Tiger Eyes (8 page)

“Jason likes to go to school,” I say. “I think it’s a good idea for him.”

“And then I’ll take you over to register at the high school.”

I snap to attention and almost spill my cocoa. “I don’t want to go to school here,” I say.

“Why not? It’s a very good school.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“I don’t want to go to school this year. I’d rather take the year off.”

“Oh, Davey … you can’t do that.”

“I don’t see why not. I’ll study at home. I’ll learn astronomy. I can keep up … I know I can … I’ve thought it all out … and I’ll help around the house and I’ll babysit for Jason and …”

“You
have
to go to school,” Bitsy says. “You’ve missed more than a month already.”

I can tell that her mind is made up. That I have no choice. So much for my fantasy.

“How long do you think we’ll be staying?” I ask.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“But I have to know. It’s important.”

“I don’t know myself, Davey. It depends on your mother.”

“But how can I go to school without knowing how long I’m going to stay?”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Everything. I have to know if I should bother to make friends.”

“Of course you should make friends,” Bitsy says. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s an important question.” But I can see that she has no idea what I am talking about. There is no point in trying to explain.

When Bitsy has gone back downstairs, I get out of bed and walk down the hall to say goodnight to my mother. I open her door without knocking. She is sitting on the bed, surrounded by old photos. She is holding one of my father. She presses it to her face and says, “Oh, Adam … I miss you so much.” She begins to weep quietly.

I close the door to her room. I don’t want her to know I’ve seen her.

FIFTEEN

I have only three free days before school. I spend each of them in the canyon, with Wolf. He always has to leave before two o’clock. I figure he has a job. I don’t ask him any questions, he doesn’t ask me any. I like it that way.

Wolf tells me stories about the Anasazi, the Ancient Ones. They used to live in this canyon and in the canyons and cliffs all around here. He takes me for a walk and shows me a cliff dwelling. I try to imagine us hundreds of years ago. Tiger and Wolf, living in a cave together. We would make love on rocks that have been warmed by the sunshine. We would raise babies, fat and happy.

On the third day Wolf brings me a book.
The First Americans
. It is about the history of this area. “Thanks,” I say. “I’ll read it and bring it back next week.”

“No, it’s for you to keep,” he says.

I open it. On the first page he has written
To Tiger Eyes, who makes me laugh. From Wolf
.

I look over at him.

“They are, you know,” he says.

“What?”

“Your eyes. They remind me of a tiger’s, the way they change color in the light, from golden to brown.”

“When’s the last time you saw a tiger?” I ask.

“I have a cat,” he says. “That’s close enough.”

I laugh, wanting to hug him, wanting him to hug me. But he doesn’t, and neither do I. “Thank you for the book,” I say. “And for being my friend.”

“It’s good to have a friend,” he says.

“Yes … I know.”

O
n Monday morning Bitsy insists on accompanying me to Los Alamos High School. She asks me a hundred times if I need anything. I tell her I don’t but she slips me ten dollars just in case.

“Walter and I want you to have an allowance while you’re here. Of course, we’ll expect you to help around the house but you’ve been very nice about doing that without being asked.”

“Thanks,” I say. I feel uncomfortable taking money from Bitsy and decide to discuss the situation with Mom.

At the high school we ask a boy with a calculator strapped to his belt where the office is, and then we take a wrong turn and miss it anyway. Bitsy stops a group of girls and asks again. I look away, as if I have nothing to do with any of this.

When we get to the office I want to register as a temporary student but I am told there is no such thing. They want my records from Atlantic
City, and a medical history from my doctor. I begin to explain that we don’t have my school records because we thought we were here for a visit, when Bitsy produces them from her purse. I am surprised and confused. Bitsy says, “We sent for them … last week.” I don’t know whether to believe her or not.

I am told to have a seat, that a guidance counselor will be with me in a few minutes. Bitsy sits next to me. I don’t want her hanging around. “I know you have a lot to do this morning,” I say. I don’t know that she has anything to do but I want to get rid of her. I want to do this on my own.

“I haven’t got anything to do that can’t wait,” Bitsy says, smiling.

I sense that she is enjoying all of this. It’s like a new game for her. Instant Motherhood. But I am not angry with her. My own mother is home in bed, zonked out on headache medicine. If I am angry at anyone this morning, it’s Mom.

Finally, I convince Bitsy that it is okay for her to leave. I reassure her that I will be just fine, and reluctantly she stands up, then embarrasses me by kissing my cheek, as if she won’t see me for a year. I breathe a sigh of relief when she is gone.

I am shown into the guidance counselor’s office at last. We talk about what courses I should take. I tell him what I was taking in Atlantic City and he arranges a schedule for me here. English,
something called American Cultures, Geometry, and French II.

“What about Science?” he asks, pulling on his ear lobe. “We try to encourage our sophomores to take Chemistry.”

“I’d rather take Astronomy,” I say. I am getting better and better at identifying stars, planets, and constellations.

“We don’t offer Astronomy.”

“Well then, I’ll just skip a science course and take typing.”

He looks up at me.

“I don’t think I can handle Chemistry right now,” I explain. Why should I kill myself with work? I think. I’m only going to be here for a little while. And the truth is, I’m not sure I’d be able to memorize all the symbols that go with Chemistry, especially after missing more than a month of school.

“All right,” he says. He doesn’t give me a hard time about it. He schedules me for typing instead.

I am late getting to my first period class, which is English. I hand my card to the teacher, who is a young guy wearing jeans and a sweater. His name is Mr. Vanderhoot. He reads my card out loud. “Davis Wexler.”

“Davey,” I tell him. “Everybody calls me Davey.”

“Sure. Okay, Davey. Have a seat. Anywhere is
fine. We’re reading Dickens’
Great Expectations
. Have you read it?”

“No.”

“Good. You can pick up a copy after class. And get the notes from somebody smart. Let’s see …” He looks around the room. “Try Jane. Jane, raise your hand. There she is,” he says to me.

Mr. Vanderhoot seems flaky. I like him already.

After class Jane comes up to me. “That’s why my parents named me Jane,” she says.

“What?” I am confused.

“You know … that Davis-Davey business. With a simple name like Jane you never run into trouble.”

“Oh, that,” I say. “I’m used to it.”

“You can take my notes home tonight. They’re good.”

“Thanks.”

We discover that we both have second period free and we walk outside together. Jane is tall and blonde and she would be beautiful except for her chin, which is practically non-existent. We cross the parking lot, then the walking bridge over Diamond Drive, and go into a sleazy store, where Jane buys V-8 juice and pretzels. I don’t like V-8 so I get a can of grapefruit juice instead.

Outside the store a group of boys wearing cowboy boots and ten gallon hats call lewd
things to us. Jane ignores them and mutters, “Stomps.”

We cross back over the walking bridge and sit on the grassy area in front of the high school. There is a cool breeze and Jane pulls her poncho around her while I zip up my jacket.

“Where’re you from?” Jane asks, guzzling V-8 juice from the can.

“Atlantic City,” I tell her.

“Where’s that … California?” she asks.

“No, New Jersey.”

“Oh, right … New Jersey.”

“Yes,” I say, amazed that she thought Atlantic City is in California.

“I guess I was thinking of Studio City. That’s in California.” She nibbles on a pretzel. “Atlantic City … that’s where the Miss America pageant is held … right?”

“Right,” I say.

“My sister was a state finalist one year but she lost out to this girl who could whistle Beethoven.” Jane polishes off the rest of the pretzels, brushes the crumbs from her hands and says, “So you just moved up here?”

“Yes. A few weeks ago.”

“Is your father a physicist?”

“No,” I say. “My father’s … dead.” It is the first time I have said that to anyone.

“Oh,” Jane says. “I’m sorry.”

“He died over the summer,” I tell her. “Of a heart attack.” Once I get started I can’t stop myself.
“He died in his sleep. Everyone says it was a good way to go. That there was no pain. He was only thirty-four.” Why am I doing this? Why am I telling her this story?

“I don’t know what to say,” Jane tells me. “It sounds terrible.”

“My uncle’s a physicist,” I say. “We’re living with him, and my aunt.” I want to change the subject now. I want to get away from how my father died. “Where are you from?”

“Me … I’m from right here … Los Alamos.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I was born here. I’ve never lived any place else. But I’ve been to Kansas. That’s where my grandparents live, and I’ve been to Tennessee. My father worked at the lab there … at Oak Ridge … for six months. It’s a lot like here.” She smashes her V-8 can and tosses it up into the air, then catches it. A few drops of juice trickle out and land in her hair.

“Where’re you living … White Rock or The Hill?”

“The Hill,” I say. “The western area. How about you?”

“Bathtub Row,” she tells me. “Look, I’ve got to run now. I’ve got another class. I’ll meet you later and give you my notes, okay?”

“Sure. Okay.”

A
t dinner I tell Bitsy and Walter about Jane. “She lives on Bathtub Row.”

Jason laughs and spits milk out of his mouth and nose at the same time. “Is that near Toilet Terrace?” he asks. “Or Sink Street?”

Bitsy explains that Bathtub Row is the most prestigious area in town. The houses there are on the grounds of what used to be the exclusive Los Alamos boys school. In the old days, before Los Alamos became the Atomic City, the boys school was all that was up here. Then, in the 40’s, when Oppenheimer and the other famous scientists gathered to develop the Bomb, the most important ones got to live in these houses, which were the only ones having bathtubs.

“Your friend must be the daughter of someone high up in the Lab, to live on Bathtub Row,” Bitsy says. “What’s her last name?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

After dinner Walter wants to see my course schedule. He hits the roof when he finds out that I am not taking a science course. “How could they let you register without insisting on a science course?”

“I wanted to take typing instead,” I explain. “I can always take Chemistry next year.”

“Typing,” Walter says, angrily. “Ridiculous. And next year you should be taking Physics I. You’re going to fall behind.”

I feel like telling him that I have no intention of taking Physics I, not next year, and not ever.

“You have to think of your future,” Walter tells me. “You want to get into a good college, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Of course you know.”

“No, I don’t! I don’t even know if I want to go to college.”

Walter pours himself a glass of brandy, sloshes it around in his glass, then takes a hearty drink. “What do you want to do with your life, Davey?” he asks.

“How do I know? I’m only fifteen!”

“It’s never too soon to start planning,” he calls, but I am already storming out of the room, with Minka at my heels.

I go straight to my mother’s room, to tell her that Walter is a pain and I don’t feel like discussing my life with him and she better do something about it, something to shut him up. But Mom is asleep, her mouth half open. Her breath sounds raspy. There are photos scattered across the bed. I feel so angry I want to shake her.

I go to my own room and flop down on my bed with a copy of
Great Expectations
.

I am on Chapter Two when Jason comes to my room. But I don’t remember anything about Chapter One and I can’t keep any of the characters straight.

“What’s wrong with Mom?” Jason asks.

“You know,” I tell him. “She has headaches.”
He is wearing his football pajamas and looks very small and sweet. “Don’t worry. She’ll be okay.”

“Maybe not,” he says. “Maybe she’s going to die.”

“She’s not going to die,” I say.

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“If she does die will we stay here, with Uncle Walter and Aunt Bitsy?”

“She’s
not
going to die.”

“But if she does …”

“Yes,” I say, closing my book. “I suppose we’d stay here.”

“That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Jason …” I say. He has a loose tooth and he wiggles it with his fingers. He is so innocent, I think.

“Yeah …”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?”

“Me … kiss you?”

“Yes. Come on …” I hold my arms out to him. “Pretend I’m not your sister. Pretend I’m some beautiful princess.”

He comes closer to my bed and I reach out and hug him. “It’s going to be all right,” I whisper into his hair. “It is … it is … it is …”

SIXTEEN

On Saturday I ride to the canyon. There is a chill in the air and I wear my fisherman’s sweater. When I look up into the mountains I see that the leaves of the aspen trees have turned color, making the whole mountainside a beautiful shade of gold against the deep blue of the sky. Tomorrow Walter and Bitsy are taking us for a drive into the mountains so that we can see the aspen up close.