J.T. Warren - Remains

About halfway home, that night, I got the feeling I was being followed. I looked back to see if anyone was there, but the road was empty except for me. It was creepy, though, and it made me pedal faster. The whole time I kept repeating those first few minutes of Carmina , and it felt like something was chasing me. It was exciting, and I got goose bumps.

The next day, after school, I went to Thompson’s record shop. I asked him if he knew this song, and I hummed it for him. He smiled that sly smile adults do when they don’t want a kid to know that they’re being adorable. He said “That sounds like Carmina . I have a tape of that,” and took me to a place on the wall. He handed me the tape, and it had a picture on the front.

“Who is she?” I asked

“The goddess Fortune,” Mr. Thompson said. I didn’t want to let him know I didn’t know who that was, so I nodded. I paid for it with the last of my allowance, and pedaled home, humming.

I listened to that tape all the way through, and tried to think about the warmth of the night before on my skin. I tried to remember the smell of that soil. I wanted to feel growing. I fell asleep and dreamed of coming up through the soil. When I had grown in the dream, my dad came along with a hoe, and hacked me up. I woke up cold and my heart thudding like a hammer.

After dinner that night, I waited with the lights out. My parents went to bed, and I climbed down to the garage. I rode back to those fields. I was constantly afraid that my father was going to come along in the car and make me come home.

Every night I went to a different plastic dome. Each one had different plants in it. I’d sit with them and try to imagine being them and listen to the music. The next day at lunch, I’d go to the library and look that plant up. I learned a lot about plants that year. I also learned a lot about classical music. I’d listen to the announcer when he said the name of the piece they’d just played.

Sometimes they would come on and talk about more than just the music; about art and things. I would look up the paintings and things they would talk about. The librarian and I got to know each other. She called me her bookworm. I think it made her happy. I’d look up from reading to rest my eyes and she’d be reading, too. She had a blue coffee mug that she always drank tea from. I wondered what kind of tea she had. I didn’t ever ask her, though. I didn’t want her to think I was stupid.

One night, I was pedaling home and I got that feeling I was being followed, again. I tried to see how long I could keep myself from looking back. I only counted to five before I had to look. The road was empty. It became a part of the whole thing; every time I got that feeling pedaling home, I would count to see how long I could go without looking back. The farthest I ever got was twelve.

My favorite piece of music was this group of pieces this guy named Holst made. He wrote one for each one of the planets in the solar system. On my way out to the fields, I would hum the one for Neptune. I liked that one the best. The plants kept growing and growing, and always pointing toward the radio. Some days I’d come in, and the radio was moved to a different spot. The next day, the plants pointed in that direction.

And Randy disappeared.

I stopped going out to the fields. I didn’t forget them, though. I would still put on my tape and imagine myself growing up through the dirt. I would still think about what kinds of dirt I would like to grow up through. What I would like to hear if I was a plant. But then, in the middle of that, I’d remember how Randy used to laugh after he came up out of the water. I’d think about what his mom must be feeling right at that moment. Then I’d get up off the floor, and go to bed. The tape would play on and on until I shut it off the next morning.

If my parents ever got tired of hearing it, they never said. Mom only asked me one time what it was, and I said “ Carmina Burana ” and she asked me who it was by, and I said “A guy named Orff,” and she nodded. We had been folding towels that night, and every once in a while I’d hear her hum it to herself. That Christmas I was hoping for a lot of money to go buy some more tapes, but instead I got socks and a new sweater. My dad got me a new football. The old one dry-rotted, and had gone flat a long time back.

That second day, I had told Susan about all that without realizing what I’d done. I could see her listening to it and I could hear myself screaming at me to stop. I wanted to not tell that story, but it happened anyway. I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted to tell her things. And she listened the whole time, her body not moving.

“You probably think I’m crazy, now,” I said, expecting her to say yes.

She sat up on one elbow and looked at me again. I felt trapped. She said, “No, I don’t.” We ate and chatted about the weather and the lake. She said she didn’t know how to swim. I said I’d teach her if she wanted and she said “I’d really like that.” It got dark much too quickly.

She nodded when I told her that. “I want to see you again,” she said.

“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Do I have to have a reason?” She smiled. I shook my head no. We packed up the garbage and I walked her to her car. She moved up on her tip toes and kissed me. I knew I was blushing bad because all of a sudden I was too hot for the jacket I was wearing. She smiled, put her hand on my shoulder, then got in her car and left. I watched it leave all the way out of the parking lot, and down the street.

Why is it that when you need go on a trip, you always have to call people before you leave? Why can’t you just pack and go? I needed to talk to Dr. Bledsoe before Susan. It’d be easier on me that way. Susan would make me feel better, maybe. I had already pulled out the suitcase but I couldn’t deal with that, just yet. I had walked to the phone and stood there with my hand on it, not picking it up, for about twenty minutes.

When I finally did pick up the phone, I wasn’t sure what to say. I set it back down. What was I going to tell him that would make him understand I had to go home for the holiday? I felt urgent about it, certain about it. I was also certain that if he knew that, he’d tell me not to go.

I picked up the phone again and dialed. I started to think, but the secretary came on and said “Dr. Bledsoe’s office, this is Mandy. Can I help you?” and I thought about maybe just telling her to give him a message. I thought maybe that’d be the way to do it. Just leave him a message and then go. By the time he read it, I’d already be gone. I thought for a second about what I’d do when I got back, though. “May I help you?” Mandy asked again and I started. I’d drifted into a kind world apart.

“Umm, yeah. I need to speak with him. Is he in?” I asked.

“He sure is. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Mike Kendall,” I said.

“One moment.” She put me on hold. Some slow piano thing, sounded sort of like Chopin, but not as good.

“Mr. Kendall?” Mandy came back on and asked. I said “mmmhm” and she said, “hold one moment while I transfer you.”

The phone line clicked and then he said, “Mike?” my name phrased as a question for some reason. He did that a lot, “How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“What’s up?” The doctor always tried to be hip or cool with me. I guess it was okay, though, because it didn’t make me mad. I noticed it, but it didn’t make me mad.

“Nothing, really,” I said.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your call today?”

“I guess—I guess I just needed to let you know that I’m going out of town for the holiday.”