Chapter 1
Dominick
We met at Boy Scout camp in 1990, years before the internet and Amazon took over the world. This was my last summer as a Boy Scout. Three years into adolescence, and I had yet to see any evidence of it until that summer, the summer before high school, the summer that marked the end of childhood and innocence. To some, the end of elementary school marked this transition, but not for me. I was a late bloomer, as my parents said.
People called me Dom, which I hated. I didn’t like my real name, either—Dominick. I was always a pushover, so I sat back and let everyone call me Dom. Whenever I spoke up, my embarrassing stutter took over. It was better if I kept my mouth shut, so I settled for Dom.
Most of us had been going to this camp for years, since we were Webelos. We came from all over the state, but I hung out with scouts from my own troop, not that I was close friends with any of them. None of us planned on continuing scouts in high school. For many, football and girls would take precedence over anything else. I was a football kid, but I wasn’t as crazy about girls like my teammates were. I never understood why.
I’d never seen the boy with the mousy brown hair before, the one with the big gray eyes. In reality, they were blue, but they looked gray from where I stood. On the first day, as we waited for our cabin assignments, the boy was alone, staring at the ground, almost oblivious to everyone and everything around him. Occasionally he looked up and his eyes wandered around the campground, but he seemed indifferent to everything. Our eyes met for a second, and he smiled before looking back down again.
Maybe he wasn’t so indifferent, after all. His name was Joshua Morgan, the only one who didn’t respond to his name when called. Everyone snickered, gawking at him, as Scoutmaster Steve raised his voice, practically screaming his name. Inches from his face, he repeated his name for the hundredth time. Finally responding, he lifted his chin.
“Josh,” he said. “My name is Josh.”
Scoutmaster Steve had called him Joshua, but he preferred Josh, just like I preferred Dominick, despite my hatred for the name. My middle name was Leonardo, which I hated even more than Dominick. Leonardo di Caprio wasn’t a movie star yet.
“Josh,” Damon attempted to mimic his voice. Josh’s voice had a distinct timbre that was unlike anyone else’s. Damon exaggerated, making him sound mentally challenged. I felt sorry for him, this painfully shy boy who knew no one, who probably didn’t even want to be there.
“Where are you from, Josh?” Scoutmaster Steve asked him.
“Cape Cod,” he answered.
“Where on Cape Cod?”
The group of boys waited anxiously for him to respond, but no response came.
Most of us just wanted to get our cabin assignments.
“Where do you live on Cape Cod?” the scoutmaster asked again.
“Wellfleet,” he finally responded.
My parents had a house in Cape Cod where we often stayed during the summer. It was in Chatham, though, and not in Wellfleet.
“Are you the only boy from your troop here?”
He shrugged, something I noticed he did a lot.
“Well, we’re glad to have you here.”
Usually four boys shared a cabin, but that year there were only two left after the cabins were divvied out. The last two boys were Josh and I. For the first time ever, I didn’t have to fight for the top bunk because we both got our own.
“Ha-ha,” Damon teased me as Josh and I headed to our cabin. He was probably the worst Boy Scout whoever existed, a spoiled brat who got his kicks from being the classic bully. He put on a good show. To adults, he was mild-mannered and polite. I wasn’t friends with him... merely acquaintances since we belonged to the same troop. He never wanted to be a Boy Scout in the first place. His parents made him. “Have fun with the retard.”
Ugh. Damon was such a jerk. He called everybody a ‘retard’ who was slightly different.
As we entered the cabin, Josh and I didn’t say a word. He tossed his sleeping bag on one of the top bunks, then climbed up it while I knelt on the floor, rummaging through my duffel bag.
“It smells like squirrel piss in here,” he said.
I’d never smelled squirrel piss before and wondered how he knew what squirrel piss smelled like.
“Maybe it’s bear piss,” I said. “Or deer piss. How do you know it’s squirrel piss?”
But he was right that the cabin stunk.
I expected a response, but he didn’t respond to my comments. He had something else to say.
“I’m not retarded,” he said. “I don’t hear a lot of things, but I heard your friends.”
“I... I... I never said... said... said... you... you were... were retarded,” I said. “My... my name is Dom... Dominick. People call me... me Dom, but I... I... I... like Dominick better.”
From then on, Josh called me Dominick. He didn’t make fun of my stutter, like most kids did before they really got to know me.
Tangled in a pair of boxer shorts in the bottom of my bag, I found my yellow Sony sports walkman. Robbie, my best friend since kindergarten, made me a mix tape before I left, and I couldn’t wait to listen to it. He wasn’t a Boy Scout, so I wouldn’t see him all month. I always liked his taste in music. Robbie was also one of the few people who never made fun of my stutter (besides Josh). I stuttered the most when I was nervous, particularly when talking in front of a group of people or when meeting new people or when talking to adults. In other words, I stuttered a lot.
“I’m not stupid, either,” Josh said, unrolling his sleeping bag. “I have a hearing problem. I have hearing aids, but I hate them. They’re ugly and they don’t work.”
“Did you bring them?”
“Yes.”
“Let me... me... see... see them.”
Damn stutter. I sounded so stupid, but Josh never made fun of me. He was nicer than most kids I knew.
“You wanna see them?”
Didn’t I just say that? I nodded. He jumped off his bunk. From his knapsack, he pulled out a square box and removed two hearing aids.
“You won’t laugh?” he said.
I shook my head. I’d never laugh at him, not with a smile and eyes like his. Other kids laughed at his voice, but I liked it. His voice was different and interesting.
“I was sick,” he explained, putting on his left hearing aid. “I missed a whole month of school.” He thought for a minute, putting on the other hearing aid. “Hmm... six months ago, I guess. Now my hearing’s shit, and it’s getting worse. I’m ready. Say something, Dominick.”
“Something.”
“Aww, shit.” He popped them out and flung them across the cabin.
Oh no, I’m rooming with a crazy boy who will strangle me in the middle of the night.
I collected the hearing aids for him and placed them back in their container.
“Sorry,” he said. “They don’t work for shit.”
“You didn’t hear... hear me... me?”
No response.
“You didn’t hear me?” I yelled in his ear.
“Is it time to eat yet? I’m hungry.”
“No, we... we... we have... have... an... an hour of free time,” I said in his ear. The scoutmaster had already said that, but Josh must have missed it. “Do... do you... you like music?”
He shrugged again.
With my walkman, I sat on his bottom bunk. I put my headphones on to find out which songs Robbie selected. The first song was Depeche Mode’s Policy of Truth. “Do you like Depeche Mode?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Depeche Mode,” I shouted. “Do you like them?”
“I dunno.”
“Wanna listen?”
My body tensed as he sat beside me. He had nice teeth. I only noticed because I noticed everyone who wasn’t wearing braces. I’d been wearing braces for the past three years. At this rate, I doubted I’d ever get them off.
As if he couldn’t figure out how to do it himself, I placed my headphones on his ears. He turned the volume all the way up. My mother always told me I’d go deaf if I blasted the music like that. His eyes shifted to the left as if that would make him hear better.
“It’s cool,” he said, his head bobbing to the music.
I let Josh borrow my walkman as I organized my section of the cabin. We were going to be there for a month, so I had to get organized. After spreading out my sleeping bag, I rummaged through my bag again, finding the book I wanted. An advanced reader, I was working on my third Steven King novel. I had just started Misery.
I wasn’t a stereotypical jock. Sure, I played football, but I was also a bit of a nerd, too,
My favorite subjects were English and Math. I packed three books, and I’d most likely finish two of those ginormous books within a month.
While I attempted to read, Josh wanted to talk. His shy demeanor made me think he’d rather not speak. When given the chance, he happily chatted away.
“Wanna know why my hearing sucks?” he said from the bottom bunk.
I had to admit I was curious. I had a feeling he would tell me, anyway, even if I wasn’t interested.
“I got this virus. I can’t remember what it’s called, but it begins with an M. Both me and Jeff got it. Jeff’s my older brother. He’s sixteen. He was only in the hospital for a week. I was in the hospital for a whole month. I almost died. Jeff hears fine. So then my parents had a fight or something. They split up and me and my brothers went with my dad. Jimmy just graduated from high school. He works with our dad now. He’s a fishmonger.”
I felt like he’d been dying to tell this story for a long time, and I was the only person willing to listen.
“My mom moved to New Hampshire,” he continued. “I haven’t seen her in a long time. I had to change schools, too. Now I have no friends. That’s why my dad signed me up for Boy Scouts. I still haven’t made any friends.”
“I can be your friend,” I said.
“Huh?”
I climbed down the ladder and sat on his bottom bunk beside him so he’d hear me. “I can be your friend,” I shouted in his ear. Before long, I realized I didn’t stutter as much around him. He didn’t stress me out.
“Do you live in Cape Cod?” His voice was like a soothing melody, steady and gentle.
“No. I live in Belmont.”
“Where’s Belmont?”
“Near Boston.”
“Then we can’t be friends.”
“Why not? We can be friends this summer and then pen pals. I’m good at writing.” My stomach grumbled. I was hungry, too. “I brought snacks. Want some?”
My mother always packed me lots of snacks—candy bars, granola bars, and a variety of chips. Josh devoured two Milky Ways and a bag of Doritos.
As the dinner bell rang, we grabbed our mess kits and left together. It turned out Josh was the only member of his troop who made it to camp. I invited him to sit with me. He became an honorary member of troop fifty-five, my troop.
