Sinister - 11. Chapter 11

Sam went outside the hardware store to survey his work. He had finally gotten the hang of painting on the inside of the windows so that the image he wanted would appear correctly when viewed from outside, but it still felt like adding layers backwards. As he noted a few details to fix, a man stopped next to him on the sidewalk.

"Wow, that's really nice, isn't it? Raises the level of the neighborhood a notch," the man said.

"Thanks," Sam replied.

The man looked at him in surprise. "You mean you painted this?"

"Yeah." Sam shrugged. "I'm not quite finished. I have to adjust a few things."

"Wow." The man was silent a moment. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Have you ever done a mural?"

"No."

The man considered Sam for a moment. "My name's Jerry Harkness."

"Sam Swift." They shook hands.

"Sam, I own a bookstore a couple blocks from here. It's on a corner and one side is mostly a big blank wall. How much would you charge to paint a mural on it?"

Sam hesitated. "I don't know. I'd have to see how big the space is and I'd have to think about the materials and how to go about it. It's outside, it would be permanent, and I've never done anything like that before. I'd have a lot to learn."

"Sure, I understand. Summer would be the best time to do it, anyway. Do you have a business card?"

"No."

"Well, here's mine. Sam Swift, right? OK, Sam, call me and let's talk."

"All right, Mr. Harkness."

"Jerry."

"Jerry." As Jerry left, Sam felt elated and terrified.

************

"Sam! We have news about your friend Reverend Farrow." Miranda grinned as she opened her laptop.

"How did you manage that?"

"Elliot here sprang for a background check."

Elliot nodded modestly. "Totally worth it, after what you told us."

"And I was dying to see." With a few clicks, Miranda brought up a profile. "Ramsay Farrow, age 56, wanted in connection with mail fraud and animal smuggling. Endangered species, Sam! And our dear Reverend Farrow is at large. Currently being sought by Federal authorities. It appears his wife is also evading arrest."

Sam whistled. "I bet she took her jewelry with her."

Elliot laughed. "I bet he did, too."

"I have to call Adam and tell him about this." Sam wondered if the story had broken in the news. Adam might be the first to cover it. "When was this written?"

"This profile was posted yesterday," Miranda said gleefully. "Scoop!"

"I told Adam what my family told me -- something happening at the Farrows' residence. He said I should call him back if there was anything more definite. This qualifies! And I've got to call my parents and see if they've heard anything else."

Miranda's expression turned serious. "Now, Sam. Of course time is of the essence. However, we also have other plans to make. Elliot and I are taking you to L.A. to see a real lefty ghetto. This is an important part of your education." Her grin was creeping back.

"Really? It's so far away."

"We'll stay overnight. After all, seeing the neighborhood in the day doesn't give you the complete picture. My uncle Ted is going to drive us. I've got relatives we can stay with. It's all arranged."

"Ted would do anything for her," Elliot said.

"He was my first lefty crush," Miranda confessed.

Elliot rolled his eyes. "You are such a lefty-chaser."

"Guilty!" she giggled.

"When?" Sam asked.

Elliot brightly suggested, "How about this weekend?"

"I'll have to find out if I can get out of work."

"Don't ask them. Inform them. Say it's a family emergency. We're family, aren't we?"

Sam shook his head. "I guess you are now."

************

As always, Lydia was the one brimming with news for Sam. "The fight over the church is getting really intense! Reverend Simon and Reverend Cooper are both claiming to be in charge. No one has seen Farrow."

"Well, hello to you too, Lydia," Sam said. "How are Ma and Pa and Judy?"

"Oh, they're fine," Lydia said dismissively. "They never change. But the guys in the big black cars keep coming back to the Farrow house. They were bringing out people, Sam. These people looked Mexican or Central American. My friend Amy saw it."

"Well, that's something I hadn't heard about. My friends here looked Farrow up, and they found out he's at large and wanted for questioning. The Feds haven't arrested him -- they haven't found him."

Lydia gasped. "Cool!"

Sam heard his mother's voice in the background. "Lydia, that's enough gossip. Let me talk to Sam."

"Yes, Ma."

Sam heard his mother take the phone. "Sammy? How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Ma. I'm working at a restaurant a few hours a week, and I got asked to paint a store window for the winter display, and now somebody wants me to paint a mural."

"That's wonderful, Sammy!"

"I don't know if I'm up to it. I don't have any experience with that kind of thing. I don't know how much to charge or how long it will take or what paint to use or anything."

"Sam, the important thing is that you've got the talent. Now what you need is someone to give you technical advice. Maybe an art teacher at your school or someone like that."

"You're right, Ma. And there's plenty of time to think about it. I wouldn't start on it until summer." Sam felt his face flush as he remembered his encounter with Mr. Price at the high school in Hillcrest, but he knew there was no reason to assume he would meet such prejudice in Blythe.

"And I talked to Glen's mother again. She's not letting up. Oh, your Pa's here. Any other news to tell us?"

Sam took a deep breath before saying, "I think they've found foster parents for me."

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "That's good, Sam. That's wonderful. Here, talk to your Pa." Sam knew his mother well enough to hear when she was trying not to cry.

"Hello, Sam?"

"Hi, Pa."

"What was that last bit? Your Ma was trying to hold the phone so I could hear but I didn't quite get it."

"Pa, I'm going to be talking to a couple about them being my foster parents. The other kids already have foster families. I'm the only one still at the church."

"Foster parents. I see." Mr. Swift sighed. "Sam, I can't help feeling that we've let you down. Now foster parents. It's like, I don't know, giving you up for adoption or something."

"Pa, you and Ma didn't let me down. You helped me get to Blythe when I needed help the most. Foster parents are just someone to live with until I'm ready to live on my own. And I hope they'll be good friends and all. But you and Ma are my parents. This won't change that."

"I think sometimes we should have come with you."

"Well, Pa, let's line you up a job before you do that."

Mr. Swift laughed. "Probably a good idea, Sam."

"Meanwhile I'm happy here. Things are OK. Better than OK."

"Well, we miss you a lot."

"I miss you, too. And in a weird way I even miss Hillcrest."

Sam's father laughed again. "I didn't expect to hear that."

"Not everything about Hillcrest."

"When we finally move away, we won't miss everything about it either, Son."

"I'd better sign off. I love you, Pa."

"I love you too, Son. Call again."

Sam heard his mother and Lydia and Judy say 'We love you' in the background. He hung up and sat for a few minutes thinking about them and about how much had changed. Then he called Adam.

************

Miranda led the way as she and Sam and Elliot and Ted walked and gawked through Los Angeles' leftiest neighborhood. After lunch at the Cafe Aristera, they passed shop after shop specializing in lefty goods: Left Bank Books, a thrift shop named Leftovers, and Mirror Image Apparel displaying men's shirts with buttons on the left and buttonholes on the right above a spread of men's briefs with the Left Behind label. A housewares store named Gauche featured left-handed scissors in the window. On the Other Hand seemed mostly a card and gift shop. They spent some time browsing in the biggest, busiest store, Flanders' Leftorium.

"I think I'm getting leftied out," Sam said.

Ted acknowledged, "Kind of like eating an entire chocolate cake in one sitting, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Miranda chided them. "This is great! Sam, these are your people!"

"I'm not sure. I get this feeling that people here spend every waking hour being left-handed." They passed a small park in which men and women, all holding their right hands behind their backs, were playing some variant of bocce or boules.

"Oh, and you're only left-handed once in a while?" Miranda teased him.

"It's not that I'm not left-handed. It's just not the focus of my existence."

Elliot smiled. "Wait till you see it at night. This is nothing."

"He's right, Sam," Ted agreed. "Brace yourself for the evening show."

************

The four rested an hour at the quiet West Hollywood home of Miranda's aunt Alice. Alice welcomed them and they quickly settled sleeping arrangements.

Sam wondered at the peaceful neighborhood surrounding them. "I know I'm going to sound like a hick, but I thought Hollywood was a wild place with nothing but parties and movie stars."

Alice laughed. "That was years ago, dear. Centuries. There are still studios, but the industry is very decentralized. There's more show biz happening in Burbank these days. If there's one thing that sets the tone for the neighborhood now, it's the Vedanta temple."

"What's that?"

"This is where one of Ramakrishna's disciples came to teach. Ramakrishna started the modern Vedanta revival."

This did not clear things up for Sam.

Elliot cut in. "You know the Hare Krishnas?"

"Yeah, I suppose I've heard about them."

"In Hinduism, if the Hare Krishnas are the Holy Rollers, the Vedantists are the Episcopalians."

"I'll take your word for it."

Alice nodded. "That is more accurate than I care to admit. And that's why the neighborhood is so quiet and respectable. Lots of little old ladies like me who go to the Vedanta temple and never party."

"Oh, you're not so old, Aunt Alice," Miranda said. "Why don't you come with us tonight? At least for dinner."

"I don't know if my heart could take it."

"Oh, come on. We'll stay within five minutes of a hospital."

"Well, thank you, Miranda dear. Maybe I will come. But I'll bring my own car in case I feel like leaving early."

"Great! I bet you stay out later than we do."

************

As they drove into the gay neighborhood, Sam saw boys and girls little older than himself loitering on corners, leaning into the windows of passing cars, smoking, chatting. Turning to Ted, he asked, "Are they all lefties?"

"Could be," Ted said. "Very likely. Runaways, or kicked out of their homes. There are social service agencies but they don't reach everyone. They don't have the resources. So the kids live by their wits."

"Kids get kicked out of the house even in Califoregon?"

"Yes, Sam. And there's still left-bashing. It's a relatively progressive state, but anti-discrimination laws don't eliminate prejudice."

With winter deepening, the lefty ghetto was dark early. The temperature had been mild during the day, but the dry air quickly chilled after sunset. Lurid neon signs began to beckon the young left-handers crowding the sidewalks.

At a corner, a young woman handed Sam a flyer. "What's this?" he asked.

"Denise Ortega is going to be speaking here next week," she explained.

Sam tried to make out what the flyer said as they walked on. "Who's Denise Ortega?"

Miranda shot him a look of shock. Ted said, "She's the most famous lefty-rights lawyer in the country. You've never heard of her?"

"No."

Elliot intervened. "Remember, Sam grew up under a rock."

"Well, excuse me. I have a lot to learn."

"Just giving you a hard time, Sam. Seriously, she's worth hearing. We can probably find some clips of her on YouTube."

Miranda took Sam's arm. "It's like you're from a foreign country sometimes. Don't let us rattle you. You are my most fun project in ages."

"Have you decided where to eat?" Alice asked.

Ted said, "How about Left Turn?"

"Oh, Lord," Alice groaned. "Am I going to have to learn to use a left-handed fork?"

"You eat with whichever hand you want, Alice," Ted assured her. "We will make sure you are not oppressed for being right-handed."

"Very big of you, Ted."

************

Sam's lasagna at Left Turn was delicious, and the samples the others offered of chicken tikka masala and pecan-crusted halibut were equally tasty. But the place was so insistently lefty that he felt he had been transported to an alternate universe. Later, as they walked along the street, the crowds of people wearing T-shirts emblazoned with lefty slogans seemed too much, too foreign. He had thought that being here would be freeing; instead, it was overpowering.

Overhead, the flashing neon come-ons were starting to make Sam dizzy. A dance place named Whaftastic triggered echoes of Gabe Watson yelling "Fuckin' whaffo!" When the group passed a bar advertising "ALL NIGHT! LEFT-HANDED ARM WRESTLING!" he stopped, bent forward, and panted.

Miranda touched his arm. "Sam? Are you all right?"

"I don't know," Sam gasped. "It's too loud. It's too bright. There are too many people."

Alice took charge. "Let's sit down someplace quieter. Ted, where can we go?" Ted conferred with her for a moment, then led them down a side street to a tiny park. Amazingly, just a block from the busiest lefty street, the noise diminished to almost nothing. Screened behind bamboo, they sat on benches and waited for Sam's breathing to return to normal.

"Have you ever had any episodes like this, Sam?" Ted asked.

"Not really. It feels like when I used to be in church. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was being nailed in a coffin and buried alive."

"Crowds and noise can do that to you," Alice said.

"I started thinking as we were walking, back there, is that what it's like to be lefty? If I'm left-handed, do I have to be like the people here, being, I don't know, so lefty all the time?"

"Sam." Ted spoke softly, but with authority. "You don't have to be like anybody. There are a million way of being lefty. You don't have to dress like anyone else or live in the lefty ghetto or do anything that doesn't feel right for you. Lefty liberation is supposed to be about freedom, not a new conformity."

Sam was breathing almost normally. "I'm sorry to be such a drag."

Miranda scooted closer and hugged him. "Oh, Sam, I wanted this to be fun for you. You're not being a drag. I'm the one who miscalculated."

Sam shrugged. "Don't be sorry. It's been a real eye-opener. I'm glad we came. It's amazing. It's just a little too much all at once."

"The last thing I wanted to do was remind you of, like, church." Miranda lightly smacked her forehead.

Sam said, "There's a big difference between this and when I was in church. There I couldn't tell anyone. Here I've got friends."

"Do you want to cut things short now? Go back to Alice's?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah. Come on. Let's go get some left-handed desserts."

The others' laughter came more from relief than amusement.

************

Ted and Miranda dropped Sam off at Ecumenical Universalist late Sunday afternoon. Sam had only a few minutes to prepare for his shift at the restaurant, and certainly no time for homework. It would have to wait or go undone.

There was a message taped to his door. It read, "Sam, Your mother called. Glen has been transferred to UC Blythe Medical Center."