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“Cathy is my friend, not yours,” was the first thing I said to Donald when I walked through the front door of our house Friday afternoon. “That means you need to leave us alone.” No “hello” or “how was your day.” Just the facts.
“Uh, hi,” Cathy said, nodding to Donald as she passed him in the front hallway.
“Brunette,” Donald muttered in response. He was looking at Cathy’s hair. It was in a long ponytail down her back. I could see Donald’s fingers twitching to touch it, so I quickly ushered my friend into the TV room.
I said to my brother as we passed by, “Donald, if you want to be helpful, you can get us some sodas.”
“Okay.”
There was a ton of clanging about in the kitchen. Enough noise to keep Cathy and me from starting our visit with each other. Once or twice the voice of my mother broke through to say, “Slow down, Donald.” A few minutes later, Donald reappeared with two tall glasses of soda and ice cubes, full to the rims.
“Thanks,” Cathy said, carefully taking a glass from Donald. He put a coaster on the coffee table for her. A couple of drops of soda landed on a magazine before I grabbed the tilted second glass from him. I put my drink on the magazine rather than on a coaster.
Donald hovered over us, not saying anything. His eyes darted from my face to my glass. Back and forth. It was clear that Donald was bothered by something.
“What do you want, Donald?” I asked impatiently.
“A ring. You’ll make a ring on the magazine.” He pointed to the magazine.
“So?”
“It ruins the magazine. You should use a coaster.” He picked up an extra coaster and held it in front of me with one hand. His other hand twitched and snapped nervously at his side.
I took the coaster and transferred the glass. With a napkin, I wiped up the water ring left on the glossy cover girl’s face as best I could. Donald straightened up and breathed better.
“Are you happy now?” I asked him, handing him the wet napkin.
“Huh?” His mind had already leapt to something else.
“Forget it.”
Donald gazed out the window to the yard and then back at Cathy. “Do you like butterflies?”
I had to look. I craned my neck to see whether there was a butterfly in the garden. Nope. Not a single one. Of course there wasn’t a butterfly out there. It was often a complete mystery where Donald found his topics of incongruous conversation.
“Yeah, I like butterflies,” Cathy answered. “Who doesn’t?” Her smile was forced as if she were trying to get the punchline of an unfunny joke. I recognized that look. I’d seen it on so many people’s faces when dealing with Donald. It meant Donald had better beat it, and soon, before he irritated the spit out of her.
“Do you know how they’re born?” Donald asked.
“They come from caterpillars,” Cathy said to oblige him. “I learned that in, like, first grade. Maybe preschool.”
Oh no, I thought. Cathy thought Donald was treating her like a baby. She didn’t get it.
“No,” Donald argued, though his tone was anything but nasty. “They come from cocoons. The cocoons come from caterpillars. The caterpillars come from larvae—”
“Donald, is this a test?” I asked him.
“No.” Donald switched his gaze to me as though I’d pulled him out of a trance.
“Are you asking questions you know the answers to?”
Donald shuffled his feet. “Yes,” he mumbled.
“Stop it.”
Donald closed his mouth as much as he could for a person who couldn’t close his lips properly. He crouched down beside the table, put one elbow on the wooden surface, and clicked his fingers against my soda glass. He watched the two of us, waiting for us to talk.
Cathy had the look of wanting to start a real conversation, but she kept flicking glances over at Donald. Most people would’ve gotten the message that they weren’t wanted. Donald didn’t understand subtlety.
“Is he going to stay in here the whole time?” Cathy finally asked.
“No.” I looked hard at my brother. “Can’t you tell that we want you to go away?” Donald clicked his fingers and smiled nervously. Sure he could tell, but he didn’t know what else to do. He needed alternatives. “Why don’t you take a bike ride to the store or play with the dog in the backyard?”
“Can I watch TV?” Donald asked.
I felt myself turning red and tried to breathe calmly so I wouldn’t lose my cool. Imagine a sixteen-year-old asking permission from an eleven-year-old. Cathy must’ve thought he was insane.
“I guess,” I sighed. We only had one family TV, and it was in that room. The only other TV was in my parents’ bedroom, and we weren’t allowed to sit in there. I knew he wanted to watch TV just so he could stay near Cathy and her long hair.
Donald picked up the remote control, and after several attempts he managed to get the thing turned on and set to the channel he wanted. He liked to watch the news. I thought the news was boring, and I didn’t know whether Donald really enjoyed it or watched it because it made him appear smarter. A lot of times Donald would do things like that: look at newspapers, clip coupons, thumb through reference books just to make it look like he was doing something intelligent.
With Donald now on the floor in front of the TV, engrossed with the short attention span reports about theft, murder, and arrests, Cathy and I could finally start our visit with each other. We talked about which teachers we hated the most and what it was going to be like when we finally got to start junior high.
“My cousin is in sixth grade and is already in middle school,” Cathy told me. “I’m so jealous.”
“I don’t know,” I commented. “I kind of like being in elementary school one extra year. Junior high seems scary. Everyone’s so tall.”
Cathy opened her mouth to say something, but Donald abruptly jumped to his feet cheering and making all kinds of strange whooping noises. On the TV a sports announcer was showing clips of the latest games. Donald had his hands balled up into fists at his sides, and he stomped his feet on the floor. His broad smile left no doubt about how excited he was.
I liked to see Donald happy. Usually. Today, however, it was annoying.
“Donald, be quiet,” I shouted at him.
Donald sat down, but he didn’t get any quieter.
“Donald,” I repeated, heavier this time. “We’re trying to talk.”
Donald twisted his body so he could look back at us. He didn’t say anything, and the blank look on his face showed that he couldn’t remember why he was looking at us. I’d merely distracted him.
Uncomfortably, Cathy tucked her stray hairs behind her ears. “Do you want something?” Donald didn’t say anything. “Take a picture. It lasts longer.”
I sneered at my friend. I couldn’t stop myself. For years I’d protected Donald. No one got away with being rude to him, no matter how bizarre he got.
Before she could say anything, though, Donald spoke up.
“Brunette.”
This was the worst. I could tell Donald was on the verge of getting up so that he could touch Cathy’s hair. This was a habit the whole family was working really hard at getting him to quit.
“Cathy, maybe we should go upstairs to my room,” I suggested.
“Maybe I should just go home,” Cathy responded. She stood up and grabbed her backpack. “I have a lot of homework to do anyway.”
“It’s Friday,” I said, but I knew what Cathy was trying to tell me: she wanted to get away from Donald. She would never come back over to play again. I wasn’t even sure that Cathy would invite me over to her house again. It wouldn’t be a very fair friendship if Cathy had to do all the hosting. “Maybe we can meet at the movies this weekend—or at the park?” I tried to come up with some kind of compromise. A solution.
“I like movies,” Donald piped in.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I snapped at my brother. He’d done enough damage already. To Cathy I said, “We could go tomorrow. I’ll pay for both of us.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” Donald interrupted.
“So?” I said.
“We go to the park on Saturday.”
“We’ll skip it,” I snapped at him. “You’ll survive.”
“You take your brother to the park?” Cathy scrunched up her face, looking repulsed by the idea.
I didn’t answer that. I didn’t know what words to use that wouldn’t make it worse in her opinion. I watched my brother grin that sad grin of his and turn back to the TV. I felt immediately guilty even though I wasn’t sure how much I had really hurt his feelings. It was always hard to tell what went in and what just bounced off.
“I think I’ll skip the movies this weekend,” Cathy said. “I have stuff to do.”
I didn’t bother to persist. What was the point? Cathy made it clear that she was done with me for the time being. Maybe Cathy just needed some time to get over the shock of Donald. Maybe, eventually, Cathy would just get over it and decide it didn’t matter that my brother was a little different. I hoped for that, anyway.
“All right,” I said, sighing, and I showed Cathy to the door. “You want me to ride partway to your house with you?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Cathy said, getting on her bike, which had been leaning against the side of the house. “I think I’m going to stop by Jackie’s for a little bit. She said she had a dress she didn’t want anymore, and if I came by she would give it to me.”
I nodded that I understood. Jackie. Cathy would tell Jackie all about Donald. Once the most popular girl at school had that nugget of gossip, what would that do to my reputation?
I tried to put the concern out of my mind as I watched Cathy pedal down the street, but I couldn’t do it. It was pretty clear that my friendship with Cathy was doomed.