ONE NIGHT IN LATE OCTOBER, on my way home from Erin’s, Boy21 pops out from behind a tree and says, “Can we sit on your roof?”
It’s late, but it’s also Friday night, so I nod.
I’m no longer surprised to find Boy21 following me. It’s just what he does. And like I said before, he gives Erin and me space when we need it.
We head to my house. He’s carrying a white box tied with string, plus his over-the-shoulder bag. He looks a little fidgety and keeps opening his mouth extra-wide, as if he’s stretching out his jaw or yawning like a lion, only he doesn’t look tired at all.
My dad’s putting on his jacket, getting ready to leave for work, when we go inside. He’s wearing that resigned miserable face he dons whenever he thinks I’m not looking, or when he’s just too tired to fake it. When he sees us, he says, “Do your grandparents know you’re here, Russ?”
“Yes, sir,” Boy21 says. “My grandfather’s coming to pick me up in an hour.”
“What’s in the box?” Dad asks.
“Cupcakes,” Boy21 says.
“Seriously?”
Boy21 nods.
“Well, I’m off to work.”
Pop’s passed out in his wheelchair again, dead to the world with a beer can in one hand, Grandmom’s rosary beads wrapped around the other, and the TV remote in his lap. On the TV is an infomercial for some cleaning product endorsed by Magic Johnson, who keeps saying, “This is just like me—magic!” every time the hostess wipes a stain off a couch or rug with the “magic” wand cleaner.
“Wish I could watch the Lakers’ greatest point guard of all time humiliate himself on a cable infomercial station, but somebody has to pay the bills around here, so heigh-ho! Off to work I go!”
Boy21 laughs at Dad’s joke, which makes him smile and raise his hand. They exchange a dorky dad-type high five, and then Dad is gone.
“Be gone, old cleaning products!” Magic Johnson says as he shoots old bottles like basketballs into a faraway trash can. “Magic is here. Magic! Watch out, stains! You don’t stand a chance! Magic! Magic! Magic!”
Magic Johnson looks old.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Boy21 follows me up to my bedroom.
I pop open the window and we climb out onto the roof. It’s cool, but not too cold up here. Maybe like opening-a-refrigerator-door cool.
Once we’re seated he opens the box and, surprisingly, a small package of birthday candles. The two cupcakes are store-bought. Because the light is still on in my room, I can see that someone has drawn space shuttles on the cupcakes with frosting. I start to worry because of Boy21’s freak-out at the IMAX Theatre.
He sticks a candle deep into each cupcake so that the wicks stick out where the flames would exit each space shuttle.
He uses a lighter to ignite the wicks and then says, “STS-120. T minus ten seconds. Eight seconds. T minus five. Four. Three. Two. One. And liftoff of Discovery—opening harmony to the heavens and opening new gateways for international science.”
Boy21 starts singing “Happy Birthday.” His eyes look wild, crazy, manic.
“Happy birthday, dear Boy21. Happy birthday to you,” he sings, and then blows out the candles.
He hands me one of the cupcakes and says, “I got you a vanilla and me chocolate,” and then takes a big bite out of his cupcake.
I wonder if the vanilla and chocolate comment was a joke. He’s not laughing, so I say, “Happy birthday. If I had known—”
“One day short of completing my fifteenth trip around the sun, my father doesn’t drive me to my high school,” Boy21 says in this really serious voice. “In fact, we drive in the opposite direction. When I ask where we’re going, he just smiles and laughs. We end up at the airport and when we check in, I realize we’re headed to Florida. So I say, ‘Dad, are you delivering on your promise?’ When he winks at me, my heart starts pounding, because I know exactly where we’re going. We land in Florida and hit a hotel. He doesn’t even have to confirm it for me, because I know we are about to fulfill his lifelong dream and mine.”
The wind blows and the few dry, brittle leaves still hanging on to the trees rattle. I shiver a little.
“The next day we drive to the viewing spot and I can see it—space shuttle Discovery. It stands huge on the tower, and only a small body of water separates us. We wait for what seems like forever for it to take off, wondering if there will be complications. But it takes off twenty minutes before noon and there is this awesome noise when the rockets are ignited—and then these massive clouds explode from the bottom of the ship and billow out forever and ever along the horizon and then it rises real slow… pushed upward by what looks like a bright cone of orange lava, and a long tower of clouds forms in its wake. It may have been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I remember my father putting his arm around me as we stood and watched. When it was over neither of us said anything for a long time. We just stood there smiling. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had. The best day of my life.”
When Boy21 finishes his story, I don’t know what to say. So this is why he freaked out on the physics field trip.
“Eat your cupcake,” he says.
I eat the whole thing in just a few bites. Vanilla. Rich. Moist. So sweet it makes my teeth ache.
We sit in silence for a long time.
“You want to see that launch?” Boy21 asks.
“YouTube,” he says while pulling a laptop out of his bag. “I downloaded it before I came.”
We watch the short video. Boy21 was quoting verbatim whoever was announcing the launch on the YouTube clip—all the talk about harmony for the heavens and gateways. I wonder how many times he’s watched this video.
“Your dad,” I say. “He was interested in outer space?”
“Fascinated by it. He used to read endless books. Was a big Star Trek fan. He loved the final frontier. We had several high-powered telescopes too. Still do, in storage out west.”
Boy21 looks into my eyes and I start to feel as though he’s making a decision. It’s weird. This is the most he’s ever said about his past. I feel as though he’s already let down his guard far more than he had intended. But then his facial expression changes and he’s gone again, just like that.
“My father sent me a telepathic birthday card today. He says he has a present for me, but due to an unforeseen meteor shower in a galaxy that you Earthlings don’t even know exists yet, he anticipates being a few Earth days later than he had originally planned, regarding the pickup. So it looks like you and I will be spending some more time together, Earthling known as Finley.”
Part of me wants to call him on the charade and put some direct questions to him, especially after all he’s revealed tonight. He came here uninvited. He freely offered up the story about his father. He obviously wants to talk about all this stuff. But for some reason I don’t ask him anything. Maybe it’s just my nature to remain mute when I am unsure, which is always, but I feel like I should be asking questions—that conversation would help—and yet, I realize he’s probably talking to me because I don’t ask questions and just let him exist as he wishes to exist. I don’t mind him being Boy21, but I sort of like Russell too.
Instead of talking we simply lie on our backs and look up at the sky, even though it’s cloudy and we can’t even see the moon.
When his grandfather pulls up to my house, Boy21 says, “Thanks for eating cupcakes with me, Earthling.”
I walk him through my room, down the steps, and out the door.
Just before he gets into the car, Boy21 turns around and says, “I wish you and I could travel through the cosmos together, Finley. You have that calming presence. Happy birthday to me—and thanks.”
“See ya, man,” I say, and then he’s gone.