EIGHT

There was a loud knock on the door. Candy went crazy. Her nails scratched and skidded on the floor as she tried to gain traction while racing for the door, howling and growling and barking as she ran. I put down my pen, pushed aside my math homework and ran to see who was there. When I got to the door, Candy was jumping up and against it. I never had to worry about somebody sneaking into the house. She made me feel safe. Well, safer.

I grabbed her by the collar, pulled her down and peered through the window in the door to see who was outside. It was Harmony. What was she doing here?

I opened the door slightly, still holding Candy by the collar, and pushed the dog back as I squeezed through the opening and then closed the door shut behind me.

“She doesn’t like people,” I explained.

“Dogs like me.”

“She doesn’t like anybody.”

“She’d like me. I’m special,” Harmony said.

“No question you’re special, but she’d still take a special chunk out of you. What are you doing here?” I asked.

“You could try to be more welcoming than your dog. How about starting with something like ‘Hello. How are you doing? So nice to see you!’ ”

“Um, sure. Hello, nice to see you, and how are you doing?”

“Better, but not convincing. You work, so I assume you must have some money.”

Was she running away and needed some bucks to help her get wherever she was going?

“I have some money,” I said carefully. “How much do you need?”

She looked insulted. “Do you think I came over here to borrow money from you?”

I was thrown—but not completely. My father had given me plenty of practice in recovering from the unexpected.

“I didn’t think you wanted money,” I said quickly. “I wanted you to know that I’m here if you did, you know, need some money for something important.”

“It is important. We need to go shopping,” she said.

“You want me to go shopping with you?”

“You have it backward. I’m going to go shopping with you for a pair of pants that don’t show your ankles. Do you have enough money for that?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Good, and if you didn’t, I was going to loan you a few bucks,” she said.

“I’m okay.”

“So. Can we go shopping?”

I went through the checklist in my head. I’d peeled the potatoes and put them on the stove, ready to boil. I’d walked Candy. I’d straightened up the place. I’d even done most of my math homework.

“We can do that.”

“Then why don’t you lock the door, check three or four times that it’s really locked, and we’ll go.”

“Try these on!” Mrs. Levy said from outside the cubicle as she passed another pair of pants over the top of the changeroom door.

Levy’s Discount Department Store was a little place on Rogers Road, just up the street from my house. Mrs. Levy and her husband ran the place. One of their kids, Augie, was a couple of years older than me. They were nice people.

I looked at the pants. They were sort of casual and sort of formal. They were fancier than what I usually wore, which probably meant more expensive.

“Are you decent in there?” Harmony called out.

“Not yet.”

“Then hurry up. I want to see.”

I pulled them on and did up the zipper and the top button. They fit pretty well in the waist. Not too tight.

I walked out and Harmony was standing right there. “What do you think of them?” she asked. “And before you answer, I want you to know that I personally and specifically selected them.”

“They are, without a doubt, the most perfect, beautiful pair of pants in the whole store. Maybe in the whole world.”

“Robert, sarcasm does not suit you. Now come and let’s have a better look.”

I stepped up onto a little wooden bench and did a slight turn as Harmony and Mrs. Levy looked and made comments. Mrs. Levy tugged down on the legs slightly. My big toes were sticking out of little holes in my socks. I wished I’d worn another pair.

“Not a bad length,” she said.

“His ankles are completely covered,” Harmony agreed.

Mrs. Levy grabbed them—grabbed me—by the waistband. “They are a good fit, although you really need to gain a little weight.”

“That seems to be the common opinion,” Harmony said.

This was the seventh pair of pants I’d tried on, so I was starting to feel less uncomfortable being stared at and prodded like a prize pig.

“How much hem do they have?” Harmony asked.

Before Mrs. Levy could answer, Harmony grabbed me, almost knocking me off balance, and rolled up the bottom of one pant leg.

“That’s good,” Mrs. Levy said. “There’s enough to let down maybe an inch and a half if he gets taller before the pants wear out.”

“And if he bought them, would you be able to do that?” Harmony asked.

“His mother could easily do it.”

“No, she couldn’t,” Harmony said. “His mother died.”

I felt my whole body stiffen. The air was still and silent, Harmony’s words just hanging there. I didn’t often tell people about my mother, and when I did this was always the response. It made both me and the person who’d just found out uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry. Did it happen recently?”

I shook my head. “A long time ago. I was four.”

“Too young. Far too young.” Mrs. Levy shook her head.

I felt even worse now. And a bit mad. Harmony had no right to make either of us feel this way.

“You come back when they need to be let down, and I’ll do it for you. All part of the deal.”

“I don’t know if we have a deal yet,” Harmony said. “What sort of discount are you offering?”

“Discount?”

“You know, some sort of friends-and-family discount.”

“Well, I know you’re not family, because I’ve never seen you around my kitchen table for dinner or at the holidays, and although you’ve been friendly, I don’t think you quite qualify as my friends yet.”

“We’ll be good friends if you give us a good discount.”

I couldn’t believe how bold Harmony was being. Was Mrs. Levy going to be offended or—

Mrs. Levy laughed. “Okay, how about 10 percent?”

“I was hoping we’d be better friends. How about 20 percent?”

“I don’t give my real family 20 percent. Let’s split the difference and go with 15,” said Mrs. Levy. “I’ll throw in a pair of socks that don’t have holes.”

The holes were impossible to miss as I stood there without shoes.

Harmony looked up at me. “Well?”

I nodded.

“Deal.”

I was wearing my new pants and socks. They felt good. I felt good. Mrs. Levy put my old clothes in a bag. I had the feeling she wanted to put them in the garbage, but I’d still need them. The old pants would be good for times I didn’t want to risk damaging the new ones, and those socks, even with the holes, weren’t the worst ones I owned.

“Here you go, dear,” she said as she handed me the bag.

“Thank you.”

The look in her eyes, the tone in her voice, had changed when she found out about my mother. I’d seen and heard it before. It most often came from women, especially those who were mothers. It was probably part of what got me the discount and the free socks. I wanted those, but I didn’t want what went with them. I didn’t feel comfortable. I didn’t want a hand on my shoulder or their pity. Or the shame I felt. I had to talk to Harmony later and tell her not to do that again.

“You must be so pleased with how handsome your boyfriend looks in his new pants,” Mrs. Levy said to Harmony.

Harmony and I exchanged a quick look.

“You two are so sweet to each other. You fit together. It’s so lovely,” Mrs. Levy added.

“Thank you,” Harmony said.

She looked at me and gave a slight shake of the head. I got the message to stay quiet.

We said our goodbyes and left. Harmony was unusually silent. I wasn’t saying anything either. I wasn’t really sure what to say or where to start—at Mrs. Levy thinking we were boyfriend and girlfriend, or Harmony mentioning my mother. So I went with something simple to break the silence.

“Let me guess. Your favorite TV show is Let’s Make A Deal?”

“I know about having to make deals to survive.”

I nodded in agreement. I’d made my share of deals.

“Have you ever made a deal with God?” Harmony asked.

“What?”

“You know, like, a ‘Hey, God, if you make my mother stop drinking, I’ll try to do better in school’ sort of deal.”

Once again this girl had just punched me in the face without raising a fist.

“Well, have you?” she asked.

“Why would you think that?”

“I just figured because your mother died…”

Apparently this wasn’t going to be simple in any way. “I was only four when she died.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that to Mrs. Levy. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were that young. It must have been really hard, losing her when you were so little.”

“Maybe it was easier, but I know what you mean.”

“So what sort of deals do you make with God?” she asked.

I hadn’t told her I made any, but she was right. “About being patient and not complaining if my father doesn’t come home at night.”

She looked shocked. I was even more shocked that I’d said it. I’d never told anybody about him leaving me alone all night sometimes. I shouldn’t have started this, but the words had just popped out. What did I say now?

“That sounds like my mother. Sometimes she wouldn’t roll in until midnight or later.”

Her understanding of what I meant wasn’t as bad as the truth. I nodded again.

“A couple of times, when she was on a real bender, it was so late that I thought she wasn’t coming home at all.”

“That would be awful.” It was awful.

“Being left alone is spooky,” she said.

“I have Candy.”

“Does that make it better?”

“Much better. At least nobody is ever going to sneak in while she’s around.”

“How often does he do that, go out and leave you?”

“Not that often,” I lied. Even once was too much.

“My mother and your father,” she said, shaking her head. “What sort of person would do that to their kid?”

I’d asked myself that question more than once. And Harmony didn’t know the whole truth.

“You are one strong guy, Robert.”

“No stronger than you. You do what you have to do, right?”

“Yes, you do. You’ve got to. You understand it. Do you still make deals with God?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“Because you don’t believe there is a God?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I believe. I just don’t ask for things.” Asking for something just means getting turned down and disappointed. Better not to even bother asking for better.

She grabbed my arm and spun me around with such suddenness and force that I was shocked.

“If there is a God, I don’t think he cares,” she said, her voice low and quiet like she didn’t want to be overheard, though there was nobody around us.

“Why are you whispering?”

“If God does exist, I don’t want him to hear me. There’s no point in getting him any madder at us than he already is.”

“Okay.” That actually made sense.

We started walking again. More silence. The silence made me uncomfortable. I decided I’d break it in a big way.

“That was pretty strange about Mrs. Levy thinking we were a couple,” I said.

“It was strange. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea just because I went with you to get clothes. I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

“And I’m not looking for a girlfriend!” I exclaimed.

She looked at me for a moment. “Are you, you know, gay?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not.”

“I just wondered,” she said.

We walked for a while without saying a word.

“Is it because of your mother dying?” she finally asked. “Is that why you don’t want a girlfriend?”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“When a parent dies or leaves, there are often unresolved feelings that get directed toward others. You lost your mother, so maybe you have a distrust of women.”

“Are you insane?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Where do you even get ideas like that?” I asked.

“My social worker says that because my father was never there, I likely have issues with men.”

“You have a social worker?”

“I’ve had lots of social workers. I’m in foster care. Do you think they’d give me an electrician? If I have issues with men, then you might have issues with women. Doesn’t that make sense?”

“I don’t have issues with anybody,” I said.

“Are you sure? Because I have issues with almost everybody.”

“Yeah, big secret.”

“So why don’t you want a girlfriend?”

“I don’t want a girlfriend because I just don’t have time for one.”

“They don’t take up much time.”

“More time than I have. You don’t understand,” I said. This was getting really irritating.

“Then explain it.”

“If I did tell you, you’d think I was strange.”

“Oh, Robert. Your being strange is one of the things I like best about you. It’s why we’re friends. Just tell me.”

I stopped walking. I took a seat on the steps of a walk leading up to a house. Harmony stood right in front of me. I had to decide exactly what I was going to tell her or if I should tell her anything. She had blurted about me and my mother to Mrs. Levy. Would she tell people about this too?

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anybody,” I finally said.

“I won’t.”

“Okay, like I said, this is going to sound strange.” I took a deep breath. “I get up every morning knowing that I have to work hard.”

“That’s no surprise.”

“Not just hard. Harder. I get up thinking that I need to work harder and longer than everybody in the entire world, and if I do that, I can gain just a little. And if I do that every day, day after day after day, eventually I might, well, become somebody.” There. I’d said it. She stood there looking down at me.

“I know it sounds stupid but—”

“It doesn’t sound stupid at all. It makes complete sense,” she said, nodding. “Except you’re wrong about one thing.”

“What?” I asked.

“Robert, you already are somebody.”

“What?”

“You already are somebody.”

And that’s when I burst into tears.