Hello, Tom Sawyer

Squinting against the blustering winter wind full of prickly ice specks, one eye closed completely, I barely saw the car pull up next to me. Startled, I flinched and snapped my head in its direction. A dark green two-door, its engine low and rumbling, was pacing me. The driver held up a hand, signaling me to stop, I guessed.

I stopped and turned toward the car; the driver now leaned over, rolling down the passenger-side window.

“Hey, get in — it’s freezing out there." He unlatched the door and pushed it open.

“Uh, it’s ok. I’m nearly home.”

“We’re still blocks from the neighborhood, man — jump in”.

I felt a flash of pride when he called me “man,” and I started blushing. Mortified, I looked down at my feet; I realized my shoes and lower pant legs were sopping wet from trudging through the deep snow.

“I’m really wet...”

“Water dries, dummy, come on.”

I relented and climbed in, pulling the long, heavy door closed behind me.

“Hey, I’m Mark.” He smiled and held out his hand.

“Oh, uh, I’m Stevie.” We shook hands. He had a strong grip for a thin guy. Wiry, I guess you’d say. His wavy, light brown hair was parted down the middle and touched his shoulders. It made me self-conscious of my own haircut; my dad made us keep our hair over the ears and well above the collar.

“Nice to meet you, Stevie.”

“Thanks. You too. Um, do you need directions to my house?"

“Nah, I live just a few blocks over from you. I used to be your paperboy too, a few years ago.”

Strangely, I felt a little embarrassed for not remembering.

“Sorry. I don’t remember.”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “Why would you? It was years ago, and I got up really early to do it. No worries, man.”

Mark reached over and slid the heat and fan controls to the maximum setting. Warm air blasted my face and feet. I held up my bare hands to the vents, smiling cautiously. The dissipating cold in my feet reminded me of the big hole in my left sneaker. I quickly tucked it under my right foot.

I snuck a look to see if he’d noticed, but he was staring straight ahead at the road. He accelerated away from the curb.

“Do you like Rush?” Before I could answer, he pushed a cassette tape into the deck.

“Um, well, I don’t really know their songs. We’re not allowed to listen to that kind of music.”

“Shit, that sucks. They’re the best band on the planet!” He cranked up the volume. I heard the singer say something about “Tom Sawyer.” The music was amazing; the song was so powerful and immense, it filled me up inside. Hearing the drum parts was like the first time I saw Star Wars. It was like I’d never heard drums in any other song before.

“Pretty damn awesome, right?” He was smiling so wide that his eyes scrunched up as his hands kept the beat on the steering wheel. We nodded along together until we were nodding so hard that we got dizzy. Mark had to correct his steering as we swerved and slid a little. We looked at each other and broke into raucous laughter.

Still chuckling with tearing eyes and sore cheeks, we pulled up in front of my house. When I realized where we were, my smile dropped, and I felt the heavy, cold stone return to my gut.

“You ok, man?” His brows were knitted, and his lips were curled in on each other a little.

I shrugged my drooping shoulders and tried to smile.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“No problem. Hey, I take the same route every day. If I see you, I’ll stop, if you want.”

“Um, I don’t mind walking, but, yeah, if it’s snowing or something. Thanks again,” I swung the door open and stepped out. I gave a short wave and watched as he cranked up the music again, smiled at me while doing an impromptu air drum fill, and drove off.

I stood there for a moment, feeling an odd new feeling that wasn’t totally unpleasant. Pulling myself out of it, I prepared myself to go inside and face whatever chaos was going on inside those banged-up walls.

I thought about the ride home, and it lifted my spirits a little. I hummed “Tom Sawyer” as I stepped through the door onto the landing, heading for the basement.

“Steven.”

My dad called me. My throat tightened up, and I sighed quietly.

“Yes.” My voice waivered, and I hoped he didn’t detect it. In my mind, I prayed he didn’t call me upstairs.

“Do you have homework?”

“Just a little.”

“I need you to shower now and do your homework after dinner.”

“Why?” It slipped out before I caught myself. I closed my eyes and waited for his response.

A beat later, his lowered voice came back. “Just do it. Make it quick. You all have been taking too much time in the shower.”

“Ok.”

“’Ok’” what?” I knew his nostrils were flaring, and his teeth were grinding.

“I’ll be quick in the shower.”

I’d barely got in and had time to wash my body when he knocked on the door and told me to finish up. I started washing my hair and was ready to rinse the shampoo when he barged into the bathroom, flung back the shower curtain, and turned off the water.

“Get out now!” He shouted. “I told you to take a quick shower!”

Standing there stark naked, eyes shut tight against the stinging shampoo, I yelled back plaintively.

“I was about to rinse my hair and get it done! I just need to rinse my hair!”

“Get out!”

“What am I supposed to do about my hair? It’s full of shampoo!”

“Rinse it in the sink! Hurry up! Get dressed and get to the table for dinner!”

The stupid idea of using water out of the sink faucet, instead of the shower, made me snort with angry laughter. I stuck my head under the faucet as far as I could, but had to rotate my head and body to get all the shampoo out.

At the dining room table, everyone was waiting. My dad was staring at me without expression.

“We can all eat now. Let’s pray.” My dad announced to the rest of the family, who were seated around the table, also staring at me.

For the remainder of the night, I avoided my dad. I stayed in my room finishing homework until it was time for bed. I fell asleep and dreamed about Mark and Rush, Tom Sawyer, and driving in the snow.

The next morning, I stepped outside into a world swallowed by clouds. Silky fog draped over, around, and between everything. Dimensions and depth perception were washed away. Houses, trees, and cars seemed to be both close and very far away. To the east, the fog was like filaments, spreading the morning sun’s weak rays.

About a quarter of a mile on, I saw two yellow orbs materialize in the road ahead, moving toward me. The orbs grew larger, floating closer until a car materialized out of the mist. The car was green and looked sleek and ominous with its wet body reflecting the diffused sunlight.

The car pulled up beside me and stopped. It was Mark. He motioned with his head for me to get in, and I obliged, setting my books on the bench seat beside me. Ghost houses drifted by as we drove.

“What’s up, man? How’d it go last night?”

“Hey. What do you mean?”

He shrugged and glanced over at me. “You seemed a little keyed up when I dropped you off last night.”

“Oh, that. My dad can be, well, I don’t know...”

“Intense?” Mark offered.

I nodded. “He just seems to want to control everything I do. Well, everything my brothers and I do. And my mom, I guess.”

“That’s tough, man. Dads can be like that sometimes.”

“Seems like my dad is like that most of the time.”

“Well, I think they can be that way because they worry about how we’re going to turn out. Like it’s a reflection on what kind of a parent they were.”

“Well, it’s my life.” It occurred to me that I’d never had that thought before. It stirred something in my chest, a mix of hope, despair, and anger.

“Damn straight!” Mark slugged me on the shoulder. I looked at him, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Man, I’m tired. You? I think some music will wake us up!” With that, he pushed in the cassette and out came the genius of Rush.

We played dueling air drums until we stopped at the junior high to let me out.

“Thanks, Mark.”

“No problem, man. Have a kick-ass day.” He said this quietly and seriously.

After the final bell, I left school through the main entrance. I wanted to see if Mark was waiting or if I could catch him driving by. After waiting about ten minutes, I started walking, crossing the intersection, and following the cherry orchard fence line.

The fog had fully cleared by then, and the sky was a patchwork of icy blue and stark white, billowing clouds. A piercing wind herded the clouds swiftly past the low afternoon sun, and large shadows played across the snow-covered ground.

Daydreaming as I walked, I almost missed Mark’s car passing by. I looked up in time to see another older boy in the car, sitting in the front passenger seat. They were both smiling and talking with active hands and nodding heads. Music thumped loudly. Mark never looked my way, and I’m sure he had no idea he’d passed me.

I felt angry and confused. Why wasn’t he watching for me? Who was the other kid? My eyes were tearing, and I tried to blame it on the cold wind in my face. The truth was, I cried.

Thinking more about it, I told myself Mark never promised to pick me up every time, or to be my friend. He was just a nice guy who helped me out a couple of times. With that thought, I started making up stories in my head. It was something I liked to do when I was upset.

Blocks later, I passed an intersecting dead-end street. Mark’s car was parked at the end; puffy white exhaust drifted from his tailpipe. Trying to see what was happening, I looked through the small rear window. It was difficult to see, so I moved a step closer. Just then, the other boy stepped out, laughing and talking too low to understand.

Before he left, he put his hands on the edge of the seat and leaned into the car. I thought I could see Mark lean closer to him, too. Surprised by what I thought I saw a moment later, I continued walking home as quickly as I could.

Shortly after, I heard a car door close, followed by a car engine growing louder behind me, tires crunching in the snow as it turned in my direction.

A moment later, Mark’s green two-door passed me.

Turning to look, I saw that Mark was alone, staring straight ahead, slouched in his seat. I wanted to talk to him, and I waved my hand exaggeratedly, trying to get his attention. I swear he looked at me in the rearview mirror, but he just kept driving.

Seeing the car gone when I got home, I almost wept with joy. I went inside and straight to my room, collapsing on my bed.

Images of Mark’s car at the dead end, the other boy, both leaning over the seat, replayed in my head like a video on a loop. I analyzed each frame, extracted the details, and edited the video into a complete story.

Realizing what I’d seen, my stomach fluttered, and I felt nauseous. My body tensed, and my teeth chattered. Mark’s face appeared so clearly in my mind’s eye that I almost believed he was in my room. My head and throat ached, and my eyes burned. They had kissed.

That’s why he didn’t pick me up? He wanted to be alone with that boy. Was that also why he pretended not to see me? Was he embarrassed of me? Of what he did? Did he even know I saw them?

I thought Mark was cool and that he knew who he was and didn’t let things bother him. He was nice to me for no reason other than seeing a kid walking in the cold who needed a ride. I looked up to him and thought he saw me as a friend. I was jealous of the other kid and Mark spending time with him, but I realized maybe how the other kid felt differently. Mark was the best person I’d ever met, but I didn’t think I’d ever want him to kiss me.

Exhaustion took over; I wrapped myself in my quilt, rolled onto my side, and started drifting off to sleep. The last thing I remember is feeling warm tears rolling down my face.

The following morning was Saturday, and that meant my dad assigned a list of chores to each of us. After breakfast, the chores had to get done before we could do anything else. After getting up and using the bathroom, I trudged upstairs to eat breakfast. At the last step, my dad stepped out of his room down the short hallway to the right.

“Come in my room please, Steven.”

My stomach went queasy. I followed him into his room, where he sat at the end of the bed. He gestured for me to close the door behind me. I did and then turned around, my eyes on the floor.

“Look at me. You’ve been spending time with an older boy.”

“Explain yourself.”

I lifted my eyes. “He’s just someone who gave me a ride a couple of times when it was really cold.”

“What’s his name?”

I suspected he already knew.

“Mark.”

“Yeah. I know all about him, Steven. Stay away from him. He’s not a good person.”

Anger erupted from a place so deep that I didn’t even know it existed until that moment. Standing as tall as I could, chin up, I looked at him right in the eyes.

“He’s a friend of mine, and he’s been nicer to me than anyone else in my whole life!”

“First, lower your voice and watch your attitude. Second, boys his age don’t make friends with boys your age. It’s not normal, and there’s a reason for it that you don’t need to know about.”

“In fact, I want to know if he’s ever said or done anything inappropriate to you.”

I blinked hard and shook my head. “What? What are you talking about? He’s been nothing but cool to me.”

My dad scoffed. “’ Cool’. As if you know about cool. We’re not debating. Do not see that boy again.” He emphasized each word, using his super serious dad's voice.

Raging, I flung the door open, ran downstairs to the landing, and threw on my sneakers. The front door stood open behind me as I ran out into the snow. Finding myself blocks away from home, blurry-eyed, freezing, and breathing heavily, I walked in silence. A couple of houses down, I spotted a green car sticking out of a carport.

I stood taller and walked faster. Standing at the end of the carport, I stared in disbelief at Mark’s car. Pacing in front of the house, mustering the courage to knock, the front door opened. Mark stepped out, and I turned to him.

“Hey, man. Where’s your coat?”

“I don’t know. I left my house mad; I didn’t really think about a jacket.”

Mark looked up and down the street, eyebrows knitted, frowning vaguely. “How’d you find my house?”

“Well, I really wasn’t looking; I was just running and found myself here.”

He was quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Ok. What’s up? How are you?”

“Why didn’t you stop, or wave, or even look at me yesterday?” I blurted without thinking.

He looked at his feet and wiped his hand down his face.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Uh, I was...” It seemed like he was deciding whether to lie or not. “I just had a lot on my mind.”

I took a step forward. “That’s it?”

He lifted his head, and we locked eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and a weird noise came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Steve, I have to go away.”

His eyes were red and glistening, but he held my gaze.

My throat tightened, and I struggled to breathe.

“Why? Where? What’s going on?” My eyes and nose were pouring. I wiped my arm across my face.

“My parents...I have to... I'm having trouble with my parents, and they’re sending me to my uncle's place. It’s going to be for a long time.”

My ears felt stuffy, and I was dizzy.

Mark stepped down from the porch. “I’m sorry.”

In a daze, I found myself with my arms wrapped around Mark, my face buried in his flannel shirt. He held his hands up at first and then rested one on top of my head.

Breaking away and turning around, I headed for the sidewalk.

“Steve, wait.” His voice was low and careful.

I turned around, and he was at his car, opening the passenger door. He leaned in and grabbed something. Turning around, he was holding the Rush cassette. We stepped toward each other, and he took my hand, setting the tape in my palm and closing my fingers over it.

“It’s your life.”

I smiled through my tears. “Damn straight, man.”

Holding the tape carefully, I imagined a story of me behind a drum kit, playing our favorite song.