eyes closed and his gut full, his breath searching for a listener in all the noise. He hoped Dr. Wesleyan was listening.
You ask where I have been and I answer: Out there.
His belly was empty from bellowing out the truth of those words. He refilled his gut and went at it again.
You ask where I have been and I answer: Out there.
In the third breath he saw through the slits in his eyes that the doctor was on her phone, her face that of a crazed feline. Nonetheless he shared the line one more time.
You ask where I have been and I answer: Out there. Out there.
Jefferson continued chanting even as a security officer ushered him roughly by his elbow back down the long blue hall and out through the waiting room, still full of young men who looked like they might have been his brother. By the time he was dumped outside in front of Building 1, the flags fluttering high in the May air above, he could claim the satisfaction of sharing the last word with the famous writer.
10
That afternoon Jefferson took the pup and a crowbar out to the back corner of the yard, where his mom’s old camper van had sat since 1986, and pried open the passenger-side door. The steel creaked as he’d expected, but there were no rats or snakes. Anything that had spoiled had long since turned to dust, so he climbed inside and took a look around, wondering in part why his curiosity had never taken him this far before. From this vantage the back of the house looked almost foreign, the tan stucco mottled with the sinking sunlight, the half-dead elm off to the left. God, did it need to be pruned. He made a plan to get his old clippers out the next day and clean up the tree and all the other neglected shrubs in the yard. It was one of the things Jefferson seemed to be alone in caring about—the errant twigs and branches sprouting helter-skelter off the main trunks of trees and bushes. Didn’t anyone else in the family see the mess that was going on in the yard? He tried to envision a covered deck off the back of the house—a redwood-stained deck with pots of petunias, Esco’s favorite—and how happy that would make her.
He pulled the door closed behind him and crawled into the back. It was quiet and warm, and he felt he might bring out a pillow and blanket, a flashlight, and stay out here all night. How had this not occurred to him before, this ultimate hideout? And though it felt mildly juvenile to be hanging out in his backyard—he’d always wished his family had been into camping out in the woods, but they hadn’t—it also felt undeniably pleasant.
He was in the midst of calculating the dimensions of the deck he might build for his grandmother, how much lumber it might take, and how he might muster up the money, when he saw movement from inside the house and knew she must be home from the store. He’d go inside and tell her. She wouldn’t believe it. The van was intact, and he was going to sleep out there, plus he had a great idea for a deck off the back.
Jefferson jumped from the van, opened up the driver’s side as well as the sliding door for a little ventilation, and dashed into the house. He could not wait to tell her that he’d found a cost-free solution to his need for a little privacy. It was hard to believe he’d never thought of the van as a refuge before. Here it had been, right here, all that time.
“Hey, Esco!” Jefferson shouted, but she must have gone to the bathroom, because there was no reply. There was no time to waste, so Jefferson pulled down two blankets from the high shelf in the hall closet. He was looking for a flashlight in the kitchen when she found him.
“I didn’t realize you were home. How was the meeting? How was the doctor?” Her eyes were so hopeful.
Oh, that, he told her. It was okay.
And then he asked her where he could find a flashlight. The morning’s meeting with Dr. Wesleyan seemed to have happened in another lifetime. The train ride home alone had taken almost three hours, counting the bus
You ask where I have been and I answer: Out there.
His belly was empty from bellowing out the truth of those words. He refilled his gut and went at it again.
You ask where I have been and I answer: Out there.
In the third breath he saw through the slits in his eyes that the doctor was on her phone, her face that of a crazed feline. Nonetheless he shared the line one more time.
You ask where I have been and I answer: Out there. Out there.
Jefferson continued chanting even as a security officer ushered him roughly by his elbow back down the long blue hall and out through the waiting room, still full of young men who looked like they might have been his brother. By the time he was dumped outside in front of Building 1, the flags fluttering high in the May air above, he could claim the satisfaction of sharing the last word with the famous writer.
10
That afternoon Jefferson took the pup and a crowbar out to the back corner of the yard, where his mom’s old camper van had sat since 1986, and pried open the passenger-side door. The steel creaked as he’d expected, but there were no rats or snakes. Anything that had spoiled had long since turned to dust, so he climbed inside and took a look around, wondering in part why his curiosity had never taken him this far before. From this vantage the back of the house looked almost foreign, the tan stucco mottled with the sinking sunlight, the half-dead elm off to the left. God, did it need to be pruned. He made a plan to get his old clippers out the next day and clean up the tree and all the other neglected shrubs in the yard. It was one of the things Jefferson seemed to be alone in caring about—the errant twigs and branches sprouting helter-skelter off the main trunks of trees and bushes. Didn’t anyone else in the family see the mess that was going on in the yard? He tried to envision a covered deck off the back of the house—a redwood-stained deck with pots of petunias, Esco’s favorite—and how happy that would make her.
He pulled the door closed behind him and crawled into the back. It was quiet and warm, and he felt he might bring out a pillow and blanket, a flashlight, and stay out here all night. How had this not occurred to him before, this ultimate hideout? And though it felt mildly juvenile to be hanging out in his backyard—he’d always wished his family had been into camping out in the woods, but they hadn’t—it also felt undeniably pleasant.
He was in the midst of calculating the dimensions of the deck he might build for his grandmother, how much lumber it might take, and how he might muster up the money, when he saw movement from inside the house and knew she must be home from the store. He’d go inside and tell her. She wouldn’t believe it. The van was intact, and he was going to sleep out there, plus he had a great idea for a deck off the back.
Jefferson jumped from the van, opened up the driver’s side as well as the sliding door for a little ventilation, and dashed into the house. He could not wait to tell her that he’d found a cost-free solution to his need for a little privacy. It was hard to believe he’d never thought of the van as a refuge before. Here it had been, right here, all that time.
“Hey, Esco!” Jefferson shouted, but she must have gone to the bathroom, because there was no reply. There was no time to waste, so Jefferson pulled down two blankets from the high shelf in the hall closet. He was looking for a flashlight in the kitchen when she found him.
“I didn’t realize you were home. How was the meeting? How was the doctor?” Her eyes were so hopeful.
Oh, that, he told her. It was okay.
And then he asked her where he could find a flashlight. The morning’s meeting with Dr. Wesleyan seemed to have happened in another lifetime. The train ride home alone had taken almost three hours, counting the bus
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