Raise It Up, page 30
I considered these words in silence.
Unlike Mrs. Kowski, he was not angry with me. There were no recriminations, no talk of punishment. He seemed genuinely concerned. More, he seemed to understand.
“Do you want me to get you anything?” he asked. “Maybe another pain pill to help you sleep?”
“You don’t have to bother.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I want to, Cyrus. It’s no trouble. Should I get you one?”
I nodded.
He fetched one of my pills, a glass of water. As I took it, he disappeared out the door then returned with a comfortable chair from the front room, which he placed at the end of my bed.
“I’m going to sit with you until you fall asleep,” he announced.
He sat down, crossed his arms across his chest and stared at me.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re right. I don’t. You’re very perceptive about those things. I’m going to sit here until you fall asleep, and if it takes all night, then it takes all night. Don’t forget I have to go to work in the morning, and if I have to go to work without getting my beauty rest, I’m going to be very grumpy. But never mind. I’m going to sit here until I know you’re safely asleep in your own bed and all is right with the world. Is there anything else I can get you?”
I shook my head.
“You want to talk?”
I again shook my head.
TWENTY-SIX: Frodo and Sam
MRS. KOWSKI insisted I stay home the following day and “rest.” By rest, she meant studying in bed, if I wanted to, or reading, but absolutely nothing else. She served me breakfast in bed, said little about the previous evening, was all smiles and patience, insisted that I eat everything on my plate and drink a full glass of orange juice.
After she took the tray away, I put the Bay City Rollers on my record player, but kept it quiet so it wouldn’t upset her.
Back in bed, I picked up Return of the King. I was about a hundred pages from the end. For some reason I had set it aside. I didn’t want to finish it. I didn’t want Sam and Frodo’s story to be over. So I had left them on the cliff inside the Crack of Doom, struggling with Gollum for possession of the One Ring.
I knew the ending. Tolkien would not have spent a thousand pages spread over three books just to have Frodo fail at the end. But there was no guarantee that Frodo wouldn’t die. Or Sam. If Sam died, I thought my heart would break. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. If either Sam or Frodo did anything except live happily ever after, I would never forgive Tolkien.
So….
I had left the book in my sock drawer. I wasn’t sure if it was one of those demon-possessed trashy novels that Mrs. Kowski hated and that Mr. Kowski did not want “infecting” his children’s brains. To me, there was nothing trashy about Sam and Frodo. I always thought of them that way, as a couple, as Sam and Frodo, boyhood friends who were there for each other, who loved each other, understood each other, and were ready to quite literally walk to the ends of the earth for each other.
It was like a love story. There was no Sam without his Frodo. There was no Frodo without his faithful Sam either.
I had always thought of Charlie as being Frodo, and me being Charlie’s Sam. The ring had warped Frodo’s mind to the point where he couldn’t think clearly anymore. The ring had twisted him, sought to deceive him. But Sam was faithful. Sam was true. Sam was not put off by this strange thing in the life of his friend. Sam walked by his side through constant perils, his devotion, his love never wavering. And Sam saved Frodo’s life and kept him on track.
Charlie was my Frodo. But I was no longer his Sam.
Charlie spent most of his time playing with Eddie now. Mrs. Kowski increasingly took care of his needs—his baths, his teeth brushing, his dressing, his grooming, his homework.
Fact was, Mrs. Kowski was a better Sam than I was, and Mrs. Kowski was the sort of person who would see him through all the way to the end.
I wanted to be that person, but I wasn’t.
I stared at the cover with its painting of a stone tower. J.R.R. Tolkien’s name was in the biggest script. I was surprised I had never noticed that before. Lord of the Rings was written across the top.
I put the book aside.
I didn’t want to know the ending.
Not yet.
Instead, I picked up The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich and began to read.
TWENTY-SEVEN: Youse all right?
“CEE CEE, youse not go to school?” Charlie asked as he barged into my room with Eddie. “Youse all right?”
“Yeah, Cee Cee,” Eddie said. “Youse all right?”
Was he mocking Charlie?
Charlie jumped on my bed.
Eddie jumped on my bed.
“Be careful, you guys,” I said. Eddie landed dangerously close to the cast on my foot. “I’m fine. But don’t step on my cast.”
“Youse busted your foot,” Charlie observed.
“Don’t say youse, Charlie.”
“Daddy say youse all the time.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Daddy say youse all the time.”
“Are you making fun of him?” I asked Eddie.
“No,” he said. “We’re just playing.”
“Don’t make fun of my brother.”
“I’m not. Man! Come on, Charlie. Cee Cee’s boring.”
They scampered out of my room just as quickly as they had come in.
Oliver appeared next.
“Hey, man,” he said as he came and sat on the edge of my bed. “What’s shaking, bacon?”
“Nothing.”
“It don’t look like nothing.”
“I don’t like the way your little brother makes fun of Charlie.”
“He almost got his mouth washed out with soap the other day.”
“Why?”
“He was repeating what Charlie always says—you know, ‘we ain’t no G-D communists’—and my mom heard him. They’re just having fun. He didn’t know what he was saying anyway.”
“It sounded like he was making fun of Charlie.”
“He used to do that to me all the time, repeating everything I said, acting just like me. That’s just how he is. It means he likes you, that’s all. Poor little dirtbag is bored most of the time, but now he has Charlie to play with, and Charlie always does whatever Eddie wants because Charlie doesn’t care what they’re doing. So you want to tell me what the hell you were doing last night?”
I shook my head.
“Come on, man. Tell me.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“How do you know?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“It’s just going to make you mad.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being your friend. Friends get mad at each other once in a while, you know. So tell me.”
I tried to explain that I didn’t feel like I belonged in his house. The words sounded stupid as I said them, but he listened patiently and didn’t interrupt.
“I’m not explaining it very well,” I said.
“You sound like a complete idiot.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course I don’t understand, because you’re not making sense.”
“I am too!”
“Yeah, right,” he said.
“You don’t get it.”
“Maybe I don’t. But I know you’re a good guy.”
“I’m a freak who had sex with his dad.”
“You’re a kid who was taken advantage of by some creep. Besides, it’s not ‘having sex’ when someone forces you to do something. That’s rape. There’s a difference, Cee Cee.”
“It’s not rape when you volunteer to do it.”
“It’s rape when he’s an adult. I went to the library at school and looked it up. Maybe you should do the same.”
I fell silent.
“I brought your homework assignments,” he said, trying to change the subject. “You want to work on them together?”
“Sure.”
He looked at me, smiled.
“You don’t think I’m a freak?” I ask quietly.
“No way, Jose.”
“I feel like one.”
“Well, you’re not.”
“And you’re the expert?”
“Pretty much. By the way, you should have heard some of the things my mom said about you last night.”
“She was pretty mad.”
“She was scared. She’s never had one of her kids go running off in the middle of the night. I should try it sometime the next time she gets on my case about something.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“But Dad had a long talk with her. She’s not mad at you anymore.”
“She’s been very nice today.”
“She make you say the rosary?”
“Yeah.”
“She does that when you’re sick. That’s the price you pay to stay home, man. Believe me. I’m going to get my books. Don’t go anywhere. I don’t want to have to go chasing after you again.”
“I’m not going anywhere!”
“I was just kidding, bro. I’ll be right back.”
TWENTY-EIGHT: Tell them everything
THE NEXT day, almost as soon as we got home from school, Mrs. Kowski packed us in the station wagon so we could drive to the courthouse.
I had to give a deposition.
We all went. Mrs. Kowski, Oliver, Charlie, Eddie, Mary, Kay, me.
We were met there by Mr. Kowski, who led me to a small chamber. As we waited for the court reporter and the lawyers to arrive, Mr. Kowski said, “I want you to be as honest as you can be, Cyrus. Tell them everything. I’ll be sitting right there with you. You’re not going to get into trouble, and you don’t have to do this alone. Understand me?”
I nodded.
“If you feel uncomfortable, just tell them you feel uncomfortable. You’re not the one on trial here. Your father is. The more you tell them now, the less likely they will need you to testify at the trial, so try to be thorough and tell them everything you can remember.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you feel embarrassed, well, it’s okay. They’ve heard just about everything, these guys. And they’re on your side. Don’t forget that. And if they ask you questions, they’re not trying to upset you. They just want to be thorough, make sure they have the whole story, no loose ends, nothing that might be challenged during a trial.”
As we waited, Lieutenant Forne appeared in the back of the chamber and took a seat. I glanced back at him. He gave the standard “Hey, buddy, it’s going to be all right” look. I tried to smile.
During the whole time I gave the deposition, Mr. Kowski sat next to me, every now and again patting my knee to encourage me. It made me feel good, him sitting there, running defense. It felt like there was someone on my side, someone looking out for my interests.
I went through the whole thing again. Every now and again one of the lawyers would interrupt to clarify some point. As I spoke, Forne took notes, glanced through papers, as though he were comparing my words to the interview I’d done with him. The court reporter sat at a strange typewriter device, staring at me the whole time, never looking at the keys, typing and typing.
It took almost ninety minutes, and by the time we were through, my mouth was dry and my voice was hoarse from talking.
“I brought you something,” Forne said, handing me a small paper bag as we were leaving. “It’s for being a good sport and doing this. You did a great job, by the way.”
I looked in the bag. It was a book called The Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks. It was massive, about eight hundred pages.
“Your foster dad told me you were reading Lord of the Rings,” Forne explained. “The lady at the bookstore said this book was like that. Elves and trolls and all that. Everyone’s reading it, she said, so I thought I’d buy you a copy.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“You doing all right, kid?”
“It’s okay.”
He addressed himself to Mr. Kowski. “The grand jury is going to meet next week and look at this. We should know something about the charges soon.”
“You’ll keep me posted?”
“Sure will.”
“You don’t need anything else from Cyrus now?”
“We shouldn’t. But if the case goes to trial, well…. Cyrus may or may not be called as a witness. I’m thinking that’s not going to happen, but I can’t say for sure.”
“We’d prefer he didn’t testify.”
“We’d all prefer that,” Forne said. “And we’re all working to try to make that happen. I can’t imagine the father is going to want to fight this, but you never know, do you?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Mr. Kowski said.
“But even if it does go to trial, this deposition should be enough to keep him off the stand. There’s nothing more that he’s going to be able to say in a court of law that he hasn’t already said, and everything he said today is exactly what he’s already told me, so we’re not likely to encounter the ‘unreliable witness’ thing. But we’ll see.”
“We appreciate it,” Mr. Kowski said.
“Thanks for the book,” I said again as we prepared to leave.
“You keeping that piano warmed up?” Forne asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I heard you’re going to play at the Spring Fling.”
“I’m going to try.” I held up the cast.
“You’d never know he had a cast, the way he plays,” Mr. Kowski said.
“Well, I’m looking forward to it. My wife can’t wait to meet you. Be good, Cyrus, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
We walked into the foyer of the courthouse where Mrs. Kowski and the others were waiting.
“What do you all say to McDonald’s?” Mr. Kowski asked. “Your mother hasn’t had time to cook, and I think we’re all rather hungry.”
“We’s gonna go McDonald’s!” Charlie exclaimed, happy albeit grammatically incorrect.
“We’s going!” Eddie added enthusiastically.
“Edward, you’re supposed to teach Charlie to talk properly,” Mrs. Kowski said with a scowl. “Don’t just repeat everything he says!”
Eddie turned to Charlie. “Charlie, you’re supposed to say ‘we’re going to McDonald’s’ not ‘we’s.’ So say it.”
“We’s gonna go!” Charlie said, a goofy grin on his face.
“No, Charlie. We’re going to go.”
“We’re going to go….”
“Yeah. Like that. See, Mom? He’s not stupid.”
“And you’re a good boy to teach him. He needs a friend like you. Children? Shall we go? Mary, Kay, Charlie, Eddie, you ride with me. Cyrus and Oliver can ride with their father. We’ll meet you over there.”
Charlie and Eddie, holding hands, skipped to the station wagon.
I watched them, felt something in my heart tighten up.
“Come on, man,” Oliver said, taking my elbow.
TWENTY-NINE: You feel better?
ON THE Monday after Easter that year, I stayed home so Mrs. Kowski could take me to the doctor to have my casts removed. The snow was starting to melt off, flowers were starting to pop up, and spring was trying to reclaim the land.
I celebrated that evening with a long hot shower, the first I’d been able to take without having to worry about my casts. As I stood there, the hot water pounding against my skin, I felt like a terrible burden had been taken off my shoulders, a heaviness, a weight that had been keeping me down.
I felt free.
More than that, I felt a strange sense of happiness. That somehow or other, I was myself again and all was right with the world.
“Come on, man, don’t use all the hot water,” Oliver said, banging on the bathroom door. “I’ve got to take a shower too.”
I hurried out of the shower, let him in.
“I thought you’d never stop,” Oliver said, grinning as he looked at my naked body.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“Ready for what?”
“You know.”
He smiled, glanced over his shoulder at the door as if to make sure it was locked.
“You look happy,” he observed.
“Get naked and I’ll be happier.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Oliver stripped off his clothes.
“You feel better?” he asked as we pressed our bodies together.
“I need to be with you,” I confessed.
“If Mom and Dad catch us….”
“They won’t.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He kissed me. At first, it was tentative, exploring, gentle. But the fire that raged just below the surface was very much alive and well.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” I said. “We don’t have to do anything now. I just needed a little something. Maybe I could sneak into your room after everyone goes to sleep.”
“Or maybe I could sneak into your room,” he countered.
“And I wanted to say thank you,” I added.
“Why?”
“You’ve been so nice to me. All of you. And I haven’t been a lot of fun. But today I feel like I’m me again. I don’t know why. But I feel like it’s all going to work out. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Oliver smiled, kissed me again.
We didn’t intend to, but we sort of helped ourselves right then and there, holding each other, laughing when it happened, grinning like goofballs as we cleaned up and got rid of the evidence of our crime.
“I love you,” Oliver said to me as I wrapped a towel around my waist and prepared to leave.
“I love you too, Ollie. I love you so much.”
“Now get out of here. I hope you left some hot water for the rest of us!”
THIRTY: The word came down
