Gifted

Andy toggled the switch in his brain from off to on, the volume, set to full blast. The words to the song didn’t matter, it never mattered. It was the voice and the magic it held that slowed his racing heart and lightened his feet. Between buildings, up alleys, and over fences he soared. Unencumbered by gravity, he felt invincible.

The water roiled around and between the sun-scorched boulders protruding from the riverbed. Eleven year-old Andy Duval’s rubber soles slapped one rock, then the next; his daring final leap landed him on the far bank. Scrambling hand over hand up the steep bluff he stole a look over his shoulder. Officer Rosario Ruffalo, or Buffalo as he was known on the streets, was back there…somewhere.

Andy hustled along, staying in the shadows till he came to East Avenue. In the distance loomed St. Joe’s church and school and his thoughts turned to his best friend Billy Browne. Of course they’d have too, that’s where their friendship began; first grade, forth pew, center isle. He hadn’t noticed him until the church organ held that one long note singling the beginning of the hymn, ‘Cry out for Joy’. It was then he first experienced the magic of Billy’s voice. It wasn’t like anything he had known, he could see the notes, feel the joy they held, and when his eyes closed, the sweetness of it filled the air. He could taste the loveliness of it.

But how long had Billy been gone now, two, three days? And he wouldn’t be back for, what, another three or four? Damned family vacations. Andy checked the shadow of St. Joe’s steeple, its silhouette stretched past Main Street and he knew it was after 5:00. I wonder what’s for dinner?

Andy’s sneakers banged up the stairwell’s bare wooden steps. “Mom, I’m home.” He poked his head into the kitchen. “What you cooking?”

His mother, Pattie, stood at the small gas stove, a light cotton dress clinging to her slight frame.

She smiled. “Macaroni and cheese. Why?”

Not answering, he sat down and studied her. Even though it’d been two weeks since she’d dyed her hair blonde, she still looked like a stranger to him.

Pattie plucked her cigarette off the stove’s edge and wedged it between parted lips. She took a quick drag. “What are you starring at?” The smoke curled up and around her cheekbones. Irish green eyes sparkling she pointed the long-handled spoon at him. “Don’t you worry, honey, if you don’t like it in a week, or two, it goes back to red. Is that a deal?” She winked and turned back to the stove.

Over her shoulder she asked, “So what were you up to today?”

Andy reached to the pack of cigarettes on the table and secreted one out.

“I played ball at St. Joe’s.”

Pattie wheeled around. “God Damn it, Andy! Put that back, I can’t have an eleven-year old smoking. What would the neighbors think?”

What would the neighbor think? And when did she start caring about that?

He slid the cigarette back into the pack.

At the downstairs screen door came four loud raps. Pattie turned to the stove. “Go see who’s at the door.” With the back of her hand she pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “If it’s any of your friends, tell them we’re eating dinner.”

Andy scrambled out of the chair, reaching the stairwell he stopped and edged his head around the corner. At the bottom landing stood Officer Ruffalo, his wet uniform matted to his huge frame. Snapping his head back Andy grinned at the thought of Buffalo falling in the river.

Two more powerful raps.

Pattie leaned into the hall. “Andy, who …?”

Andy watched her jaw clench, his gaze shifted to the floor. “It’s Buffalo.”

“God damn it! What have you done now?” In three long strides she was down the hall, grabbing Andy’s tee shirt she pressed her forehead to his. “What did you do today, and don’t you lie to me.”

“I played ball at school.” Andy attempted an angelic smile, fought back a telling grin, adding, “honest.”

Her lips stretched tight against her teeth. “Don’t you lie to me.” She wrenched his tee shirt, drew back, and delivered a hard crisp slap to the side of his head. He staggered sideways, Pattie swung again, he ducked, and the blow grazed the top of his head.

Another bang at the door.

Pattie’s white-knuckled grip relaxed and a calm transformed her face into a familiar practiced smile.

Chin raised she descended the steps, nearing the screen door Pattie said with a question in her voice, “Officer Ruffalo, you’re soaking wet?”

“Where’s, Andy?” Buffalo pushed his face into the screens mesh. “I want him to come down to the station.”

Close at his mother’s heels Andy stuck his head out from behind her. “Mom, don’t let him in.”

At the sound of Andy’s voice, Buffalo’s body coiled, through his nose he drew a sharp breath and cursed. “You. Little. Bastard.”

Pattie grabbed the screen-door handle locking it, like a clap of thunder her voice boomed, “I beg your pardon.” Her chin thrust out. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Like a rabid dog Pattie glared at Buffalo, she was ready to take him on. Andy knew she couldn’t win, knew she wasn’t looking to win, she was searching for an opening, a chance to land that one lucky punch. That’s what happened when you got her Irish up, he could see she was zeroed in, like a kamikaze. Her fist balled and Andy saw she was ready to throw a punch, right through the screen door.

Buffalo, sensing danger took a cautionary step back.

Andy reached a nervous hand onto her ridged arm. “Mom.” He felt her muscles jump then relax, her arm going soft as he pleaded one last time. “Mom.”

“Andy was downtown stealing… again.” Buffalo said.

Was not, prove it, Andy thought, then wondered for a paralyzing moment. Can they get finger-prints off a banana?

“Stealing what?” Pattie asked.

Buffalo studies his shoes. He raised one eye. “Bananas.”

Pattie laughed. “Bananas?”

“Yes bananas. But, bananas or not, he was downtown. His probation rules don’t allow him to be downtown unsupervised.” Buffalo focused on Andy. “Well, I guess I’ll just have a little talk with your probation officer this afternoon. With any luck, you’ll get a couple of days in detention.”

Andy bristled at the remark. You can’t be serious! What kind of luck is that?

“I hope you both have a nice day,” Buffalo turned, took one slow step down, hawked, and spat on the steps.

”God damn Irish trash,” he said, loud enough for them both to hear before he hopped down the last two stairs.

A firm grip on Andy’s neck Pattie grimaced saying into his ear. “Get your ass up to your bedroom. Right now!” Before her hand released his legs were in motion.

Andy hid behind his bedroom door knowing soon enough his mother would barge through screaming her battle cry, ‘why can’t you behave’?

Why couldn’t he behave? He had no idea.

He checked the time, in ten minutes if she didn’t come, he would go get her. It was a fine line, a few drinks would mellow her, any more and it could get ugly.

Andy peered out his bedroom window and wished for divine intervention. God works miracles doesn’t he? That’s what he remembered from school. Of course, that was second grade at St Joe’s and even at the time, miracles seemed a little far-fetched. Parting the sea and all that crap. But, if there was an ounce of truth to the stories, just one ounce, why couldn’t ‘He’ send a miracle his way? Andy considered, in a few years I won’t need a miracle, in a few years she won’t be able to take a belt to me. I’ll snatch it away, shake it in her face, and say, why can’t ‘you’ behave? Why?

Andy hesitate before opening the door a crack, he strained to listen. The refrigerator opened and closed, the clink of ice cubes, a lighter flicking to flame and muffled sobs. Was she crying for his brother again? Johnny was her first, her favorite, he was the smart one, the handsome one, the one most like their father. But if she knew what caused the fire, would she cry then? Andy shuddered at the thought, it wouldn’t be tears, it would be rage.

It’s been two years since Johnny died, would her sorrow ever end? A chair pushed back, next the shuffle of his mother’s feet to the hall closet. That’s where she kept Bruno’s Gazelic’s thick leather belt, it was the only thing left of her one year marriage to her second husband.

Pattie pushed open his bedroom door.

She stood in the doorway. “You lied to me.” Her voice swelled, “Why? Why can’t you behave?” Now shrill, “Get over here and drop your pants!” She stomped toward him. “God help me!”