The Saturday Boy

“You’ve got some updog on your shirt,” she said.

“What’s updog?”

“Not much, what’s up with you?”

“Hardly har-har.”

“Isn’t it hardy har-har?”

“Not this time.”

“Ouch,” she said. “Hey, what’s that paint all over your hands?”

“I was painting my Apache helicopter. Y’know—the one Dad and I built? The one Mom took down without asking? I painted ‘Buttercup’ on it.”

“You painted flowers on a war helicopter?”

“I painted the word ‘Buttercup.’ That’s her name. Dad said so in the letter.”

I showed Buttercup to Aunt Josie and I showed her the photograph. I didn’t show her the letter though, because it was private and none of her business. But not in a bad way. She told me I did a killer job on the lettering and that a lot of tattoo artists didn’t like to do it because it was really tough to get just right.

“I’ve gotta get dinner started,” she said. “Wanna come give me a hand? I totally get it if you don’t want to though.”

I told her I’d be down in a few minutes and she gave me a hug and said okay. When she was gone I hung Buttercup back on her hook, lay down on my bed, and watched her swing. When she stopped moving I went downstairs and found Aunt Josie in the kitchen chopping carrots, humming along to a song on the radio.

“What’re you listening to?”

“Oingo Boingo,” she said. “C’mon—dance with me!”

“What? No, wait… what are you doing?”

“The Shopping Cart.”

“What?”

“You’ve never heard of the—oh, you poor boy.”

She showed me how to do the Shopping Cart. And the Sprinkler. And my favorite—the Fisherman. Then we just held hands and twirled around the kitchen and even though I hadn’t wanted to dance at first I was kinda sad when the song ended and we stopped. I grabbed a piece of carrot off the cutting board and popped it in my mouth.

“Save some for the salad, please,” she said.

Aunt Josie picked up the cutting board and dumped the carrots into a big bowl that already had lettuce and sliced cucumber in it. She scratched the side of her nose and stared into the salad.

“What’s missing? What’s missing?” she mumbled. “Blue cheese!”

Aunt Josie opened the fridge and practically dove inside. I hoisted myself onto the counter, sat, and snagged a carrot from the salad bowl, popping it into my mouth and chewing quickly.

“Blue cheese, blue cheese… I could’ve sworn… aha!”

Aunt Josie emerged from the fridge with a plastic container. Then she pulled the lid off and shook some crumbled cheese into the salad bowl.

“Wait! Stop!” I said. “I think the cheese went bad.”

“It didn’t.”

“But it looks all moldy.”

“That’s because it is moldy.”

“Aunt Josie?”

“Yes?”

“Is there anything else for dinner?”

Before Josie could answer, a song by something called The Jam came on and we were dancing again.

* * *

The good news was that, in addition to the salad, Aunt Josie had also made baked ziti. The bad news was that she said I had to eat some salad anyway. I did a pretty good job of picking out the cheese but a couple times I ate some cucumber that tasted a little bit like feet so I obviously didn’t get all of it.

After dinner me and Aunt Josie did the dishes then went into the living room and put on the TV. We played rocks, paper, scissors to see who got the remote control and I won because Aunt Josie always threw scissors first. I flipped through the kid channels but couldn’t find anything I wanted to watch or hadn’t already seen like a hundred times already so I handed over the remote.

“Can I stay up until Mom gets home?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Aunt Josie. “Do me a favor, though? Could you get all ready for bed first?”

I sprang up and tore through the kitchen and up the stairs. I changed into my pajamas and put a sweatshirt on and went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth and was back downstairs before the commercials were even over. I flopped down on the couch and pulled the blanket over me because it was a little chilly even with the fire going.

I snuggled in against Aunt Josie and put my head on her shoulder. Then she tucked the blanket in around us and we watched a show where all the men wore ties and everyone smoked cigarettes and acted very serious and there weren’t any car chases or zombies or anything. It would have been way better with zombies. Everything’s better with zombies. I closed my eyes and thought about how cool it would be if there was a show with zombies who got into car chases.

“Derek?” Mom’s voice. Her hand. Warm. Shaking me gently. “Wake up, Piggy-pig.”

“Time izzit?”

“It’s late, sweetie. Come on up to your room. Here, lean on me.”

Mom scooped me off the couch and put her arm around my shoulders and steered me up the stairs to my bedroom. Then she helped me into bed and tucked me in and sat, brushing the hair off my forehead.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Mm-hm.”

“What was in the letter?”

“Words.”

Mom was quiet for a minute. It was warm in my bed. I was comfy and Mom’s fingers in my hair felt good. I drifted. Mom said something. I almost didn’t hear it.

“Whuzzat?”

“I just asked if the letter said what you needed it to.”

I opened my eyes. The door was open and a rectangle of light fell into my room from the hallway casting all sorts of shadows. These shadows weren’t scary, though. These shadows were familiar. I knew all about these shadows.

I thought about Dad’s letter—about all of Dad’s letters—and how, in one way or another, they’ve always said exactly what I needed them to. I knew which ones to read if I needed cheering up. I knew which ones would make me feel good about myself and which ones would make me feel like I could conquer the world. I knew which one to read when I forgot Mom’s birthday. I remembered what Budgie said about how even when my dad wasn’t here, he was still here—how our letters kept us connected.

“Are you cold?” Mom asked.

“No. Why?”

“You’re shaking.”

My eyes prickled with tears and deep inside me it felt like something was trying very hard to get out. I took a deep breath. Mom had taken her hand off my head but still sat on the edge of the bed looking down at me. I was grateful for the dark. If she could see my tears she didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really any need to. We were both sad and we both knew why. We’d probably both be sad for a while.

“It was a good letter,” I said finally.

She moved a little and I could tell she was smiling even though her face was covered in shadows.

“I’m glad. We’ll get through all of this, I promise.”

“I know. There’s a solution to everything. Even if it’s not clear at first.”