Theo by Ed Taylor

morning, they brought it round from the drug store lunch counter, which luckily for me and the other residents of the big house also serves breakfast. It was greasy and hot off the griddle, served up on a paper plate in a glistening lake of fat. Runny eggs and some variety of sausage. White toast. Oleo pat. Colin picked a bit of tobacco from his lip. Oleo pat. I like the sound of that, should be the name of some obese prostitute.
    I worried you weren’t eating right, Gus said making a careful turn, hand over hand, like the car was a boat.
    Colin tried to kiss Gus but Gus elbowed him. Hey, I’m driving.
    Thanks, mate, Colin said, after a minute, pulling out a cigarette.
    They talked normally, mostly about names Theo didn’t know and he stopped listening. Gus seemed to never get angry with Colin. Lots of other people did. He would have to ask Gus about it.
    Theo watches Seal drawing, hunched over the paper and table, Colin shirtless and fingering a tooth in the back of his mouth, poking, saying ow.
    Colin glances at Theo narrowly; says, no, they’re not here about my day off, and the fax isn’t about my day off either. That’s just a joke.
    What’s the joke.
    Just an old joke between me and your dad.
    But what’s the joke.
    Listen, my friend. In this life, it’s just generally good practice to be ready to reef the mainsail at any time. Storms come up out of nowhere and it’s easy for our tippy little crafts to turn turtle or get swamped out there on the great big sea. So semper vigilantus erectus. Keep a weather eye out for me and I’ll do the same for you. Your dad and I like to remind ourselves of that periodically.
    That’s not a joke.
    No, you’re right. But don’t worry. And let other people answer the door for the next couple of days, alright.
    Why.
    Just humor me, eh. Let a grownup answer the door if anyone comes. And the phone too for that matter. And let us get the mail.
    Why can’t I get the mail.
    Hon, don’t worry. We just want to lie low for a bit.
    Lie low
. The Seal sketches. Theo’s stomach growls. It’s not really the stomach but the intestines making noise. That’s the kind of thing Theo likes to know. He likes learning, but school was about not getting embarrassed, or hurt. Theo didn’t really know the girls very well. Maybe they were different. There were other kids like him, a couple in the class, each eyeing the others; they knew, like a secret club, could tell, but they didn’t really help each other or anything. Just noticed.
    I want to know. Why am I not supposed to do any of that stuff.
    Oh, christ, would you give it up.
    No. Theo’s mad. He’s not a kid.
    Like a damn badger. Okay. Look. The police want a chat with your father. Immigration wants me and your dad. School wants you. Social services wants your mother and dad. And you. They’re lined up like planes at LaGuardia, waiting their chance at us. Your dad thinks it’s best if you are not put in a position where you have to talk to someone or see or hear stuff you won’t understand that will only scare you. The place is gauntleted by lawyers so no worries.
    What do they want my father for.
    Just for once, be a good boy and say, aye aye, sir.
    No. I’m not scared. And I don’t care.
    Well, that’s the end of the news, mate. No more. Just don’t break my you-know-whats, eh.
    The Seal stares at both of them. Somewhere upstairs is a saxophone, and where is Theo’s mother. He wants out, he wants out, he wants to run, so he does, into the ballroom, in a circle, past the drum kit, the motorbike gone, the electric piano, the pile of shirts, cardboard boxes. Roller skates, his skates. He has two pairs. Where are the others. He likes to skate in the ballroom, but not now. Out. He needs out.
    Onto the terrace, empty. Downslope at the end of the long ragged lawn, Theo sees Gus up in his chair. Why haven’t the police out front found him. Theo worries. Should he try to get Gus inside. Is Gus in trouble. Why didn’t Colin mention