The Saturday Boy

emergency and I figured she’d rather I get to the toilet instead of going in my pants. When I was done I washed my hands and went back to the kitchen where I found Aunt Josie rinsing out the mugs.

“Where’d Mom go?”

“Upstairs to lie down.”

“Is she okay?”

Aunt Josie shrugged but didn’t turn around. She kept on rinsing out the mugs, running them back and forth under the water. They must have been really dirty.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

“Is she sick?”

“She’s sad.”

“Why is she sad? Did I do something?”

I’d been pretty good lately. I mean there was the hat thing from this morning but I didn’t think that was it. And she hadn’t seen me peeing with the door open, either, and those were really the only two things I could think of.

“And also? Aunt Josie? Y’know you don’t need to wash out those mugs. You can just put those in the dishwasher.”

“I know that. I just need…” She turned from the sink and looked at me. Her hands were bright red from being under the hot water. They looked angry. “Why don’t you run up and do some homework before dinner, okay?”

“But it’s Friday. I don’t do homework on Fridays,” I said. “And besides, I didn’t even get a snack.”

“So get one.”

“Won’t that ruin my appetite?”

“I don’t know, Derek, will it?”

“Probably.”

“Well there you go, then.”

“But I’m a little bit hungry.”

“Then get a snack! For Christ’s sake, what do you want me to tell you?”

But I didn’t get a snack. I ran up to my room and slammed the door and locked it even though I wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t even care if the lock broke and I couldn’t get out. I almost wanted the lock to break. That way I’d be stuck in there and probably die of starvation and it would be all Aunt Josie’s fault for yelling at me.

I lay down on my bed. I could hear Aunt Josie calling my name from the bottom of the stairs but I didn’t answer her. I went and got my desk chair and stuck it under the doorknob instead. Then I went back to my bed and lay down again and stared at the ceiling. I looked up at the Apache helicopter and thought about my dad. He wouldn’t have yelled at me like that.

I got off the bed and reached under and felt around until I found it—an old plastic lunchbox that had a cool, black car on it with Knight Rider written underneath. It had belonged to my dad when he was my age and was filled with every letter he’d ever written me. I opened it and counted them out until there were ninety-one arranged on my quilt. I found the very first one and picked it up and opened it.

Derek,

Hello from Fort Benning!

First of all—thank you for your letter. It was such a nice surprise! Please write me as much as you want, kiddo, I love hearing about what you’re doing.

To answer your questions,

Yes—basic training (BCT) is hard work. We wake up at 0500 (5:00 a.m.) and our bedtime is 2130 (9:30 p.m.). In between we do a lot of running, marching, shouting, and push-ups. It is VERY important to listen and follow directions—just like it is for you at school. We have classes, too, so it’s kind of like we’re going to school together. Pretty cool, huh?

No—I don’t have my own bedroom. Instead, I sleep in a very big room with 49 other recruits who are all different ages and come from different backgrounds from all over the country. The guy in the rack (bed) to my right is an 18-year-old from a small town in West Virginia that only has 20 people in it! The recruit on my other side is also 18 but lives in New York City where he is one of millions! Yes—we have been given guns but we have not fired them yet. We are learning how to take care of them first. We take them apart, clean them, and put them back together again and again. They also don’t call them guns. They call them rifles. So from now on I will too.

What else can I tell you?

It’s very hot here. There’s a lot of sand and a lot, LOT of fire ants. Whenever anyone drops a tray in the mess hall (dining room) everyone yells AIRBORNE! It really startled me the first time it happened.

I miss you and Mom very, very much and I think about you all the time. I have to go now, it’s almost lights out (bedtime). I’ll write every chance I get and you write me, OK?

I LOVE YOU,

Pvt. Dad

I read it again and when I’d finished, it felt like there was something stuck in my throat. I swallowed but it wouldn’t go away. I put the letter back in the envelope and the envelope back in the lunch box. Then I picked up the rest of the letters one by one and put them away, too, closing the lid and putting the lunch box back under the bed when I was done. Then I just sat on the floor feeling weird and hollow—almost like I wasn’t even there.

I got my chair from under the doorknob and took it to my desk where I got out some paper and a pencil.

Dear Dad,

Hi, how are you? I am fine. School was good today. Can you come home now? That way you would be here for Christmas and you could see me in the play. Mom really misses you and the foldout couch hurts Ant Josie’s back. I’ll get some tools and fix it. Maybe that will make her less cranky. Do you remember Ms. Dickson? She remembers you.

I remember you too.

Love,

DEREK

I got an envelope from the drawer and folded up the letter and put it in. Then I sealed it with Scotch tape because I hated licking the glue. I carefully wrote the address on the front and then used my special ink pad and stamp that said “Master Derek Lamb” on it for the return address because it looked more official and Dad would know I wasn’t fooling around.

A knock at the door made me jump.

“Derek?”

It was Aunt Josie. I didn’t say anything because I was still kinda mad. She knocked again only this time it was louder. I still didn’t say anything. It didn’t feel right not answering her, though. It felt rude and a little bit mean.

“Derek, sweetie? I’m sorry I barked at you.”

“You didn’t bark at me.”

“Yes, I did and I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Um… thank you for saying sorry?”

“You’re welcome,” she said.

It was quiet for a minute after that. I could picture her in the hallway with one hand on the door, thinking of what to say next.

“Derek?”