David Fleming - The Saturday Boy

Me and Budgie didn’t walk to rehearsal together. We didn’t sit together onstage while Mr. Putnam gave notes and made announcements. All day I’d been hoping for a chance to apologize to Budgie but there wasn’t a time when he didn’t seem like a jack-in-the-box half a crank from popping open.

It was the final dress rehearsal and everyone was in costume. Marley’s ghost got to wear chains while I had buckles made of silver foil taped to my shoes. Chains were way cooler than fake buckles. Plus I was wearing knickers. Nobody said anything though. They were too busy making fun of Scrooge’s nightshirt and cap.

Today’s run-through was the last one in an empty auditorium. Tomorrow there would be people in the seats. Mom was going to be there. I wondered if she’d be in the front row. I wondered if I’d be able to see her. Mr. Putnam said he didn’t want us looking for our parents and friends while we were onstage but I figured I could get away with one or two little peeks if I was sneaky enough.

Final dress rehearsal also meant full performance conditions with lights and props and no talking backstage or in the wings. It meant if you weren’t in the scene or about to be in a scene you had to wait in the classroom across the hall until one of the backstage helpers came to get you.

I didn’t think I’d need the backstage helpers, though. I knew exactly when I needed to be onstage. Also, Mom had switched her shift with someone at the hospital so she could be here so there was no way I’d miss my entrance.

“You’re still coming to the play, right?”

“Of course I’m still coming,” Mom said.

It was dinnertime. People had been stopping by the house since Saturday with food, and the fridge was full of stuff I’d never even heard of. Mom was heating a bowl full of something in the microwave.

“What’s that stuff? It looks like brains.”

“That’s because it is brains.”

“No way, really?”

“Not really,” she said. “It’s beef Stroganoff.”

The microwave started beeping. Mom opened it and took out a Tupperware container full of noodles and brown stuff. Steam rose from it and I got the feeling it was trying to escape what was inside.

“What’s that?”

“Y’know Hamburger Helper?” Mom asked.

“Yeah.”

“Beef Stroganoff is Hamburger Helper’s rich uncle.”

I thought about that for a minute and decided I’d try it. After all, I liked Hamburger Helper and even though I wasn’t rich I definitely liked the idea of it. And as far as I could tell from TV, money made everything better. I ate a plate of the beef Stroganoff. It tasted all right but I still didn’t ask for seconds. I wanted to make sure to leave room for dessert because someone had dropped off a chocolate cake.

After dinner I went to my room and sat at my desk and did my homework. Then I packed up my book bag and got ready for bed. I washed my face. I brushed my teeth. I rinsed with that fluoride stuff that was supposed to taste like grapes but wouldn’t no matter how many they drew on the bottle.

Then I got in bed and pulled the covers up and looked up at the space where the Apache helicopter had been. After a little while, I got out of bed and went to look for my mom. I heard the shower going in the bathroom so I stood in the hallway and waited for her to be done. The shower turned off a few minutes later. A minute after that the door opened and she came out.

“Where’s my helicopter?”

“Jesus, Derek! Don’t do that!” she said. “You scared me half to death!”

She had her bathrobe on and her hair was wrapped in a towel. I could smell her soap.

“Why did you take my helicopter down?”

“I need a minute here, Derek. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“What did you do with it? Did you throw it away?”

“It’s in the attic.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to be reminded of—of what happened to your father.”

“But it’s mine! You can’t just go into my room and take stuff!”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Derek, and I’m sorry. That was wrong of me.”

“Go get it!”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “It won’t give you bad dreams?”

“Why would it do that?” I said. “I’m not scared of Dad.”

“Sad dreams, then. I think it would give me sad dreams.”

“I’m not you.”

Mom looked hurt all of a sudden. Her face scrunched up as if she might cry and she pulled her bathrobe tight like she hoped it was armor or something, like my words would bounce off but they didn’t. They stuck in her like arrows.

“Let me just—give me a minute to change.”

Mom went into her bedroom and closed the door. I stayed in the hallway. I felt bad that I’d hurt Mom’s feelings but I also felt kinda powerful. Maybe that’s why Budgie did what he did and said the things he said—because he liked how it made him feel. I wanted to feel powerful, too, but not this way. I didn’t want to be like Budgie. I could hear my mom crying in her room and I even took a step toward her room before turning around and going back to mine.

MY EYES FLEW OPENat five-sixteen in the morning. I felt electric. I thrummed. My fingernails were even glowing, I swear. And it wasn’t because Christmas was less than a week away, it was because tonight was opening night. Instead of dancing sugar plums, my head was filled with visions of red carpets and paparazzi. Violet was with me, on my arm, smiling and laughing. Her dress was a candy apple red.

I thought about how I’d bow during the curtain call. How low should I go? And should I include a dramatic arm sweep? And with those things on my mind—how was I going to catch all the flowers I knew would be thrown my way?—I also thought about the very real possibility that the audience might demand a speech so I started to put together a list of people to thank.

I went through the day with my head in the clouds and before I knew it there were only ten minutes until curtain and I was in costume. I looked around the room at everybody, at Scrooge and Cratchit, the ghosts and Violet and Tiny Tim. They seemed calm. I wondered if I seemed calm to them. I hoped I did but the butterflies that were once in my stomach had been eaten by things that were bigger and much more ferocious and I was pretty sure that if everybody was quiet they’d be able to hear them chewing.

When there were five minutes until curtain Scrooge and Cratchit left the green room to take their places onstage. I wondered again why Mr. Putnam called it the green room. It wasn’t green. It was just a regular old classroom that happened to be across from the backstage door to the auditorium.

I wanted to sneak in and peek through the curtains to look for Mom. We hadn’t said much to each other this morning and the little we did say had nothing to do with what had happened last night and I felt bad. I wondered if she felt bad, too. She probably did. My stomach flipped. The butterfly-eating beasts dug their claws in and hung on. What if she was still upset? What if she was so upset that she decided not to come?

Suddenly I had to know if she was out in the auditorium but the play had already started and there was nothing I could do. The house lights were down and the stage lights were up and if I tried to peek now I’d be seen by the entire audience. I’d simply have to wait. I chewed my fingernails. I tapped my foot. I kept picturing a completely full house except for an empty seat in the front row with a little white sign on it that said “Reserved for Annie Lamb” in fancy writing. It was driving me crazy.