The Saturday Boy

My confusion and frustration about Budgie and why we weren’t friends anymore caught him on the forehead. The trouble I couldn’t seem to stay out of connected with his jaw. Everything I’d been keeping bottled up for so long—every cheek I’d turned and every time I’d held my tongue were a flurry of punches about his head. And finally, all of my anger and sadness, all of the unfairness that I’d been feeling, and all of the complete and total suckiness over what happened to my father, became a single blow—a hammer fist that found its way past Budgie’s flailing hands and straight onto his nose.

There was a crunch and beneath my hand I could feel Budgie’s nose shift.

I stopped. My breath whooped in and out and I could feel hot tears on my cheeks. It was suddenly very quiet. I slowly turned, shading my eyes from the spotlight that Budgie and I seemed to be in the middle of. I swallowed and lowered my hand. The auditorium was quiet. The spotlight was bright and hot and Budgie squirmed underneath me. I waved. Just a little.

“Hi, Mom.”

That’s when Budgie flipped me over and it started raining knuckles.

* * *

Teachers seemed to swarm in from everywhere. They came up from the audience. They seemed to spill from the wings. I think I even saw Senora Cruz drop from the ceiling on a rope like a commando. Budgie got pulled off of me. He was still kicking and thrashing, yelling words I don’t think even grown-ups were supposed to know. I sat up and the room swam around me.

“Derek? Derek, are you okay?”

Mom. There suddenly. Holding me.

“Derek, honey? Oh, your poor face! Are you all right? Derek, say something.”

“Ow.”

Mom helped me stand and we walked offstage into the wings and through the backstage door. I leaned on her. My head hurt. I must have bitten my tongue when my head hit the floor because it was bleeding and now my mouth tasted like pennies. Also one of my teeth was loose. I wiggled it with my tongue.

“We’re leaving. Where are your things?”

“We can’t just—wait, why are you crying?”

“You were right about him, Derek. I’m sorry I ever—sorry I ever doubted you,” she said, her voice catching a little. She took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. Her face was bright with tears and I could feel her arm trembling where it lay around my shoulders. She was holding it together. Barely. “Are your things in here?”

“What about the play? I didn’t do my scene yet.”

“You’re hurt.”

“But Mr. Putnam always says the show must go on.”

“I hate to tell you this, honey, but I think it’s going to have to go on without you.”

“No!”

I stopped walking and ducked out from under her arm. I couldn’t believe it. How could she do this? She knew how important this was to me. She’d even helped me put my costume together by turning an old pair of my pants into the knickers I was wearing. The silver foil buckles on my shoes had been her idea also. Now that I thought about it, she’d actually done more for the play than I had. I mean, all I did was memorize five words.

“Derek.”

“No! I wanna go on! I wanna do it!”

“Come stand in the light. I need to check your pupils.”

“Stop it!”

“But you’re hurt.”

“No I’m not!”

“Sweetheart, you’re bleeding.”

“So?”

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“From what? My life?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” said Mom. Tears ran down her face, slipping out each time she blinked. She tried to wipe them away with her hands but there were just too many. “All I know is that seeing you and Budgie up there fighting like that… it was awful. I was horrified. If I was any kind of mother I’d have done something so that it never would’ve happened in the first place.”

“You couldn’t have done that,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because nobody can see into the future.”

“You’re right. You can’t see the future. That’s why the world is a monster, Derek. It gets its teeth in you and just… shakes until—until there’s nothing left. And a lot of times you don’t even see it coming. Is it so wrong that I want to protect you from that—even a little?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I said. “What teeth?”

“Think of it this way,” she said. “If you find a baby bear in the wild what should you not do?”

“Mess with it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the mama bear is probably close by.”

“And?”

“Mama bears are very protective of their babies.”

“Exactly,” Mom said. She was crouched down in front of me and looking in my one good eye. The other one was pretty much closed from all the punching. “And right now the world is messing with my baby bear. So if I’m the mama bear, what am I going to do?”

“Rip the world’s face off?”

“Yes, I—no. But what I am going to do is roar. This mama bear is going to roar so long and so loud the world will think twice before messing with you again. And I’m going to stand up and roar every time I think you’re in danger no matter what it is or how old you are. The world makes us all grow up so fast and I just want… I want you to be a baby bear—my baby bear—for as long as you can, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I’m sorry for thinking you’d want to leave after what happened with Budgie back there. You’re a lot tougher than I give you credit for sometimes. Your dad would be—well, he’d be very proud you didn’t give up.”

It hurt to smile but I didn’t care.

“Derek, there you are. Are you okay?” said Mr. Putnam.

“My mouth tastes like pennies.”

“How are they?”

“Okay I guess.”

“You must be Derek’s mother,” he said, putting his hand out. “I’m John Putnam.”

“Annie Lamb.”

“Pleased to meet you, Annie. Would you mind if I borrowed Derek for a little while? We’re going to take a mulligan and start again.”

“But he’s just been in a—yes. Yes, of course. Borrow away.” Mom hugged me tight and kissed my cheek and smiled, whispering in my ear, “Good luck, baby bear.”

“Actors don’t say ‘good luck,’ Mom.”

“Oh, they don’t, do they?”

“No. They say, ‘Break a leg.’”

“Considering what just happened I’m not going to do that. Is there anything else you can say?”

“Dancers have been known to say, ‘Merde,’” said Mr. Putnam helpfully.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s French,” Mom said, giving Mr. Putnam a look.

“Does it mean good luck?”

“It means poop,” said Mom.