It Looks Like This (18 page)

I wrap up Mom’s Bible and Dad’s records. I’m not really good at wrapping presents, so they end up looking kind of messy, but whatever.

I put those in the closet and then lay out the canvas and paint tubes on the newspaper that I’ve spread out on the floor. Then I add some of the stuff I already have: more paints, a paintbrush, a pencil, and a paint palette.

I sit down in front of my supplies and look them over. And then I think about Toby’s lost picture. Toby and Marla, on the trampoline, sun in their hair, laughter frozen on their faces. Toby’s pink-and-blue overalls.

It’s been months since I last saw the picture, but I can still remember it pretty clearly. I’m good at that kind of thing. And I think I can remember what Marla looks like.

The canvas is about the size of a book. Not big. I don’t paint that much at all, mostly draw, but if I outline it in pencil first and paint over it, I should be okay.

I do it as light as I can. I have to erase a lot. But after an hour the shape is there and it looks really familiar.

Then I start mixing paints. Pink and blue for Toby’s clothes. Marla had some kind of yellow shirt and purple pants. Light brown hair for Toby, red for Marla. Blue sky, no clouds. Green ferns in the background, dark brown fence, reddish lens flare from the sun.

The faces are the hardest, especially with this small a canvas. You have to keep changing the colors, because of light and shadow, and then you have to have a really steady hand with the details.

I do my best, and when I think I’m finished, I look away. I stare at the door for a full minute, letting the white of it wash over my eyes, getting the image of the painting out of my head.

Then I look back at the painting.

It’s not bad. I can immediately recognize Toby. Marla’s okay too. I can tell what they’re doing in the picture. I can see them laughing, I can tell what’s hair and what’s leaves and what’s sky.

It’s done.

Toby wakes me up on Christmas. It’s six thirty in the morning and she pounds on my door.

I start, sitting up in bed. She opens the door and Charlie bounds up to her, excited by her excitement.

She yells, Wake up, Mike! Christmas!

Then slams the door. I can hear her running down the stairs, singing.

I get up.

Mom and Dad make themselves some coffee, and we gather around the tree. It’s just light outside. Everyone’s in their robes. Charlie walks from person to person, licking whatever he can reach.

Dad smiles, eyes tired, and says, Toby, why don’t you go first?

We take turns selecting presents and handing them to each other.

Dad opens Mom’s record player first and his eyes light up, suddenly not looking that tired anymore. His next present is mine, and he laughs when he sees the albums.

He says, This is great, Mike! Thanks.

I nod.

Mom gets a
Garfield
book from Toby, which makes me glad I didn’t get her one. She hugs Toby thanks.

When she opens my Bible, her smile fades and she inhales quickly but quietly, almost a gasp. She runs her fingers over the gold lettering, tracing the grooves.

She says, Oh, Mike, this is beautiful. Thank you.

I get a computer game and some Blu-rays and a new star chart from Mom and Dad. Toby gives me an art book, which is really cool because it has a lot of Albert Bierstadt paintings. I love his landscapes because he uses color in a way that makes it look like the paintings themselves are lit.

Toby opens my present last. I can tell she has no idea what it is when she picks it up, probably thinking it was a book before she felt how light it was.

Then she unwraps it and gasps.

Mom says, What is it honey? and leans over.

Then she gasps too.

Toby looks up at me and her eyes are wet.

She squeals, Mike!

And looks at me for another moment, trying to think what to say, and then she just throws her arms around me and hugs me really tight, almost knocking me backward.

Mom says, Mike, that is really wonderful.

Dad leans over to look at it and whistles. He looks up at me and smiles.

I smile back. Just a little.

We go to church later in the morning. It’s packed for Christmas. Toby doesn’t mind so much today because her choir is singing. Plus it’s Christmas, and it’s hard to be upset on Christmas, even for Toby.

I see Terry but he and his family are sitting a few pews over. We talk for a bit after but not much.

Mom makes Christmas dinner in the early afternoon. Ham, potatoes, corn, biscuits, cheesy broccoli. Just the four of us. It’s delicious.

I go up to my room after. I’m getting kind of stir-crazy because I haven’t been out except to walk Charlie and once to the mall.

But also part of that I think is because Sean hasn’t written back yet.

When I log in today, though, there’s a message from him waiting for me.

My heart’s pounding for no reason, and I open it.

It says,

which window is yours?

I blink a few times. For a moment I’m not sure what he means. Then I look out my window at the street below and understand.

I write back,

Second floor, closest to the street on the west side.

I think for a minute, looking at the window.

Then I add,

The electric meter’s right below it.

And hit Send.

A few hours later, there’s a new message:

stay up late on your bday. look outside at 11.

The week between Christmas and New Year’s is long and slow.

I get more and more stir-crazy. I hate being in the house so much. So I end up walking Charlie more often, to the beach when I can. I lean into the cold, letting the ocean wind blow all around us both. Sometimes we stay for the sunset.

I don’t see Sean, but one time I see Victor.

He’s near the park when I walk by. Standing near a bench, shaded by trees, smoking a cigarette.

He brings the cigarette to his lips between index finger and middle finger, takes a drag, pulls it away between thumb and index finger.

He watches me. I pretend not to see him.

But when I’m close enough he yells out,

Have a nice Christmas?

Charlie looks up at the voice, curious.

I don’t answer.

Victor yells, What’d you get? Dollhouse? Easy-Bake Oven?

I don’t answer.

But I glance back, just once.

He’s not grinning like he normally does. He just looks pissed.

He takes another drag and watches me walk off.

On my birthday there are three presents waiting for me at my place at the kitchen table.

Everyone’s already up by the time I get downstairs. Mom is making breakfast. Dad’s reading a book. Toby looks up and grins when she sees me.

Mom has put a little cupcake at my spot with a single candle in it. When she sees me, she smiles and takes a matchbook out from the drawer and lights the candle.

She and Toby start to sing “Happy Birthday.” Dad lowers his book and watches.

I blow out the candle.

I’m fifteen now.

I try to smile but don’t. It’s my birthday but I’ll be inside.

I think about tonight and wonder what Sean is planning.

This year while I’m fifteen:

• I can get my learner’s permit.

• I’ll start sophomore year.

• I can lead a junior prayer group at church.

I make this list on a sheet of notebook paper and stare at the three bullet points. This is all I can really think of, though.

Plus I doubt I’ll ever lead a junior prayer group. It would make Dad and Mom really happy, but I don’t think they’d pick me.

It’ll be cool to get the permit. Dad says he’ll start teaching me after the holidays. Just in parking lots and stuff so I can get a feel for the car. I have to wait until six months after my birthday to get the permit, though. That’s the law here. Just like Wisconsin. It’s kind of weird.

It’s cool to be fifteen, I guess, but there’s not much that is going to happen now that I write it out.

I’m making this list just to give me something to do. It’s late evening. We already had dinner, and Mom and Dad are just downstairs watching TV. Probably they won’t stay up for the new year. They never do.

My room is quiet and dim. I keep checking the red numbers on my alarm clock.

9:35.

9:58.

10:11.

Just before ten thirty there’s a light knock at my door. I can still hear the TV downstairs.

I look up and Toby pokes her head in.

She says, Hey, come downstairs. I wanna stay up till midnight and watch the ball drop in Times Square.

Toby has tried to stay up till midnight for three years in a row, but she always falls asleep.

I say, I dunno, Toby, I’m kinda beat. I’ll probably go to bed early.

She frowns at me. She never hides her disappointment.

She says, Okay,

and starts to close the door.

I say, Hey, Toby.

She looks at me.

I say, Are Mom and Dad still up?

She says, No, they went to bed a few minutes ago.

I say, Okay.

Toby leaves.

Ten minutes to eleven, I’m just staring at the clock nonstop. I get up a couple times and look outside the window, but there’s nothing there.

The TV’s still on downstairs.

I’m sitting on my bed with my sketch pad and pencil to pass the time. Not really sure what I’m planning to draw, but it takes shape pretty quick.

It’s Charlie, or a quick sketch of Charlie, running away from the viewpoint. I scribble some rough trees around him. Leaves on the ground and trailing in his wake. Hills and a creek.

Charlie running in the woods at Grandma’s house.

I stare at the sketch for a moment, then look up at the alarm clock just in time to see it switch from 11:01 to 11:02.

I sit for a half second, then scramble up off the bed and hurry to the window, sketch pad still in hand.

There’s a figure standing in the shadows by the side of the house. My heart starts beating fast.

Sean waves when he sees my silhouette.

Slowly, I lift my free hand and wave back.

He makes a gesture and I realize he wants me to open the window. So I open it.

He whispers and in the silence outside his voice carries easily to me.

He says, Come on down.

I shiver in the chill breeze coming in from outside.

I say, How?

Sean is holding a bag, which he puts down before he walks up to the outside wall. He climbs on top of the outside fan for the air conditioner, just below my window.

He points to the electric meter, just to the right and a little above him.

He says, Climb down on the window ledge, and put your feet on that.

I look at him.

He says, Don’t worry, I got you.

I look at him for a bit longer, shivering, then break out into a grin.

I say, Okay. Let me get my jacket.

I rush to find it, trying to be as quiet as possible. Once I have it and put my shoes on, I start toward the window, then stop.

Very quietly, I tiptoe to the bathroom, grab my toothbrush, and go back to my room. I close the door and turn off the light, and head to the window.

Sean is still standing on the air conditioner fan, looking up.

I climb out of the window feet first, heart pounding. I know I’m clumsy and I’m kind of scared of heights too. But Sean steadies my legs.

When I’m finally dangling from the window, I feel for the meter with my legs, Sean helping me, and after a moment I’m standing on it, facing the wall.

Slowly, I turn around.

The grass isn’t that far below me. I jump and hit the ground at a roll. I hear Sean jump down from the fan as I get up, and suddenly he’s standing in front of me, grinning.

I grin back.

He says, Happy birthday.

We walk through the neighborhood, whispering only sometimes. Most people’s lights are on, but hardly anyone’s outside even though it’s not that late. Whenever a car comes by, we hide.

No one knows we’re here. I’m shivering a bit, but not with the cold. Sean puts his arm around me as we walk.

I turn my head in every direction, looking out for anything or anyone. Every now and then we see a distant car or person but mostly it’s just us.

Still in a whisper, I say, What’s in the bag?

Sean’s still carrying it in his free hand.

He says, Rope. I didn’t know how easy it would be to climb down from your window.

I nod, and he holds me tighter.

Then he smiles a bit and says, And some other stuff.

But leaves it at that.

I’m about to ask what else is in the bag, but I think I hear a noise behind us.

I turn around in time to see a figure far off crossing the street. But he’s a ways back. I turn around and we keep walking.

It’s like before. Streetlamps, turning us yellow in their light as we get near and then leaving us in darkness when we pass.

It’s colder now but lighter. The moon is out now, no clouds to cover it. A breeze pushes against our backs then slows, then pushes, blocked in part by my jacket but more by Sean, his arm always around me, leading me and holding me.

No crickets now. The only noise is:

Us. Our quiet steps.

A car every now and then.

The wind in the trees. Rustling branches.

We’re heading toward the beach again. It’s our place, something that belongs to us. I like this thought and I smile.

The sand makes the ground unstable, and I step higher as I walk, spraying it in all directions. Sean too. I look back once at our scattered messy footprints.

We go to a spot just in front of a small sand hill, facing the ocean. Behind us are low bushes and scrub and driftwood blocking out the neighborhoods.

The ocean is stronger tonight, waves and whitecaps crashing with more force, drowning out the only sound there might’ve been from behind. Out here it’s easy to pretend we’re alone for miles, far away from houses and people and yellow streetlamps.

The breeze is stronger too and it’s colder by the ocean. Sean holds me more tightly as we sit, so tight I can feel his heartbeat through our clothes.