I
didn’t have much to do. I had to write this essay for some teacher, but it wouldn’t
take long. The one thing I hate is being all studious when you don’t have much
to do. So I went to the closet, took out a decent-looking shirt, and I went in
the bathroom and washed and changed my shirt. What I thought I’d do, I thought
I’d go upstairs to the cafeteria and see what the hell the people were doing. There
was always some hooligan throwing some goddam act in the cafeteria.
While
I was changing my shirt, I damn near gave my kid brother James a buzz, though. I
certainly felt like talking to him on the phone. Somebody with sense and all. But
I couldn’t take a chance on giving him a buzz, because he was only a little kid
and he wouldn’t have been up, let alone anywhere near the goddam phone. I
thought of maybe hanging up the phone if my parents answered, but that wouldn’t
have worked either. They’d know it was me. My mother always knows it’s me. You
never get away with anything with my mother. But I really felt like shooting
some crap with little James for a while.
You
should see him. You never saw such a sweet little kid. He’s really smart. I
mean he’s had all A’s ever since he’s started school. When he was just a
four-year-old puny little ball of skin and hair, he’d be drawing these pictures
of meadows and barns that just about killed you. As a matter of fact, I’m the
only dumb one in the family. Even my parents are pretty damn smart with degrees
and all. I’m the only really dumb one. But you ought to see little James. I
sometimes call him Jamsieboo just for the hell of it. But he doesn’t throw a
fit like other kids do when you call them names like Jamsieboo. It’s real nice
and all. He has this sort of coarse black hair that was cut really short because
he tried cutting his own hair and messed up. It wasn’t weird or anything though
because he has a nice little round head. It’s probably longer now. My mother
sometimes waxes it on special occasions. But it’s nice either way. He’s only ten.
He’s quite plump. But a nice plump. A blueberry-plump. I watched him once from
the window when he was playing in the backyard. He would be running around the
shrubs mimicking birdcalls, and that’s what he is, blueberry-plump. You’d like
him. I mean if you tell little Jamesieboo something he really listens to you.
He doesn’t pretend to listen and think of something else like other phonies do.
I mean you can tell him about all the phony assignments the school makes you do
here and he’ll look right into you eyes and sympathize. Really sweet kid that
James. He once came to the school that’s secluded in the north and surrounded
by mountains. That’s probably the only decent thing in the school. The mountains.
He loves nature. It just about kills him. He can name all the trees up here, I’m
not kidding. He can tell the difference between a birch and a larch just by
looking at the bark. He’s always saying that if he was ever born again, he
would ask God to make him a tree. A kid saying that, it kills me. He’d take my
hand and start telling me all the trees and birds he’s been drawing and if he
could come visit often to draw me in the trees. I’d tell him yeah he could. He
knew that I was lying though. And his eyes became all droopy and sad. Those big
doe eyes. He can get very emotional sometimes. I mean for a boy. And something
else he does is he reads these books over and over again. Only they’re fantasy
books with dragons and adventures. The books are all tattered and folded and I tried
to get him to read other books, but he still reads them. I could read him a
sentence and he’ll know exactly what chapter it is on and his eyes get all
sparkly and bright when he talks about what’s happening in that particular
moment. If it’s a part he really likes, he gets up and starts acting the scenes
out. That just kills me. Little James. I swear to God you’d like him. He’s ten
now and not such a tiny little kid any more, but she still kills everybody –
everybody with any sense, anyway.
Anyway,
he was somebody you always felt like talking to on the phone. But I was too
afraid my parents would answer, and then they’d find out I wasn’t doing that
essay and probably throw some goddam fit. So I just finished putting on my
shirt.
