It was Saturday and I was rubbing my mother’s sore legs. They were swollen from her standing all morning at the bank. She was a teller and had to wear high heels and now that she was expecting a baby her lower legs had filled with fluid. She was going to quit in a week or two but until then was enduring the swelling to make the extra money.
She was lying back on the couch with her legs up. I was happy to rub them and spend private time with her, but it was always a dangerous time because she could see deeply into the very heart of me and had a way of getting me to tell her what I wanted to hide. We were just too alike.
As soon as I started warming up the skin cream between my hands she said, “I’ve noticed some changes in you lately.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m getting bigger.” I held up my right arm and made a muscle. “See?”
She smiled, then continued. “Other changes, too,” she said more seriously.
“Like what?” I asked as I pressed on her calves and began to slowly massage them.
“Like you spend all your time lately with that Pagoda boy next door,” she replied.
“I’m lucky to have made a new friend,” I claimed. “With all our moving I lose friends faster than I can keep them.”
“But he seems so much older than you,” she remarked in a cautious tone. “His interests might be more adult.”
“He’s only a few years older,” I said, honestly not certain how old Gary was. I only knew that he had failed some grades. I didn’t know how much time he had spent in juvie, but he was probably three or four years older than me.
“You seem to follow him around a lot,” she said. “Is he bossy?”
“A little,” I conceded. “But that’s just because he’s older and used to being his own boss.”
“Does he listen to you?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” I said.
“May I give you some advice?” she asked.
I really didn’t want any. She was going to tell me to “respect myself because if I didn’t then no one else would either.” She had been saying that most of my life. I was sort of a serial follower, so she knew how I operated. Only this time I was older and didn’t want to just be a follower. I wanted to be him.
“With Gary I’m sort of the second-in-command,” I said proudly.
“The second-in-command is my favorite role,” she said in a warm voice. “It’s like being a secret boss. The second-in-command can be a good influence and a clever leader by helping to point out the right path to the boss. Like me and your dad. He might be the boss because he’s the man of the house, but I’m the leader. I’m the one that gives him good ideas and makes him think he thought of them himself.”
That was true. “But is that good enough for you?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “Because I know I’m the real leader and it’s the same for you and Gary. He’s the boss, but your job is to put ideas into his head and make him think they are his. That makes you the leader, and then the boss is just a lot of hot air. You see what I mean?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but it sounds so complicated. Can’t I just follow him like a pal or right-hand man?”
She raised up on one elbow and looked at me with an exasperated expression. Then she lay back against the cushions again and closed her eyes. “You can do a lot better than to be his stooge,” she said, which hurt. “You are smarter than that. Stand up for yourself. Just remember, he’s the fake boss but you are the real leader.”
She’d made that point so many times already I finally got exasperated. “Okay, I got it,” I said, and tried to change the subject before she suspected what was really on my mind. I didn’t want to be the leader. For now I was the follower, but soon I would be just like him. I’d be his double through and through.
I kept working on my mother’s legs until she curled up and fell asleep. Being the leader without being the boss must have been exhausting.
I loved her so much. I looked at her and put my cheek against her upturned hip. I wished I didn’t make her life so uneasy, but with the new baby coming she’d worry less about me. I gave her a kiss, then hopped off the couch. Her breathing was labored. I wanted to respect myself like my mother wanted. But when I was alone I had to face who I was—who I really was—and I was so two-faced I couldn’t really be alone because each face took turns hating the other. I never told her that. In the past I had told her things about myself that made her cry, and her tears were more unbearable than my own.
I left her side and went into my room. I closed the door and locked it. I felt exhausted with still being the follower. Maybe I was nothing more than Gary’s puppy that lived in a shoebox at the foot of his bed. But if I wanted more than that I had to do more than settle for being his runt, as Alice had gleefully said. The runt insult haunted me because I feared it was true. But I had a cure for that.
I knew what I had to do next. I pulled open all my dresser drawers. Most of the clothes I had outgrown, but almost all of them seemed to belong to some other kid that I had rejected. I went through my drawers and scooped out all my socks and underwear and T-shirts. I piled them up on the bed. Then I opened my closet and tossed all my shoes and shirts and pants and a few jackets on top of the others. When I finished I only had one outfit—my shoplifting outfit.
I slipped down to the kitchen and got two plastic trash bags, then returned to my room and filled them equally with the clothes. I slung them over my shoulders and bent over from the weight of them as I marched down the hall. I looked like a runaway who intended never to return, but I was only going to the garage, where I hid them behind some sheets of plywood.
I took a deep breath and when I stepped out of the garage I spotted Gary in his backyard.
“Hey,” I called out, and waved that little Tomi King wave before I caught myself and lowered my hand.
“Sailor Jack!” he replied, and walked over to the fence. “You ready to meet some real guys?”
“I’m working at it,” I said, and smiled.
“Well, get your motor running because tonight is your night. I have a little initiation in mind that I think you’ll like.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Are you asking me a question?” he said, and cocked his fist back behind his head.
“No,” I quickly replied. “No questions. Only answers.”
He lowered his fist and cracked his knuckles. “See you at the clubhouse,” he said, and told me when to show up. “And don’t be late.”