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Chapter 3 |
He's surprised at that, then comes a Sandburg smile that lights up the room. Twice a week we meet at the library. I pick a table way in the back. What I do not need is too many people spotting me with Sandburg. He's helping me, no doubt about it, but the kid is 16. Sixteen, for crissake. Boy genius. A little humiliating for a senior to be tutored by a kid too young to be a freshman. Still, he's far superior to the tutor the librarian assigned me. Sandburg's smart, Jesus, is he smart. And though he talks way too much, he's a natural teacher. I get it. He's not just smart in book ways, but it's like he really understands people. Understands me. After we're done studying, I sometimes surprise myself telling him things I've never said to anyone, yeah, me: Jim Ellison the Original Loner. He has some interesting insights, not that I would ever admit it. And I think about what he says all week. It helps. In some weird way, he helps me. 'That thing that happens, what do you call it again?' Sandburg's smile is irresistible. The outer Ellison never smiles in return, but the inner one is really getting to like the happy look on his face. 'Yeah,' he says in the enthusiastic tone he got whenever he gets to explain something he really likes. 'It's the overload factor, like you zone out. The Ellison Zone, as it were.' 'Shut up, Sandburg.' He grins, completely unintimidated by me any more. 'No, really, man. Think about it. When you're on the field, you probably can't hear the crowd, right? You don't look at the cheerleaders, you don't smell the hotdogs, you don't feel each individual stitch on the football. You're just concentrating so intently on getting the ball to the, uh, to the guy who's supposed to be getting the ball.' 'For an uncoordinated geek, that's a pretty good description.' He smiles again. 'So you need an Ellison Zone in the classroom, where you shut out the smells, the sounds, the sights, and just concentrate on what the professor is saying. If you'd let me come with you to a class….' 'No, Sandburg, no.' We fall into our usual argument about him accompanying me to class. He has a dozen reasons why he should, I have a hundred why he should not. He ducks but not fast enough. I mess up his hair and give him a soft slap upside the head. Another new thing for me. Truth be told, I kind of like the kid, now that we had gotten past our antagonistic first couple of weeks when he tried to make me see my condition as a gift. He's wrong about that, it is no gift, but he does have some pretty good ideas about how to work around it. He talks too much, is interested in a million things, is as enthusiastic and unrepressed as a puppy. Bumps up against my glass wall like it isn't even there, like he expects, no, demands admittance. And then invites me to come out and play. Despite all that, it's peaceful to be with him. Like the noise recedes, which is weird if you know Sandburg. And he likes me. That I know, can feel certain about. Sounds stupid, but there aren't many people you can be sure of. At least, I can't. My mom left, my dad thinks I'm a freak, girls don't stick around long. I don't trust anyone, not really. I hold myself apart, with a great big fortress around me. Also being remote makes my condition easier to hide. When I was younger, I used to imagine myself a superhero, you know, with secret powers. Even that I was from another planet. I was Iceman on the outside, the Torch on the inside. I shed that childish notion long ago. Now I know I'm not a superhero, just a freak. Oh, I still got the ice thing going on the outside, but the fire's gone out. Someone ever found out about whatever's wrong with me, the shit would hit the fan, as my old man says. Another thing he says, who wants a freak? Not the coach, not the team, not the frat brothers, not the alumni, not the recruiters, not law schools, not any girl. Nobody. Shut up and shut down. Makes it all bearable, barely. Yeah, I'm bitter. Missing out on everything good in life, just standing on the sidelines watching everyone have fun. Cold and remote and lonely. Until Sandburg. He doesn't care about football, not about fraternities or who's recruiting or what clothes I wear or the truck I drive or who my father is or how much money we have. I don't think Sandburg has ever once in his hippie-dippie life thought about appearances. And he likes me. Right now I'm soaking it up like there's a drought coming fast. Storing it up against the day when he figures out that I really am a freak and leaves. 'Hey, Ellison.' I groan. Johnston, Keane and Parks. The front line. A bigger, meaner, more dim-witted bunch of tacklers never existed. I'm glad they are on my team, but I do not like them. I keep an eye on Sandburg, who is watching them apprehensively. I can practically smell the fear rolling off him. Johnston tangles his big paw in Sandburg's hair. 'Hello, princess. Haven't seen you around lately.' Anger, always simmering in me, flares up quickly, grateful for a target. OK, fear, too. How do they know Sandburg? 'Fuck off, Johnston. He's helping me with English. Wouldn't want me to be benched, would you? Banks would be the QB then and you know he sucks.' 'Helping you with English?' Keane laughs. 'I got something I'd like him to help me with.' Johnston yanks Sandburg to his feet. 'Hear that, queer boy? Keane here wants you to help him. You remember what to do, don't you?' For once, Sandburg has nothing to say. He pushes and twists and tries to pull his hair out of Johnston's grasp. Johnston releases him suddenly and Sandburg falls to his knees. Keane steps forward and thrusts his crotch in the kid's face. I stand up so fast my chair tips over. I push Keane hard. 'What the fuck is wrong with you? If I don't pass this, I'll sit out the Thanksgiving Day bowl game. You want that, asshole?' Rage makes me shake. If I focus on that, on how much I want to hurt someone, the episode won't come. I hope. 'If we don't win the bowl game, we're not going to the play-offs. No play-offs, no recruiters.' Johnston sees the wisdom in that and moves along. Keane and Parks follow his lead. 'We were just having a little fun, Ellison. Sandburg's our friend, ain't that right, sweetheart?' I am still breathing hard when I turn back to Sandburg. He's the only one left to vent my fury on. If he's friends with those guys, then he's told them about me. They probably all laugh at the stupid fuckin' freak. I am right on the verge of an episode despite my best efforts to suppress it. Sandburg tells them about my condition, they tell the coach, then I'll be benched and everyone will know why. Everything is spiraling into a tightly wound knot that is choking me, narrowing my world down to Sandburg. It's his fault this is happening to me. Yeah, it's all about me. And it's all his fault. Everything's whirling at light speed inside my head. It's suddenly too loud in the library. The room goes in and out of focus. I'm unsteady on my feet. Jesus, here it comes. Sandburg looks up at me gratefully. Something clutches in my chest at his dark blue eyes. That throws me off and I can feel my grip on sanity strengthen a little, but the darkness is relentless. 'Thanks, Jim,' he whispers. I can't accept that. He's let me down, he's untrustworthy, same as everyone else. My thoughts are whirling, too loud, too fast. I can only think, you get close to somebody and they fuck you over. Every fucking time. With a tight grip on his throat, I lift him up bodily and slam him down on the table. Stand between his spread legs and just glare hatred at him. I'll give the little freak credit. He doesn't try to pry my hands off his throat or kick or scream. That would be just the push I need to shed some blood. Instead he looks up at me, trusting, despite his vulnerable position, that I won't hurt him. Stupid kid. He gently strokes my wrists, all the time talking in a somewhat roughened voice. For a moment, the rage ebbs, my mind quiets. He likes me. He trusts me. I try to relax my grip. Try to listen, because sometimes Sandburg helps, but I can't wrestle the darkness back into the box. And I'm hard. I'm hard for Sandburg. Jesus, what is wrong with me? I am a bigger freak than he is. My hands are shaking. I am going to do him harm if I don't leave now.
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