A SUNDAY LIKE NO OTHER

“They were under my own clothes when I changed into my costume,” I explain. “Now, I can’t find them. I looked in my changing area and all around….”

“Your boots just didn’t walk away.”

I give her a sharp look. “I know!”

“I swear you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached,” she mutters. “Are you sure you looked everywhere?”

“Yes,” I say, coldly. Why does she think it’s my fault? “They were in the same place where I left them Friday night and during the dress rehearsal Thursday.

“Weren’t those your expensive Beatle boots?” Dad asked breaking in.

I just shut my eyes so I didn’t have to look at Dad. “Yeah, they were.”

“Oh, great, that’s money down the drain,” he complains as he looks at the ceiling. He marches over to me. “Show me where you change.”

I spin around and head for the changing area with Dad following closely. “Here is where I changed.”

Dad flings back the curtain all the way and goes in. He looks the floor over. He steps out and walks around the back of the changing area with his head down, sweeping the floor with his eyes. He walks the entire length of the changing area and back up to where I’m standing. “I can’t find those damn boots anywhere.” He’s standing there with his hands on his hips and a scowl across his face. “How could you lose….”  He breathes out heavily and loudly. He’s looking at the floor again when suddenly he looks up.

“Mrs. Reinstein? Mrs. Rein…can I talk with you a minute?” he says.

She looks over at him and knits her brow.

“Francis has…ah…,” he stops a moment and covers his mouth with his hand, “He’s lost his boots.”

“Really,” says Mrs. Reinstein. “You’ve looked over and around the changing area, I take it?”

“Yes.”

“No sign of them at all.”

“No. I walked into the area where Francis changed and out in front, then I walked all the way around that whole area.”

“What do the shoes look like?”

“They’re those Beatle boots. They’re black.”

“Oh,” she says with a quick intake of breath. “Those are very, very popular. And expensive.”

Dad raises his eyebrows, nods, and moves his hand from his mouth to his hip.

“Let me see if Colleen knows anything about this.” She puts up her index finger. “Just a moment.”

She disappears into the throng. I’m standing in the same place watching all of this play out.

Who would take them? What if they can’t be found? What’ll I wear home?

Mrs. Reinstein comes back out of the crowd with Miss O’Donnell.

“Barbara tells me you’re missing Francis’s boots. They’re the Beatle boots?”

Dad nods. He looks over at me and then back at my teachers.

“Frankly, this is a first. Who would steal someone’s boots?

“Well, Colleen,,” says Mrs. Reinstein, “the Beatle boots are still

popular.”

Miss O’Donnell nods her head in agreement. “And you looked all around the changing area, Mr. Joyce?”

“Yeah,” says Dad.

She walks over to me. “The last time you had them was before the show, correct?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Funny, we haven’t had anything happen during Thursday’s dress rehearsal and Friday’s performance. Why tonight?” With her arms folded across her chest, she strolls past me to the changing area. She’s looking down and exploring the floor. By now, Dad and Mrs. Reinstein have joined her.

“Francis,” she says as she turns to me, “who was the last person you saw around this area?”

“Peter.”

“Hmmm,” is all she responds. She turns to Dad and Mrs. Reinstein and holds up her finger and walks away.

From where I’m standing, I can see the table with all the food and drink on it. Miss O’Donnell walks into that mass of people and as I watch, she is looking for Peter. With all the people getting themselves food and wandering backstage, I can just see her head moving through the crowd. I spot Anne. Then I see Penny, who played Ma, and Norman, who was Pa. By now, Miss O’Donnell is next to them and they’ve all turn to face her. Miss O’Donnell turns to Norman. He points in back of them while talking to her. She nods. Going past them, Miss O’Donnell heads toward the apron of the stage. She’s harder to see now. Well, she is only five feet tall. I lose sight of her but I continue to look. No dice. She seems to have disappeared like my boots. The overhead lights catch and reveal a metallic flash like a very bright firefly. It’s the reflection of her glasses. She’s coming this way now. However, she’s alone.

“Well, I found Peter,” she says as she approaches the three of us, “but he tells me he saw the boots while you were changing, Francis. He remembers seeing you toss your shirt and pants on top of them but that’s the last time he saw them.”

“Who the hell would steal someone’s shoes? That only happens with the homeless,” Dad says.

That statement gets a look from Miss O’Donnell. She chooses to say nothing.

“Well, Mr. Joyce, I don’t know what to say,” Miss O’Donnell says. “Like I said earlier, this is the first time we’ve had an article of clothing stolen, if that is what happened. We have had students misplace clothing before but it generally turns up. I did ask Norman if he had seen the boots but he changed before Francis and Peter. Anne and Penny has no knowledge, either.”

Dad shakes his head.

“For now,” Mrs. Reinstein offers, “why doesn’t Francis take his costume shoes, Mr. Joyce. You have to get him home and I don’t think you want to carry him to the car.”

Dad exhales though his nose and smiles quickly and weakly.

“They may turn up,” she continues. “And when they do, we can contact you.”

Dad glances over to me,

“You want to get those shoes so we can go?” he snaps.

I nod. As I put the shoes on, I can hear the three adults quietly talking but can’t make out what they’re saying. When I come out, they’ve finished.

“I’m sorry, Francis,” says Miss O’Donnell. “I wish we could have found them.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Mrs. Reinstein adds, “but as soon as they turn up, we’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you again,” Dad says as he and I start back to Mom, Gramma, and Gramp.

“You’re welcome,” says Miss O’Donnell.

Just before we reach them, Dad says under his breath, “You owe me for those boots.”

Without turning my head, I give him a sideways glance. How many lawns will that take?

Mom looks down at my feet.

“We couldn’t find them, Nora,” Dad says.

“So, Miss O’Donnell is letting me use these shoes to get home in,” I pipe in.

She frowns. “That was very nice of Miss O’Donnell.” With that, she turns to my grandparents. “Time to get you two home. It’s past your bedtime.”

Gramma follows Mom and Dad trails behind.

Momentarily, Gramp and I lag behind. Gramp puts his hand lightly on my shoulder. He looks me in the eye and smiles that warm smile. “No young whippersnapper is going to tell me when to go to bed.”

In spite of how I’m feeling, I chuckle out loud.

I thought about staying at the cast party but not with the news about Peter and Anne and when the whole cast is mad at me. Now Mom & Dad are upset I “lost” my boots. I just want to go home to bed.

We all climb the auditorium stairs to the lobby then out into the cool night. I walk along with Gramp. The chill is getting under my jacket. I zip it up. I pull the collar up, too.

We all get into Dad’s car. It’s as cool as the night. I sit in the back between Gramma and Gramp. Their bodies are giving off enough heat that I start to warm up. It feels good.

With all the people in the car, the windows are steaming up. Dad pushes a couple of levers over to one side and the heat creates clear ovals on the windshield.

My grandparent’s house is not far from the junior high. We arrive there in a pretty short time. No one talks.

Mom gets out first after Dad pulls the car into the driveway behind Gramp’s dark blue Ford. She comes to Gramma’s side and opens the door. She helps Gramma out of the car and, linking arms with her, they move up the porch stairs. Gramma holds the railing as they move up the stairs together.

Meanwhile, Gramp has gotten himself out. He and Dad trail behind Mom and Gramma. I bring up the rear.

By the time we get into the kitchen, it has been decided that we’ll all have a little hot chocolate.

Gramma ties on a frilly white apron over her grey dress. She puts a big saucepan on the stove and fills it with enough milk for all of us. She turns the burner on low.

“Francis, could you put the milk away for me, please?” asks Gramma.

“Sure,” I say, taking the bottle from her.

She shuffles into the pantry and grabs the box of powdered chocolate from a shelf. She brings it out to the stove. She puts it to one side. She heads back into the pantry again.

“I’d forget my head….” she says to no one. She plucks a spoon from a drawer in the pantry and comes back into the kitchen. She takes a small pot from a shelf on the stove and places it on a cold burner. She turns the burner on. With the spoon, she measures out an amount of milk from the big saucepan into the small pan, then carefully measures out the chocolate powder.

“Simon, get me the sugar,” she says.

When he does, she measures twice as much sugar as chocolate to the warming mixture. After a short time, she has a chocolate syrup. By now, the milk in the big saucepan is very warm; warm enough to be releasing steam to the ceiling. She pours the syrup into the heating milk and stirs. As everything heats further, she goes once again into the pantry. She comes back out with five heavy ceramic white mugs. She ladles the hot chocolate equally into the mugs.

“Here, take what you want,” she says.

During the whole time, everyone else is sitting around the kitchen watching. We all get a mug and go back to our seats.

“Mmm, good,” says Mom.

Everyone sits around slurping the hot chocolate. Gramp is in the rocking chair, making the most noise.

“Simon, will you stop that,” Gramma commands.

“Karen, it’s hot. Mind your own Ps and Qs,” he says over the top of the mug.

“Mother, how’s Rob and Laura doing?” asks Mom.

“Oh, as well as they can, considering,” Gramma says.

“It’s got to be so hard,” Mom says. “He was just a baby, a little baby.”

“How long’s it been?” asks Dad.

“Oh, it’s got to be—hmmm, eight, nine months,” replies Gramma.

“And it was their oldest,” Mom says.

“Yes, yes,” says Gramma, looking out into the empty sitting room.

Not this again.

The silence falls over everyone like a blanket.

Gramp gets up from the rocking chair. He turns and heads into the sitting room.

“Simon, where you goin’?” Gramma asks.

“To the sitting room,” he says over his shoulder, “to see what’s been happening in the world.”

“We have company.”

“They can come watch if they want to.”

Gramp continues into the sitting room. He places his mug on a small metal tv table next to his big cushy chair and walks across the room to his tv. He pulls the knob out and the tv screen slowly reveals a guy at a news desk looking intently at us. He’s going on about a peace rally somewhere.

The conversation goes on about my baby cousin, Mikey, and how beautiful the funeral was. I’m feeling left out. Mom and Dad and Gramma are going over that whole thing again.

“Can I go into the sitting room with Gramp?” I ask Dad.

He nods.

I take my mug with me. When I go into the sitting room, Gramp looks up from his chair. “Come to see the world going to hell in a hand basket?”

I smile.

“Here,” he says, giving the ottoman a push with his foot.

I sit down, cradling the mug in my hands.

“You can put your mug on this table with mine,” he says.

“Okay,” I say.

The news guy is talking about the 50,000 people marching against the Vietnam War in Washington, D.C. On the screen is a sea of people, some yelling, some holding signs that say “Love, Not War” and “Out of Viet Nam Now!”

“Goddamn hippies,” mutters Gramp.

A commercial with Speedy Alka-Seltzer comes on.

“Cute how they animate him,” says Gramp.

“Yeah.”

The silence that was in the kitchen comes tiptoeing into the sitting room.

“So, where’s the idea for that big wet kiss come from?” Gramp says. He’s looking at Speedy at first then moves his glance over to me.

“Uhm, I don’t know,” I say. My cheeks are warm.

“You like Penelope?”

“She’s okay,”

“You mean okay okay?”

I look over at him.

“You think she’s pretty?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty enough to kiss?”

I don’t say anything. My cheeks are warmer now and I notice my hands are just getting sweaty. I look over at the tv, then out the window, then I look down at the floor.

“That was a brave thing to have done,” he says. “Unscripted as it seems to have been. I think it was easier for you being Desmond and she being Penelope. What happened after the curtain call? I thought I heard some yelling.

My cheeks were hot now. I continue to look at the floor. “I don’t know. No….it was Anne. She was really mad at me. So was Peter. It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Did you plan it?”

“No, no, I didn’t. It just happened. I don’t know. It seemed to be the thing to do at the time.”

“It received a lot of laughter and applause.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.”

“I gathered that but when Anne blurted out that her breasts belonged to Derek, it brought the house down. Now, you know your grandmother, even she laughed. I laughed. It was a great creative moment. I watched you as Miss O’Donnell approached us after the play. You seemed to be so afraid of what she might say to you. But it turned out she liked what you did.”

“Anne didn’t.”

“Is that why you made no mention of wanting to stay longer at the cast party?”

“Nobody wants me there. I screwed up.”

“Anne and Derek…ah…Peter aren’t everybody.”

“Well, you didn’t see the looks everyone gave me after Anne finished yelling at me.”

“She was embarrassed to be sure. She no doubt was upset about the laughter but it was not intentional on your part. Your feelings about her found a way to be expressed. It just surprised the hell out of her when you kissed her. She’ll eventually get over the embarrassment.”

“Anne kissed me first,” I venture.

Gramp looks at me more intently, “She did? When?”

“Last night, just after the curtain closed. When I was lying on the stage, pretending to be dead. I had my eyes closed. When it was time for curtain call, she came over to tell me. It was then she kissed me. On the lips, no less.”

“Oh, ho, that explains everything!” Gramp exclaims.

“But after that, she went off with Peter. They were holding hands.”

Gramp stopped.

“Oh, I see,” he continued. “Do you wish you were holding her hand?”

“Kinda.”

“Now you’re afraid you’ve screwed that up?”

“Kinda.”

“She may well have been attracted to Peter and you just didn’t see it. That type of thing is hard to take, I know.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

He smiled. “Mine was Charlotte. A redhead like me. Had ringlets all around her head. Freckles, lots of freckles. Built similar to Anne. I would look at her in school all the time. I wanted to speak to her in class. It took me days to screw up the courage to talk to her. I thought I had to wait for just the right moment. While I was waiting, ole Dick Charles walked by me with Charlotte beside him holding hands one day after school. I was crushed. I waited all that time. And for what? But I did get over it. So will you. It doesn’t appear that it will happen right now. But eventually, eventually. It’ll hurt like hell for a time but gradually the pain will lessen. You’ll see. Just have patience.”

By now, he had his hand on my shoulder.

Mom came in. “And what were you two talking about?”

“Speedy Alka-Seltzer. Wasn’t he cute?” says Gramp. He looks up at her. “You remember Speedy.”

“Yes, I remember him,” she says.

“You have a good memory,” he says, smiling and looking back at the tv.