Johnny Angel (2 page)

“Okay,” she glanced over her shoulder at him after he threw the ball back to her, and she sank another basket. And he could see, when she looked at him, that her eyes were sad.

“What's up?” He put an arm around her, and she stopped for a minute, and leaned against him. He could feel the sadness emanating through her. In the last few years, she seemed older than she was, in part because she was tall. But she was also wise beyond her years.

“Nothing.”

“Is Dad home?” But he knew he was, by the car. Johnny knew what was bothering her. It wasn't new to either of them, but it still hurt, after all these years.

“Yeah.” She nodded, and then started to dribble the ball, as Johnny watched her for a minute, and then grabbed the ball from her. They played together for a few minutes, taking turns sinking baskets, and it struck him again how good she was. It was a shame in some ways that she wasn't a boy. And he knew she thought so too. She had gone to almost every game he'd played through all his high school years, and rooted passionately for him. Johnny was exactly who she wished she could be. He was her hero, more than anyone on earth.

It was a full ten minutes later when he finally left her, and went inside. His mother was standing in the kitchen, drying dishes, while his little brother Bobby watched her from the kitchen table, and his father was in the living room, watching TV.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, planting a kiss somewhere on the top of her head, as she smiled. Alice Peterson was crazy about her kids, and always had been. The happiest day in her life was when Johnny was born. And she still felt that way when she looked at him now.

“Hi, sweetheart, how was your day?” Her eyes lit up when she saw him, as they did every night. She had always had a special bond with him.

“Pretty good. Graduation's on Monday, and the prom is in two days.” She laughed at what he said, as Bobby watched.

“No kidding. Did you think I forgot? How's Becky?” Both kids had talked of nothing else for months.

“Good.” And then he turned his attention to Bobby, who smiled as his big brother approached. “Hi, kiddo, good day?” Bobby said nothing, but the smile broadened as Johnny tousled his hair.

Johnny had long-running conversations with him, told him everything he did every day, and inquired about his little brother's day. But Bobby never spoke, hadn't in five years, since he was four. He had had an accident with his father, when their father drove his car off a bridge into the river. They had both nearly drowned, and a passerby had saved Bobby's life. He had been on life support for two weeks, and he had survived it, but he never spoke again. No one had been able to figure out since then if it was brain damage from being submerged for too long, or trauma. But no amount of specialists, therapy, or treatments had changed anything. Bobby was alert, aware, and carefully observed everything around him, but he did not speak. He was in a special school for the handicapped, and he participated in some things, but he lived in a world that was airtight now, and completely sealed. He could write, but never communicated in writing either. He just copied the words and letters other people wrote. He did not answer questions, verbally or in writing. He did not volunteer anything. It was as though Bobby had nothing left to say. And ever since the accident, what had once been a tendency for their father to drink a little too much at parties had become a nightly anesthesia, so he wouldn't have to think. He never fell down, he never got sloppy, he wasn't aggressive or violent. He just sat down in front of the TV and got quietly drunk every night, and it was no mystery why. It was just the way things were, and had been for five years.

None of them ever spoke about it. Alice had tried talking to him about it at first, and she had thought he'd get over it, just as Bobby would get over his silence. But neither of them had. And in their own way, they were both locked into their own worlds. Bobby into his silent bubble, and Jim into his beer. It was hard on all of them, but they all understood by now, and accepted, that it wasn't going to change. She had suggested AA to him several times, and he just brushed her off. He refused to discuss his drinking with her or anyone else. He didn't even acknowledge that he drank.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” his mom asked him. “I saved dinner for you.”

“I'm okay. I had a sandwich at the Adamses',” he said, gently touching Bobby's cheek. Touching him seemed like the best way of communicating with him sometimes, and Johnny felt closer than ever to him. They had a bond that was unbreakable, and Bobby just followed him around sometimes, in his familiar silence, with huge, loving blue eyes.

“I wish you'd wait and eat here once in a while,” his mother said. “How about dessert? We had apple pie.” It was his favorite, and she made it for him as often as she could.

“That sounds good.” He didn't want to hurt her feelings. Sometimes he ate two full dinners, one at Becky's house, and one at home, just to please her. Johnny was crazy about her, and she about him. They were more than just mother and son. They were friends.

She sat down at the kitchen table with him while he ate his pie, and Bobby watched him. Johnny and his mom chatted about what was going on, Charlotte's home runs that afternoon, and the prom. He was going to pick up his rented tux the next day. She could hardly wait to see him in it, and had bought some film that day so she could take his picture, and she offered to buy Becky a corsage.

“I already ordered one,” he smiled at his mother, “but thanks anyway.” And then he said he had to work on his graduation speech. As valedictorian, he had to make the opening speech. And she was unreservedly proud of him, as she had been all his life.

He stopped in the living room for a minute on his way upstairs. The TV was blaring, and his father was sound asleep. It was a familiar scene. Johnny turned off the television, and went quietly upstairs, sat down at his desk, and looked at what he'd already written. He was still poring over it, when the door to his room opened and closed silently, and he saw Bobby sit down on his bed.

“I'm working on a speech,” Johnny explained, “for graduation. It's in four days.” Bobby said nothing, and Johnny went back to his work. He was comfortable with Bobby just sitting in his room, and Bobby seemed happy to be there. Eventually, Bobby lay down on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling. At times like that, it was hard not to wonder what was on his mind, if he still remembered the accident and thought about it. If his not speaking had been a decision, or something he couldn't help. There was no way to know.

The accident had taken a toll on all of them in the past five years. In some ways, they all worked harder, like he and Charlotte, to be even more than they might have been otherwise, to make up for the grief they had all shared. And in other ways, they had given up, like their father, who hated his job, hated his life, drank himself into a stupor every night, and was consumed with guilt. And Johnny knew that in her own way, their mother had given up too. She had given up the hope of Bobby ever speaking again, or Jim forgiving himself for what he'd done. She had never gotten angry at him, never accused him of being careless. He had had a few beers under his belt when he drove off the bridge. But she didn't have to accuse him of anything. Jim Peterson hated himself for what he'd done. It was one of those tragedies that could not be reversed. But they had all lived past it, they had gone on. Things were different than they had been, always would be now. It was just the way things were.

Johnny worked on his speech for another half hour, and seemed satisfied with what he'd done, when he went to lie down next to Bobby on the bed. The child lay peacefully beside him, in silence, as Johnny held his hand. It was as though the words he wanted to share with him, and the feelings, passed through their fingers. What they felt for each other transcended words and sounds. They didn't need to say anything.

They lay that way for a long time, until their mother came upstairs to find Bobby, and told him he had to go to bed. He didn't nod, and his eyes said nothing at all, but he got up slowly, and looked at Johnny, and then walked quietly back to his own room, as his mother followed to put him to bed. She hadn't left him for a single day since the accident. She was always there for him. She never left him with sitters, never went anywhere. Her whole life revolved around him. And the others understood. It was her gift to him.

It was eleven o'clock when Johnny finally called Becky, and she answered the phone on the second ring. Her mother and the other kids had already gone to bed, but she always waited up for Johnny's call, and he never failed to call her. They liked talking to each other at day's end. And every morning, he picked her and the other kids up on the way to school. His days began and ended with her.

“Hi, baby. How's it going?” He smiled whenever he spoke to her.

“Okay. Mom's in bed. I was just looking at my dress.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made him happy for her. It was a beautiful dress, and she looked fantastic in it. She was a spectacular-looking girl, and he felt lucky that she was his.

“You're going to be the prettiest girl there,” he said, and meant every word of it.

“Thanks. How are things at your house?” She worried about him, she knew about the problem with his father. Everyone did. He had been drinking for years. And she felt sorry for Bobby too. He was such a cute kid. She liked Charlotte too, she was such a tomboy, but she was a lot like Johnny. She was really smart, and very kind, like their mom. It was a lot harder to get to know their dad.

“Same as always. Dad's passed out in front of the TV, and Charlie looks kind of sad. She always wants him to come to her games, and he never does. Mom said she hit two home runs today, but it's like it doesn't matter to her unless Dad knows. He always used to come to my games, but I guess he thinks it's not the same with girls. People can be so dumb sometimes.” It made him sad that he couldn't change it for her. He had tried talking to his father about it, but it was as though he didn't hear or care. So Johnny usually went to Charlie's games when he could. “I finished my speech. I hope it goes okay.”

“It'll be great, you know that. I'm going to be so proud of you,” she said, and meant it. They gave each other the support and comfort they each needed, and that their parents no longer had time for. There had been enough sorrow in both houses to keep both their mothers busy and distracted. It was part of the bond that cemented Becky and Johnny to each other. In some ways, they each were all they had, despite brothers and sisters and parents, and friends. They gave each other something no one else did.

“I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” There was nothing much to say, they just liked to hear each other's voice before they went to bed.

“I love you, Johnny,” she said softly, sitting at the kitchen phone in her nightgown, thinking of him.

“I love you too, baby. Sleep tight.” They hung up, and Johnny walked slowly up the stairs to his room in the silent house.

Chapter 2

“Wow! You look gorgeous!”
Alice Peterson beamed at her elder son as he came down the stairs from his bedroom in his rented tux. He looked tall and dark and handsome, in a pleated white shirt, a dinner jacket that fit him exceptionally well, and he had a white rose pinned to his lapel. “You look like a movie star,” and although she didn't say it to him, he looked like he was getting married. He was a strikingly handsome young man.

He went to take his corsage of white roses for Becky out of the refrigerator, and stood in the hall holding the clear plastic box, as Charlotte bounced down the stairs and stopped with a wide grin on her face. As usual, she had a basketball in her hands.

“How do you think your brother looks?” their mother asked with a look of pride, as her daughter guffawed.

“Like a dork,” she said unceremoniously, and Johnny laughed.

“Thanks, sis. You'll look just as dorky one of these days when you go to the senior prom. I can't wait! You'll probably take a basketball with you, or wear your baseball mitt. You might even go in cleats if nothing's changed by then.”

“Yeah, I might,” she grinned broadly at him, and then conceded sheepishly, “I guess you look okay.” And like her mother, she looked proud of him.

“He looks a lot better than okay,” their mother said, standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss, as Bobby wandered in from the kitchen and stared. Their mother snapped two quick pictures of Johnny before he could object.

“How do I look to you, champ?” Johnny addressed him without waiting for a response, as Bobby watched the scene with interest. Their father hadn't come home yet. “I'd better go pick Becky up, or we'll be late,” he said, walking toward the door as his mother and sister watched him admiringly, and he turned to give them a last wave. And a moment later, they heard him drive away.

Becky was waiting for him on her front porch, in the white satin strapless dress he'd bought for her. It molded her figure perfectly, without being too tight, and she looked like a fairy princess, one of her sisters had said. She was wearing her long blond hair in a French twist, and the pair of white satin high-heeled pumps she had bought herself. Johnny pinned the white rose corsage on her, and she smiled up at him adoringly. He bent to kiss her then, and her brothers, standing nearby, hooted and jeered, as her mother came out from the kitchen to smile at them.

“You both look like you belong in a magazine,” Pam Adams said with a loving grin. Becky looked prettier than ever that night, and Johnny looked more than his nearly eighteen years. “Have a good time, kids. This is your one and only senior prom. One day it'll be an important memory … enjoy every minute of it, and make it a night you'll never forget.” Every moment seemed precious to her now. She had learned irrevocably that in the end, memories were all you had.

“We will, Mom,” Becky said, and kissed her on the cheek as she left.

“Drive carefully,” she admonished them, and Johnny promised her that he would, as he always did. He was sensible and responsible, and she had never worried about him, it was just something she said.