Migrators (20 page)

“Dad! No!” Joe yelled.

“I got you. I got you,” Alan said.
 

“Stop. You’re pulling me.”

“I won’t let go,” Alan said.
 

Joe screamed again and bucked in Alan’s arms. Alan looped one arm around Joe’s thighs and slid the other hand up under Joe’s belly to lift him back through the window. Joe thrashed as Alan pulled in him. He hugged Joe to his chest. Joe’s snot and tears smeared on Alan’s neck as the boy’s cries diminished to whimpers.
 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Alan said. He rocked his son. “You’re okay.”

“Put me down,” Joe said. He hiccuped.

“Okay,” Alan said. He turned Joe away from the window before he complied, like Joe couldn’t be trusted to not fly back through the opening.

Joe’s face was bright red. Released from his father’s arms he immediately pulled up his pants and fastened them. They had slid down to his thighs. Alan saw angry scrapes on the front of his son’s legs.

“What happened to your pants?” Alan said.

“They got pulled down,” Joe said. He pushed his belt through the buckle and pulled it tight.

“Joe, what happened? Did you lose your balance? Did the window fall on you?” Alan asked. The sash was still up. It was the kind with ropes and sash weights to counterbalance the action, and it worked well. If anything, Alan had noticed that window preferred to be open—almost like it had too much weight hanging from the pulleys.

“You pulled me,” Joe said.

“I wasn’t pulling,” Alan said. “I wasn’t pulling at all. What do you mean?”

Joe wouldn’t look at his father. The boy dragged an arm across his face, wiping away his tears.
 

“I have a headache and I have to go to the bathroom,” Joe said.
 

Alan stared at his son. The boy was looking down at the floor and his chest shook as he pulled in a breath. He hiccuped again. The attic was silent as Alan stared at Joe and Joe looked at the floor. A shaft of light came through the far window and illuminated the swirling dust. The bales of insulation looked like little cocoons littering the floor of the empty attic. Joe exhaled and then sniffed.

Joe began to turn towards the steps.
 

Alan reached out and grabbed his son at the shoulders.

“Joe, did you move that chair?” Alan asked.

“What?”

For the first time since the screaming, Joe looked Alan in the eye. Fresh fear blossomed on his son’s face.

“Did you move that chair?” Alan asked again. He removed one of his firm hands from Joe’s shoulder to point at the rocker. It was positioned back in front of the far window again.

Joe hiccuped.

Alan heard the bubbling sound at the same time that the smell reached his nose. He looked down. A dark blue stain was spreading across the front of Joe’s pants.

“Joe!” Alan yelled. “Come on.”

He grabbed Joe’s hand and led him towards the stairs.
 

Down in the hall, Alan guided his son towards the bathroom door. Joe was blushing again. He looked straight down at the floor.

“Just put your clothes in the hamper and jump in the shower. I’ll bring you fresh clothes,” Alan said. He closed the door behind Joe and listened. He heard the hamper lid and the belt buckle hit.

I should have given him a bag for the pants. Fuck it.

A few seconds later, he heard the shower.

Alan stripped the gloves from his hands and went to his son’s bedroom.

“Hello?” Liz asked.

“Oh, hey,” Alan said. She was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up.
 

“I’ve been calling—where were you?” Liz asked. “You look like a zombie.”

“Come on up,” Alan said. “I’ll tell you.”

He gave Liz the short version while he picked through clothes in Joe’s room. He handed her fresh socks, jeans, and an t-shirt.
 

“He had an accident? Really?”

Alan nodded and bit his lower lip. He shook his head as he spoke. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. It was the strangest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. See if he’ll talk to you.”

“Where is he?”

“Our bathroom.”

Alan walked Liz back through the master bedroom. They heard the shower shut off on the other side of the closed door.

“Joe,” Liz called. “I’m coming in.”

“No, Mom!” Joe yelled. “Give me a second.”

“Okay.”

Liz looked at Alan and rolled her eyes.

“I’ve seen it all before, Joe,” Liz said.

“Just give me a second,” Joe yelled.

Alan retreated and sat on the edge of the bed. He heard Liz open the door and then swing it shut behind her. Liz was mumbling. He couldn’t hear Joe’s response.

“Oh my god,” Liz said.

Alan stood up and then sat back down. The rope was still hanging outside the window. A little gust of wind spun the straightedge. It tapped against the glass. Alan walked back to the closet. Joe was saying something to Liz, but Alan couldn’t make out the words. It was painful to lower himself to the floor—his ass ached and his head throbbed. Now that he was coming down from red alert, many systems were declaring injuries. Alan climbed the narrow steps slowly and locked his eyes on the rocker. He walked up to it and stood next to the curved back. The wood was dark with age. It looked like the varnish had worn off about fifty years ago and nobody had bothered to refresh it. The bottoms of the rockers were nearly flat with wear.
 

Alan grabbed the back and spun the rocker around. He turned and dragged it back to the center of the attic.

“Move again,” he told the rocker, pointing at it. “Move again and you’ll be fucking firewood.”

A cool breeze came in through the open window. Alan walked to it and leaned out. He glanced over his shoulder at the open sash.
 

Fall on me. I dare you. I’ll burn this whole fucking place to the ground.

Alan hoisted the straightedge carefully. It really wasn’t any problem to keep it from banging against the side of the house. He shouldn’t have worried. He pulled the straightedge through and then coiled the rope. Alan slammed the window shut and shook his head. As he walked to the open bale of insulation, he kept his eyes on the chair. As he passed it, he jabbed a pointed finger at it.

“Just try it,” he said as he snapped on his gloves.

Alan measured the gap twice and then stretched out the insulation. He marked the batt and laid his straightedge down the length. Putting all his weight on his knee and hand, Alan pressed the insulation to the attic floor with the straightedge so he could run his utility knife down the length and cut through the pink material. It worked well. He didn’t even scar the floor with his blade. Alan pushed his way to his feet and glared at the chair again. It was still in the same spot—of course it was—but he shook his finger at it anyway.

“Alan? What are our dinner plans?” Liz yelled up from below.

“Leftovers,” Alan called back. He walked over to the top of the stairs. “Joe and I are having lasagna. You’re eating twigs and sand, remember?” He turned and wagged his finger at the chair again.

“You want to go out?”

“Okay, sure,” Alan said.

“Let’s go now. We’ll beat the rush.”

X • X • X • X • X

“Can I go to the bathroom?” Joe asked.

“Of course,” Liz said. She patted Joe on the back as he rose.

When he was away from the table, Liz leaned to Alan.

“So what happened?” she asked.

“He got stuck in the window and then he pissed himself. I don’t know why,” Alan said.

“He said that someone took down his pants,” Liz said.

“It was the window,” Alan said. “His pants were caught in the window and when he was wiggling around they got pulled down I guess. The whole thing was strange. I came up the stairs and found him thrashing around.”

“He’s got scrapes on his thighs. I hope his gym shorts cover them up. I can’t even imagine what a teacher would think if they saw his legs the way they are now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alan said. “Nobody will see his thighs. First, he doesn’t even have gym class right now, they only have after-school sports. Second, the kids all wear sweatpants outside; it’s too cold for shorts. And third, no coach would admit to seeing a kid’s thighs these days. They’d lock them up before they finished the sentence.”

Liz smiled.
 

“He said he had to go to the bathroom, I just didn’t know it was such an emergency,” Alan said. “I couldn’t believe it when he wet his pants.”

Liz shrugged. “And now he’s going again. Maybe he has an infection or something. I had to pee every five minutes when I had that bladder infection.”

“Do boys get that?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I never have,” Alan said. “I peed a lot when I was on Prednisone, but never because of an infection.”

Alan trailed off as Joe approached. His son looked normal. He made eye contact. He was wiping his hands on his pants—that was either a good sign because he’d washed them, or a bad one because they were wet anyway. Alan chose to believe that Joe’s hands were clean.
 

“Everything come out okay?” Alan asked.

Joe laughed.

“What’s good here?” Liz asked. “I don’t see much vegetarian.”

“You picked this place,” Alan said.

Liz pointed a finger at Joe.
 

“I like the salsa,” Joe said. To illustrate his point, he took another chip and scooped a bunch of the sweet goop. They were already working on their second basket of chips. At this rate, Joe wouldn’t be able to eat any of his entrée.
 

“Slow down, Joe,” Alan said. “Save some room for dinner.”

“If they don’t take our order,” Liz said to her menu, “then we won’t have to worry about dinner.”

“Darling, they’re not going to come take our order while you’re still studying the menu.”

“Fine,” Liz said. She smiled and shut her menu.

The waiter appeared. Liz asked for a salad. Joe and Alan both settled on the fish tacos.

“This is a nice change of pace,” Alan said. “I’m glad you suggested it, Joe.”

Joe nodded. “You remember we came here right when we moved up? You couldn’t figure out how to work the oven.”

“I knew how to work it,” Alan said with a smile. “I just didn’t think it was reaching the right temperature. I didn’t want to give everyone food poisoning or something. You know how terrible that is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Liz asked. She put her hand to her chest in mock indignation. “It has never been proven that my cooking has given everyone food poisoning. As far as we know, that little problem we all had was due to a bad case of stomach flu. It just happened to hit us all at the same time.”

“That’s right,” Alan said. “Exactly two hours after we all ate that wonderful quiche.”

Joe laughed.

“I can’t remember,” Alan said. “Joe, do you remember? Is quiche supposed to brown on top and liquid at the bottom. I can never get that straight.”

Joe covered his mouth and shook his head.

“I can’t believe you’ve all turned on me like this,” Liz said. “I have half a mind to never cook for you two again.”

Joe took a sip of water. The glasses were tall, full, and sweaty. It thunked back to the table as Joe set it down. A little sloshed on the the red tablecloth.
 

“I’ve been thinking,” Joe said.
 

Liz reached for a chip.

“Do you think maybe we should move again?” Joe asked.

“Whuff?” Liz asked. She put her hand up over her mouth to keep the food in.

“What do you mean, Joe?” Alan asked.

“I’m just thinking that maybe this isn’t the right place for us.”

Liz swallowed. “You mean this restaurant?”

“No,” Joe said, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “Can’t we just say we gave it a try and it didn’t work out?”

“Is this because what happened today, Joe?” Alan asked. “In the attic when you almost fell?”

“No,” Joe said.

“Is this because of school?” Liz asked.

“Not really,” Joe said.

“Then what is it?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know,” Joe said. He seemed to shrink in his seat.

Liz folded her arms and pressed her lips into a line. She could handle any type of argument or discussion, but she wasn’t good at dealing with a discussion where the opposition refused to speak.

“Joe,” Alan said. “You have to understand—we made a big sacrifice and commitment when we moved here. Your mom’s family wanted to keep the Colonel’s house, but nobody could agree on terms until we offered to buy it. Now we’re in a tough position. We can’t just move. If we do we lose the house. Would you like to think about maybe switching to another school? Maybe a private school would make more sense? I know you’re bored in some of your classes.”

Joe shook his head.

“Then what?” Liz asked.

“At one of the private schools, most of the students are from out of state. They live right there at the school. That means you wouldn’t have to interact with so many people who have such a long history together. You wouldn’t be the outsider because all the students are outsiders to an extent,” Alan said. This was a difficult offer to sell because he didn’t really believe in it. The boarding students were probably at least as cliquey, if not more, because they spent so much time together. But maybe Joe just needed to be become more accustomed to accepting change.

“It’s not school,” Joe said.

“We have to assume that it’s related to school because you were fine all summer,” Liz said. “Do you understand that? You spent the summer making friends and spending time with your father and you were happy as a clam. Then, when school starts, you’re miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” Joe said. “Don’t you realize that nobody wants us here?”

“What are you talking about?” Liz asked.

Alan reached over and took her hand. She tugged away from his fingers, but he held firm.

Joe collected his thoughts before he spoke.

“Nobody likes us and they wish we weren’t here. They want us to move away. I don’t know why we have to stay somewhere when everyone wants us to leave.”

“We’re not going to be bullied. Nobody has the right to tell us where we can and can’t live,” Liz said.