Gracefully grayson, p.16
Gracefully Grayson, page 16
Act II, Scene II:
In the Underworld, Hades paces
Explains to the Souls
Who hold Persephone down
That they will guard her
Keep her
Forever in the Underworld
But together we smile in the dark
On her face, we see objection
In her eyes, we sense protest
We sit forward in our seats, all at once
Flowers blown forward by a breeze
We want the good guy to win
Act II, Scene III:
We glance side to side at one another
As Persephone drifts through black cardboard trees
The plastic Spring of Lethe
The Underworld
We are:
The little kids, the moms, the dads, the sisters
The brothers
The girl, red hair, the man, red beard
We are:
The grandmas and grandpas from out of town
Kleenex in our pockets, glasses around our necks
We are:
Everyone, in different shades of white and brown
Act III, Scene I:
We are one
We are squinting to see
We are the judges
When Zeus approaches Demeter
Royal, noble, deep red cape
An offer to help in his mighty hands
We clap
Act III, Scene II:
In the Underworld
The girl winces, just once
She rubs her hand over her cast
Surprised it’s there
When she lingers at the bench
Absently plucks some fruit off a tree
We know what’s coming
We brace ourselves
Act III, Scene III:
Good guys are supposed to win
But she only wins halfway
She’ll live six months in light
Six months in darkness
Light
Darkness
Light
Darkness
Light
Lights from behind
Light up the stage
Everyone surrounds her now
The Souls, the Elves, the poor kids who didn’t get bigger roles
They’re staggered, a wall
Like soldiers
Surrounding the girl
Who rides her carriage home
Epilogue:
In the end the deep-red curtain billows and drops
Lights off, sightless night, still
Then, the spotlight again
A beam of sunlight through crystal
The girl walks out cradling her arm
She must be in pain
The door to the parking lot is open next to the stage and
She feels the humid wind that’s holding her up and
She takes her director’s hand while
He bows and she curtsies
Gracefully.
BY THE END of spring break, my wrist doesn’t throb anymore, but I’m still not used to the cast. My light blue, long-sleeved T-shirt sticks to it as I pull it on with my right hand. I stand for a minute, looking out my bedroom window at the treetops below, and I adjust my pink T-shirt underneath the blue one the best I can. My charm is resting against my shirt, a silver bird flying against a light blue sky.
Uncle Evan drops Brett off at the elementary school doors and then drives Jack and me over to the circle driveway. We walk through the double doors together and down the hallway.
Ryan won’t be in Humanities. Dr. Shiner came to talk to us over break. From my bedroom, I listened to the muffled sounds of adult voices around the dining room table. After more than an hour, Uncle Evan asked me to come out and sit down with them.
“So, Grayson,” Uncle Evan had said, all the while staring at Dr. Shiner with sharp eyes, “Ryan has been switched to the other sixth-grade section, per our request. Dr. Shiner has assured us that your paths will cross very infrequently. And Grayson can count on that, Dr. Shiner?” he had asked.
“He can,” Dr. Shiner nodded, looking at his hands instead of at me. “Both Ryan and Tyler are prohibited from setting foot anywhere near you again. As you know, they’re suspended until the week after break. Once they return, one slipup, and they’ll be expelled.”
“Sound okay, Grayson?” Uncle Evan had asked me anxiously.
I nodded.
“And, Grayson,” Dr. Shiner had gone on, still looking away, “are you sure you don’t have anything to add to your statement? Ryan and Tyler jointly chased you down the hallway and jointly pushed you down the stairs?”
I looked down the hallway. Jack’s bedroom door was opened a crack. “I’m sure.”
The hallways at school are bustling. “See you after school,” Jack says to me when I stop at my locker outside of Finn’s door. He carefully looks around at the crowded hallway for a minute. I don’t know what to think about him, and I watch his back as he disappears around the corner into the seventh-grade wing.
The idea of taking the bus home instead of going to play practice is the most depressing thought in the world. I wonder what next year’s play will be and who will direct it. I take my books out of my locker, load them carefully into my backpack, and walk into the classroom with my head down.
When I get to my seat, I finally look up. Everyone is standing around, talking in strange whispers, and my heart jumps. I follow Meagan’s gaze to the front of the room, to where Dr. Shiner is watching us out of the corner of his eye as he hands a young teacher a stack of binders and overflowing manila folders. She is nodding intently as he talks to her.
Finn has left us. I stumble into my seat.
Meagan sits down next to me, but I can’t look at her. My throat is dry, and my heart thumps. When the bell rings, Dr. Shiner walks out the door and closes it behind him.
The class explodes into laughter and shouting, but I can barely hear a thing other than the sound of flames roaring in my ears. He didn’t even finish the year. He didn’t even say good-bye.
Numbly, I watch the new teacher. She walks in front of Finn’s desk and looks us over. A paper airplane sails through the air. Some people are sitting in the wrong seats, and Jason and Asher are still sitting on top of their desks.
“I’d like your attention, please,” the new teacher says. Her voice is solid and she actually looks calm, like her day is going as planned. She keeps talking, even though only some of us are paying attention.
“When I told my husband that I was going to take a long-term subbing position in a sixth-grade Humanities class, he told me I was nuts.” The class is getting quieter now. I hear a few giggles. “I asked him why he would say such a thing,” she continues. Everyone has switched back into the right seats now. “He said that sixth graders are animals! I told him I wholeheartedly disagreed with that. Sixth graders are people. So, he wished me luck and told me to embark upon this job at my own risk.” She pauses and flashes a big smile. Her teeth are even and white. “And here I am.”
I look around as I rub my arm above my cast. “My name is Amber LaBelle,” she continues. She turns and writes it on the board—her first name, too. Her handwriting is nothing like Finn’s. The letters are neat and solid.
She faces us again, looking serious now. “I know that you are probably confused. It is my understanding that it’s a surprise to you that your teacher is not here. I’m sorry to say that I don’t know much about the situation. I do know, however, that he left me extremely extensive notes about your current unit.” She holds up a thick binder, and then opens it to the first page. She studies it for a minute while we all watch her.
“According to Mr. Finnegan’s instructions, we are going to have a discussion today on some of the major themes that you all identified before break in To Kill a Mockingbird. This is, I must add, one of my all-time favorite books.” She smiles and looks back down at the binder. She bites at her bottom lip as she reads something. “And it seems like we have some big debates to present tomorrow,” she finally adds. She looks up again. Her eyes are dark blue, like deep water, and the sound of the flames roaring in my ears is gone now.
She turns and faces the board. I look at her brown leather cowboy boots and her long purple skirt. Bravery, she writes on the board to the right of her name. She turns back around and faces us.
“Okay, let’s take our notebooks out!” There’s a sudden rustling in the classroom. I lean over and take out my notebook and To Kill a Mockingbird. “So, tell us, who is brave in this book? Who isn’t?” she asks. The class is silent. “Well, don’t be shy! What do you all believe the author was trying to tell us about bravery?” More silence. Finally, a few hands wave in the air.
“Thank you! Finally!” Mrs. LaBelle throws her head back and laughs. Her long curls bounce. “Tell me your name before you speak,” she says, her voice still bubbling. She points to the back of the classroom.
“Sebastian.” I turn quickly and look.
“Okay, Sebastian, go ahead.”
“Well, I think to be brave, you have to be scared at the same time. To be brave means there’s something important you have to do and you’re scared, but you do it anyway.” I think of his face, peering out at me from behind Dr. Shiner as I lay at the bottom of the staircase, my wrist in flames. “That’s all,” he says.
Mrs. LaBelle studies Sebastian thoughtfully for a minute. “Okay, very good.” She writes on the board, Take important action despite fear.
I listen and take notes. I look up to the clock. It’s eight fifty-three, which means nine fifty-three in New York. I look out the window and wonder what Finn is doing now.
AT HOME THAT NIGHT, Uncle Evan comes into my room after dinner. I’ve been at my desk, staring at my science textbook for so long that I can barely even see the words anymore. “Hey, Grayson,” he says as he sits on my bed. “So, Aunt Sally tells me you said everything was uneventful on your first day back?”
I know what he’s getting at. “Yeah, I don’t think I have to worry about anyone else.” I look down. The TV is on in the other room now, and Aunt Sally is asking Jack if he finished his homework.
“And everything else was okay?” Uncle Evan asks.
“Yeah,” I say as I reach up and touch my charm. “Finn’s gone.”
“Well.” It looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t say anything else. The silence ticks in my ears like a clock.
Finally, he stands up, takes his wallet out of his back pocket, and opens it up. He pulls out two tickets and sits back down. “Today at work Henry asked me if I could use two tickets to the Shakespeare Theater this coming weekend. He and his wife are going out of town. Aunt Sally’s not particularly interested in Shakespeare, so she thought maybe you and I could go. It’s Romeo and Juliet—it’s a matinee on Saturday.”
I smile at him and nod. “I’ve heard it’s great,” I say.
“Yeah? You heard about this? You know, it doesn’t surprise me that you’re becoming interested in theater. Your parents both loved this kind of thing.”
“They did?” I ask.
“Sure.” Uncle Evan looks around my room, almost like he’s seeing it for the first time. “You know,” he says, “when we were kids, your dad and I did absolutely everything together. We were best friends.” I didn’t know that. “As we grew up, though, I guess we had our own lives, our own paths.”
I nod.
“My biggest regret in life…” He takes his glasses off and rubs his face. “My biggest regret in life is that we didn’t talk much as adults. Your aunt and I got married, your dad and your mom got married. We grew apart.” He puts his glasses back on. “It kind of reminds me of you and Jack sometimes.” I look down at my hands in my lap. “Your parents loved each other very much, you know,” he adds.
“I know.”
“They loved you.”
“Yeah.”
“So, Grayson, there’s something that came for you in the mail last week,” he says, standing up and opening his wallet again. “Aunt Sally didn’t…Well, I think your aunt is still searching for a way to process things. I felt, well, I feel that this belongs to you.”
The only letters that have ever meant anything to me are the ones from Mom. For the tiniest, split second, I feel like Uncle Evan is about to pull out another letter from her. But I know this is ridiculous. I glance at the painting on my wall as Uncle Evan takes a white envelope out of his wallet. It’s folded in half and kind of molded into the shape of the wallet. The return address says Brian Finnegan. It’s from New York.
“It’s from Finn,” I say.
“I know.” He pauses. “Well, I’ll leave you alone,” he says. It looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. He gets up, walks out of my room, and closes the door carefully behind him.
I stare at the envelope for a long time. I know that as soon as I read what he wrote, I’m going to forgive Finn for leaving, and I sit and let myself feel furious for another minute. Then, I can’t wait any longer, and I carefully rip it open.
March 18
Dear Grayson,
You were amazing in the play tonight, and I’m so proud of you. An old acting teacher of mine in college used to say that “risk taking is free.” He was so wrong. It’s not free. You took a risk, and now I’m sure you’re contending with everything in its wake. Risk taking is not free, but I can assure you, it’s worth it.
Grayson, I’m sorry I wasn’t up-front with you about when I’d be leaving for New York, and I’m sorry I left without saying good-bye. I guess I was just dealing with too many of my own emotions to do the right thing.
I know it may feel like there are people who are against you, but I want you to remember that most people in the world are good. Look for the people who extend a hand to you. And when they do, take it.
I’m so proud of what you’ve done this year. And always remember, Grayson, to be brave.
Fondly,
Mr. Finnegan
I read the letter three more times before I put it in my top desk drawer with my letters from Mom. I wish Finn were still here. I’m tired of people leaving me, and I’m tired of the letters they leave behind. I don’t want to be left behind anymore.
The next morning in Humanities, I roll my gold glitter pen back and forth between my fingers. Someone has cracked a window open, and a warm, damp breeze is weaving its way through the classroom. The air feels heavy. The world outside is green-gray. It’s about to pour.
“We’re almost ready for the first debate!” Mrs. LaBelle announces as everyone settles into their seats and quiets down. “Let me see…” She leans over the desk and looks at Finn’s binder. “Grayson, Hannah, Meagan, Hailey, Ryan, Sebastian, Steven, and Bart. Are you guys ready?” She looks up.
“Ryan switched classes,” a voice calls out.
“Ah, that’s right.” Her face flushes, and she pauses for a minute. “Not a problem,” she finally says. “Everyone else, find your note cards and come on up. Does everyone else have a notebook out? I want you all to make sure you’re taking extensive notes on each debate. I’m not sure if Mr. Finnegan told you, but you’re each going to be choosing one of these topics to write a paper on.”
The class groans. Mrs. LaBelle grins. “And, they’ll be due at the end of next week. I can’t wait to read them!”
Thunder rumbles outside the windows, and the wind is picking up now. Everyone whispers and points at the swaying trees. I dig through my backpack for my note cards. The wind gusts again, and the poems and stories that Finn tacked to the bulletin boards suddenly rustle and jump like they’re trying to escape from the wall. Amelia closes the window next to her, and they settle back into place.
I find my note cards in my folder and think again about what Finn said in his letter. Then I think about how Marla called him noble, and for some reason, I think about what Ms. Landen said about how, sometimes, everything needs to fall apart before it can come back together the way it’s supposed to.
“Okay, what are you waiting for? Group one, come on up!” Mrs. LaBelle says, opening her grade book.
“I can’t find my note cards,” Bart announces, and Steven and Sebastian get up to help him dig through his backpack. I look past them to where Amelia is sitting next to Lila. Her eyes meet mine. She starts mouthing something, and I turn away. I don’t want her to think I’m eavesdropping on whatever she’s trying to tell Meagan, Hannah, or Hailey. I look at them, wondering what they’re talking to Amelia about across the room. They’re all looking through their note cards, though, and I look back at Amelia. She’s saying something to me. I squint at her lips.
Good. Job. In. The. Play. She smiles. Behind her the rain is starting to slam against the windows. I smile back.
“I think my note cards are in my locker,” Bart says to Mrs. LaBelle.
“All right, then, go take a look,” she says as the thunder booms again. Everyone squeals.
I turn my note cards around in my hands, and I think about Jack. We didn’t say much to each other over break. He seemed kind of quiet, actually. Part of me wanted to talk to him. Part of me wanted to ask him why he left the hallway on the day of the play, but I didn’t. I think about it again—his hand held out awkwardly before he ran off. I thought about it all break; I tried to figure out what it meant.
I see his hand in my mind again as he reached for my wrist that day at the Grand Canyon. I remember the feel of his palms, callused from baseball practice, and his startled smile as he pulled me away from the edge. I see him walking a step ahead of me to the park across the street, his skinny ankles disappearing into his gym shoes. He’s standing over the kitchen sink, eating wet raspberries out of a colander. He’s handing me a red pillow from his bed to reinforce our fort. He’s clutching the slippery side of the sailboat. Lake water is running off of his hair and into his eyes in tiny rivers. He’s laughing. He’s reaching through the warm water for my hand. I raise my hand.
“Yes? Grayson?” Mrs. LaBelle says.
