeaked into his cellphone, “It’s Danny, I’m at the Fullerton’s and Mr.
Fullerton wants to talk to you,” Danny handed the phone to Ben.
“Hi
Mrs. Kunkle,” Ben said, trying to sound as unperverted as possible, “I’m sorry
about earlier…I didn’t mean to flash you, I was trying to get my mail…”
“Is
that why you were flailing and throwing your mail?” She squawked, “I guess I
missed the flashing part, I’ll have to drive by more often.”
Ben felt his face
redden.
“I thought you
were having a seizure or something.” She chuckled. “I love your book Mr.
Fullerton, or is it doctor Fullerton?”
“Ben
is just fine Mrs. Kunkle.” He was truly relieved not to be crucified with a
pervert sign and surprised she’d read his book.
“Well
you can call me Dotty. Anyway, since you’re a famous scientist an all, I
thought you could help Danny with his schoolwork, and he could help out on your
farm.”
Ben
considered Danny’s ability to buck hay with those skinny arms, then he
considered the list of undone chores he had, “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
“Great!
Have him home by 6:30. Thank you Ben, we’ll have a chat at the potluck, take
care!” Before Ben could say anything she hung up. Ben handed Danny’s phone
back.
“Well,
looks you’re my slave and I’m your study-buddy,” Ben said jokingly. Danny
lacked any expression. “Let’s head over to the barn.” Ben tried to help Danny
with the backpack but Danny had already shouldered it, and was walking his bike
towards the barn. Seldom gleefully trotted ahead. This kid’s either very shy, or he hates me. In an attempt to break
the ice Ben asked, “what are you doing in school that I can help you with?”
“i.”
“What?”
“You
know, in algebra, ‘i’.”
“Oh,
yes ‘i’ the imaginary number. It’s one of the mathematical ‘Blue notes’.”
“Huh?”
Danny’s befuddlement was as genuine as Michael’s enjoyment of coffee.
“It’s
a way of implying a key that doesn’t exist by bending a note so that it’s
between notes, it was a way of playing in a scale that our modern instruments couldn’t
accommodate.”
“Huh?”
Danny repeated almost exactly, his voice cracked both times; he was adolescing
in the most awkward ways.
“In
math it’s a way of cheating, sort of breaking the rules in the process so that
you can obtain an otherwise unobtainable answer. Sort of the math equivalent of
‘the end justifying the means.’” The blank look on Danny’s face made Ben feel a
bit pessimistic about this arrangement. “Let’s get a few things done here and
I’ll show you, I have a fantastic white board in my study,” he said with
genuine pride.
“I
don’t think my teacher knows this stuff very well, he avoids it when we have
questions.”
“Well
I hope that I can straighten you out.” Ben knew he had a tendency to blur the
lines between art, music, poetry, philosophy, and mathematics, and few educated
adults could understand his math metaphors, let alone a teenage kid from the
boonies, I’ll go easy on him.
Danny
turned out to be quite helpful, and didn’t seem to mind the work. After they
tossed down the last of the hay from the north loft, and cleaned it out, they
loaded the Pinzgauer with fencing materials, and readied the tractor for
discing the back field. They drove the fencing stuff over to the vegetable
garden and unloaded everything just outside the main garden gate, which
slouched under it’s own weight, much like Danny’s shoulders under the weight of
his backpack. While they were collecting eggs, Natalie and Djuna drove in with
Seldom barking gleefully jumping around the car.
Ben
went over to the house to greet them, and Danny followed with a basket half
full of eggs. “Hey you two how was school?”
“Dad,
what’s Danny doing here?” Djuna asked, looking perplexed.
“Hi
Danny,” Natalie said while receiving a kiss on the cheek from Ben.
“Hi
Mrs. Fullerton,” Danny squeaked sheepishly.
“He
and I are helping each other out. We have an arrangement.” Ben said in response
to Djuna.
“Hi
Danny,” said Djuna, not sounding very thrilled.
Ben
grabbed the egg basket from Danny and followed the girls up the steps to the
porch. “Ben why is our mail all over the porch floor?” Asked Natalie, sounding
a bit perturbed.
“Oh
sorry…um, the mail got wet, so I spread it out in the sun.” Ben had forgotten
about the mail, and the strange briefcase. Seems
like that was days ago. “There’s also a case on the table, I need to check
it out.” They all filtered into the house, Danny trailing behind.
“Where’s
it from?” she asked as she eyed it from across the room, “it looks like a
flight box of some sort.”
“A
man came by and delivered it to me. He works for a company that I believe is
owned by an old college mate of mine.”
“Well
don’t keep us in suspense, what’s in it?” She dropped her things and went over
to it.
“I
have no idea, I haven’t looked yet, I’d forgotten all about it until just now.”
Natalie began to fondle the clasps. “I should tell you that it’s from Jeanne
Andras, you know from undergrad days.”
“Oh,
that’s why you’re acting so weird.”
“Who’s
Jeanne Andras?” asked Djuna who had her head buried in the fridge.
“What
if she’s trying to blackmail me or something?” He helped Natalie and Djuna lug
their stuff in.
“She
was an old flame of your father’s,” Natalie said to Djuna over her shoulder.
Then she said to Ben, “For there to be blackmail, there has to be some sort of
indiscretion, or something you’re ashamed of…and you have to have money which
you don’t. You two dated in college for a year and a half, what could you
possibly have done that would be worthy of blackmail?”
Danny,
who had been standing just inside the front door was looking increasingly
uncomfortable and said, “Mr. Fullerton, maybe I should be going home…”
“Nonsense
Danny, what about your homework?” Ben walked over and grabbed the eggs. Before
Danny could answer Ben put the eggs down by the sink and herded Danny into the
study, and said to his family, ”we’ll open the case together, I need to teach
Danny how to play a ‘blue note’ first.”
“What
about dinner?” Natalie said as Ben closed the study door. “I think he’s
uncomfortable talking about a previous lover in front of us.” She said to
Djuna, who was now eating a cheese sandwich.
“Good
because I don’t like hearing about it,” she said curtly, eyeing the case.
“You
know I dated several men before your father.”
“Eww!
Several? Mom, I don’t need to hear about your slutty past, no child should be
subjected to that!” Changing the subject she asked, “What about Danny? I don’t
get it, why is dad helping him with school?”
“I
don’t know, he certainly doesn’t need help with my class, he writes
beautifully.”
“Mom!
Your not supposed to tell me that! You’re his teacher and I’m a fellow student and I’m your daughter, there are several
conflicts of interest at play here!”
“I
didn’t tell you his grades, simply that he writes well. Besides, he’s not even
in your grade.”
“I
know you well enough that means at least an ‘A’.”
“Only
if he turns in all his assignments.”
“Anyway,
that’s my point, there are rumors that he’s had straight ‘A’s since he was a
kid, why does he need help with homework when he should be the one helping
everyone else?”
“He’s
very quiet in class, how does he get along with other students?”
“He
doesn’t as far as I can tell, I’ve never once seen him talking to anybody
except teachers; other kids just ignore him. He’s always got his face buried in
a book.”
Now
almost in a whisper, “You know he found his father’s body when he was six, I’m
glad he’s spending time with your father, and you should make an effort to be
his friend too.”
“Mom,
he’s a grade below me, and he’s two years younger, that would be social
suicide!”
“Would
you please at least try?”
“When
we moved here I was the big city freak from California, it’s taken me this long
just to get accepted by these narrow-minded rubes, now you want me to throw all
my hard work out the window?”
Natalie’s
face grew angry and red at her daughter’s words and Djuna, seeing this, tried
to smooth out her little explosion, “Look, mom, I’m sorry but I don’t think you
remember what high school is like, and you went to school in an open-minded
liberal city, things are a lot different here and I’m just trying to survive.”
Just
then the study door opened and Danny walked to the bathroom without looking up
at Natalie or Djuna. He knew exactly where the bathroom was; Natalie had
forgotten that this used to be his grandparent’s house.
“We’re
so not finished with this
discussion.” With that Natalie went over to the sink and began washing the
eggs. Then she loudly whispered, “I want you to examine what you just said,
every word. In fact, I want you to write it down. Now!”
Djuna
knew she’d lost this one, there was no redeeming what exploded from her mouth
and she already regretted it. Without a word, she grabbed a piece of paper and
holding back tears, wrote down word for word what she had said. It wasn’t that
she’d lost another battle with her mom, it was that she was ashamed of what
she’d turned into, what she’d had to compromise to survive here. These thoughts
led to anger at her parents for moving her here, thoughts she visited often but
with less frequency lately, since she started being more accepted at school.
She decided to write down these thoughts too, this was a chance to make her
case that her parents are to blame for who she’s turning into. She couldn’t
wait to spend the summer with her uncle Josh, and her friends in California.
She needed a recharge, just six more
weeks of this bullshit, she thought. She couldn’t hold back anymore, all
these thoughts and emotions were now right at the surface, she put down her pen
and leaving what she’d written nearly ran into Danny—who was heading back to
the study—ran upstairs to her room and slammed the door.
“Sorry.” Danny said
softly as she bumped past.
Natalie saw him
and asked, “Would you like a snack Danny?”
“No ma’am, err…Mrs.
Fullerton, my mom packed me some snacks.”
“Here” she said,
handing him an odd looking piece of what appeared to be a small pile of cow
poop, “it’s a homemade granola bar…take it…you’ll be ever in Ben’s favor if he
sees you eating one of his homemade granola bars.” Danny took the misshapen
lump and nibbled at the edge, “it’s pretty good,” he lied, “I have to get back
to Mr. Fullerton, he’s explaining how math is truth.”
“That sounds like
him, good luck.”
Danny added, “I
wish my algebra teacher was as good as him, thank you Mrs. Fullerton,” he slid
back into the study.
“You’re very welcome
Danny.”
When Danny
returned to the study he said, “I think they were fighting.”
“The
mother-daughter relationship is a very mysterious, fickle, and dynamic thing
Danny, I’ve found it best to not get involved and to provide aid and comfort
where needed and never until after the dust has settled. The trick is to appear
to not choose sides, it requires a deft and careful touch.” Then he added
remembering the disaster last week when he said the wrong thing and neither of
them would talk to him or each other for the better part of two days, “I’m
still learning of course, but I find that the interplay between them often
evolves faster than I can revise my protocols and procedures for their
emotional first aid.”
Ben turned back to
his giant white board, now half filled with a fairly comprehensive summary of
radicals, “Now that we’ve agreed on what radicals are and how we deal with them
in some situations, what happens when we have the square root of a negative 4?”
Danny though for a
second and shrugged, “you can’t, a negative square root isn’t possible.”
“Very true, but
what if you wound up with one, which is quite possible while working with
quadratics? Would you just give up and say there’s no solution?”
“I’m guessing this
is where ‘i’ comes in, because it’s the square root of negative one.”
“Sorry to be so
obvious but yes. So now how would you
deal with the square root of negative four given what you know about radicals
and ‘i’?” Ben said holding out a marker inviting Danny to the board.
Danny, timid at
first, wrote the square root of negative four equals two’i’.
“You got it!” Ben looked
at his cell phone to see what time it was and was reminded by the blank screen
that it was quite dead. “What time is it Danny?”
“Quarter to six, I
better be going, I have to wash-up before dinner.”
“Will I see you
tomorrow?”
“Yes sir…Ben.”
“We can stick with
Mr. Fullerton for now, it sounds like you just guzzled vinegar when you say
‘Ben’.”
“Ok.” Danny said, cracking
the slightest smile, the first one Ben had seen on the boy.
“I won’t make it
Thursday, I have bible studies.” Danny then hoisted his formidable backpack on
top of his meager frame and said his goodbyes to Ben and Natalie and left.
Ben moved to the
kitchen to help make dinner, “he’s a lot smarter than his first impression….ah…impresses.
Is he in your English class?” said Ben grabbing broccoli from the fridge and
washing it in the sink.
“Yes, and yes.”
Natalie said, not looking up from the papers she was grading on the table.
“He’s actually one of my best students, and unlike most of his peers, he can
write.”
“Is Djuna in her
room?”
“Yes. I’m not very
happy with her right now. She kind of burst out with this when I suggested that
she make friends with Danny,” she said showing Ben what Djuna had written. “But
now after reading it, I feel like it’s our fault.
“Let me guess,”
Ben said, not looking at the note, “she expresses how she’s compromised herself
in order to survive in an unenlightened world.”
“Has she been
talking to you about this?”
“She’s dropped
some hints… I think I should make ‘Djuna’s Comfort Casserole’” he said, he set
his iPod to play a compilation of early calypso, Natalie responded with a smile
and subtly bobbed her head and hummed along while she kept her focus on the
grading.
Ben grabbed a box
of Annie’s Noodles. He preheated the oven to 425, started boiling water for the
noodles, and grabbed a bunch of broccoli from the fridge. “I’ll go talk to her,
but not until she’s hungry and I have her favorite food to offer.”
“You know she sees
right through your phony tactics.”
“That doesn’t mean
they don’t work.”
The case now sat
unnoticed under the paper-grading assembly line Natalie had created. This
process as usual covered nearly the entire kitchen table. Ben grabbed a pound
of ground beef from the freezer and put it in the microwave to thaw. Then he
grabbed the large sauté pan and put a half stick of butter with a couple
tablespoons of olive oil over a medium flame while he chopped a large onion, the
broccoli, some mushrooms, a bunch of spinach, and half a head of garlic. He
dumped the noodles in the now boiling water with some butter and olive oil, and
sautéed the ground beef and onions, then added veggies and cooked until the
broccoli was just starting to soften, then he added the garlic, mushrooms, and
chopped spinach, stirred it all in, and removed it all and set it on the
counter.
“I’ve had the
weirdest day.” Ben said, now toasting some cut up old bread in the toaster
oven.
“Considering that
a normal day for you would be downright bizarre to a normal person, I hesitate
to ask.” Then she looked up, “what happened to your phone? I tried to call back
after we were cut off and it went right to message.”
“My phone took the
same journey as the mail, I think its dead for good this time. Cell phones in
my possession are all but guaranteed an untimely death; they should be forced
to carry life insurance. ” Now he added the toasted bread, a hand full of Panko
crumbs, a healthy pile of parmesan chunks, some salt, fresh ground pepper, and
one teaspoon of paprika to the food processor and pulsed it until it was all
smooth and well mixed.
“They do have life
insurance, I’ve insured every one you’ve had after that first one when you fell
asleep on the edge of the fountain at Stanford and inevitably rolled right in.
It was caught on video, which is still circulating the Internet.”
“I should be
getting royalties for that,” he said, without irony. He now drained the still
somewhat firm noodles and returned them to the pot. He added butter, milk and
the cheese packet and stirred, he then added the sautéed veggies and ground
beef. He spread the mixture out on an oiled casserole dish and topped it with a
layer of grated cheddar cheese, then topped that with the bread crumb mix and
put the dish in the oven for 25 minutes. Ben had developed this dish for Djuna
when she was younger to get her to like broccoli and other veggies. He tweaked
it until she’d eat the veggies without complaint, it wound up requiring so much
cheese as to counteract any vegetable benefits. Now it’s one of her favorite
things to eat. Ben chalked that up as one of the few successes he’s had raising
a kid. Dogs are far easier to train then
humans, he thought.
When the casserole
was in the oven he sat down across from Natalie and asked, “Don’t you want to
hear about my day?”
She sighed and
said with unrestrained sarcasm, “please…lavish
me with every sordid detail.”
Smiling he said, “well if you must know, my day strangely began with
sleeping in…” He went on to tell her the events of the day, including his unfortunate
encounter with Mrs. Kunkle, the mail, the phone, the meeting with Michael, the
case, the siesta on the grass, and the Danny arrangement.
When the timer for
the casserole dinged, Ben pulled it out of the oven and set it on the counter
to cool for a bit. It looked beautiful, the cheese was bubbling, and the top
was lightly browned. He threw together a salad of lettuce, spinach, peppers,
cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes, sunflower seeds and sprouts. He went up to
Djuna’s room while Natalie cleared the table.
“Djuna” he knocked
on the door. “Djuna!” he knocked louder. Now he heard her stir, and she
eventually opened the door.
With one ear bud
in her ear she said, “Dad can I just have dinner in my room?”
“Yes but only after
your mom and I are both dead.”
“I made mom mad,
and I don’t want to face her right now.”
“I made ‘Djuna’s
Comfort Casserole, perhaps a quick ‘sorry mom’ would help all our digestion.”
“I don’t feel like
it’s completely my fault,”
“Believe it or
not, she’s aware of that. In fact, we both know that you’ve been thrust into a
very difficult-to-navigate social universe, and your little out-burst is
understandable.” He sat on her bed and continued, “Your choice of words was
unfortunate and that’s where the immediate problem lies. Clearly there is a
larger issue that needs to be addressed, but in the interest of my extreme
hunger I’m willing to put that off for another time. What do you say? Just a
quick ‘sorry mom’ and we can sit down and eat.”
Djuna let out a
sigh that was intended to highlight her sacrifice and compromise and said, “ok,
I’m hungry too.” They went downstairs where Natalie was plating up the
casserole and salad.
Djuna sat down and
said, “I’m sorry mom I didn’t mean to say some of that stuff.”
Natalie put a
serving in front Djuna and kissed her gently on the forehead, “I know.”
They all eagerly
dug in. Ben couldn’t help but be reminded of the case, which was still sitting
conspicuously at the other end of the table. He did his best to ignore it while
he inhaled his dinner. He caught Natalie watching him when he averted his gaze,
and he looked over at Djuna who looked at him, then the case, then back at him
and widened her eyes as if to say “open the case already!”
“Ok!” he belted
out, “just let me finish my dinner!” Both Natalie and Djuna giggled.
Djuna said
innocently, “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“If you’re trying
to be subtle, you need practice,” said Ben. Djuna scowled.
“Aren’t you
curious?” Djuna pressed, looking innocent again.
“Yes and no. I
have questions: Why so elaborate? Why the extra secure case? Why have a lawyer
drive it to me personally?” He paused and cleaned his plate. “Jeanne Andras was
studying to become a neurobiologist, and as far as I know that’s what she
became. Now it seems like she’s a CEO or something, it doesn’t add up.”
Before he could
continue Natalie said, “What’s the worst it could be?”
“I don’t know, a
bomb? A notice of right of way for an oil pipeline that forces us to sell our
home?”
“I hadn’t thought
of that,” said Natalie pensively.
“Here’s what I find
the strangest thing about this,” he said gesturing toward the case, “I actually
don’t feel the least bit afraid of
it, or even the least bit cautious even though clearly I should. This is where
I’m conflicted.”
“You’re way over thinking this dad, just open
it; if you don’t I will.”
“I’m with your
daughter on this one,” said Natalie.
“Two thirds
majority is immune to a veto,” Djuna added.
Ben cleared the
dishes, sighed and said, “You know it’s political conspiracies like this one
that have destroyed this great country of ours. This is a perfect example of
the same strong-arm tactics, bullying and manipulation of our political process
that got us into the Iraq war, the Afghanistan war, and…”
“You’re stalling
dear,” Natalie interrupted, batting her eyelashes. “Are you attempting a
filibuster? You don’t have it in you, you’ll need to pee.”
“Oh my god! Dad!”
Djuna, now exasperated, had clearly lost patience with the game.
Ben walked back
form the sink and threw his hands up in surrender. “Alright you two, you win.
If it’s a bomb and we all die I won’t be able to say ‘I told you so’ so I’ll
say it now preemptively: I told you so.” With that he grabbed the case by its
handle and tried the hasps without success. He then looked the case over
carefully until he found an etched graphic of an eyeball just under the handle
next to what appeared to be a lens. He raised his eyebrows and glanced over at
Natalie, then Djuna, then back to the case. Their eyes were wide with
anticipation and transfixed on the case. Ben instinctively put his eye up to
the lens and the case immediately made a ‘click’ sound. He laid it down and
once again tried the hasps, which now opened easily. Ben let out a breath he
was unaware he’d been holding in, and slowly lifted the lid of the case.
