Grace (10 page)

TUESDAY, OCT.
23

Joel was in the bedroom getting dressed when I climbed back in through the window.

“You been out back?”

“Yeah.”

He didn't say anything.

“Are Mom and Dad up?”

“Mom is.”

I walked out to the kitchen. I soon learned that the crisis wasn't over. That morning Khrushchev had a message for President Kennedy. It was printed in large type in the morning newspaper:

 

I hope that the United States Government will
display wisdom and renounce the actions pursued
by you, which may lead to catastrophic
consequences for world peace.

 

With the fate of humanity lying in the balance we went to school. Maybe half the kids stayed home; even some of the teachers didn't come. I suppose Joel and I went to school just because we always did. We had to do something. My mom still had to work. In fact the store was even busier than usual because people were stocking up on staples.

That night, Grace, Joel, and I listened to the radio and played Chinese checkers in the clubhouse.

WEDNESDAY, OCT.
24

Two days after Kennedy announced the blockade, two Soviet ships, flanked by a nuclear submarine, had moved within a few miles of the U.S. flotilla. It was a global game of chicken with the whole world watching and wondering who would turn first.

By that afternoon no Soviet ships had crossed the blockade but twenty-three missile sites in Cuba had become fully operational. An American U2 plane was shot down over Cuba and the pilot was killed. Fidel Castro seemed to be the loudest and brashest of the leaders involved in the conflict, not surprising since he held the littlest stick. The Soviets were eerily quiet.

Every time we heard a plane we looked up and hoped that it had wings.

 

In chess there are more than a trillion ways to play the first ten moves. I suppose there were even more possibilities of how the crisis would play out. The next days passed in a kind of surreal slow motion. Suddenly, everyone was an expert on nuclear armaments. People talked openly and knowledgeably about isotopes, point zero, radioactive fallout, and, in general, death.

America had about nine times as many bombs and missile warheads as the USSR: twenty-seven thousand to three thousand—enough bombs to kill the Russians thirty times over. The Soviet Union only had enough nuclear missiles to kill us all just once, which, frankly, wasn't very comforting. The Soviet missiles weren't as accurate as ours so to compensate for this they created bigger bombs like the Czar, a fifty-megaton monster that would swallow entire cities, the largest nuclear weapon ever exploded.

The one thing on everyone's mind was whether this would be their last day alive. I suppose that's not necessarily a bad thing. For once we didn't worry much about the unimportant things—just family, friends, and God. And Grace.

 

Friday night, I asked Grace if she wanted to go home. Her eyes filled, but she replied, “No.”

SUNDAY, OCT.
28

They say there are no atheists in foxholes. On Sunday, six days into the crisis, Americans flocked to churches. While our country was praying, President Kennedy and U.N. Secretary-General U Thant reached an agreement with the Soviets. Khrushchev agreed to dismantle the missiles in Cuba in exchange for a no-invasion agreement and a secret removal of the Jupiter and Thor missiles in Turkey. The news flooded the airwaves and the world breathed a collective sigh of relief.

 

People celebrate in different ways. Some people lit firecrackers. Others honked their horns or clanged pans. Up and down our street there was no sign of life. It's probably the one place on the planet that an atom bomb blast might have gone unnoticed.

MONDAY, OCT.
29

As intense as the last days had been, it was surprising how quickly everything returned to normal. It was like a near miss at a traffic intersection; everyone just keeps on driving.

As I was walking to my fourth period art class the principal's voice blared over the school's P.A. system.

“Attention, faculty and students, your attention, please. This is Principal Allen. We have a missing ninth-grade student. If you know anything concerning the whereabouts of Madeline Webb or have seen her in the last two weeks, please report immediately to my office. Thank you.”

I always thought that Principal Allen's bass voice echoing down the school's tile hallways sounded like the voice of God, but this time his words actually sent shivers through me. I felt as though I was wearing a T-shirt that said, I KNOW WHERE SHE IS. I avoided eye contact with everyone in the crowded hallway as I made my way to my next class.

 

Later that afternoon, Mrs. Waller started off Spanish class by saying, “This has been a trying time for all of us, and many of you missed class last week. Considering the nature of the crisis our country was facing, I think it's understandable. As such, no one will be penalized for their absence.”

The class erupted, especially the basketball players on the back row who, for the most part, had taken the opportunity to skip school and were now slapping and ribbing their friends who had come.

Mrs. Waller loudly cleared her throat. “Back to order, class.” She waited until the classroom settled. “Thank you. Also, I'm sure you all heard Principal Allen's announcement about one of your classmates, Madeline Webb. If anyone has seen Madeline or knows where she is, please see me after class.”

I'm sure it was my imagination, but it seemed like her gaze kept returning to me. I probably looked terrified or guilty or both.

“All right, let's get back to work. Turn to page one hundred and seventeen in your text. Today we are studying the adverb
where
.” While I was frantically flipping through the pages of my textbook, Mrs. Waller walked from the blackboard to the center of the room near my desk. “
¿Dónde estás
, Eric?

I looked down at my book then back at her. “Uh, I'm here.”

A few students laughed.

“Yes, I can see that. Now please answer in Spanish.”

I blushed. “Sorry.
Yo, aqui.
”

“
Muy bien
. Eric, can you say, ‘Where is Madeline?'?”

After a moment I said, “I don't know where she is, ma'am.”

This time everyone in the room laughed. “No, I want you to say in Spanish, ‘Where is Madeline.
¿Dónde está Madeline
?”

“Oh.” I turned crimson. “
¿Dónde está Madeline?”

“Muy bien.”

I was glad when the bell rang.

 

As soon as I got home I went straight to the clubhouse. Grace had been painting watercolor pictures of flowers. I had no idea where she had acquired the painting supplies, but I didn't ask.

“Everyone at school's looking for you,” I blurted out.

She looked at me calmly. “What do you mean,
everyone
?”

“Principal Allen made an announcement. Mrs. Waller even talked about you in class.”

“You didn't tell anyone where I was, did you?”

“No.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“What if someone finds out?”

“How will they find out? I'm in a clubhouse in a field behind your house.”

“But what if they do?”

“It's no worse than if I go back.”

“But, if they find you…”

She looked at me with sudden understanding. “Are you afraid for me or for you?”

I hesitated. “Both.”

“Well, you don't have to worry about me. I can handle me.”

The conversation wasn't going the way I had hoped. “The question is,” I said, failing to conceal my exasperation, “when are you going back to school?”

She looked at me as if I were stupid. “Never.”

“What?”

“I can't go back. If I go back, my parents will find me.”

“But you can't just skip school.”

“Why not?”

I had never questioned this before. “Kids go to school. It's what they do.”

“Why?”

“To learn things.”

“Why? So we can learn how to make atom bombs and kill ourselves faster?”

“No. So we can improve our lives.”

“Right,” Grace said sardonically. “My mom graduated from college, and it didn't do her any good. In fact, I think school makes you dumber.”

As a three-year recipient of the perfect attendance award, I took offense to this. “How could learning things make you dumber?” I said. “That's just stupid.”

“I didn't say ‘learning,' I said ‘school.'”

“It's the same thing.”

“No it's not. School makes people lazy. They stop thinking things out for themselves and just plug in the facts other people want them to think.”

“Like what?”

“How about what really happened to the Indians?”

I didn't know how to respond, since, frankly, I wasn't sure what had happened to them.

“We need school to learn socializing skills.”

“What
socializing skills
has school taught you?”

She had a point. The only social lesson I had learned at Granite was that big dogs eat small dogs; a particularly disturbing lesson when you're a small dog.

“You're just parroting the Establishment,” Grace said.

I was starting to get mad. “I'm not parroting.”

“Yes, you are. They can tell you anything and you'll just believe it.”

“Give me one example,” I said.

“Okay. In Christopher Columbus's time, why were people afraid to sail?”

“Everyone knows that,” I said. “It's because they thought the world was flat.”

“You're sure of that?”

Her saying that made me not so sure. “Yeah…”

“Guess what year the first globe was invented?”

“I have no idea.”

“Fourteen ninety-two. You know the poem,
In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
It was the same year Columbus sailed. If they thought the world was flat, why were they making globes?”

“You just made that up.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn't.”

I couldn't tell if she were making this up or if she really was a lot smarter than me. The latter seemed likely. Either way I was losing the argument. “What does Christopher Columbus have to do with you living in my clubhouse the rest of your life?”

She looked at me, stunned. “Fine,” she said between clenched teeth, then began grabbing her things and shoving them in her bag.

“What are you doing?”

“You want me to go? I'll go.”

“I didn't mean that.”

“Yes you did.”

Even though she was turned from me, I saw her furtively wipe a tear from her cheek. I touched her shoulder. “Grace…”

She pulled away from me. “Don't touch me.”

“Please, stop.”

“No.”

I grabbed her arm. “Grace. I never want you to leave. You're the only good thing in my life.”

She stopped, then turned back and looked at me. Her face was streaked with tears. “You mean that?”

“Yes.”

She brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand. We just sat there looking at each other, then she leaned forward and kissed me for the second time. It made me feel better.

“I better go,” I said. “I have to go to work.”

“Every time I kiss you, you say you have to go. Should I not kiss you?”

“No.”

“No, I shouldn't kiss you, or no, I shouldn't
not
kiss you?”

I was thoroughly confused. “You should kiss me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just haven't done a lot of it. I'm probably not very good at it.”

Her eyebrows raised. “No, you're a pretty good kisser.”

“Really?” I felt myself blushing.

“Really.” She smiled at me. “Have you ever had a girlfriend before?”

“I had a crush on a girl last year.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I never told her I liked her.”

“You're kind of afraid of girls, aren't you?”

I didn't answer.

“A little?”

I felt stupid. “Maybe a little.”

“I think that's sweet.” She took my hand. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

I kept looking at her, waiting for the punch line. “What exactly does that entail?”

“Well, for one thing, you can't have any other girlfriends.”

Fat chance of that,
I thought. “That's no problem. Anything else?”

“You can kiss me anytime you want.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, barely concealing my excitement.

She laughed. “Yes.”

I couldn't believe it. I felt like I'd just been given a key to an ice cream parlor. “Like, I could kiss you right now?”

“Yes.”

I just stared at her.

“So?” she said.

“What?”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I slowly moved forward to put my lips on hers. Even though we'd already kissed twice, up to this point she'd pretty much done the heavy lifting. This was a first for me. I was as awkward as a nurse giving her first shot.

“You're not going to hurt me,” she said.

Our lips touched and she closed her eyes. It was incredible. It was like Christmas, my birthday, and scones for dinner all rolled into one. When we finally parted there were big smiles on both of our faces.

“See, you are good at it,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied, slightly breathless. “Let's do it again sometime.”

She laughed. “Sure. That is, unless you still want me to leave.”

“I never want you to leave,” I said. “You should never leave.”

“Then,” she said coyly, “I shouldn't go back to school?”

“School makes you dumb,” I said.

She grinned. “You better go. You have work.”

“Right. I'll see you after.”

She cocked her head. “Bye, Eric.”

“See ya later.”

For the first time in my life I was smitten, dashed on the rocks of femininity. I had just been given permission to kiss the most beautiful girl in the world. It was better than winning the lottery.