Grand & Humble Read online

  The “image” tore through his brain like a chain saw. He did not exist! Suddenly, the mind’s eye was a hollow socket and his soul was a bottomless pit.

  Harlan was overwhelmed by what he saw—or, rather, the infinite emptiness that he felt.

  Dr. Berman saw the panic on Harlan’s face. “All right, then,” he said, taken aback. “Let’s just get to it, shall we?” And then he turned to the bin with all the numbered Ping-Pong balls.

  Harlan swayed awkwardly. Sirens rang in his head; every mitochondrion in every cell of his body called out in alarm. He glanced back behind the stage and saw his mother gesticulating at him like an outraged mime.

  “Harlan?” Dr. Berman said, looking around for the cute boy in the tux. Finally he found him, still at the back of the stage. “Oh. There you still are.” He made an exaggerated motion with his arm. “Well, get out here! Trying to generate a little suspense, eh?”

  Out in the audience, people chuckled. They knew the senator’s son, and they knew how out of character this was. So they assumed this had to be some kind of gag—a skit of some sort.

  “Look,” Dr. Berman said, “I can’t move this bin. You have to come to me.”

  The audience roared.

  Harlan stumbled a little, but caught himself and somehow kept himself standing upright. The audience mistook his motion for a step and applauded encouragingly.

  “That’s it!” Dr. Berman said. “There we go.”

  “Go!” his mom whispered.

  And then the void in Harlan’s mind began to suck him in. It was slow at first, just a gentle tug on the edges of his being. But it was already picking up pressure, like the intake of a jet engine as it revved up for takeoff.

  Harlan could not stay. If he didn’t leave that stage then and there, he knew he would simply cease to exist. His soul would be sucked away like so much loose lint.

  He turned to go. It was the easiest, most satisfying step of his entire life. He felt like Johnny Appleseed taking his first step on the American frontier, or Niels Bohr walking into his first physics lab. Harlan was born to walk off that stage.

  Better still, the horrible nothing in his mind was instantly gone.

  He thudded down the stairs, past his mother.

  “Harlan!” she said. “What are you doing?”

  It didn’t matter. She could put shackles on his legs to keep him from swimming, or banish him to some forsaken dungeon. He wasn’t going back onto that stage.

  “Harlan!” she hissed. “Don’t you do this! Don’t you dare—”

  Harlan ignored her, just turned and hurried straight for the nearest exit.

  MANNY

  There was no exit.

  Manny stared at the mess in front of him. The ceiling had collapsed, trapping him inside the cave. It was a wonder he had survived at all.

  He adjusted the light on top of his miner’s helmet. Dust swirled in the beam like so many miniature galaxies. The falling of the ceiling had changed everything. The wall where he had been excavating had been ripped open. While digging, he had been certain that there was a vein of gold just behind that wall, but he saw now that there wasn’t. Just more rock.

  Even worse, his exit was blocked. What had once been an opening was now a wall of boulders. He could never dig his way through, especially since all he had was a plastic miner’s pick—a child’s toy.

  On the ground directly in front of him was a pair of crushed wire-rim glasses. All that remained of a fellow miner killed by the collapse? Manny didn’t remember having a co-worker; he thought he’d been alone in this cave.

  What was he going to do? This was a mine shaft, not a natural cave, and there was only one exit. Now it was blocked, and he was trapped. Soon he would run out of air and die.

  He looked again at the swirling motes of dust in the beam of his helmet light. They didn’t seem to be settling, even though the collapse was long since over. On the contrary, they whirled and spun about him faster than ever. It was almost as if Manny felt a breeze in the air. Could it be there was another exit?

  He aimed his light up at the ceiling and, sure enough, spotted a jagged opening in the rock. The collapse had sealed the entrance to the cave, but it had also opened a breach.

  He crawled up the mound of boulders, toward the opening in the ceiling. Would it be wide enough to crawl through?

  Yes! He reached the opening and saw that it would be a tight fit, but that he could just squeeze through.

  Manny clawed his way inside, into a chasm that led straight upward. The two sides to the rift were close enough together that he would be able to support himself on either side and climb up it like a chimney. Already he could see the top—and daylight! He could even see clouds.

  He started edging his way up the chasm, determined to reach the top. From above, he heard a distant roar, like a waterfall. For a second, he thought he smelled gasoline—or was it just the odor of some seeping subterranean gas?

  Finally his fingers gripped the edge at the top of the chasm. With a grunt, he pulled himself out of the gash in the ground.

  Freedom! he thought as he fought his way up into the open air. The land around him was flat—concrete, a parking lot perhaps. Even as he struggled to make sense of the sight, he registered the sound of something squealing behind him.

  He turned. And that’s when Manny realized he had crawled up onto a freeway—and right into the face of oncoming truck.

  Adopted! Elsa signed. I can’t believe you’re adopted and your dad never told you!

  I know, Manny said. Some big news, huh?

  It was afternoon, and he and Elsa had walked to a park near school. He’d waited all day for a time and place where there weren’t other people around, so he could tell her what he’d learned.

  So that’s what he’s been hiding? Elsa signed.

  Manny nodded. I guess so.

  This park was known for its outdoor displays of petrified wood. There had always been a lot of fossilized wood in the area, and years ago, during the Great Depression, work crews had been hired to take the rocks and arrange them into various shapes, using mortar to seal them in place. But the crews had been laborers, not artists, and their work was mostly of the pyramid-and-snowman sort. The result had to be one of the weirdest parks Manny would ever see.

  As they walked amid the stone sculptures, Manny felt Elsa staring at him. Are you okay? she signed.

  What do you mean? Manny asked.

  Well, it must be a big shock.

  What? That I’m adopted?

  Elsa nodded.

  It’s not that big a deal, Manny signed. A lot of people are adopted.

  Yeah, but their dads didn’t lie about it.

  They stopped in front of what appeared to be a sculpture of a cannon. The petrified wood was mostly pink and blue. Manny just stared.

  Elsa tapped him on the arm. Manny? What’s wrong?

  I had another nightmare last night, Manny said.

  That’s too bad. What was this one about?

  He shook his head. You don’t understand. It’s not the nightmare itself. It’s the fact that I had it at all. I was certain the nightmares had something to do with the secret my dad was keeping. And that once I figured it out, they’d stop. But I know the secret now, and they still haven’t stopped!

  Maybe it was just a coincidence, Elsa said. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with anything.

  Manny shook his head again. Then he told her about his dream, about the collapse in the ceiling that had changed everything in the cave where he’d been working—how even as it had closed off one exit, it had opened another up. But it ended in the same goddamn place! he said. It ended like all the other nightmares—with me being smashed by something! What does my being crushed have to do with my being adopted, anyway? No, there’s something I’m missing.

  Missing? Elsa asked.

  About the nightmares!

  Elsa watched him for a second. Manny hated it when she did that. It wasn’t just that she could read lips; s
ometimes it seemed like she could read minds too.

  Manny, Elsa said at last. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately.

  It’s my dad! Manny said suddenly. He’s still not telling me the truth!

  Wait a minute, Elsa signed. Let’s just think about this, okay?

  Before he could stop himself, Manny signed, Goddamn it, Elsa, whose side are you on?

  He immediately regretted the outburst. Elsa, I’m sorry, he signed quickly. I’m really sorry! He’d never fought with Elsa before; now he’d yelled at her twice in a matter of weeks. All over these stupid nightmares.

  Absolutely motionless, she looked at him. It was like she had become an assortment of petrified-wood pieces herself. Manny even imagined he could see the crude lattice of mortar that was holding her together and upright—mortar that was cracked and crumbling. Manny could see something else as well. Not just the hurt in her eyes, though he saw that too. Suddenly, even though he didn’t want to, it was like Manny could read her mind.

  Elsa was in love with him. He didn’t understand how he’d never seen this before. It was so obvious in retrospect—the way she doted on him, was always so cheerful around him. Manny knew other deaf people, Elsa’s friends, but none of them watched him the way she did, read every word he spoke. Then again, maybe Manny had seen the way Elsa felt about him, or at least glimpses of it, but he’d turned away, not wanting to accept the truth. Even now, he had a hard time imagining that anyone could ever truly be in love with a backstage geek like him. But in any event, he also knew, just as clearly, that he didn’t feel the same way about her. Manny couldn’t explain why; he certainly “loved” her. Just not like she loved him.

  Elsa, say something, Manny signed. Tell me you’re okay.

  She smiled. Of course I’m okay! And all the proof Manny needed of her love for him was right there in her quick and easy forgiveness.

  You told me you wondered why your dad didn’t have any baby pictures of you, Elsa soldiered on. Well, this explains it.

  What? he said, shifting gears again. Oh. Yeah. I was three when my dad adopted me.

  Well, at least he didn’t have to change any diapers.

  What? Manny was momentarily confused.

  I said, at least he didn’t have to change any diapers.

  That’s right, he said, thinking. He didn’t have to change any diapers!

  Elsa was looking at him funny.

  Something just occurred to me! Manny explained, excited again. Something my dad said: that I was a sensitive baby. That that’s why he didn’t tell me about the adoption.

  So?

  So how would he know I was a sensitive baby? He didn’t adopt me until I was three! Three years old isn’t a baby! Now that Manny thought about it, he specifically remembered his dad referring to the boy he’d adopted as a toddler—definitely not a baby!

  Manny? What are you saying?

  He looked across the park, to a small castle made of petrified wood, complete with battlements and arrow slits; he remembered storming it as a kid. I’m saying my dad is still lying to me.

  There’s got to be some kind of explanation.

  I’m sure there is, Manny signed. And I’m going to find out exactly what it is.

  “Dad,” Manny said. “We need to talk.” It was later that night, and Manny had found him in the family room, watching TV and ironing clothes. The air smelled of steam from the iron. On television was one of those courtroom drama shows.

  “Manny,” his dad said. “You’re home. Damn it, this shirt is missing a button.”

  “Did you hear me, Dad?” Manny said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “My sewing kit. Manny, have you seen my sewing kit?”

  “Dad, I want you to tell me the truth.”

  His dad looked at him as if he’d suddenly materialized out of thin air. “About what?”

  “You know what! About my past.”

  “Manny, didn’t we just have this conversation?”

  “Yes, but you didn’t tell me the truth. I’m not adopted, am I? Of course not! Look at us—you and I look almost exactly alike!”

  “Manny, you’re adopted! I said so, didn’t I? Now help me think where I put my sewing kit.” One hand on his hip, one on his head, his dad stared around the family room. On television, two good-looking detectives were examining a corpse in the morgue.

  “Forget the sewing kit!” Manny said. “I want you to tell me the truth!”

  “I did tell you the truth,” his dad said. “There’s nothing more to tell.”

  “There is! I know there is.” Manny told his dad how he’d referred to him as a “baby” even though he’d also said he had adopted him when he was three years old.

  His dad laughed. “Manny, is that what this is all about? I used the wrong word! You were a sensitive toddler. Hey, I’m a guy. So I don’t use the right baby words!”

  Manny shook his head. “That’s not it. That’s a lie.”

  “Manny, don’t call me a liar!”

  “Tell me the truth, Dad.” He wasn’t angry. It wasn’t about that emotion anymore. Now it was about determination.

  “Manny, I don’t have time for this. I need to find my sewing kit.” It wasn’t about anger for his dad either—at least not yet.

  “Are you my biological father?”

  “My bedroom,” his dad said. “I think it’s under my bed.” He started to leave.

  But Manny stepped in front of him, blocking his exit. “Dad, I want the truth.”

  “Manny…” He moved to one side, but Manny followed him.

  “I mean it, Dad.”

  “Manny, get out of my way!” So now it was about anger for his dad. In a way, Manny was relieved. It proved he was right about his dad hiding something. But the prospect of what his dad had to say scared him too—so much so that he had to fight to keep from shaking.

  “Tell me the truth, Dad.”

  “Manny!”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “Fine!” he shouted. “I’ll tell you the damn truth!”

  Manny stared at his father, his dad’s face collapsing right in front of him. There was only one way out of that cave-in too, and his dad had to know it. But Manny had learned in his nightmare that just because something was an exit didn’t mean it led anywhere he particularly wanted to go.

  “You are adopted,” his dad whispered. “But I’m your father too.”

  “I want to hear it all,” Manny said, wary, yet still resolute. “Everything.”

  His dad couldn’t look at him, tried to turn away, but Manny could already see the tears streaming down his cheeks.

  But he nodded at last. “Everything,” his dad whispered. “This time, I finally will tell it all.”

  HARLAN

  The locker room reminded Harlan of a morgue: cold, echoing, and smelling of antiseptic. As soon as Harlan had agreed to go to the Eye Ball, his mom had called the principal, and he was now back on the swim team. But for the first time in his life, Harlan was in the pool locker room after school and feeling something other than affection.

  He found Ricky at his locker, just starting to get undressed.

  “Hey,” Harlan said. “Can we cut swimming today? I need to talk to you.”

  Ricky didn’t hesitate, just stuffed his things back into his bag and closed his locker. “Sure, man. Let’s do it.”

  They headed out to the football field. They climbed to the top of the wooden bleachers and looked out over the grass, the field’s chalk lines blurred by winter neglect. The sun was bright, almost blinding, but the air was cold.

  “So,” Ricky said. “’S’up?” Neither had spoken a word since being inside the locker room.

  “It’s about the way I’ve been acting lately,” Harlan said.

  Ricky didn’t say anything, just listened.

  “This thing happened at the Eye Ball on Saturday,” Harlan went on. “I couldn’t go onstage.” He hesitated a second, not sure how the rest would sound out loud. “I knew something bad was goin
g to happen.”

  Ricky hesitated too, trying to understand what Harlan was saying. “What do you mean?”

  Harlan told Ricky about his premonitions—about how he “saw” horrible disasters in his future. And that while using the Ouija board that night at Jerry Blain’s, he’d “seen” himself drowning in the pool at Harriet Tubman.

  “So that’s what was going on that night!” Ricky said. “And why you skipped the meet!”

  “I had another premonition earlier, during swim workout. I saw myself being hit by a car. It was so bad I almost drowned.”

  Ricky nodded. “I remember that too.”

  “That one came true. A few days later, I was almost hit by a bus. Just like how I’d seen it.”

  “No shit?”

  Harlan looked over at his friend. “No shit. These premonitions, they’re true. But the one I had onstage at the Eye Ball was the worst of all.”

  “What was it of?”

  Harlan couldn’t bring himself to describe out loud what he’d seen—the sense of nothingness. “It was just really bad, okay?”

  “Okay,” Ricky said.

  Harlan stared down into the field of grass. “I want you to tell me the truth. You think I’m crazy?”

  “Well, yeah,” Ricky said without missing a beat, “but not for having premonitions.”

  Harlan didn’t want to smile, but he did anyway.

  “You’re not crazy,” Ricky said. He said it casually, like it was unbelievably obvious, not like he was trying to get Harlan to believe something he didn’t really believe himself.

  “But the premonitions!”

  “Maybe they’re real, maybe not. But one thing is sure: your gut is telling you something. I say listen to it. People lie, even to themselves. But the gut don’t lie.”

  Harlan knew Ricky was talking about his being gay. But the fact was, Ricky did understand. And he was exactly right. Except he wasn’t. Harlan couldn’t listen to his gut, at least not about standing up to his mother. Not if he wanted to keep swimming.

  Harlan kicked paint off the bleacher with the heel of his shoe.