Friday

Friday

The next morning I woke up to light streaming through my bedroom window and the smell of bacon. Mom was cooking breakfast. Bacon and eggs and toast and orange juice. That was weird. She must have some ulterior motive for cooking me breakfast. Maybe she wanted information out of me, or maybe she found out that I had taken twenty bucks from her closet, but she didn’t ask me any personal questions, and she didn’t bring up the money. Mom just yakked about the weather and told me to have a nice day at school. She packed me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple, and a pastry treat for lunch for school, too. Usually I packed my own lunches, or just bought something at the cafeteria.

I stepped on the bus that clear, warm Friday morning and Manny said, “Hello. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Manny,” I said.

In English class, I sat behind Sarah Brighton, like I usually did, and I looked at her a little bit, but on that Friday she didn’t seem as attractive anymore. She looked and dressed the way she usually did, but there was something about her that made me not want to be around her. Maybe it was something about the way I saw her that made me like her less. Or maybe I didn’t think she was as attractive as she used to be because I thought she should apologize to me for leaving me at the mall. But I didn’t expect her to apologize, and for some reason I can’t explain, that was fine. It didn’t bother me.

I also found myself thinking, while Mrs. Kortchek stood behind her lectern and talked, that even though Sarah had been mean to me, and Randall had been mean to me, and my Mom, up until this morning, had been mean to me, it didn’t matter. The hard times that I was going through were probably nowhere near as bad as the problems that Manny had as a migrant worker. At least I had a mother who made me breakfast this morning, and who packed my lunch. And at least I got to sit in an air-conditioned classroom, instead of being outside picking fruit or cotton in the heat.

In the hallway after English, I apologized to Jeremy for what I did the day we read poems. I told him I was sorry. And I really was sorry.

Jeremy forgave me. He used that word “forgive” too. He’s a Christian, more Christian than my family is, so sometimes he says things like that. And he said he knew I was just trying to look cool in front of Sarah. And I said that he was right about Sarah’s poem being scientifically inaccurate, and that Sarah didn’t even do the assignment herself. She got one of her friends to do it for her. Jeremy wasn’t that surprised. He told me he thought he saw her cheating on some of the vocabulary tests in English. That didn’t surprise me. Then Jeremy and I talked about the normal things: comic books, TV, school, and other stuff like that.

The rest of the school day went by pretty quickly. Mr. Bullham was his usual boorish self, but it didn’t bother me. He was kind of funny, really. He’s an interesting character. Mr. Bullham and I don’t share the same interests, but I think deep down, he’s a nice guy.

In science we watched a movie about Saturn. It whizzed by, and then the school week was over.

Jeremy and I rode the bus home together, and we chatted, and we both said hello and goodbye to Manny. On my way off of the bus, I told Manny that I would bake some bread, and bring a few slices to him on Monday. Manny gave me a thumbs up sign and a grin. A kid sitting near the front of the bus said to me, “He can’t understand what you’re saying. Manny can’t speak English.” But Manny and I just smiled at each other as we parted.

As soon as I got home, I looked around the kitchen for something to eat. I wanted to start making bread right away, but I remembered that we didn’t have milk or yeast or anything. I thought about walking to the grocery store, but then I saw a pile of food on the kitchen table. There was a huge sack of wheat flour, a huge sack of white flour, a smaller bag of sugar, a can of shortening, a bottle of oil, and a package of yeast. I went over to the food on the table and saw a handwritten note next to it:

Mickey,

I found your recipe that you got from your bus driver. I wasn’t snooping around your room. You left it in the living room on the coffee table. Manny seems like a nice man. And if you say he’s a nice man, he probably is a nice man. I decided to run to the store and buy all the ingredients you’ll need for the bread. It’d be nice to have homemade bread around here. Oh, but instead of lard I bought shortening. I hope you don’t mind, but I think lard is just icky. Have fun pumpkin.

Love,

Mom.

Hmm. That was strangely pleasant. Maybe Mom had an ulterior motive for being so nice to me all of a sudden, but I decided not to worry about it.

I started baking.

A few hours later, just as I was pulling the loaf pans out of the oven, Mom got home. She said that she had sold a house that day, a really big one. We ate the bread together while we watched TV. After I finished eating, I went into my bedroom to get away from my freakishly nice mother for a little while. There must have been something wrong with her.

Mom knocked on my door.

“Mickey!” my Mom yelled, “the phone’s for you. It sounds like a girl.” She opened the door and wiggled the phone in front of me. I took the phone from her and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hi… Mickey?”

“Yeah, this is him.”

“Hey Mickey, this is Audrey.”

“Audrey?”

“Yeah, Audrey Mitchell?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right… Audrey Mitchell. Yeah.” I had no idea who this girl was.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Fine, thank you. And how are you?” she asked.

“Good,” I said.

“Cool.” There was an awkward pause.

“Yeah.” There was an even more awkward pause.

“Oh this is horrible- I forgot why I called. Now what was it? Hmmm… It was something important. I mean, important enough to call somebody anyway. Yeah, it was something important, but I forgot what it was!” Audrey laughed loudly.

I forced a chuckle and said, “Yeah, I hate it when that happens.”

“Um… let me think… um… My goodness, what was it that I had to ask you about?” she asked herself. “Oh my gosh, I really really don’t remember what I called for. This is so embarrassing!”

“Hey don’t worry about it, Audrey.” I finally thought of a solution. “Why don’t you hang up, try to remember, then call me back?”

“No, don’t be silly, Mickey, I’ll think of it in a few seconds. Gosh, but I really can’t remember. Well, while we’re waiting, how was your day?”

“OK, I guess.”

“Just OK?”
“Yeah.”
“Why just OK? Why wasn’t it fantastic?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Well, that’s too bad. But my day was fantastic. I always have fantastic days. It wasn’t that anything really fantastic happened, it was just like, I woke up and said to myself, ‘today’s going to be fantastic!’ and voila!- today was fantastic!”

“You’re saying fantastic a lot.”

“I know. Isn’t that fantastic?” She laughed louder than last time.

How long could this go on? I had no idea who this girl was, how she got my phone number, or how she knew my name, and now this stranger-girl is sounding like a cheesy motivational speaker. “Did you remember what you were calling about?”

“Yes! Oh yes! Thank you for being so patient, Mickey, I remember what I called you for. I left my English folder in my band locker accidentally and I need to get the vocabulary words from you. Do you have the vocab for Monday’s quiz?”

My mind raced. English class…band locker… wait a minute, this was Audrey! The girl who wears the glasses with the thick black frames! The girl who wrote the poem about her French Horn! Hmm… It’s funny- Audrey didn’t seem like the type to leave her folder accidentally at school. She was a straight-A student.

“Yeah, OK, just let me go get my English folder,” I said.

I fumbled through my closet, cradling the phone between my shoulder and my ear, unzipped my backpack found my English folder.

“OK, I got it. Are you ready?” I asked.
“Yep,” Audrey said.
“Leotard, retaliate, confluence, ration, administer, intervene, kismet, paprika, surpass, romance. Did you get all those?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want the definitions, too?” I asked.

“No, that’s all right, I’ll just look them up in the dictionary. It’s kind of funny, but I actually kind of like looking up words in the dictionary. Some people might say that’s nerdy, but I say it’s fantastic!” Audrey laughed.

“Yeah, I think looking up words in the dictionary is kind of cool, too. I mean there’s so many words in there.” That was dumb thing to say. “That’s obvious, I know, of course there’s going to be a lot of words in the dictionary, but I meant to say, uh… that there’s a lot of definitions for words you wouldn’t expect to have many different definitions. Like I remember this one time I looked up the word ‘run’ and it had like a ka-billion different definitions! Isn’t that weird? ‘Run’ is such a simple word, we use it all the time, but it has so many definitions in the dictionary.” I was rambling. Why was I so excited to talk to Audrey? We had hardly ever talked at school, but I was talking on the phone with her, and I was blabbering about how cool the dictionary is.

“Hey, that is interesting. Maybe I’ll look up ‘run’ later. You know, since I’ll already be in the R section for ‘romance’. Hmmm… well, thanks a lot Mickey. You’ve really helped me out with the homework.”

“You’re welcome.” There was a pause, but this one wasn’t awkward. “Audrey, I’m just curious. How did you get this phone number?”

“Oh, I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that. It’s kind of embarrassing,” She said.

“Now I really want to know how you got my phone number,” I said.

“I called all the Marshalls in the phone book until I found you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Audrey said.

“That’s cool. I never would have thought of that. You’re smart.”

“Thanks. Oh, and there’s another thing I want to tell you, while I have you on the phone.

I’m having a recital tonight. I’m going to play my French Horn and the rest of the orchestra is going to play, too.”

“Cool.”

“Do want to come?” Audrey asked.

“Um… yes. Yes I do.” I said, grinning.

“I want you to come, too.”

I smiled more.

“It’s at seven at the high school auditorium. See you there.”

“OK. Sounds great,” I said.

“Bye, Mickey.”

“Bye, Audrey.”

I went back in the living room to put the phone back on the charger. Mom was sitting on the couch watching TV.

Mom put the TV on mute, looked at me and asked, “What are you smiling about?”

“Huh?”

“You’re grinning, Mickey, you’re grinning! And now you’re blushing!”

I went back in my room and shut the door before Mom could say anything else. But I heard her shout, “That must have been some phone call!” And then she laughed.

I looked at a small mirror in my bedroom. I was blushing alright.

**********

A few hours later, my Mom and I were sitting in the high school auditorium, waiting for the Roosevelt High School Orchestra to start playing. I wished that my Mom wasn’t there, but she’s the one with a car and a driver’s license, so she came too.

We got there a few minutes early, and the grand maroon curtain was still closed. Even though I had lots of whole wheat bread in my stomach, I still felt queasy. I was wondering if Audrey would be able to see me in the audience. I hoped that she would, so she could see that I came, like I told her I would on the phone.

As soon as the curtain was pulled back on both sides of the stage, I looked around for Audrey. Within seconds, I spotted her thick-framed black glasses. That was her. The orchestra started to play. I recognized the song they played, but I didn’t know the name of it. I liked the music. It wasn’t like the music I usually listened to on the radio, but I liked it.

It was fantastic.

And then Audrey did a solo.

Her white dress swayed around her ankles as she walked from her spot near the back of the orchestra, and came to center stage. She stood in front of a single microphone and smiled at the audience, waiting for exactly the right moment for her solo to begin. Without a word of introduction, and without referring to any sheet music, Audrey starting playing her French Horn. She tapped her foot and slightly rocked her body back and forth. I looked closely at the way she pressed down the buttons with her fingers in a steady, rhythmic way. She puffed up her cheeks as she blew into the mouthpiece, and she gently closed her eyes, listening for the place where the music needed to go.

I tremble at the music Audrey is creating.

Her music moves through me, vibrating my bones and filling my soul. Audrey’s music is like a poem. Her music is like Manny’s whole wheat bread.

But it’s hard to say what Audrey’s music is like, really. It’s hard to use a simile to describe the sound that’s coming from Audrey and her French Horn, because it is so beautiful.

Oh, I know!

Audrey’s music is like dawn, when God adds milk to the thick black stew of night.