Adrift

Chapter 38 Samson

Dad’s been paid. Sometimes I question whether it’s fair for him to collect my paper route money, and, since last week, my money from Phoenix for helping him on his boat while he’s sick.

He only leaves me with a couple of bucks.

He likes to collect it and then use it wisely, he says.

He rations it so we won’t find ourselves in hot water like last time.

Math followed by social studies: a unit on world religion.

I feel sorry for the teacher, Mr. Norris.

He tries his best. Today he’s wearing a sweat suit because he’ll be helping to coach football later, assistant to the assistant type thing, and the pants are too short for him.

The other boys don’t let him do his job.

I like to hear the stories from various faiths—for me it’s an extension of history class, mixed with philosophy—but the others ask him constantly about the devil and exorcisms and celibacy, and today they removed the wheels from his chair with a screwdriver when he was out collecting photocopies and projector slides from the teachers’ room.

I can tell from his face that it bothers him.

It’s not the same with the other teachers—Mrs. Cosby and Mr. Davenport—they’re not affected by it; they brush it off.

But Mr. Norris takes the comments and the ridicule to heart.

I can sense it weighs him down. When I catch him walking to his Chevy at the end of a day, especially a Friday, I can see the toll it takes.

How he drags it home with him and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I talk to Dad more than I ever could before.

Something’s been unlocked. Or unblocked.

We’ll perform tasks together, repairing the rope fender or changing the oil in the motor, and the gap between us is different now.

I’m not sure what I did to make him see me, hear me, but he does. And I like it a lot.

A couple of guys still bump into me on purpose, call me Noodles, skinny Irish queer, but it’s different.

No escalation or cash payments. I tell them to fuck off and, on the whole, they do.

They are focused on Kavanagh now because he doesn’t smell so good.

His parents can’t afford deodorant for him and so the predators have moved on.

I know I should feel sorry for him but honestly, I don’t.

I am a coward, I guess. They hide his bag now instead of mine and all I feel most times is an overwhelming sense of relief.

Dad says I wasn’t really bullied.

He claims what happened to me was nothing compared to what happened in his school in his day.

He says I shouldn’t dwell on it, should thicken up my skin.

After we added pool shock to the water tank we measured oil in the motor with the metal dipstick.

He said, “Your memories are skewed, Samson. It’s not your fault, boy, you get that from your mother and her mother before her.

That side of the family. You remember bad times, it’s like your filter’s busted.

You forget the good parts. Your school’s been good.

It’s been the making of you. Don’t dwell on a few rough weeks, eh? ”

Maybe I am misremembering it. Paul Pricklett went through worse; I know that now. Far worse. But I was attacked every day, throughout the day, and I was worried for my life at times, especially outside the school gates. I am not misremembering that.

After school I walk to the bus station with Joe Brigwell.

He’s not in the same class as me but his dad and brother fish from a boat on the lake so he’s interested in how we live.

He asks a lot of boat questions, a lot of catfish questions, a lot of sex questions, a lot of military questions, and he makes me laugh.

His dad’s F-150 has a bumper sticker that says Honk If You Love Jesus. I say goodbye to him.

At the bus stop Jennifer comes over, her two best friends behind her.

“All right?” she says.

“All right.”

She smiles. Dimples and white teeth.

“Fools aren’t bothering you anymore, are they?”

“Not really.”

“What did you do to make them stop?”

I shrug.

She looks back to her friends and then turns to me and says, in a quiet voice, “Come on, what happened, really?”

“Told them to fuck off. They knew what was good for them, so they did it.”

“Honest?”

In my dreams.

“Yeah,” I lie.

“Yeah?”

“Ask anyone.”

She glances over to her friends then back to me.

“You want to go to the park one day after school, Sam? Me and you?”

My heart races. I know this moment, I’ve seen it portrayed, I’ve imagined it, I’ve read about it, I’ve dreamed it, I’ve even written about it.

“Could do, I suppose.”

She turns and as she does she brushes my arm softly with her hand. She walks away.

I am a brand-new person on the bus. High, floating, numb, grinning like an idiot.

She wants to go to the park with me? Just me and her?

But what then? Other guys at school have girlfriends.

Relationships, I guess you’d call them. Gunner says he lost his virginity at age ten, but he talks a lot of shit so who knows.

They take girls to the movie theater, take them to prom.

One boy had his girlfriend stay over in his house when his parents went to their lake house for the Fourth of July weekend.

Just the two of them, together, like grown-ups.

He said there were fireworks that weekend, all right.

I never understood how to take that leap from being a boy to a man.

The logistics involved. That exact moment of change.

I can’t exactly take her to a restaurant or a motel, can I?

The park, sure, but what then? She’ll grow bored with me eventually is what.

First base and then crash and burn. See that I’m a noodle-armed kid with no money who still plays with his damn LEGO bricks. She’ll see right through me.

But the floating doesn’t end. Every time I doubt myself I play back her words. Her skin brushing mine. Her smile. She asked me to the park.

If Jennifer wants to kiss I will have to act like I’ve done it before. I’ll improvise. Make it up as I go along. Play it cool. I must ask Paul Pricklett about French-kissing, get some pointers, find out what it is exactly. He hasn’t done it yet, but his big brother has.

I walk to the doors and the bus comes to a halt.

It hisses. The door opens and the light is slowly returning to the skies.

I skip through the embankment, weaving through papery birch trunks, my arms outstretched to touch them, heading down to the water level.

I don’t notice the Cheetos packets and decomposing Marlboro filters because Jennifer Adamu asked me to the park.

The park.

I glide toward the canal.

Paul Pricklett told me once how he wants to run a company one day so he can sit behind a big desk and not work too hard.

He said he’d like a comfortable life with a new Buick and not too much stress or hassle.

Garage full of arcade machines and a hot tub outside. You have to admire the guy’s honesty.

Before I head home I call in on Phoenix.

He is on the wicker sofa in his living room area, wrapped in a wool blanket, holding a hot drink. He looks awful.

“All right, Phoenix?

“Hello, friend.”

“What chores you need doing today?”

He coughs.

“Just come and sit down. Have a chat, that’s all.”

“What? No chores, you sure?”

His eyelids are heavy, drooping, and his Adam’s apple sticks out farther than usual.

“Talking. Come talk with me, Samson.”

I sit next to him. Under his blanket is his black leather jacket draped over his knees. I’ve never once seen him not wearing it.

Deep sigh. “Uncle Jeff asked me to keep an eye on you, you know.”

“Did he?”

“He thought you were one of the good guys.”

I look down at my long shoes.

“He never knew much about me as it turned out. I think he still thought of me as a young guy, never saw me as being much older than you.”

“You look a lot older.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Sorry. You look nearly as old as my dad, that’s all.”

He sighs again. “Jeff always knew I was gay, I think, deep down.”

I tense up.

“Never talked to him about it out loud, he was that generation. I couldn’t come out and say it to his face, you know?”

“Hmmm.”

“Maybe I should have been more open with him.”

I shrug.

He takes a sip of his drink.

“When… when did you, you know, find out?” I ask.

“Find out?”

“That you were, you know?”

“Teenager, I suppose. Younger than that probably. Seventh grade, maybe eighth? Some people know when they’re really young.

I think I was in denial or confused. I had some major crushes in school, but I’d tell myself I was just admiring those boys, looking up to them, idolizing, you know. Then I realized it was more than that.”

“Girl asked me out to the park today.”

“You serious?”

I break out into a broad smile. I can’t help it. “Yeah. Asked me in front of everyone at the bus station.”

“You gonna go?”

“Course I am. She’s cute.”

He coughs and says, “Good for you, Samson, man. Live your life to the full.”

“Did you, sounds dumb, but did you ever, I don’t know, like girls and guys at the same time, Phoenix? Or was it just guys mainly?”

He thinks for a long time. Takes a sip of broth, then another. He looks at me like he’s reading my mind. “Just guys for me, really. I thought some girls were gorgeous, really beautiful, but when it came to attraction, it was guys.”

I nod.

He bites his lower lip and stares at me for a long time.

“Lots like both, though. If you have a friend at school who wants to date both that’s completely normal, let me tell you. I’ve had plenty of friends and colleagues like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Lots of people like both, Samson. If you have a friend like that then just let them be, honestly. Can be tough in a place like this. Let them work it out in their own good time. Look at me, now.”

I turn to him. He looks very sick. I can see too many of his veins, his blood vessels.

“There’s nothing weird or wrong or different about liking boys, or liking girls, or liking both. I want you to know that.”

I frown.

“Everyone’s different, right. Everyone needs to find out what they like. It’s not always obvious. Sometimes it’s only clear once you’ve left home, gone to college, or work, had some space to think things through.”

“I suppose.”

He drains the last from his mug.

“Phoenix?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you getting sick?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“What is it?”

“Virus. Complications. Don’t worry, you won’t catch it.”

I nod.

“Don’t you worry about me, Samson. I’m bulletproof. You worry about what you’re going to do with this cute girl in the park. You need any pointers you come to your old friend, Phoenix.”

“And what would you know about it?”

He makes a fist and waves it at me, smiling.

I take his ashes out for him and check his propane levels. He doesn’t have much food in, mainly purees and soups besides all the meds bottles, so I’ll get a list from him tomorrow.

“Night,” I say.

“Samson, come here a second.”

I walk back to him.

“Little closer.”

“What is it?”

“That knife your old man gave you for Christmas. The one you were sharpening that day with the whetstone. You’re not carrying that on you at school, are you?”

“No.”

“You swear?”

“I’m not.”

“If there’s a ruckus at school and you pull that blade out your whole life can go sideways in an instant, right. You’ll be taken away. Leave it at home, pal.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not. Swear to me.”

“I swear.”

He looks relieved.

“I’m smarter than that, Phoenix. Been planning. One day I’ll get the grades to go someplace else, a big city, maybe. Could be Chicago, even. I’ll leave on the train. Ticket in my back pocket. I’m not going to screw it up.”

Phoenix smiles and I can see one of his teeth is missing. “Mind you don’t.”

The smell of woodsmoke in the air as I step on the plank to the towpath and walk onto our boat. I hang my jacket up and kiss Mom.

Things are awkward between us after last night.

I can sense she’s still hurting. Maybe I should never have said it, but I couldn’t stop.

I told her, when she came through to make a warm drink, when I was already half-asleep, drowsy, You said you’d never leave me, Mom.

She tried to answer but then she turned away and had to shut herself in the bedroom so as not to disturb Dad’s writing.

I know she cried in there. I don’t understand why I needed to hurt her that way, to say what I said.

I’ll make it up to her later and do the dishes.

I don’t know why I said it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I check my storage area for my gloves.

Dad comes home.

He’s panting.

Wet patches on his shirt.

“How was your day, Drew?” she asks. “Coffee?”

“Samson.”

I look up at him.

“No point you looking.” He takes a breath. “For a Walkman in that closet.”

My heart starts beating faster. “What?”

“Not there.”

I raise my eyebrows.

He lifts his chin in response. “Priorities, boy. Pawned it for diesel. I’ll get it back before the time runs out, so don’t start complaining.” I begin to reply but he cuts me off and says, his voice deep and firm, “No backchat, not a word. Oh, and Peg, you’ll never guess what I saw, darling.”

He never calls her darling.

Mom, already patting my shoulder, says, “What, love?”

He grinds his teeth and I see the sinew within his shoulder muscles flex. He says, “Have a wild guess, love.”

“I don’t know, Drew.”

He narrows his eyes. “You do know.”

She glances at me.

“Take a guess, go on,” he says, his fists down by his hips.

“I don’t know what to say, Drew.”

“Store window,” he says. “Ring any bells? Pawn store window.”

She dips her head.

“Not surprised you’re staring down at the floor.”

She looks up at him.

“Your gold necklace for sale. One I gave you. Saved up my wages for that. Hard labor. Samson here chewed on it as a baby when his teeth were coming through. When were you gonna tell me, Peg?”