The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen Read online

  Later, after I’d brushed my teeth, I gave Dad a hug.

  “What’s that for?” he said, hugging me back.

  “Nothing.” I didn’t feel like explaining that for the first time since IT happened, I actually felt lucky to have at least one parent to go home to.

  Sunday morning went on forever. Dad could tell I was nervous because I changed my shirt five times (I finally settled on light gray) and my pants twice. I went with the cargo pants. They were loose; I had to borrow a belt from Dad. Maybe all the bottle-collecting and Ten Second Abs work is starting to pay off.

  Finally, at 12:15, I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to leave.

  “Have fun with Ontario,” Dad said.

  “Alberta!” I shouted as I closed the door.

  Alberta lives east and south of me by ten blocks, on the other side of the school. It took me only fifteen minutes to get there, so I had to walk around the block over and over again.

  From the outside, her house is the opposite of Farley’s. It’s small and made of wood, and it’s painted in a color I can only describe as neon yellow. It looks like it might collapse at any moment.

  The grass looks like it hasn’t been cut in a year. Toys, scooters, and rusted lawn furniture litter the lawn and the sagging porch.

  At exactly one o’clock – after six turns around the block – I rang the bell. A girl answered it almost immediately. She was an older, taller, skinnier version of Alberta, minus the lazy eye and the unique fashion sense. She wore a soccer uniform covered in grass stains, like she’d just come home from a game.

  “You must be Alberta’s little friend,” she said, and I swear she emphasized the word little.

  “And you must be Cricket,” I replied.

  “Cricket, I said I’d get it!” Alberta shouted, taking the stairs two at a time. She was wearing pajama bottoms, which were white with black sheep all over them, and a T-shirt that read Does Not Play Well with Others. She tried to shove her older sister out of the way, but Cricket just planted her arms against the door frame and wouldn’t budge.

  “Was that you I saw walking past our house over and over again?” Cricket said. “Are you stalking us?”

  I begged my face not to go red. I don’t think it listened. “I was early,” I said, and my voice cracked.

  “Get lost, Cricket! Get a life!”

  Cricket just shrugged. “Behave,” she said as she finally stepped out of the doorway and headed up the stairs.

  Alberta pulled me inside. “I hate her!” she said.

  I used to say that about Jesse, too. “You don’t really hate her,” I replied. “You just don’t like what she does to you sometimes.”

  “No. I hate her,” she said. “C’mon, let’s go to the kitchen.”

  The inside of their house was just as messy as the outside. In fact, it wasn’t just messy; it was filthy. Food-encrusted dishes were piled high in the sink; newspapers, books, homework, bills, and at least three separate pairs of sweaty socks covered the tables, chairs, and countertops. Dust bunnies and crumbs were all over the floor. Dad and I aren’t the best housekeepers, but compared to Alberta’s, our place is spotless.

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Mom’s working. She’s a nurse’s aide at an old folks’ home. And Dad’s probably in the garage with Dylan. They’re building a boxcar for some big race in the spring.”

  “Who’s Dylan?”

  “My little brother.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “He’s eight. Him, I like.”

  I’d brought over a recipe I’d found on Epicurious for baGrams chocolate-chip muffins. We got to work. And even though Cricket kept wandering through and saying things like, “I want you kids to keep six inches between you at all times,” and even though Dylan came running into the kitchen and knocked our bowl of freshly made batter onto the filthy floor, and even though I almost hurled when Alberta bent down and scooped it back into the bowl, it was a great afternoon. Her mom came home just as the muffins were cooling, and everyone, even Cricket, tried one. They were delicious, in spite of the odd hair.

  “Nice work, dear,” her mom said, then she gave Alberta a big hug. Alberta said, “Mom!” but I could tell she loved it. I kind of wished her mom would hug me, too.

  Then her parents went out to do the grocery shopping, and Dylan went into the living room to watch a video. Alberta packed up a few muffins for me to bring home.

  “Thanks for helping me today, Henry,” she said as she handed me my muffins. Then she kissed me.

  Yes, that’s right: She kissed me. Not on the cheek. On the lips. Her lips were soft, like little pillows.

  I kissed her back. I didn’t close my eyes like I was probably supposed to. I stared at her, kissing me.

  “Woot! Woot! Six-inch rule violated! Six-inch rule violated! Sound the alarm! Woot! Woot!” Cricket. You could tell she was having the time of her life.

  “Get lost!” Alberta shouted. She chased her sister around the kitchen, trying to hit her with a wet dish towel. Cricket just laughed and laughed. Then her cell phone rang, and she left the room to answer it.

  “You won’t believe what I just caught my little sister doing,” we could hear her saying. “She’s such a slut!”

  “Aaaagh!!! I hate her so much,” Alberta said. “I wish she was dead!”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. Life would be so much better!”

  “No. It wouldn’t.”

  I think my voice sounded weird. ’Cause suddenly she was looking at me, with both eyes.

  “How do you know?”

  I shrugged. “I just think you should be careful about saying stuff like that. Because if it came true, you’d hate yourself forever.”

  She took my hand. “Are you talking from personal experience?”

  I don’t know if it was our kiss, or the concern in her voice, or the feel of her surprisingly rough hand over mine, but I said, “I had a brother.”

  “Did he die?”

  I nodded.

  “Crap, Henry. I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry. How’d he die?”

  The lie came easily. “Cancer.”

  “What kind?”

  “The deadly kind.”

  “No, but where?”

  “… The brain.”

  “A tumor?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Last June.” That part was true.

  “Is that why your mom doesn’t live with you?” She saw the look on my face. “Farley told me.”

  “She’s in Ontario. But she’s moving back with us soon. She just needed some time to clear her head.”

  “Oh.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” I said. “Especially not Farley. No one else knows. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Alberta nodded. Then she kissed me again.

  And her sister didn’t interrupt this time.

  When I got home, I went to my room and replayed the kiss over and over in my head. I was so happy. And then suddenly it hit me like a punch to the stomach: Jesse would never, ever feel a girl’s lips on his. He would never get to feel his first boobs; he would never get to go to college, or catch another fish, or travel, or have kids.

  He would never experience anything, ever again. And neither would Scott.

  And I felt so sad for both of them, but especially for my brother, which I know isn’t right, but it’s true because he was my brother. And then, boom, like that, my sadness turned to furies because it dawned on me that every single time something GOOD happens to me, Jesse will be there, looming over my shoulder, like a big inescapable force of doom, for the rest of my life.

  I only did what you told me to do! I wanted to shout at him. It is not my fault! You told me not to tell anyone what happened in the park on April 30! You made me promise!

  2:00 a.m.

  Sometimes I wish Jesse was alive again, just so I could kill him.

  MONDAY,
MARCH 11

  6:00 a.m.

  I just had the craziest dream.

  I’m in the ring on “Saturday Night Smash-Up.” I’m wearing an outfit that looks a lot like the Great Dane’s. I’m taller and more muscular than in real life. My wobblies are gone.

  They announce my opponent. It’s Vlad the Impaler. Vlad steps into the ring. Except it isn’t Vlad. He’s wearing Vlad’s costume, including the little black mask that covers the top half of his face. But I recognize the eyes peering out at me. They’re Jesse’s.

  The fight begins. Vlad is no match for me. I use every dirty trick in the book, including eye pokes, biting, and low blows. Vlad barely fights back.

  It ends when I whack him repeatedly in the head with a metal chair. He crumples onto the mat and lies there, unmoving.

  The ref holds up my arm, and I dance around the ring to the cheers of the crowd.

  But above the roar of the crowd, I hear a sound: duct tape, being torn off a roll. The ref isn’t holding up my arm anymore. He’s leaning over Jesse, putting a pillowcase over his head. Then the ref looks up and smiles at me. It’s Scott Marlin.

  That’s when I woke up, panting and drenched in sweat.

  TUESDAY, MARCH 12

  Progress. Serious progress.

  I was in the middle of doing some ab crunches with the Ten Second Abs thing when Mom called.

  I took the phone into my room. We had a long talk. After I’d told her about going to Farley’s house and baking muffins with Alberta (minus the kiss) and about the best fights on “Saturday Night Smash-Up,” she said, “I have some good news.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not in the hospital anymore. Dr. Dumas and I agreed I was ready to come home.”

  My heart did a flip. “Home?”

  “To Pop-Pop and Grams’s,” she said. “I still need to see Dr. Dumas a few times a week, as an outpatient.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’d really like to see you at March Break.”

  “March Break is next week.”

  “I know.”

  My knees felt weak, and I had to sit down. “I’d like to see you, too,” I said. Understatement of the year. “When are you coming out?”

  “Actually,” she said, “I was hoping you’d come here.”

  “Why?”

  “Pop-Pop and Grams have offered to fly you out on air miles. They have enough points.”

  “But if they have enough points for me to fly there, they have enough for you to fly here.”

  There was a pause. “I don’t want to miss my sessions with Dr. Dumas. Will you consider it? Please? I really want to see you.”

  There was nothing to consider. “I’ll come,” I said.

  “Oh, hooray!” she replied. Written down it looks insincere, but when she said it, it was genuine.

  When I got off the phone, I went back into the living room. Dad was watching TV. I told him what Mom had said. “You can come, too. We can convince her to fly back out with us.”

  Dad got this funny look on his face. “I think your mom wants some one-on-one time with you, Henry.”

  “But she wants to see you, too.”

  “Did she say that?”

  “No, but I’m sure she’s thinking it.”

  Dad sighed. “I can’t take the time, anyway. I’m in the middle of this big construction job.… ”

  “So. Ask for a week off.”

  “I can’t afford to take a week off, Henry. You know that.”

  I could tell from his tone that it was time to drop it.

  So the situation isn’t perfect. But it’s pretty darn close. And it will be much easier to convince her, face-to-face, that it’s time to be a family again.

  FRIDAY, MARCH 15

  INTRIGUING FACT: On December 17, 1903, the Wright brothers flew one of their planes for twelve seconds straight. It was the first successful powered piloted flight in history.

  And now, here I am, over a century later, flying four hours to Toronto. That’s twelve seconds times I don’t know how much, but it’s a lot. After that, I’ll take another, smaller plane to Kingston, where Pop-Pop will pick me up.

  This is my fifth trip on a plane. The first two times, we flew to Pop-Pop and Grams’s. The third time, we flew to San Diego and Legoland. The fourth time, we flew to Pop-Pop and Grams’s to live with them after IT.

  That was an awful trip. Mom was so sedated that she slurred her words, and some of the passengers thought she was drunk. Dad was quiet, but every now and then he’d let loose with these huge, quavering sighs. I sat in between them, and it was the longest four hours of my life. Jesse wasn’t with us; he’d been left behind in a storage locker. I guess that sounds awful, but we could hardly put him in our luggage. And imagine the questions from the security staff if we’d tried to take him as carry-on.

  But enough of that. I refuse to let bad memories spoil this trip. This trip is going to be fun. I am going for a whole week, Friday to Friday. Those were the dates Pop-Pop could get with his air miles.

  Best part of a Friday-to-Friday trip: I get to miss two, count ’em, two, sessions with Cecil!!!

  I have a window seat, and it’s a clear day. I’m staring down at the Rocky Mountains, and they are spectacular. A guy in a business suit is in the aisle seat, and the middle seat is empty. I’ve already watched a movie that my parents wouldn’t let me see when it came out because they thought it was “inappropriate.” And Pop-Pop made sure he bought me a meal voucher, which I spent on five mini-cans of Pringles.

  Mountains to my left. Pringles to my right. My own personal TV.

  This is the life.

  Yesterday morning, Farley and I collected our biggest haul yet. But we had a Reach For The Top tournament after school, so we agreed to store the cans and bottles in our lockers and return them on the Monday after March Break.

  Word has spread about our business, and mostly the response is good. A bunch of kids actually hand us their empty cans and bottles when they see us at our lockers, which saves us a bit of work.

  Troy finally figured out what we’re up to. I guess it had to happen, since his locker is right across the hall from ours. He makes fun of us. But yesterday, when he started talking about “Fatty and Fartley’s garbage-picking operation,” Farley said, “Laugh all you want, Troy. We’ve made almost a hundred and fifty bucks in three weeks!”

  That shut him up.

  11:05 a.m. PST/2:05 p.m. EST

  The flight attendant just gave me some extra little bags of pretzels. How cool is that?

  11:45 a.m. PST/2:45 p.m. EST

  The guy in the aisle seat has fallen asleep. He has just the tiniest bit of drool coming out of his mouth.

  12:30 p.m. PST/3:30 p.m. EST

  Also. I had a little talk with Dad before I left. I said, “Don’t even think of inviting Karen into our apartment.”

  Dad sighed. He was in the galley kitchen making supper, wearing the John Deere apron Mom had made him for his birthday a few years ago. I was setting the table. “Henry. I hardly know her. I’d barely even call her a friend, but she’s certainly nothing more.”

  “That’s what you think,” I replied, “but what does she think?”

  “How would I know?” He served up scrambled eggs and toast onto two plates. We’re trying hard to make our own meals these days, to save money and eat better, but until Mrs. Bardus teaches me more than just baking in Home Ec, our list of recipes is short.

  “Remember two summers ago?” I said. “When we rented that cabin for a week?”

  “Of course I remember. The fishing was great. Jesse caught that sockeye –” Dad stopped suddenly. He’d just broken our unwritten rule: Never say Jesse’s name out loud.

  “And you could borrow movies from the front desk,” I reminded him. “Most of them were really old. And we watched one called Fatal Attraction.”

  “So?”

  “So? How do you know Karen isn’t like the crazy lady in that?” In the movie, a businessman is happily married with a wife a
nd a kid, but he has a weekend fling with this woman who turns out to be a psycho. She stalks him and his family. One day, the family comes home to find a pot of water boiling on the stove. When they take off the lid, do you know what’s inside?

  Their daughter’s rabbit!!!

  “At least you don’t have a pet,” my dad replied.

  “Ha-ha. I’m serious, Dad. She’s lonely, she’s desperate, and she’s after you. And you’re taken.”

  Dad put down his knife and fork and looked me in the eye. I thought he was going to lecture me, but instead he just said, “Henry, you have my word. I will not let Karen into our apartment while you’re away.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Then, just so he didn’t think I was completely unreasonable, “But feel free to invite Mr. Atapattu over anytime.”

  1:00 p.m. PST/4:00 p.m. EST

  We land in just under an hour. The flight attendant just brought me another can of Coke. And I didn’t even ask!

  9:00 p.m. PST/12 Midnight EST

  I’m in my room at Pop-Pop and Grams’s. It’s their guest room, and it’s in the attic. It has sloped ceilings and hardwood floors and a tiny window. If I stand on my tiptoes, I can see outside. It’s cozy. I like it.

  I had a nice surprise when I landed at the airport: Mom was there to meet me. She’d had a session with Dr. Dumas in Kingston, so she stayed in town till my flight came in. She hugged me like she would never let me go. There were waterworks, and not just hers.

  I cried because I was remembering how things used to be, before Jesse went and screwed it all up. And I cried because Mom doesn’t look great. She’s lost more weight than I’ve gained since June 1st. She has dark circles under her eyes. And I couldn’t help but notice that her hair looks thinner. Worse, when she leaned down to pick up my duffel bag, I saw a bald spot.

  On the way home in Pop-Pop’s old Ford Escort, she kept stroking my arm and touching my face. “Henry. My Henry,” she said over and over. It wasn’t as creepy as it sounds. In fact, she was in a pretty good mood. “I always feel better after one of my sessions,” she said.