Uncle Cory’s Smile

Anne Gray

When I was a little girl, my uncle Cory used to hold me on his knee and read stories. He read our favorites over and over, as if he hadn’t ever read them before. His broad finger moved slowly under each line, and he pronounced the words carefully, as if they were too precious to let go.

He helped me build towers from my blocks – high, high, higher than I could reach – and no matter how often I knocked them over, he laughed along with me. I rolled on the floor and giggled until I was breathless, and watched him grin. Then he would start to build again.

Red on blue, yellow on green. That was for me.

He liked purple on red, then yellow on blue, and I tried to build that, yet I could never get mine as tall as his. “But it’s fine like that,” he’d always say. “Never mind.”

Sometimes, while we played, he would pat me on the head, and say, “I’m glad you’ve got blonde curls, just like your mom and me.”

We played firefighters and pirates and astronauts. We crawled through a cavern made from a table and sheets. And when I asked if he would dress up, or play dolls with me, he always smiled his Uncle Cory smile, and said, “I’d like that fine.”

When I got older, Uncle Cory taught me how to swim and ride my bicycle, carefully cleaning my skinned knees, and encouraging me to try again. He helped Dad build a tree house, and sewed yellow curtains along with me. My seams were pretty crooked, while his were neat and fine. We drew pictures for the walls – a squirrel, a giant bear, a tree. I drew one of him, and he drew one of me. He taught me how to bait a hook, and to wait patiently for something to bite. With our lines dangling in the water, we’d lie on our backs and look for animal shapes in the clouds.

If the evening weather was fair, Dad sometimes built a fire in the backyard. Uncle Cory and I roasted wieners and marshmallows, and we looked at stars. The stray black cat with fighting green eyes, which no one else could even touch, always curled up at his side and purred when he stroked her. When the fire had burnt low, with only glowing embers left, that’s when Uncle Cory began to sing. His voice was so clear and sweet, it made me want to cry.

On my first day of school, Uncle Cory walked along with Mom and me, holding my hand. “Be sure you always look both ways,” he said, “even when I’m with you.” He glanced at Mom, a question on his face. She smiled and agreed, “Those are the rules.”

After that, Uncle Cory took me to school each morning. “This is my best job,” he’d say. After he dropped me off, he would go to his other job, in some kind of shop. “Just making things” was all he ever told me. But when school let out, he was always waiting, laughing and talking to the crossing guard, or one of the mothers. He seemed to be everyone’s favorite.

“See you tomorrow, Cory,” they’d call out, when we started to walk away. He was invited to all the parties, right along with me.

After school on Fridays, when Fasked if he was ready to go for some chocolate chip ice cream, he smiled his Uncle Cory smile and said, “I’d like that fine.”

Luci and Jen, my two best friends at school, soon became his best friends too, though at first Jen drew away, her brown eyes wide. “He is so big,” she whispered, the first time she came to my house to play. “And it scares me when he frowns.”

But he got those crooked lines in his forehead only when he didn’t understand something, with his mouth pulled down and down. Usually when we had homework for school, he’d want to study with us, but he didn’t seem to learn. He’d press his lips together and curl his hands into fists; I knew he was trying not to cry.

In the first and second grades, he kept up pretty well because he could read better than we could, but then the lessons got too hard. He looked so sad, playing alone in our backyard. As soon as we finished our homework, we’d go outside and dance around him, holding hands in a circle.

One day, when we got to school in the morning, I saw one of the new boys point at Uncle Cory. Standing beside them, three girls laughed behind their fingers, then elbowed each other and looked over my way, their eyes narrowed with glee.

Dummy, Dummy, has no brain.
Must have washed it down the drain.

The sharp-faced boy chanted it over and over, then others began to sing along, making funny faces.

Luci was standing near them. She looked a bit ashamed, but she didn’t move off, or say anything to stop them. She just chewed on the ends of her hair and turned away. Then one of the other boys poked his tongue out of the side of his mouth, and paced around, his shoulders hunched.

I stood there, unable to move.

The first boy looked at me and grinned, all hard and mean. “Which would you rather have?” he called. “A nutbar or a fruitcake?”

“She’s already got both rolled up into one,” another boy yelled.

I looked back and saw Uncle Cory staring at them. Then he turned to me, his mouth gaping open, his eyes wide. I turned away and ran inside, even though I knew it would hurt him more than all those words. As I reached the door, I heard one boy call, “Aren’t you going to say, ’Slow long’?”

All day I kept away from Luci, even though I could see that she wanted to get me on my own. I kept away from everyone, feeling frozen inside. My eyes ached from wanting to cry.

That afternoon, when I saw Uncle Cory talking with the crossing guard, I looked away. I heard him call my name, but I ran home alone. I didn’t want to be seen with him, didn’t want to hear the boys laugh or chant their rhymes, the way they had that morning. Dummy, Dummy burned on my brain.

When I got home, I went into my room and closed the door. I didn’t want to be with Uncle Cory. I didn’t want to see the question I knew would be in his eyes – a question I didn’t want to answer, even in my own mind.

Maybe he didn’t understand, I told myself; maybe he thought it was just a game. But I didn’t really believe that, no matter how hard I tried. I threw myself on the bed, and wished that he was living somewhere else. I cried then, muffling the sound in my pillow. I didn’t go to the door when Jen and Luci arrived, even though I heard Luci call out, “I’m sorry.” I knew that she was crying too, but I didn’t want to hear her excuses. I knew they were no better than mine.

When I went to the table that night, I wouldn’t look at Uncle Cory. I didn’t want to see his eyes. Mom and Dad exchanged puzzled glances, but said nothing, so I realized that Uncle Cory had not told on me for running home on my own, though he must have been frightened. After all, looking after me was his “best job.”

We cleared the table and did the dishes, the way we always did, but he never said a word, and neither did I. Afterwards, he went to the corner of the den where we read and played, but he didn’t ask me to join him. That’s when I knew for sure that he understood. My throat felt like I had swallowed a hard-boiled egg, shell and all. I watched as he pulled out those blocks we hadn’t used in a very long time. He was fighting back tears as he slowly built a tower. Red on blue, yellow on green. He hadn’t forgotten the colors for me.

I ran to my room, biting on my fist, and pictured those boys and girls at school, all cruel and cold. Heard them chant Dummy, Dummy. I thought of all the fingers pointing at Uncle Cory, then at me.

My own fingers seemed to point at me, too. I wondered if my eyes had also frozen him, and felt the shame grow. How could I have left him with those words still in his ears?

I looked out of my window, and saw the tree house in the light of the moon. I thought about the green-eyed cat, how gentle she had been with Uncle Cory. Uncle Cory had always sung my favorite songs first, while the embers of our fire still glowed. All that was worth facing down the ugly chants.

When I walked back into the den, the tower he had built was very high. Uncle Cory glanced up, then returned to his building. I sat down beside him, and began to build too.

Purple on red, then yellow on blue.

He watched my hands, and clasped his own in front of his chest, letting out a low sigh. After a while, I said, “Want me to read to you from my new book?”

He looked up, not quite sure.

“And tomorrow,” I said, “on the way home from school, we’ll go down to the ice-cream parlor and get some chocolate chip ice cream.”

Uncle Cory went to bed happy that night, but I couldn’t sleep, wondering what would happen when we got to school the next day. I thought how those boys would chant Dummy, Dummy, and wondered how I could face them.

I could be just as hateful. I could call out about elephant ears and potato noses and filthy clothes and stinky smells, and ask, “If you’re so smart, why do you always fail your tests?” and then smirk. I tossed and turned all night, thinking of ugly things to say to the boys. And to the girls, too. That would make me as bad as they were, but what else could I do?

I was so sleepy in the morning, I could hardly eat breakfast. I could tell Mom was worried, and Uncle Cory, too. He whispered, “Do you want your mom to take you to school?”

I shook my head. “Unless you don’t want to.”

He swallowed hard. “That’s my best job,” he said.

I wasn’t sure this was still true. As we walked, I realized I had to be as brave as he was, and not say the nasty things I’d planned.

My stomach churned as we got near to school, but I held my head up. The boys were waiting, and the girls, all grins and hugging their fists in their armpits.

Uncle Cory could have walked away; he’d done his job. But he stayed beside me. When the boys began to call, I almost forgot that I’d decided not to be mean; I almost said the meanest thing of all. I almost said, “If anyone cared about you, you wouldn’t have to be so cruel.”

But right now, I didn’t care about them. I knew I’d have to face them another day, and probably another. Someday I might say words more spiteful than theirs, but I didn’t want Uncle Cory to see me acting mean.

Luci and Jen stood off to one side, watching.

Uncle Cory squeezed my hand. I knew he was afraid, but he didn’t run away. Not like I had yesterday. I squeezed his hand in turn. Then Jen and Luci walked over to Uncle Cory and me, and we all joined hands.

I knew then I could face the hateful words and nasty smirks. They didn’t matter anyway.