IN THE CAFETERIA, MATT IS SITTING AT A BENCH BY HIMSELF when he realizes someone is speaking to him. Looking up, he sees the three-piece suit first and then Mr. McGowan, the assistant principal. Matt had been thinking and feeling how bummed out he is, and seeing the man’s gray suit, he knows, he knows everything, even as he hardly recognizes any of the words being spoken.
He stands, lifting his legs out from under the table, and he leaves his plastic tray, as instructed, an added clue to everything, to anyone watching, and makes his way between the tables to the center aisle. Here he approximately walks with Mr. McGowan, half a step behind him—like any other student, he thinks in this moment, who doesn’t own geometry—follows the man through the overall din, on their way to the swinging doors ahead.
Mr. McGowan has said nothing more, nor does he speak again as they walk the endless hallway. It is just as well to Matt that the man doesn’t say any more, for the din of the cafeteria continues in his ears and his thoughts keep flashing here and there. He’ll be famous now, he thinks. She’ll change her tune now. What will Cormac say?
In the main office, he notices the flash of eyes on him from the women behind the counter as he turns, on faint intuition, to the left, into the principal’s office, as Mr. McGowan opens the door with its upper pane of clouded, rippled glass. The principal is getting to his feet, coming around his desk. It is Mr. Duchaine, who says, “Matthew, it’s about your brother.”
Matt looks at him, waits for what he knows is there like a curious present.
“I’ve had to do this before,” the man is saying. “It’s not easy, believe me. Your brother’s body was found a short time ago.”
Matt only looks back at the man. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Matthew, I’m so terribly sorry,” the man says. “This kind of thing shouldn’t happen.”
Matt stands there. He is squeezing his eyes, as they smart some. He is against crying, though, as if the tears would seem to be for the benefit of this small audience. “Where did they find him?” he says.
“I’m not really sure,” the man says.
They stand there. Matt doesn’t know what else to say, as his attention seems focused on keeping his eyes from blinking and releasing tears. His brother, Eric, dead, he thinks. Still it isn’t Eric who is dead; it isn’t Eric they are talking about.
“A police car is coming to take you home. It should be here any second.”
Again they stand there, until Matt says, “What happened to him?”
The one man, and the other, looks blankly at him, at his question, until the principal says, “We don’t really know, Matthew. I’m sure they’ll tell you everything.”
Matt stands there.
The three of them stand there.
“I’ll get my coat,” Matt says.
“Oh, I’ll go with you,” the assistant principal says.
“That’s okay,” Matt says.
The principal nods lightly, to agree that it’s okay.
In the hallway, Matt walks on air. He continues to keep his eyes from blinking into tears. When he blinks once, though, against his wishes, a film is drawn over his eyes, which he strains—retrieving his coat, starting back, saying “Hi” to someone in passing—to have evaporate without being sideswiped by another blink.
“They should be here any minute,” the principal says, having stepped to the hallway door.
“I’ll go wait outside,” Matt says.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” the principal says.
“Yes,” Matt says, for it is true.
Again, the man nods.
Outside, as everyone knows, it’s the winter air that makes a person’s eyes water, and this knowledge helps Matt’s efforts not to cry. It’s an effort which is taking on a certain importance, as if it is he and Eric against all odds.
Nor does he blink in the back seat of a rattling police car as two young uniformed officers in the front return him home, It’s only when the car is on his street and approaching his house that something happens. It is the house where they live, have always lived, the three of them. There it is. The police car is pulling up, and from the rear seat, looking through the side window, he sees the house there beside them. There is their third-floor apartment, their black-and-white TV, their bedroom, their life. Matt tries to hold himself against breaking, and he gasps and holds and gasps again, but his face is going to pieces then and all is lost just as he is opening the door.
The young officer in the passenger seat has turned to look at him, is saying, “You gonna be okay now?” and gets out on his side then as Matt has started crying and is unable to speak.
Beside the car, the officer takes Matt’s shoulders in his hands, tries to look at Matt as he is bawling and trying not to bawl, gasping and crying as his heart seems to be pulling apart and there is nothing to be done about it. The policeman’s arm goes all the way around his shoulders then, and grips him to his side, and he seems about to cry himself, as he says, “Oh, kid, goddamit.” And even as he is crying and gasping for air, Matt resists the strong embrace, vaguely aware of the grip and strength of his father holding him, the last man to have held him, a lifetime ago.