Superman's Cape (21 page)

“Mister, you gonna spill?”

“Spill?” Jacob asked and opened his eyes. A sheet of sweat ran from his forehead and around his eyes. It fell down his face, turning cold as it left his chin. The room seemed to turn onto its side but Jacob settled a moment and the room righted itself back up.

“Ya know, Spill,” as Jonnie talked, he motioned with his hands the signals for throwing up.
Amazing at any age – everyone knows what that means
, he thought and put on a smile.

“Oh, Spill -- no, not today.”

“I miss my dad, miss 'im bad,” Jonnie exclaimed and just like that Jacob realized how innocent and quick the boy’s mind worked. He ran from topic to topic; free to say whatever he thought.

And like his green eyes, another familiar comfort came to Jacob. It was the boy’s voice. Jonnie reached past Jacob and extended his small arm across the table. He pushed until he was on his toes and put his fingers on the top of the photograph. Jacob followed the photo with his eyes as it passed in front of him. Jonnie picked it up and brought it to his chest and closed his arms around it.

“This is my dad,” Jonnie whispered and put the photograph back on the table in front of Jacob. Jonnie’s round face offered a reserved smile that revealed dimples which he guessed were hidden most of the time. He turned from Jacob to the photo and then showed him each person.

“This is my momma and this is my brother Kyle and that is my Dad. Only now there is just me and my momma and Kyle but Kyle is lost in the woods,” he continued and then offered up a broader smile before returning his eyes to the photograph.

Jacob watched as Jonnie touched his father’s face in the photo and then moved his hand to his older brother and touched his face.

“Kyle was mad. He got madder, and I think it was me he was mad at the most,” Jonnie explained as his smile disappeared. He replaced his dimples with a lower lip that began to tremble.

“I just wanted DQ --” Jonnie said and gave Jacob an embarrassed and shameful look. “ -- time to do the DQ,” he sang out, showing a half smile but pulling it back as he turned his eyes down. “Time to do the DQ,” he mumbled then sniffed back a tear.

“But why would you say your brother blames you? It was a terrible thing that happened Jonnie. It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Jacob tried to offer.

Jacob shifted in his seat as Jonnie started talking some more, “See, ummm … see, we were at the DQ and my babysitter Eileen was there and then there was this man. And he had a gun. And I think he was going to hurt Eileen with it. He kept screaming and saying the eff word lots, but didn’t hurt Eileen …” Jonnie continued talking as a shade of red lifted up to his chin. Jacob could see the emotions of that day. He could hear them in what Jonnie recited. And he was certain a memory haunted and punished each time it passed across his eyes.

Jacob wanted to take the memories. He wanted to squash it. Jonnie paused for a moment to catch his breath. Quick and unexpected, it was then that Jacob realized he could feel what Jonnie was telling him – showing him in his own special way.

“… and then my Dad started talking to the man and I got really ascared and was crying some. But Kyle didn’t look 'fraid, he looked mad, 'cause my Dad was talking to the man …” Jonnie continued, as Jacob leaned further from the edge of his seat. He listened to every word. Letting the story paint a picture show in his mind of what had happened.

“… There was a loud bang that hurt my ears and we all fell down cause we was behind my Dad. He was protecting us. When we fell down, the floor was hard and I couldn’t hear nothing 'cept some ringing in my ears …” Jonnie paused, he motioned his hands in the same manner as though rehearsing the next part of the play that was showing in his mind.

Jonnie started to sob but continued motioning with his hands, “… I think – I think Kyle was mad at me 'cause my Superman’s Cape was blue and he said it had to be red and I think that was why it didn’t work. It didn’t help my Dad. I tried to fix the blood with my Superman’s Cape but it didn’t fix it. It didn’t fix my Dad and he died and I think that is why Kyle left 'cause my Superman’s Cape is blue – not red,” Jonnie finished and without warning collapsed against Jacob crying. Jacob felt the sobbing and wondered if it could be the first real tears the boy shed for his father.

“Jonnie, what happened to your Dad can only be blamed on the bad man that shot him. Neither you, nor Kyle, could have done anything to prevent that. Do you understand?” Jacob asked, hoping Jonnie listened.

“Uhhh-huhh,” Jonnie replied, looking up at Jacob and wiping the wet on his cheeks and beneath his nose.

When Jacob realized what Jonnie had said, he asked, “Jonnie,
you
wore Superman’s Cape? Was it yours?”

“Yeah. My momma made it for me. It’s
my
Superman’s Cape,” he said with an eager smile. He said it again while he straightened up and spun on one foot. He spun once more before losing his balance and catching himself on the table with a small laugh. He giggled as a tear fell to Jacob’s hand.

“It was your Superman’s Cape. Superman’s Cape
is
real,” he mumbled.

“You wanna see it?” Jonnie exploded, as kids often do. Jonnie’s eyes were wide with excitement and with tears that were beginning to dry. Surprised by the question, he thought for sure the blanket must be long gone. Jacob jumped when Jonnie did a quick about face and ran to the collection of boxes along the far wall. The boxes separated the kitchen and family area from the bedroom. Jonnie picked through the stack of boxes. His hands managing to handle the size of the boxes as though he were much older. Each box was labeled with a room name of their own.

Jonnie jumped from one box to the next. With each, he put his hand on the outside. There he paused a moment before moving on to the next one. After a few more boxes, Jonnie stopped and smiled. The box was smaller than the others and was missing a room name from its sides. The only writing Jacob could see was the letters ‘LUL-LUF’ scratched out in a black Sharpie mess. Jacob mouthed the letter ‘LUL-LUF’ and wondered what it meant.

Jacob started to get up from his seat to help Jonnie but then stopped. Jonnie didn’t wait. He didn’t look at the stack of boxes above him. He didn’t look back at Jacob to ask for help. He didn’t seem to care that a tower of cardboard threatened to tumble onto his small frame if he moved the ‘LUL-LUF’ box. Jonnie snapped the box from the middle of the cardboard tower. The tower dropped straight down in a thud. Jacob sat back down and enjoyed watching Jonnie at work. The boy was on a mission. He was focused on an objective with no plan to rest until satisfied.

The sound of tape ripping from cardboard bounced off the trailer walls. Jonnie dove his hands into the box and pushed back and forth. Jacob saw him squeeze the dark of the room from his eyes as he pushed and pulled trying to find what it was he was looking for. A grin crossed Jonnie’s lips. He returned his eyes to Jacob’s and pulled a plastic pouch from the ‘LUL-LUF’ box, waving it over his head.

The pouch was about the size of a shoe box with a white lining along the edges and see-through sides. The zipper’s paddle handle swung like a pendulum back and forth as Jonnie walked over to where Jacob sat.

“It’s my cape,” he said with an infectious enthusiasm that only kids his age knew. Jacob smiled back at Jonnie and replied, “I can see that …” and before he could continue, Jonnie unzipped the bag and unrolled a blue blanket from inside. A second later Jacob’s smile disappeared as he saw the first of many dark spots. Not spots. Spills.
It’s blood … his father’s blood
, Jacob thought and realized how much of Jonnie’s story was the truth in his telling of it.

“You really did try to save your Dad with your Superman’s Cape – didn’t you?” he whispered in a mumble while Jonnie spread out the Blue in a fanned lift then drop. Jonnie didn’t seem to see the blood, or he didn’t care, he just smiled as broad as the blanket was covering the floor.

Jonnie swung the blanket around his shoulders and his small hands pinched the corners beneath his chin. There he tied a knot of knuckles and fingers, then ran around, circling the room and letting the blue of the cape lift into the air behind him. As the blue rose higher and higher the thumping from Jacob’s head started then strengthened.

With each pass of the blue in front of him, a brain thump caused Jacob to jump. He pressed his hand back on to the side of his head. He could feel the knock on the door inside his mind through his skull and through his skin and then onto the palm of his hand.

“Superman’s Cape. I got
my
Superman’s Cape,” Jonnie yelled and circled around again. Jacob grabbed even harder at the side of his head. He thought one or two more thumps and blood would explode from his temple or push his eyes completely out of their sockets.

“Jonnie, maybe this isn’t such a good idea --,” Jacob pleaded in a voice he hardly recognized or heard.

“I got Superman’s Cape,” rang out into the trailer’s thin air. The thumping turned to a loud knock and seemed to compact a massive pressure against the back of his eyes. Jacob pulled his other arm up and cradled both sides of his head. He pressed his hands against his temples to try and counter the ripping and the pain. He pleaded with Jonnie to stop.

“Please, Jonnie. Maybe you should put that away!” Jacob begged and then jumped almost out of his seat as the screen door in front of them slammed shut. Sara stood at the face of the door and watched while her son ran in circles. She watched as the blue blanket with the blood of her dead husband chased the boy.

“Jonnie!” she snapped, her voice sounding full of shock and an emotional dread Jacob recognized as grief.

Jonnie didn’t hear his mother, or chose not to hear her. He turned to circle around once more. The knock in Jacob’s head hammered against the door. Jacob let out a small scream as the wood of the door broke and splintered into his mind. Jacob crumpled in his seat when the pain thundered like lightning. He tried to pull himself back up but then slumped forward again when the voice of another man yelled from inside to let him out.

As Jacob sat back, a tear of blood filled his eye. It stuck to the lip of his lower lid a brief second then spilled over onto his face. It ran slower than a normal tear but finally made its way to his chin before falling off. When Jonnie slowed in his run, Jacob reached out and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. His hand lay down onto the blue of the blanket, on the blood of Sara’s husband and Jonnie turned around and wrapped his arms around Jacob.

When Jacob looked to Sara, he saw a man in black standing in her place, his legs and arms were shaking.
Drug sick,
he thought and watched as the man pulled a small revolver up from his side so that it was pointed directly at him. He looked at the nose of the barrel. He looked at how the gun rocked back and forth then settled. He looked into the dead one-eye stare that was the end of the gun’s barrel. Jacob dropped his hands to his sides and glancing down he saw that he was standing with Jonnie on his right and Jonnie’s older brother Kyle on his left.

Without a second thought, he pulled his arms over the boys so that his hands worked them in closer behind him. Jacob looked once more to the man holding the revolver. He saw the mask of nervous sweat on the man’s face. He saw the adrenaline seizing the man’s muscles and then he saw the man mouth the words
I’m Sorry
as the hammer on the back of the gun squeezed out the little bit of air that stood between him and the bullet aimed at him.

Kyle opened his eye to the full brightness of the woods. He squinted a little, but after a minute he caught up and could see everything. The smell of salt in the air hurried him out of his sleep. A revelation came to him; he could breathe through his nose again. It pained him some, but he could smell. Another deep breath and he picked up the scent of pine trees. He searched the wet bark on the trees. Large shingles reflected the morning light. But they weren’t drizzled in dew, it was tree sap; sweet and sticky. He was reminded of Christmas and mornings with hot pancakes drenched in maple syrup. When was the last time he ate? When did he remember wanting to eat? It was cruel to get his sense of smell back only to be reminded of such things. He giggled a little, wishing for trees that bled bacon grease to go along with the sap of the pines.

Pins and needles riddled his legs and feet. He wore an electric blanket that rode his skin. Kyle tried to lift and kick at the air. He tried shaking the rash of pins off of his skin. But his legs were almost dead. They hurt but they didn’t move. They just stayed there, yelling back in a tingling language he hoped would fade.

It was the middle of the morning, or, he thought, maybe the beginning of the afternoon. Kyle didn’t remember falling asleep. He
couldn’t
remember falling asleep. He ignored the turning in his stomach. He had to. Sure, there was a need for food, but he also knew he was still lost and that he was hurting. He thought this must be what it is like to die. To concede to a death by starvation or an infection.

I’m dying
, he concluded and maybe understood why he was fading in and out. For a moment it all seemed so clear to him. Hunger or no hunger, weakness or no weakness, there must be something bruised or broken in his head. The type of broken you might see a little on the outside but the kind you need one of the big hospital machines to see on the inside. Kyle rubbed the side of his face. The mess of swollen skin wasn’t as warm and didn’t feel as big. But it still had the curvy bubbles that said it was bad.

He wondered what part of his brain was leaking.
Is it a slow leak
, he thought as an image of Beasty’s leaky tire came to mind. A small, rusty nail spent weeks peeking in and out of the tire’s rubber. His momma spat resentful passages as she filled the tire to replace the air that escaped it. Kyle half smiled thinking of his momma showing him how to fill the tire. And on occasion he’d have her stand by for help while he tried the fix – “Relax mom, I got this,” he’d tell her, and with a grown-up pride he’d put the quarters in the air machine and then run the hose out to the soulless rubber growing dead as the air ran out of it.