Crazy (16 page)

I hear the three of them hurrying after me and they stop at the bottom of the steps while I charge them two at a time, leaping over a broken tread.

I hear Haze say behind me, "Come on—we need to tell him, man. We need to tell him now."

I turn around at the top of the stairs. I see the three of them looking up at me with anxious expressions—

Pete's face, always so open and friendly, and Haze's bearded face with the drawn-on teardrops, and freckled Shelby—and all I feel is hate. I hate them more than I've ever hated anything or anyone. I
hate
them.

AUNT BEE
:
Oh dear.

"Tell me what?" I ask. "What more could you have to do to me?"

"Dr. Gomez..." Shelby starts, but the doorbell rings.

"Oops, too late," Haze says, and I know that Dr. Gomez, and whatever authorities handle the removal of crazy people, are standing on the other side of the door.

I back away from the stairs and down the hallway toward the bathroom, where my dad is still sleeping, and I shout, "No! No! No! No! No! No! No!"

I just can't stop. The day, the moment I have feared and fought against ever since my mom died, is here. I need to escape. I need to think, but all I can think of is "no"—the same word that's been screaming inside my head every day for the past eight months.

I
KNEW THAT IF ANYONE
found out about my dad, he'd get taken away and I'd never see him again. I knew it. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should never have told Pete, or Haze, or Shelby. I should never have let them in my house. How could I have let my guard down like this? I knew better.

AUNT BEE
:
You just wanted some friends.

FBG WITH A MUSTACHE
:
You didn't want to feel so alone in the world.

CRAZY GLUE
:
Yeah, well look where that idea's gotten him. Stick with us, buddy. You don't need anyone else.

The doorbell rings again. I stand in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom and yell for everybody to get out of my house. I back into the room and close and lock the door. I stand with my good arm pressing against the door, trying to get my breathing under control. I hear the door open down below.

FBG WITH A MUSTACHE
:
Don't panic. Just don't panic. Think! Think!

I take a deep breath and turn around to check on Dad, realizing just now that all the noise should have awakened him.

I glance at him lying in the tub, just as I had left him. His chest rises and falls beneath the blanket as he sleeps.

I hear people talking, and I return to the door. I try to hear what they're saying. Then there's the sound of footsteps clomping up the stairs. I don't know what to do. I'm trapped. I turn to the window that overlooks our backyard. No way can we jump out the window onto the bricks below and keep from breaking something.

There's a knock on the door and then the sound of a voice. "Jason? It's Dr. Gomez. Are you okay?"

I don't say anything.

"Jason, it's all right. We've just come over to take a look around and have a talk."

I hear other people besides Gomez moving on the other side of the door.

FBG WITH A MUSTACHE
:
Stay calm. Be cool.

"Go away, please," I say.

There are a few seconds of silence, and then Dr. Gomez says, "You've been having a tough time of it, haven't you, Jason?"

"Go away, please. We're doing just fine. Just go away, now. Just go away."

I hear someone walking around, moving in and out of the rooms. "Please get out of my house." I make fists with both of my hands and try to keep my voice under control even though I feel hysteria rising in my chest.

AUNT BEE
:
You're doing just fine. Good boy. You're a good son.

"Jason, is your father in there with you? May I speak to him?"

"He's asleep. Go away, now."

"Where is he asleep?" asks a deep voice, a strange man's voice.

I turn away from the door and take a long breath.

CRAZY GLUE
:
Who the hell is he?

"Who the hell is that?" I say, returning to the door. "Go away! Why won't you just leave?"

I move from the door and sit on the edge of the tub, as though by doing so I can protect my dad somehow. I glance back at him and wonder how he can sleep through all of this.

AUNT BEE
:
The sleep of the innocent is always peaceful.

"Listen, Jason? I'm Sam Waldron. I'm from the Department of Family Services."

I slam my good hand down on the edge of the tub.

CRAZY GLUE
:
Shit!

"You're not taking my father away from me," I shout.

SEXY LADY
:
Don't cry. I'm here to soothe you. Don't cry, Jase.

I wipe the tears off my face and sniff. I hate that they can hear me crying on the other side.

"No, Jason, we have no plans to take anyone today," Sam says. "We just would like to talk with your father. Could you tell us where he is?"

FBG WITH A MUSTACHE
:
Ah! Nobody knows he's here in the bathroom.

"He's not here," I say. "He's sleeping at a friend's house, at—at his friend's house."

And he left you here?"

What's that supposed to mean? "I'm almost fifteen years old. I think I can stay by myself all right—jeez!"

I hear them whispering. I hear Shelby's voice, but I can't tell what she said. Then I hear Pete say, "Shelby, why don't you just stay out of it."

And then Dr. Gomez says, "I think it might be best if you three left us alone. I appreciate your help. Really. Thank you."

"See you soon, Jason," Pete calls. "Hang in there, okay?"

"Yeah," Haze says. "See ya soon."

"Jason, don't be mad at me, okay? I just..."

Shelby doesn't finish and a good thing, too, because right now I want to kill her. I feel so totally betrayed by her.

SEXY LADY
:
I warned you. She puts on a good show, but she's the dangerous one.

I grit my teeth and grip the edge of the tub, an old claw-foot tub with a narrow curved edge that's getting way too uncomfortable to sit on.

FBG WITH A MUSTACHE
:
Stay calm, son. You don't want to lose it in front of Dr. Gomez and this Sam guy.

I hear footsteps retreating down the stairs, and then Dr. Gomez says, "Jason, I came here with Sam because I'm concerned about you and your father. We
don't want to separate you. We're just here to figure out the best way to help you. You believe me, don't you?"

CRAZY GLUE
:
Oh sure. Sure we do.

"If you want to help me, go away. Just leave. We're fine. We're doing fine. So just leave already."

"Jason," Sam says, "it would be good if we could all just sit down and talk together and figure out what would be best for you and your father. We have lots of different services available. The last thing we want to do is separate you two if we can help it. I have no court order for that with me. I can't remove you from your home today."

>Does he think I'm stupid?

CRAZY GLUE
:
Uh—yeah.

Maybe he doesn't have a court order today, but if he ever talked with my dad, he'd soon have one and that would be the end. They'd haul him away and send me who knows where.

I don't say anything. There's nothing more to say. I let them talk to me through the door, trying to coax me out. They want to know where Dad is. They explain again that they're just here to help, but I don't say anything.

SEXY LADY
:
Just pretend you're not here. You're invisible. Let their voices wash over you like so much white noise. That's all it is—white noise.

Finally Sam says, "Jason, we're going to leave now, but you've given me no alternative. I'll be back, and I'll
have a court order for removal. Not that I'll necessarily use it, but your behavior today and the condition of this house have raised some red flags. We need to talk to you and your father. It would be better if we could do that today."

I keep silent. I hold my breath and wait for them to give up and leave.

"All right, goodbye then," Dr. Gomez says. "Just remember, if you need me, I'm always available. I'm going to slip one of my cards under the door. It's got my cell phone number on it. You call me if you want me here, okay?"

I watch the card slide under the door, but I don't move. Then I hear their footsteps retreating and, at last, the sound of the front door opening and closing.

I shut my eyes and let out my breath, but I don't get up and unlock the door, just in case they didn't really leave, just in case they're hiding out somewhere downstairs.

I
SIT ON THE EDGE
of the bathtub for several minutes, listening both to the silence on the other side of the door and to my dad's breathing behind me. I'm trying to listen for some sound, some whisper down below. Something isn't right.

CRAZY GLUE
:
Its your dad, goob. Why doesn't he wake up?

I whip around to check on him. He's buried beneath so much wool, but still I can hear that his breathing sounds funny—fast and shallow. His face looks flushed. I lean over and feel his forehead. He's got a fever—great.

I slide to the floor and rest my head against the tub, my good arm hanging over the rim above my dad's body. What am I going to do now?

CRAZY GLUE
:
Scram! You need to blow this joint before Sam comes back with his court order.

FBG WITH A MUSTACHE
:
Be serious. Where would he go? He can't just wander the streets. And he has his dad to consider. Living in a cave is not an option. You don't even know where a cave is around these parts. This isn't Greece, and it's twenty degrees out.

LAUGH TRACK
:
Isn't this a shame.

I look out the window and see the snow coming down. I shake my head and turn my attention back to Dad. I need to get him out of his wet underwear, get him dry, and get his fever down. These things have to come first.

I get up on my knees, lean over the tub, and shake him. "Dad? Wake up. Come on, wake up, now. Hey, you missed all the excitement." I shake him and shake him, and at last he groans and opens his eyes.

"Dad, you need to get out of the tub. We have to get some dry clothes on you. Are you cold? You've got a fever. Is it your tooth again?"

"The boy will find my violin."

"No." I get to my feet and pull on his arm so he'll sit up. "The boy doesn't have your violin. The boy is going to get you out of this tub and get you dressed."

"The boy will find my violin," my dad repeats. He nods to himself and lets me pull him to a sitting position.

"Stand up, now," I say. "You have to help me here, okay? Are you all right?"

He places his hands on either side of the tub and struggles to stand. I can see his arms shaking. The wool blankets slide off his lap and fall in a heap at his feet. "My violin," he says, turning his head and glancing out the window.

"Yeah, Dad, it's snowing out. It's raw and gray and wet outside. What do you think? Feel like going out in
that and sleeping under a bridge somewhere? See, 'cause that's what we've come to now."

FBG WITH A MUSTACHE
:
Buck up, son.

"I'm cold," Dad says, shivering and grabbing his arms. His teeth chatter.

I reach for his hand and pull on him so he'll climb out of the tub. "We're in a fine mess now, aren't we? You've got a fever."

"Fever pitch," Dad says, climbing out of the tub, his body still shivering. "Fever pitch. The Furies have lit a fire in the brain to paralyze reason—a fire in the brain."

I grab one of the blankets and wrap it around his shoulders as best as I can using my good arm and with no help from him. Then I creep over to the door, unlock it with a quiet click, and ease it open. I pause and listen.

"Okay, I give up," I call down the hallway, thinking that if Dr. Gomez and Sam are still in the house, my surrender will draw them out of hiding and I can dart back into the bathroom. The house is silent. I turn and grab Dad by the arm and walk him to his bedroom, where I help him get into warm clean clothes. He's shivering, and he keeps trying to climb into his bed before he's got all his clothes on.

"Tell the boy about the fire in the brain. Tell the boy," he says, climbing again onto his bed.

"I'll tell the boy just as soon as you get this sweater on."

CRAZY GLUE
:
The boy! Now you're just the boy. He's totally whacked.

AUNT BEE
:
Maybe you should call Dr. Gomez.

No way. He's just got a fever. Just a little fever. It's okay.

I finish getting him dressed and tuck him into bed. I grab some aspirin and, after twenty minutes of convincing him it's not poisoned, give Dad two pills with water. He burps, rolls over, and curls up into a shivering ball. I cover him with every blanket we have in the house, then start to leave to go fix him some soup, when he calls me back.

"Jason," he says.

I turn around.

"Will the pain never end?" He stares up at me, his eyes burning with fever.

I pat his shoulder. "The aspirin will start to work soon."

"No!" Dad lifts his head. "Not that pain; the pain of us. Every time I look at you, I see the pain of us."

His words startle me. What does he see in my face? Does he know what he's saying, or is this just some kind of feverish rambling? What does he mean by "the pain of us"? I think to ask him, but then I realize I don't want to know the answer. I don't want to think about "our" pain. I lean over and give him a quick hug, then hurry off to fix him his soup.

While I prepare his meal I turn on the television, which gets like two snowy channels, and I see the Stradivarius violin in the right-hand corner of the screen. I turn up the volume.

"...at the altar this morning. Father O'Connor said they were just happy to be able to return the valuable Strad to its rightful owner."

Father O'Connor appears on the screen. He's wearing his priest get-up and he's standing in front of the National Cathedral downtown. He speaks into the microphone held in front of his face. "It's a mystery," he says, "but I'm pleased that whoever took the violin felt his conscience pricked and brought it safely here. It restores my faith in humanity."