Choir Boy (13 page)

Maura and Lisa flanked Berry and swung their outer arms. A lily scent came from one or both of them. Berry felt escorted, mostly in a good way. Sunlight brightened Lisa’s muslin dress and turned it transparent. Lisa looked like a twenties Parisian girl whose picture Berry had masturbated over, even down to the pointy shoes and round hat. Maura wore a black cleavage gown and kept talking about going on an adventure.

“I want to go back and change,” Berry said again.

“You’ll fit right in where we’re going,” Maura said.

“I don’t look like someone who should be where we are.”

Berry looked straight ahead, only partly to avoid seeing the stares. Lisa kept smiling up at him. He didn’t know what kind of look to give her back.

Lisa chattered about her weekend—she’d gone to a glass-blowing shop where actors in historical costumes formed vases and bottles from goo—and the day’s service, especial-

ly the crimson stain Berry had left on Canon Moosehead’s crotch. Berry fidgeted whenever the communion wine spill came up. Berry’s clumsiness had made him a minor hero to the other choirboys.

“You should have seen the look on his face,” Lisa said.

“It was an accident,” Berry said for the millionth time. Then he changed the subject and asked Maura where they were going. Maura had led Lisa and him to one of the neutral parts of the city, one that bordered the “bad” part of town as well as the shopping drag.

“We’re going to the Botanical Gardens.”

Berry had never heard of any Botanical Gardens in the city. Maura led them down back streets, past ancient houses with windows nippled by the passage of time or artisan-ship Lisa could barely explain after her visit to the glass-blowing place. Passing men in baggy beltless pants and muscle shirts in front of a liquor store, Lisa grabbed Berry’s hand. He wasn’t sure what to make of the gesture until he remembered her dad drove a Lexus.

Berry was about to ask if he could wander the streets in regalia some other time when they found the gate.

Vines almost covered it, heavy with dust instead of fruit or flowers. A hand-painted balsa sign read: “The Wasteness.” The hand-twisted flourishes of the wrought-iron gate sagged with rust. Decay and plant anarchy had eaten the fence too. If this had been a public garden, it had long closed. The air smelled spore-heavy.

“They couldn’t decide between ‘Wasteland’ and ‘Wilderness,’” Maura explained, pointing at the sign. “So they compromised.”

“Why not ‘Wilderland?’” Lisa asked.

“Because that sounds like a real word,” Berry guessed.

Beyond the gate, Berry could make out a pebble walkway which dead leaves and grass had almost dispersed. Tags on sticks proclaimed places along the path to be the territories of orchids or rare African blooms, but bracken and wild roses swarmed. On the left, dandelions had made a kingdom where a herb garden had sheltered.

“It’s amazing,” Lisa said. “What happened to this place?” “Whatever the opposite of urban renewal is,” said a man in a Bishop’s outfit beyond the gate. “Every now and then they fight over whether to turn this place into a parking lot or a mall or another park. But they can’t all get behind one plan, so it stays wild. I think it fell apart after Black Monday or Beige Wednesday or some other color-coded financial disaster day.”

Berry stared. The man wore a mitre and shining vestments, but not like he’d seen on Bishop Locke or other bishops visiting St. Luke’s. For one thing, the V-shaped overhanging part of the robe was bright lavender. For another, a UV neon light bulb glowed inside the mitre. Even at noon, the effect said raver. Then there was the curling mustache and goatee.

“Berry, Lisa,” said Maura. “This is Bishop Bacchus.” She gestured at Berry. “We just came from church.”

“Seems we have a lot in common,” said the pseudo-bishop, “being men of the cloth.” He yanked a chain off the gate and swung it open.

“The difference is I’m a real choirboy,” said Berry.

“Hey, I’m a real bishop. Got my ordination papers from the Church of Ungainly Joy,” said Bishop Bacchus.

“How many members does that church have?” Lisa asked. “A handful,” said the Bishop. “But we’re really sincere.”

The Bishop led Berry, Maura, and Lisa along overgrown paths. Weeds and the hardiest flowers had called a truce and colonized. At one point, Berry and the others had to climb over a bonsai tree that had gone lopsided; a massive elephant trunk blocked the path while its other side remained delicate. They came to a Japanese-style bridge over a stream steeped with algae.

“Friends and flock,” the Bishop said. “I bring newcomers!” Twenty people clustered around the bridge. Many of them wore costumes. A few men wore women’s clothes, including one bearded guy with pigtails and a calico dress. Others wore tie-dyes or turtlenecks. Bottles of champagne and weirdly shaped water pipes littered the bridge ends. Berry immediately looked at Lisa to see if she was okay. She nodded at Berry and smiled, she was pocketing some fear but it was fine for now. She was still holding his hand. “These are some of my friends,” Maura told Berry.

Here, Berry stood out less than on the street, but felt further from the people around him than ever.

Someone handed Berry a basket covered with linen. Inside he found muffins, fruit buns, and pies. “Brunch,” a pixie in a leotard explained. Berry took a muffin and handed the basket to Lisa.

“My dad doesn’t know where I am,” Lisa said as if it had just occurred to her.

“Is that a problem?” Maura said. “I’m sure someone has a cell phone.”

Lisa shivered. “Nah. I guess it’s okay.”

Berry and Lisa munched buns and looked down into green-and-white swirly water. “People are weird,” Berry said. A middle-aged woman in a big fairy skirt approached the two of them and smiled. She wore heavy make-up around her eyes and big red circles on her cheeks. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Anna Conventional. Welcome to our weed party. We’re all weeds here, one way or another.” She turned to Berry. “I love your costume.”

Berry decided not to bother telling her it wasn’t a costume. “Thanks,” he said instead. “How often do you guys do this?” “Once every couple months. But there are often fun little gatherings of some sort on Sundays. Us nonconformists gotta stick together, you know. ”

Berry wasn’t sure whether he saw nonconformists or just conformists in costumes. “Can you tell me five verbs you hate?” he asked Anna Conventional. She thought about it.

Berry and Lisa watched a man in a white jumpsuit teaching Scottish country line dancing to a woman in a sari. Some other costumed people were doing some kind of Pagan ritual. Berry wondered what had happened to Maura. “I’m glad we got to hang out,” Berry said tentatively. “It’s nice just the two of us.”

Lisa took both Berry’s hands and kissed him lightly on the lips.

The kiss felt like the first time Berry filled his eyes and nose with sound and breath. It felt like that sweet spot choirboys struggle to reach. He had a sudden rush of energy to his diaphragm. You stagger your breaths, so nobody ever hears you breathe, the music just comes from nowhere, like this did. He thought:
So that’s what they’re all so excited about.
“They” meant the choirboys Berry’s age and a little younger, with their porn stashes and jokes.

Berry hadn’t felt this way after kissing Wilson. It had been too rough and Wilson had acted weird before and after. The kiss with Lisa felt romantic, even though Berry didn’t know what romance was supposed to feel like.

“Uh,” Berry said. “I’m not sure ...” He had a million things to say and no way to say any of them. Was he Lisa’s boyfriend now? Were they supposed to have sex right away? Or soon? What would the popular people who hung out with Lisa at school and sometimes at church say about Berry? Never mind what Lisa would think about having a boyfriend with a swelling chest.

“Don’t worry.” Lisa smiled. “We’re still just friends and everything. I like you a lot, that’s all.”

Now Berry was really confused.

They stood on the bridge and heid hands for a while. The air cooled and the plant smells deadened. “I hope my dad’s not worrying,” Lisa said. “He’s totally rationalist but he freaks easy.”

“He’s not religious?” Berry said.

“Nah. He lets my mom drag me to church and stuff. In return, she goes along with his ideas about how to bring me up.”

Berry remembered the French guy. “Underwater therapy?” He tried to make it sound light and friendly.

Lisa nodded. “We have a swimming pool.”

Berry guessed it would be dark around five or five thirty, and it was probably already four. “Where has Maura gone?” he asked the river scum underfoot. He looked around and saw fewer people than before. Anna Conventional walked through a semi-clearing near the bridge. Berry waved at her. “Hey.”

“Dictate, mutate, criticize, betray, befoul.” Anna Conventional saw the blankness in Berry’s eyes. “My five verbs I hate,” she explained.

“Oh, okay,” Berry said, uneasy. “Have you seen Maura? She was wearing the black dress with the sequins on it.”

“Not lately,” Anna Conventional said. “A bunch of those guys went into Darkest Arboretum to do some mushrooms an hour or two ago. They could be wherever by now.” Anna laughed and pirouetted so her skirt billowed.

Lisa suddenly looked terrified. “I really gotta get home.” “Maybe I could give you a ride,” Anna Conventional said. Berry expected Anna to drive a beat-up old Bug or Pacer, two cars Wilson often laughed at. Instead she had a gleaming Mercedes van. Anna Conventional put Berry and Lisa in the back and then went to find her boyfriend Robbie. This took a while. Berry and Lisa sat in the back separated by a big empty space where a third person could sit. They held hands in silence.

“Don’t worry,” Berry said. “I’m sure your dad won’t mind. Just tell them you had a church event to go to. Anyway, you’ll be home before dark.”

Lisa nodded. “What about your folks?”

Berry shrugged. “They go through phases. Sometimes they worry about me. But right now, they’re on the we-have-no-son trip. It makes getting around easier.”

“I’m sorry,” Lisa said.

“Don’t be. They’re mostly cool, and it’s not that they don’t care. My mom works really hard and my dad does ... stuff.” More time passed. Eventually Anna showed up with Robbie, who had a long brown ponytail and white-flecked stubble. He wore a Dear Abbie Hoffman T-shirt. “So where do you live?” Anna asked. Lisa told her a neighborhood way outside the city loop. Berry started to feel hungry. He’d only eaten a few rolls, and that had been a while ago.

“We’ll have you home in a jiff,” Anna promised. A while later she announced she had to stop for gas. They found a Circle K with pumps. While Robbie pumped, Anna took

Lisa and Berry inside the shop and bought them gumballs. “Which do you think is the prettiest color?” she asked, holding a bunch in her hand. She started juggling the balls and dropped a couple on the floor. “Three second rule,” she said, scooping them and putting them back in her plastic bag. Then Robbie wanted a hot dog. He had to microwave it because no one wants a tepid convenience store Oscar Mayer. Berry got a hot dog too and shared it with Lisa, but didn’t microwave it.

Finally they got away from the Circle K, Anna wearing a big straw hat she’d bought and brandishing a CD of “Trucker Gold” from the store’s bargain rack. Robbie didn’t want to listen to Anna’s new CD and the two grownups argued while Lisa and Berry huddled behind them, a girl in a brandy-brocade muslin dress and a choirboy.

Anna screamed at Robbie, then pulled over in someone’s driveway. “Why don’t you respect me? You resent me because my portfolio is still worth something because I stuck with blue chips because I didn’t get carried away thinking a Jeff Bezos shat money because I’m not an unemployed Web designer with a tweaker’s attention span because you’ve never dealt with your childhood fear of being taken seriously.” There were a few more “becauses” in that sentence. Berry mentally charted the sentence structure the way Rat had taught him. It was all subordinate clauses.

It was fully dark. Lisa and Berry hugged. Lisa put her head on Berry’s shoulder. Berry stroked her hair. It felt like the velvet knee cushions at St. Luke’s.

Finally Anna and Robbie made up and Robbie confessed about his stock portfolio and his fear of being taken seriously, and said he’d try to pay more attention to Anna and buy a no-load long-term-oriented mutual fund. They pulled out of the driveway and set off again. Robbie needed to buy flowers to make up to Anna.

By the time Berry and Lisa got to Lisa’s house the dash clock read 7:52. Berry walked Lisa up the flint path to her two-story house, which had trimmed hedges all around it and a big wreath on the door. They hesitated at the door, then Lisa used her key.

She hadn’t turned it in the lock before the door opened from the inside. A lanky man with boxy glasses and a shirt buttoned all the way up with no tie looked down at the two intruders. “Lisa,” he said. “Do you know what time it is?” “I had church stuff,” Lisa said. “I . . .”

“Church ended hours ago. I called. Nobody knew where you were.” The man’s Adam’s apple throbbed, but his voice stayed even. “Lisa, it appears someone has thought with her aquatic brain again. Child development, like evolution, contains many throwbacks and dead ends.” He gripped Lisa’s arm. “Please don’t,” Lisa said. “I’m too old for that. I—” “Leave her alone.” Berry stepped forward and placed his big purple sleeve between Lisa and her father. “It’s my fault Lisa’s late.”

Lisa’s dad looked down at Berry. “And who is this?” he asked Lisa. He smelled smoky. He wore flannel pants and a horseshoe belt buckle.

“This is Berry,” Lisa said. “He’s from the church choir. He got me home.”

“You were supposed to take the bus,” Mr. Gartner said. “I’m very sorry,” Lisa said.

“The pool should be warm,” said her dad. “We’ll talk once the reptile has tasted its element.”

“Leave her alone,” Berry said again.

The man grabbed Berry’s collar frill and pulled hard enough to choke, Mr. Gartner lifted Berry off his feet. “Get out of my house,” he said. Then he stepped onto the stoop and threw Berry onto the lawn. Berry landed on his back and his breath rushed away.

Berry relaxed his chest to let air flow back in. It took a while. The door to Lisa’s house closed.