Shoulder the Sky (12 page)

“Tinny, boy. You all right?”

Declan had a habit of renaming everyone in the school. “You use only the last syllable and then add a ‘y' at the end. Double the consonant if you have to before the ‘y.' So I was Tinny (not Tiny) and Darrell
was Relly, not Reily (which would have been more appropriately Irish).

The furnace room was a kind of escape pod for a number of students like me when things got screwy at school. Everyone knew this. Parents had complained, of course — there will always be parents to complain about something. This will go on until the universe collapses into itself and becomes a black hole again. Then parents will ease up.

Declan had been accused of everything and anything. Some said he was messing around with the Grade 9 girls; some said he sold drugs (because he was part Native). Some said he drank (because he was part Irish). I'd always hated people having opinions based on stereotypes. Because he was a quiet, reserved, very shy and undemanding man, one parent had even accused him of being controlled by the devil. None of it stuck. He called himself “teflon man.”

“Tinny, you want half a sandwich? I'm going the vegan route for a while — no meat or dairy. But it's not half bad. I miss meat, though.”

“No thanks. Just want to hang for a while. I'm hiding, really.”

“Gotta hide sometime. Better to hide than run.”

Things got quiet after that. The furnace was singing away and that sounded pretty good to us. I watched Declan eat his sandwich.

“Pan-fried tofu with caraway and garlic. I'm not saying it's great but I'm giving it a try. Girlfriend's a vegan so I have to at least give it a try.”

“Garlic will keep away vampires.”

“That's what I was thinking.”

The intercom buzzed then and it was the secretary.

“Declan. Clean up needed in room 235.”

Declan clicked the intercom. “I'll be right down.”

“Man, right after lunch. She didn't even have to say what it was. Somebody hurled in biology. I've got an instinct about these things.”

And then I was alone in the furnace room as Declan rolled his mop and bucket out into the hallway. I listened to the sound of the furnace for a while and then kneeled down in front of it and looked in through the glass window so I could see the flame. I found it bright and cheerful. The flames looked like yellow leaves or flowers or something. I thought about finding Kathy when the bell rang and telling her that my “innermost desire” was to have sex with her — to make love to her — but I knew if I said it, it wouldn't be my voice. It would be someone else's. I was pretty sure I could bring myself to say it, to explain that Norway was a joke. It was a code word, I would say. Going to Norway was like “going all the way,” as they used to say.

But I began to realize I was headed into some outlandish psychological territory and was bound to screw
things up worse. I remembered something my English teacher had said about the semicolon: “When in doubt, leave it out.” That semicolon advice seemed pretty good for now. I wouldn't mention anything to Kathy about anything. But I did have a strong impulse to reach into the furnace and pick her a handful of flowers as an apology. It was summer in there and I missed summer — the way it used to be. Instead, I tucked my hands under my legs and waited for Declan to return with news about who had puked and what it looked like.

“I read a quote the other day,” I told Dave. “The poet Muriel Ruckeyser said the universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

“I like that. Jesus, Martin, you always floor me with something new.” He tried to sound cheerful but I could tell something was actually bothering him today.

“Dave, I'm not normal,” I blurted out. “There was this girl who wanted to talk about sex and I wasn't interested.”

“That's not normal. But Martin, it's so you. You have your own planet in the universe of stories. It's your story. If you don't want to talk about sex with a girl, it's your privilege. She can't make you.”

“I'm just not interested in sex.”

“You're unique for your age.”

Dave opened his green steno book and flipped some pages. “Let's see. You've ruled out smoking, anger, and sex. There's probably more. I understand that you are a kind of cerebral type kid and that makes it all the more interesting for me. What are you interested in the most?”

“I am interested in death.”

“You want to talk about your mother?”

“No. I want to talk about death.”

“In the abstract?”

“Yes.”

“Does it seem interesting to you that you mentioned sex to me and then shifted right over to wanting to talk about death?”

“There's a connection, right?”

“Maybe. But let's not go there now.”

“Dying is a wild night and a new road — Emily Dickinson.”

“Skip Emily Dickinson. Go for Martin Emerson,” Dave suggested.

“It's like the story thing. The story keeps going but I can't read it. It's like I bought this big fat paperback novel about my family and me. I got up to chapter seven and the pages are all blank after that. I'm the protagonist — confused but brilliant — and I keep thinking the world is full of all kinds of possibilities. But none of them are for me. I've got a really strange but interesting family, and I'm reading
along to page seventy-six and I turn the page and discover there's nothing but empty pages from there to the end of the book — three hundred pages later.”

“Somebody else wrote this book, right?”

“There had to be an author.”

“Why doesn't he finish the book?”

“I don't know. He got tired of writing it. Or he got a real job.”

“Or he died.”

“He didn't die.”

“Why don't you pick up the story from here? You could write it.”

“I have problems with the characters. My father opted out of the story. There's not much to say about him. Lilly would get mad at me if I wrote about what she is really doing with her life.”

“And you?”

“I would just wander from page to page.”

“Wandering is good. How's your friend the Egg Man? Darrell?”

“Since I started ignoring him, he started his own dot-com company. People pay him to steer unaware Internet users to their websites. Has something to do with spiders or something. He doesn't know what to do with the money he's making. He says it's just a game and it doesn't feel real.”

“Good ol' Darrell.”

“Money is on my list of things that aren't real,” I said.

“Expand the list.”

“Well, nothing on television is real. Trees are real; television is not. Sex is not real; death is. I think in terms of pairs — binary coding like a computer. Lilly is real, but I don't think my father is. My mother is still real, but that's only because time is not real.”

“The Buddhists think time is an illusion.”

“Maybe I'm a Buddhist then.”

“Go on.”

“School is oddly real.”

“That's good.”

“After school is not. I go home, I drift, and I do homework. I wander. I argue with Lilly. And she says, ‘Get real,' but I can't. Like, the other day I stole some seeds from the hardware store.”

“That's good. What kind?”

“Brussels sprouts. Broccoli.”

“Good vegetarian grub.”

“I know. Flowers too. Delphinium, cornflower, alyssum.”

“Of course.”

“I wanted to get caught.”

“Natch.”

“Headline reads, ‘Kid Caught Shoplifting Packets of Seeds.' I wanted the experience of being questioned.”

Dave put on the mock voice for me, turned his desk lamp to shine in my face. “Why'd you steal the seeds, kid? 'Fess up.”

“I dunno. But I walked out of the store cool as a cucumber sandwich.”

“Then what?”

“I went home,” I lied. I didn't know why I felt like I had to lie to Dave. I couldn't remember what I did after I left the store. Maybe it wasn't important. Maybe I goofed around and then went home. But it was like turning the page again in the novel and the next page was blank.

“What did you do with the seeds? Did you plant them?”

“Maybe.” But I couldn't remember what I did with the seeds. Maybe they were in my room.

“Let me try to pull this together today. Girl wants to talk about sex and you let her down. You hang out with the janitor in the furnace room and see flowers in the fire. Then you steal some seeds from a store. We could sell the film rights to this, you know.”

I laughed. Dave was such a crazy guy. But he still looked troubled about something that didn't have anything to do with me.

Then came the big confession.

“Martin, I've got to tell you something that no one else around here knows. I know I shouldn't
do this. But I've been realizing that if I don't tell someone, I'm going to need some kind of therapy myself.”

“You gonna tell me you're gay? If that's it, it's no big deal.”

“No, I wish it was that simple.”

“Let me guess. You were Hitler in a previous incarnation.”

“Don't think so.”

“Okay, I'll shut up. What's up, doc?”

“I don't think I'm very good at what I do. I'm a failure. See those diplomas on the wall?”

“Sure.”

“They don't mean a thing. It's not like they're fake. It's just that they seem artificial. I know the textbook stuff. I just don't think much of it works. I don't ever seem to really cure anyone.”

I stared at the diplomas and put a hand in my pocket, discovered that there were some loose seeds in there. The universe made up of stories. Things are not always as they appear to be. Dave had been on my list of things that were real. Dave: real. Me: not real.

Dave kept talking, but I wasn't paying close attention. I suddenly realized that I should have kissed Kathy there in the hallway. I should have told her that was my innermost desire. I should have proven to her that I was
as much alive as Scott Rutledge was dead. Instead, I opted for flowers in a furnace.

“I wouldn't keep up the facade,” Dave went on, “except for the fact that my intentions are good. I want to help people. That's why I got into this profession in the first place.”

“Stick with it. Maybe your therapy will work one day. I think you're doing the best you can with me.”

“You're not shocked and appalled.”

“I react slowly to things as you know. Maybe it will hit me later.”

“I shouldn't have unloaded this on you of all people. You may want to cancel your sessions.”

“I'd rather keep going. A guy misses an opportunity to kiss a beautiful girl, he's got to have problems, don't you think?”

“Martin, we all have problems, believe me. Some of us just create bigger ones than others.”

“Dave. Don't tell your other patients about your doubts. They may not understand you the way I do. You're good at what you do. People need you. That makes it pretty real, don't you think?”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Want my advice?” I asked.

“Shoot.”

“Take up smoking.”

When I walked outside, I was surprised. It was spring. I'd missed it sneaking up on us. I noticed flowers about to happen and buds on trees. I wondered if my father knew it was spring. I wondered if he could see it happening around him.

The universe was full of stories, not atoms.

Advice

Roll with the unexpected. If scientists discover that the moon is truly made out of green cheese, don't be overly surprised.

Don't get angry if things appear one way and are actually another. The world stands aside to let you pass if you know where you're going. It may, however, be a disappointment when you get there. Don't be afraid to change roads or trains or whatever form of transportation works for you. Don't use a surfboard for a bicycle or skis on paved roads. When you are walking, realize that while you are in motion, one foot is almost always off the ground or about to be. Confusion is prior to enlightenment, says some ancient Chinese dude whose name I can't remember.

Missed opportunities haunt you till the end of your days, but created opportunities are the only way to make up for the loss.

Sorry, folks, I was in one of those moods. Take your pick of the above. But again, I remind you, if you are spending a lot of time hanging out in my chat room — or anybody's chat room — get out of the house and see if the planet is still okay. All major damage to the planet should be reported to the police. Try to avoid walking on spiders and flowers and keep your eyes out for injured animals.

And if anyone knows how to recover from being a stupid ass in front of someone you care for, leave it on the notice board. It's not for me, but someone I know.

Emerso