Chapter Twenty
Friday morning feels fresh when Jimmy opens his eyes. The air in his bedroom is autumn cool and he hears his dad downstairs making coffee. He’s always loved Fridays. He likes the assembly at school where all the students gather in the gym for announcements and sometimes they give awards. He sits on the wooden pullout bleachers next to his best friend, Barry, who can fart anytime he wants and always does when the principal is talking and that is hilarious. Then the principal asks why are you boys laughing, and tells them to stop laughing, which of course, they just can’t. Yeah, he loves that. He throws off the covers and gets out of bed. Also, his mom, who always monitors everything he eats, lets him buy lunch on Fridays. Lunch at the school is cool because you can get nuggets, or pizza, or hot dogs, and there isn’t anything green for miles, and even though his mom says it’s disgusting, on Friday he gets to have it.
Down at the breakfast table Hank is sitting alone with his coffee and the newspaper. He acts nonchalant when Jimmy enters dressed for school, walks over to the pantry and takes out a box of Cheerios. Yes, Hank thinks, this is good - this is normal. He holds back the grateful tears in his eyes. Jimmy is turning the corner.
He asks casually, “Hey, buddy, you’re up for school today?’
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” And that was all they said. It was perfect.
After breakfast, upstairs in Hank’s bedroom, where Alison is lying awake in bed, there are no grateful emotions.
“Absolutely not,” Alison says.
“He’s going back today. It’s his decision and it is what the therapist recommended.”
“No, Hank, no, please.”
Hank sees the fear on her face, walks over, and sits on the side of the bed. He takes her hand. “Alison, this is the right thing for him. He looks good this morning. It’s what he needs. It’s what’s best for him. You have to support it.”
“No, I don’t.”
Jimmy bounds into the room. He has his coat on, his favorite scarf and beanie, which he believes makes him look really “swa-eet”, and his school books balanced on his hip. He practically skips over to the bed, kisses her on the cheek.
“Bye, Mom. See you right away when I get home.”
Hank kisses her, too. “I’ll call you when I get to work. I love you, Alison. Try to get out of bed.”
* * *
Harbor Hills Elementary School ripples with excitement and then opens its arms to Jimmy. Denise, Gary, and a few of the other teachers surround and hug him, which embarrasses him in front of the other boys.
“Jimmy,” Denise says, “you look really good.”
“Uh, thanks.”
She continues, “Honey, how’s your mom doing?”
Jimmy shifts from foot to foot and then says, “Okay, you know, kinda.”
“Did she say when she might come back to school?” Gary asks.
“Nope. She’s awful tired.”
“Of course,” Denise adds, “I stopped by yesterday. But there wasn’t any answer at the door.”
“Oh, she doesn’t answer the door.”
“Okay, tell her we miss her, okay?”
“Sure.”
Jimmy’s classmates are mesmerized by his commando experience and while it certainly seems peculiar, Jimmy suddenly finds himself very popular and the center of attention. The boys pepper him with questions. So he tells the story again and again, the sting of it lessens, and it begins to feel only like a story. The school counselor observes him and she is encouraged by his ability to concentrate on his schoolwork and to play during recess. When she pulls him aside he tells her it feels like he was just inside a video game and that it really didn’t happen. She sees this as a positive distancing mechanism and the report she sends home is even more encouraging than Hank had hoped.
Hank was sorely needed at Pump Up The Volume. He is the one who examines the demographics of the audience and creates the music playlist for the DJ events. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of music history and his playlists are a sought after commodity. Pump Up The Volume has started providing them over the Internet for a fee. They were almost making more money on that than on rental equipment. Sometimes when Hank is deep in the flood of chords and melodies he remembers his father, standing in the doorway of his bedroom yelling, “Damn it, Henry, turn off that music and study or you’ll never get a job.”
That morning, several clients called Hank, panicked with what they thought were emergencies. His definition of emergency has changed forever. All of this provided some distance for him, since it helped to place the island and its events, in time past.
* * *