Letters On A Page 4, 5, 6 & 7

^^^FOUR^^^

“YOU DO ICEBREAKERS WITH YOUR STUDENTS ON the first day of school?”

“Sure.”

“Why?”

“I like to get to know my students.”

“What for?”

“Because I’m a teacher.”

“You get paid to teach government. The first, second, and third amendments to the Constitution. Stuff like that. Why don’t you just dive right in?”

“I teach students. Students are people, Ari.”

“We’re not that interesting.”

“You’re more interesting than you think.”

“We’re difficult.”

“That’s part of your charm.” She had an interesting look on her face. I recognized that look. My mom, she sometimes resided in the space between irony and sincerity. That was part of her charm.

^^^FIVE^^^

THE SECOND DAY OF SCHOOL. NORMAL. EXCEPT THAT after school as I waited for my mom, this girl, Ileana, came up to me. She took out a marker and wrote her name on one of my casts.

She looked into my eyes. I wanted to look away. But I didn’t.

Her eyes were like the night sky in the desert.

It felt like there was a whole world living inside her. I didn’t know anything about that world.

^^^SIX^^^

A 1957 CHEVY PICKUP. CHERRY RED WITH CHROME fenders, chrome hubcaps, and whitewall tires. It was the most beautiful truck in the world. And it was mine.

I remember looking into my dad’s dark eyes and whispering, “Thank you.”

I felt stupid and inadequate and I hugged him. Lame. But I meant it, the thank you and the hug. I meant it.

A real truck. A real truck for Ari.

What I didn’t get: a picture of my brother on one of the walls of our house.

You can’t have everything.

I sat in the truck and had to force myself to rejoin the party. I hated parties—even the ones thrown in my honor. Right then, I would have liked to take the truck out onto the open road, my brother sitting next to me. And Dante too. My brother and Dante. That would have been enough of a party for me.

I guess I did miss Dante—even though I tried hard to not think about him. The problem with trying hard not to think about something was that you thought about it even more.

Dante.

For some reason I thought of Ileana.

^^^SEVEN^^^

EVERY DAY, I GOT UP REALLY EARLY AND HOBBLED over to my truck that was sitting in the garage. I backed it up into the driveway. There was a whole universe waiting to be discovered in a pickup truck. Sitting in the driver’s seat made everything seem possible. It was strange to feel those moments of optimism. Strange and beautiful.

Turning on the radio and just sitting there was my version of praying.

My mom came out one morning and took a picture of me. “Where are you going to go?” she asked.

“To school,” I said.

“No,” she said. “That’s not what I meant. The first time you get to drive that thing, where are you going to take it?”

“The desert,” I said. I didn’t tell her I wanted to go out and look at all the stars.

“By yourself?”

“Yup.” I said.

I knew she wanted to ask me if I was making any new friends at school. But she didn’t. And then her eyes fell on my cast. “Who’s Ileana?”

“Some girl.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Too pretty for me, Mom.”

“Silly boy.”

“Yeah, silly boy.”

That night I had a bad dream. I was driving down a street in my pickup. Ileana was sitting right next to me. I looked over and smiled at her. I didn’t see him, Dante, standing in the middle of the road. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat.

In the morning, as I sat in my truck and drank a cup of coffee, my mom came out of the house. She sat on the steps of the porch. She patted the step next to her. She watched me as I awkwardly got down from my truck. She’d stopped hovering.

I made my way toward her and sat next to her on the front steps.

“Casts come off next week,” she said.

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“Then therapy,” she said.

“Then driving lessons,” I said.

“Your father’s looking forward to teaching you.”

“You lost the coin toss?”

She laughed. “Be patient with him, okay?”

“Not a problem, Mom.” I knew that she wanted to talk to me about something. I could always tell.

“You miss Dante?”

I looked at her. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“Well, look, Mom, it’s, well, Dante, he’s like you. I mean, he hovers sometimes.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I like being alone, Mom. I know you don’t get that about me, but I do.”

She nodded and it seemed like she was really listening. “You were screaming his name last night,” she said.

“Oh,” I said. “It was just a dream.”

“Bad?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

She gave me that nudge, the c’mon humor your mom nudge.

“Mom? Do you ever have bad dreams?”

“Not often.”

“Not like me and Dad.”

“You and your father, you’re fighting your own private wars.”

“Maybe so. I hate my dreams.” I could feel my mom listening to me. She was always there. I hated her for that. And loved her. “I was driving my truck and it was raining. I didn’t see him standing in the middle of the road. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t.”

“Dante?”

“Yeah.”

She squeezed my arm.

“Mom, sometimes I wished I smoked.”

“I’ll take the truck away.”

“Well, at least I know what’s going to happen to me when I break the rules.”

“Do you think I’m mean?”

“I think you’re strict. Too strict sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” I clutched at my crutches. “Someday, I’m going to have to break some of your rules, Mom.”

“I know,” she said. “Try to do it behind my back, will you?’

“You can bet on that, Mom.”

We both sat there and laughed. Like Dante and I used to do.

“I’m sorry about your bad dreams, Ari.”

“Did Dad hear?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can’t help what you dream.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to run over him.”

“You didn’t. It was just a dream.”

I didn’t tell her that I hadn’t been paying attention. I’d been looking at a girl when I should have been driving. And that’s why I ran over Dante. I didn’t tell her that.

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