It Looks Like This (13 page)

I say, Can I sleep over at Sean’s tomorrow?

I stare at my stew when I say it and wait a second and look up to meet Mom’s eyes. She looks over at Dad and I follow.

Dad puts a forkful in his mouth.

He chews.

He says, Sleep over?

I say, Yeah.

He chews a bit more.

I say, We thought we could maybe work on the project a bit.

Dad swallows, slowly.

He says, What do his parents think?

I say, They’re cool with it, he already asked.

I haven’t slept over at a friend’s house since seventh grade, and I’m wondering if Dad is thinking about this.

Mom just keeps looking at him.

After a while, Dad just shrugs and digs his fork back into his rice and says, I guess I don’t see a problem, then. Sure, go ahead.

Jared and I are walking along the edge of the gym.

We have PE together and we both hate it. It especially sucks in the morning because no one’s fully awake yet and it makes you so hungry after running and doing exercises and stuff, but lunch is still an hour away.

Today we’re supposed to run a timed mile. The coach wanted to do it outside, but it’s a bit damp so he’s having everyone run a few laps around the gym instead.

He measures out what a mile is and then stands there with a stopwatch, telling us what our times are.

We’re supposed to run as much as we can, but we can walk if we get tired. Some kids take it seriously and run the whole thing in like eight minutes and then just sit the rest of the period or play basketball.

But a lot of other kids just end up walking the whole way.

Me and Jared both hate running so we’re not even trying, really.

Jared says, What are you doing this weekend?

I say, I dunno. I don’t think Dad’s gonna make us go to church since we went over Thanksgiving.

He says, Oh yeah. How was your grandmother?

I say, Fine.

I don’t really want to talk about Thanksgiving.

He says, Ronald’s coming over tonight and we’re gonna play Halo. You in, dude?

I say, I’m hanging out with Sean tonight.

He blinks and says, Sean? Why?

I say, We’re working on our magazine project.

He says, On a Friday night? That’s ludicrous.

I say, Well, we’ll hang out some too. He’s pretty cool.

I don’t say I’m sleeping over because that still seems like a middle school thing to do and I guess I’m a bit embarrassed.

But I am looking forward to it.

Jared shrugs.

He says, Okay, whatever. We’ll probably play Halo tomorrow too.

We cross the finish line and the coach is there, but he’s kind of lost enthusiasm with the last group of kids and he just mumbles,

Twenty-two minutes and forty seconds.

Shading and lighting in Art.

Dumb stuff I already know how to do.

My drawing is of Charlie and me at Grandma’s, outside, at the edge of the bubble of light coming from her house, sky above full of stars.

It’s mostly finished and I have my pencil in my hand, hovering over my paper, but I’m staring out the window, out at the front lawn of the school. Behind it is the road that goes over the bridge and into my neighborhood.

Mr. Kilgore says, Mikey!

I jerk my head, startled. There’s a second where I stare at him, blinking, and then he says,

Finish your drawing, Mikey. You can watch the birds outside later.

His voice is cross like always.

The day goes by so slowly.

Sean gets to French class late and Madame Girard is already in full swing, rattling off conjugations while everyone takes notes as fast as they can. I don’t get a chance to talk to him until after class.

The bell rings and Madame Girard reminds us that we only have two weeks until the end of the semester when our project is due, but no one’s listening to her because it’s Friday and the last bell just rang.

I turn around with my books just in time to catch Sean’s eye.

He says, Hey, I gotta run to a quick practice, but you wanna come over around eight?

I say, Uh, yeah. Sure.

He says, Cool. See you then.

And then he’s gone.

I have my backpack stuffed with clothes for tomorrow, my toothbrush, deodorant, a pack of cards, my French book and notes.

It’s seven forty-five and I head downstairs, one strap of the backpack over my shoulder. Charlie is looking at me with his ears perked.

Mom and Dad and Toby are at the dinner table, but I’ve been excused from dinner because Sean told me his parents are getting us pizza.

I say, Bye.

I have my hand on the doorknob and Dad says,

Oh, I thought I would take you.

I look at him and Mom, and they look back.

I say, He lives just a few blocks away. I can walk.

He says, Well, I thought it’d be nice to meet his parents.

I shrug and say, It’s fine, it’s not far at all.

Dad’s plate is still half full. He looks down at it for a second.

I say, You can meet them some other time.

Dad looks back up and says, All right, have fun.

Charlie watches me as I close the door behind me, still hoping I’ll invite him to come along.

Sean opens the door in his basketball uniform.

Not the Wizards jersey but the school team jersey, black with gold lettering.

He says, Hey.

I say, Hey.

He moves aside to let me in and closes the door and says, I just got back five minutes ago. Coach made us do like an hour of relays and then we had to run laps. He’s been so pissy lately.

He turns to me while I take my shoes off. His hair is a bit damp and I get a whiff of sweat, faint but there.

He says, You mind? I’m gonna take a shower real quick. You can watch TV if you want.

I say, Okay, cool.

Sean walks upstairs and I walk into the living room, which I’ve never really been in before.

The walls are cream colored, covered in photographs and art. There are some African-looking masks on one of the walls near a photo of Sean’s dad and mom wearing khaki cargos and shirts and posing in front of a rhinoceros in the distance. On an end table there are hand-carved wooden figurines: giraffes, elephants, lions. Men with spears.

There’s a complicated-looking sound system with speakers spaced out around the room. All-glass coffee table with three African photography books. Cream leather couch to match the walls, windows facing a backyard garden.

The TV is huge. I stare at it for a while, a big flat widescreen set into a glass stand with shelves and shelves of Blu-rays. My reflection stares back.

I lean my bag against the wall and sit down.

The remote’s on the arm of the couch. I pick it up and press the big red power button, and there’s this electric hiss and the image pops in from black: a TV news anchor standing in the parking lot of some mall, talking about Christmas shoppers.

I flip the channel a few times, but I’m not really paying attention to what’s on.

Above me I can hear the shower running.

I settle on an old rerun of some show I can’t remember the name of and watch that for a few minutes, but then I realize Sean’s parents aren’t home.

I mean I guess I probably noticed right away, but I just didn’t really think about it until now.

I stand up, looking around the living room, listening to TV laughter and the water in the pipes.

Then I look up at the balcony.

I walk back over through the entrance hall, letting my socks slide on the tiles, and toward the staircase. I put my hand on the wooden rail and look up again, listening.

TV music and running water.

I walk up, slowly, not really sure why I’m being so quiet but doing it anyway. The carpet on the stairs is super soft.

From the landing I can see over the balcony into the living room. Straight ahead is the game room next to Sean’s room.

I head toward the pool table, but once I’m at the end of the balcony, there’s a short hallway to my left leading to Sean’s bathroom. The shower noises are a lot louder now, and I realize it’s because the bathroom door is partly open.

I can see part of a light green shower curtain, and past it I can just barely make out a shadow that must be Sean. I stop. My heart starts beating faster. The shadow’s arms reach up to its head as it turns around under the showerhead. Sean’s washing his hair.

Then I turn and walk quickly to the pool table, out of view of the bathroom.

The pool table is already set up for play, like it was the last time I came over. I guess they always have it set up.

I look at the arrangement of the ten colored balls, trying to see if there’s a pattern. Pretty quickly I can find one. Solid then stripe then solid then stripe, with like colors next to each other. I wonder if there are rules about this or if that’s just the way they do it.

I’m looking at the billiard balls up close and right when I realize I can’t hear the water anymore I hear,

Keeps ’em pretty clean, huh?

I jump, heart beating fast, and immediately feel stupid.

Sean says, Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.

He’s leaning against the entrance to the short hallway, light green towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still mostly wet from the shower. I look at the drops collecting on his collarbone.

Then I look away and mumble, Sorry, there wasn’t anything on TV.

Sean shrugs and says, It’s cool. Dad would love to know that his billiard ball polishing efforts aren’t going to waste.

I don’t really know what to say to that but then Sean speaks again.

He says, You hungry?

I nod and then realize it’s true.

He says, Lemme get dressed and then we’ll order a pizza. Dad left a twenty.

He turns and as he walks into his bedroom he says, You okay with Papa John’s?

I nod again but then realize he’s not facing me so I say,

Sure.

I don’t know what else to do, so I just stand there and wait.

The pizza will take forty-five minutes to get here, so when Sean hangs up we decide to snack on Cheetos and Chips Ahoy. He sits on the kitchen counter, and I grab a seat at the breakfast table.

Neither of us says anything for a while. We just eat.

I start getting a bit anxious for some reason, maybe because of the quiet. One of my legs starts bouncing a bit and I force it to stop.

I say, I brought my French stuff.

The words hang there for a minute. Sean looks almost surprised by what I say, like he’s not sure what I’m talking about, and then his face relaxes and he says,

Oh right. Yeah, cool. Sure, we can work on that.

He takes another cookie from the bag and stuffs it in his mouth, two quick large bites.

There’s another few moments of quiet and I try again.

I say, So your parents like Africa?

The question sounds weird as soon as I get it out, but Sean nods immediately.

He says, Yeah, they go a lot. Usually on church missions, but they stay a bit longer for vacation. They love the art.

I say, Have you been?

He says, Oh yeah. A couple times to Uganda and once to Kenya. Mom and Dad also went to Sudan once when I was a baby, before it split. Africa’s really awesome, just an amazing place. I mean there’s a lot of war and poverty and shit, but the land itself is really cool.

I nod. Eat another Cheeto.

Sean is looking not at me but at the wall, lost in thought. I watch him for a bit and then he says,

Haven’t been in a few years, but they said we might go again next spring. They always check with the government to see what the political situation is over there and if it’s safe to go, and it hasn’t really been stable for a few years, I mean less stable than usual, but it looks like it might finally be getting better again. Maybe.

I let him speak, just listening, until he stops finally, staring at the wall.

Then I say, So they go on missions?

He looks at me now.

He says, Yeah, with Grace Fellowship. There’s a group of churches that sponsors mission trips almost every year, but Grace is ours. Or theirs, anyway.

I say, We go to Grace.

I have never seen Sean there, but it’s a big church.

Sean nods. He says, Oh yeah? I don’t go that much. Maybe once a month.

I say, It’s about the same with me. We’ve probably just been missing each other.

He nods again.

There’s a pause and then he jumps down from the counter, startling me.

He says, Come on, I wanna show you something.

I get up without saying anything and follow him back into the living room.

He walks over to a wall shelf filled with small framed photographs, ones I only glanced at earlier.

I’m right behind him and he goes straight to one with a man and a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, their backs to the camera, looking out from a hilltop over a deep valley beyond. It’s dusk in the picture: pink and orange skies, deep blue mountains barely visible in the background.

He points to the boy and says, Me. Last time we went. And Dad. Mom took it.

I look at the boy, the back of his head, in my mind comparing him with the Sean in front of me. I look at what he’s looking at, the sunset over the valley.

I say, That’s really cool.

Sean nods, smiling a bit now. He points to a couple little black marks dotting the grassland in the valley.

He says, Elephants.

I look closer and now I can see them, minuscule blurs that look like legs and trunks.

I picture the valley as it must’ve looked to him, huge and beautiful. Tiny elephant specks moving slowly across the grassland, trumpeting back and forth, barely loud enough to hear from the distance. The breeze, the sunset, the smell of the air.

I say, That’s really cool.

I feel dumb saying the same thing twice, but then he puts a hand on my shoulder. Just a pat, real quick. The feel of it lingers and then spreads from the spot to the rest of my back. I can feel the hairs standing on my neck.

He says, Maybe you could come in the spring with us.

After a bit the spot on my shoulder stops tingling and I nod.

I say, Yeah, that would be cool,

but I’m thinking about my dad.