her face in the mirror and wipes away the mascara trails from her cheeks.
“You know, this is so far from how I imagined things would turn out, sometimes it seems I’m living someone else’s life.”
“I think I know the feeling.”
She leans back into the driver’s seat. “I never let you boys play with guns or toy soldiers when you were little. When Boaz was a baby, I dressed him in pink striped pajamas. I fed you hot dogs without sulfites. I thought I was doing everything right.”
“You did, Mom. Look.” I point to the sign. “He’s an
American Hero
. You must have done
something
right.”
“I know. It’s just … this isn’t what I wanted for him. I never wanted
this
. And now, I just want him back.”
“He’ll be back.”
She searches my face until she sees me.
“Where do you think he is, Levi? I mean, where do you think he is right this minute?”
I have no idea if she’s testing me. If this is my chance to share what little I know. Or what little I think I know.
“I gave him a cell phone,” she adds. “A new one. But he doesn’t turn it on.”
No, this isn’t my chance. It’s not what she wants, and sometimes, I guess, it’s just better to do what someone wants of you.
“Mom, there’s probably no reception on the trail. I’m sure when he gets somewhere with service, he’ll check in.”
She nods. She looks up at the sign. Her lips move, just the slightest bit, as she reads those words over to herself again.
“Where is he?” she whispers.
All the light has left the sky. The yellow streetlamps make a pathetic effort to tame the darkness.
“I think maybe he’s lying in his new sleeping bag,” I tell her. “I think he’s waiting on the stars.”
TEN
I ’M SITTING IN HIS ROOM . On his bed. The mattress is back on the frame now. I can picture Mom, struggling underneath its unwieldy size.
I can see the marks on the wall from where he taped up my Rand McNally map before returning it to me in the dead of night. His computer, with its broken motherboard, still sits on his desk. The radio, quiet, tucked on the shelf between a set of barbells and books with worn-out spines.
I’m cataloging the place. Trying to make some sense out of everything by figuring out what’s here and what’s gone.
He’s gone.
That I know. He took those printed out maps. And all the new stuff Mom bought for him except for the cell phone. I found it, still in its package, behind a row of shoes in his closet. That box from Marty Muldoon’s is nowhere to be found. I know because I looked for it everywhere.
I roll out my Rand McNally map, pin it to the bed and stare at it.
I could wait for the second destination. Or the one afterthat. He has all sorts of addresses scribbled into the baby-blue Atlantic.
Or I could go now. Today. Tomorrow might even be safe. If I go soon, I could catch up with him in Poughkeepsie.
There was a short period after Boaz left for boot camp when I imagined that as soon as I turned eighteen I’d follow him. I’d walk the path he’d blazed. I’d get fitted for a uniform. Pummeled into a muscled physique. Shaved close to the scalp.
This wasn’t because I wanted to become a marine. And it certainly wasn’t because I believed, like Boaz did, that part of becoming a man is fighting for your country. It was as simple as me assuming, as I had all my life, that someday I’d be like my brother. That I’d follow right behind him.
I got over that quickly enough. I grew out my hair. Took up smoking. Once Boaz was gone, I started feeling my way through a life outside of my brother’s shadow, only to learn that shadows grow even bigger when cast from half a world away.
It’s today, I decide. It has to be today.
I cross the street to Zim’s but he isn’t home. I look around back, figuring I might find him shooting baskets. Nope. Propped up against the garage I see Zim’s old skateboard, and I grab it. It’s the same one he used to ride back in the days when there
“You know, this is so far from how I imagined things would turn out, sometimes it seems I’m living someone else’s life.”
“I think I know the feeling.”
She leans back into the driver’s seat. “I never let you boys play with guns or toy soldiers when you were little. When Boaz was a baby, I dressed him in pink striped pajamas. I fed you hot dogs without sulfites. I thought I was doing everything right.”
“You did, Mom. Look.” I point to the sign. “He’s an
American Hero
. You must have done
something
right.”
“I know. It’s just … this isn’t what I wanted for him. I never wanted
this
. And now, I just want him back.”
“He’ll be back.”
She searches my face until she sees me.
“Where do you think he is, Levi? I mean, where do you think he is right this minute?”
I have no idea if she’s testing me. If this is my chance to share what little I know. Or what little I think I know.
“I gave him a cell phone,” she adds. “A new one. But he doesn’t turn it on.”
No, this isn’t my chance. It’s not what she wants, and sometimes, I guess, it’s just better to do what someone wants of you.
“Mom, there’s probably no reception on the trail. I’m sure when he gets somewhere with service, he’ll check in.”
She nods. She looks up at the sign. Her lips move, just the slightest bit, as she reads those words over to herself again.
“Where is he?” she whispers.
All the light has left the sky. The yellow streetlamps make a pathetic effort to tame the darkness.
“I think maybe he’s lying in his new sleeping bag,” I tell her. “I think he’s waiting on the stars.”
TEN
I ’M SITTING IN HIS ROOM . On his bed. The mattress is back on the frame now. I can picture Mom, struggling underneath its unwieldy size.
I can see the marks on the wall from where he taped up my Rand McNally map before returning it to me in the dead of night. His computer, with its broken motherboard, still sits on his desk. The radio, quiet, tucked on the shelf between a set of barbells and books with worn-out spines.
I’m cataloging the place. Trying to make some sense out of everything by figuring out what’s here and what’s gone.
He’s gone.
That I know. He took those printed out maps. And all the new stuff Mom bought for him except for the cell phone. I found it, still in its package, behind a row of shoes in his closet. That box from Marty Muldoon’s is nowhere to be found. I know because I looked for it everywhere.
I roll out my Rand McNally map, pin it to the bed and stare at it.
I could wait for the second destination. Or the one afterthat. He has all sorts of addresses scribbled into the baby-blue Atlantic.
Or I could go now. Today. Tomorrow might even be safe. If I go soon, I could catch up with him in Poughkeepsie.
There was a short period after Boaz left for boot camp when I imagined that as soon as I turned eighteen I’d follow him. I’d walk the path he’d blazed. I’d get fitted for a uniform. Pummeled into a muscled physique. Shaved close to the scalp.
This wasn’t because I wanted to become a marine. And it certainly wasn’t because I believed, like Boaz did, that part of becoming a man is fighting for your country. It was as simple as me assuming, as I had all my life, that someday I’d be like my brother. That I’d follow right behind him.
I got over that quickly enough. I grew out my hair. Took up smoking. Once Boaz was gone, I started feeling my way through a life outside of my brother’s shadow, only to learn that shadows grow even bigger when cast from half a world away.
It’s today, I decide. It has to be today.
I cross the street to Zim’s but he isn’t home. I look around back, figuring I might find him shooting baskets. Nope. Propped up against the garage I see Zim’s old skateboard, and I grab it. It’s the same one he used to ride back in the days when there
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