The Codeword – Novella Five - 1. Part 1: In the Chair & Part 2: The Walk to Nowhere

Novella Five

The Codeword

"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak;

Courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."

Winston Churchill

by

AC Benus

Part 1: In the Chair

That poem is in my head again. We learned it in 8^th grade reading class, in a chapter on World War One poets, and it has stuck because it seems to say so much more than what is on the paper.

'The beat in the air is like a drum

Where every drop of rain falls cold

And snares the mud where blood was sold

To march the men to kingdom come.

Too late we there upon the field

Were to find the reason to live

Was our life to each other give

And soothe the wound that never healed.

So flowers in the mud are we

Boldly blooming within our hearts

By His command and lusty darts

Before our time to die could be.'

Bobby Strand snaps his light blue smock loudly behind my head and jolts me awake. I sit in his barber chair, and as his arm reaches in front of me with to snap the collar of the hair bib, I see him give me a warm smile in the mirror.

"So, how old are you, Simon?"

"Fourteen."

"Ah, so you go to Saint Lazarus with Klay and Stevie and those guys, in the 8^th grade?"

"Yes. I do."

"Cool. And what kind of cut do we want today?"

"Um…" I had to think, because a haircut was about the last thing on my mind, and besides, I had never had my hair cut by Bobby before. "What do we recommend?"

His hands land on the top of my shoulders, and squeeze reassuringly around my collarbones.

"Well, welcome! And, don’t you worry, I'll take good care of you. I take care of all the boys in town, and I'm glad you decided to join us."

I catch myself smiling feebly in the mirror. Yes, it's time; Bobby Strand is the most popular barber in town, and the young men and boys of Judas Tree flock to him as the bellwether interpreter of the latest styles.

"So, what shall we do with your hair today?" he asks again and laughs.

"What's 'cool?'"

"The cool look is a brand new style where the front is left just long enough to form bangs when parted, while the sides are trimmed to be mid-level with the ears, and the back is left long."

He massages the rear flank of my neck. It feels good, and his firm hand raises the blond hairs back there.

He continues with more laughter: "But in your case, we'll do what we can while we leave your back part grow a while. Sound good?"

My new barber is a kind-looking man, maybe in his mid-thirties, but the close-cut hair at his temples already shows some 'salt,' of the salt and pepper variety. I suppose this touch is highlighted due to the fact that his hair is naturally very dark and glossy.

He is not too tall – perhaps about an inch taller than me at five-eight – and slender. He is wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt, which is mostly subdued by the gray and white zip-up smock riding on top of it.

"Yeah. Go for it."

He nods as friendly as can be, and excuses himself.

I watch him walk across the room of this multipart salon and pass through to a curtained area.

Here I sit alone in the one-time front parlor of a Victorian house turned salon and think that my school year is almost at an end. In only a month, graduation will bring a conclusion to my career at Saint Lazarus Parish Catholic School completely. Ahead of me, I face a bleak and lonely summer followed by an uncertain and probably lonely life as a high school freshman. Most of my classmates will go to a different high school than me. Thinking of all that forces a heavy lump of dread into my gut. It rots there like my own sense of isolation and helpless detachment. Maybe the worst part is that a trusted friendship I developed with a girl named Jodie will come to an end, and there's nothing I can do about it. That being said, I may have a way to deal with and end my personal outcast status right here and now – that is – if I have the guts to go ahead and do it.

Instead of thinking of that, I concentrate on my surroundings.

This two-story house is on West Main Street, and close to the T-intersection that goes south – south past Blakie Williams' house, past Saint Roch Hospital, past Saint Lazarus church, and eventually winds up in front of Judas Tree Public High School.

There are two salons here on the first floor, and Bobby and Elvid live upstairs. The other parlor is the salon for Stella and the girls to gossip all day, for she is Bobby and Elvid's business partner.

Bobby works in the front area which has a grand bay window forming one corner. He has two barber chairs facing a wide expanse of mirror, and across the room from them is a tiled fireplace with a dark mantle and built-in shelves with more mirrors.

All the original details are still in place, and rich: unpainted woodwork, hardwood floors and rugs, plaster cupids at the top of open doorways and dancing on a ceiling medallion. The walls are covered in a pea-soup-colored paper of Victorian design.

For furniture, there are wall shelves and china cabinets with period chotchkies, and I know Bobby and Elvid are good customers of my dad's antique shop.

To lighten the environment there are modern chrome floor lamps, and blocky white lacquer end tables where magazines and little sprays of flowers sit. Instead of big and heavy-looking gold frames and paintings on the wall, Bobby has several old movie posters in sparkling new metal frames. These are all old movies from the 20's and 30's – like Hunchback of Notre Dame, Gone with the Wind, and others.

A chorus of female laughter from Stella and 'her girls' in the adjoining salon snaps out to me.

Bobby reappears with a funny look on his face. One I'd say was 'sympathetic' as it grazed off my passing glance in the mirror. Did he know why I was here? Hard to tell.

Just as his hand was sweeping the curtain back closed, Elvid appeared too.

Unlike Bobby, Elvid is fair, tall, and a little bit chunky; they are nevertheless, about the same age.

Elvid too passes a quick glance off of me, and I see he's holding a small dustpan and broom combination. It's the type where the pan is attached by a long handle so the person does not have to bend down to use it.

As Bobby strides up behind me, Elvid busies himself rooting out minute dust bunnies from their burrows beneath china cabinet legs.

Elvid does all the things for the shop that Stella and Bobby don’t have time for. In addition to the sweep-ups, Elvid runs errands for picking up lunch, washes and folds towels, and keeps everything running smoothly behind the scenes.

"Sorry about keeping you!" Bobby sings out.

He goes to the counter in front of me, lifts up the plunger handle on a jar of blue liquid and extracts a comb. He dries it on a towel while inspecting a row of scissors, and I feel that sinking feeling again return to my gut.

This haircut won't last forever, and recent events led me here, to do this one thing, if I can bring myself to complete it.

˚˚˚˚˚

A couple of weeks ago, the entire 7^th and 8^th grade classes were assembled on the carpeted floor of the library. We were in the middle of a Speech presentation by a boy in the 7^th grade; a glasses-wearing kid named Craig. He stood and acted out a monologue with explanatory pauses, and was doing a good job.

I personally was waiting for Jodie, because my classmate and friend was scheduled to be next. Around me sat the boys of my class, and Klay rudely whispered side comments to Dylan, who was sitting right next to him. All of our eyes were distracted to the periphery of the action, for Jodie and her acting partner, Blakie Williams, had come through the door from the corridor. They were quietly waiting in 'the wings.'

Jodie was in a dress, and an old apron covered her front with pictures of sliced apples. Her blond hair was in pigtails. Blakie, who was actually a freshman in high school, had some dark make-up on his face, a headband with brown ears on it, and in his hand he held the end of a tufted tail. This tail appeared to be hooked into the back center belt loop of his brown corduroy pants.

Klay let out a dismissive snort when he saw him, and poked Dylan hard in the ribs.

"Get a load of the Fruit!" he whispered.

"He's in costume, Klay!" I bit through my teeth.

Klay stopped laughing. "I know that."

Dylan spoke up too. "There are plenty of rumors that Blakie is 'light in the loafers.'"

I drew in close to tell them quietly: "You guys think anyone not into sports, monster trucks, and Dukes of Hazzard is Gay."

Klay and Dylan passed a question-and-answer look between them. They both turned back to me to shrug, and said in unison, "Yeah."

"All I know," I insisted. "Is that Blakie is a good guy to volunteer to come back from high school just to help Jodie out with her Speech routine. She wants to get to the State Finals."

The boys looked like they couldn't care less.

Craig – the 7^th grader – was done, and applause rounded the library for him. I suddenly felt bad for missing his conclusion, but Blakie and Jodie's reputations were in need of defending. He exited, and a loud chorus of shushes went 'round.

Blakie and Jodie stepped to the 'stage,' and suppressed giggles and chuckles greeted them. Forceful girls from both classes renewed the shushes, and the actors introduced themselves.

"We," Jodie sang out. "Present to you a scene from The Wizard of Oz."

They immediately started, and both of their postures altered; Jodie transformed into a dithering Dorothy, and Blakie to a tail-gripping, bluff-hearted cowardly lion.

It was hilarious, and soon the whole room was rocking with laughter, even unbridled howls erupted from Klay and Dylan as Blakie said, "Put up your dukes!" And then he danced around all kicking ankles, bent knees, and counter-thrusting fists.

Blakie was about fifteen, so only a year older than me, but he was so much more accomplished. He exuded a confidence that marked him out as unique among the boys I knew who are our age. He had dark hair, but otherwise looked like me: same five-foot-eight height, same hundred-forty-pound weight, same way of walking, etc.

Jodie was as charming as ever with her long blond hair braided and hanging down on her chest. Over the past two school years, Jodie and I had become something like best friends, which for a girl and boy to do – and everybody knowing we're not together – was pretty rare. I don’t know, there was something about that lovely girl that clicked into place when we were around one another. We both felt really comfortable, and I felt proud to have stood up for her honor just a few minutes ago; for her and for the people who stand up and support her, like Blakie.

Now I could also begin to tell why Jodie clicked so well with her Speech partner. Blakie's mellowness and sophisticated vibe was similar to Terry – her one-time boyfriend.

I stayed true to my word, and did not reveal the exact nature of Terry's problems to Jodie, but I did tell her about that boy's temper. At first she did not believe me, because she had never seen it with her own eyes, but then one day it flashed before her, and she was prepared to accept what I had told her was true.

The Wizard of Oz scene finished up, and everyone jumped to their feet in roars of laughter and applause.

The three o'clock bell rang, and kids started to file out, congratulating Jodie and Blakie as they went.

I hung back and leaned with folded arms in the crook of the baby grand piano. The room began to empty. Blakie kissed Jodie on the cheek, and headed to the door closest to the restroom to clean off his make-up and change.

Jodie sauntered to me with a barely-suppressed smile.

"Well," she asked. "How was that?"

"That was amazing. No, I mean it. Amazing!"

"Do you like my outfit?" She picked up the ends of her apron skirt and did a pirouetting twirl in slow motion.

"Yeah. You'd give Johnny Appleseed a real boner!"

"Simon!" She laughed and slapped my chest. Trying to ignore my reaction, she continued, "What did you think of Blakie's costume and make-up?"

I didn't have to think about it. "Although it was totally minimal, he became the lion. It was amazing to watch."

"Yes. Blakie is amazing." Jodie cocked her head. She half-bit her lip through a slowly returning grin. "Do you know Blakie Williams..?"

"Not very well," I confessed. "I know he's another sophisticated, city-boy type that you seem to collect in your life, like Jerry, and…"

I tossed her a smirk and mimed me adjusting my own imaginary bowtie.

"True," she admitted. Then stung me with, "For the most part."

"I know Blakie's parents own William's Groceries on the north part of town. And…" I paused for effect. "I know you two are great doing skits and scenes."

"We're not romantic, you know."

"No, I didn't think you were."

"We're just friends. Blakie is gonna be a big Hollywood star. He loves acting and comedy. Right now he tells me how much he loves being in Judas Tree High's drama and glee clubs. He can't wait to finish up high school and start his career."

"Hmph. And I thought he was just a grocer's son."

"No, Simon. He's a lot more." She tilted her forehead down towards me and showed me the whites of her eyes.

I felt pretty sad all of a sudden. "I'm glad you have so many friends."

She raised her head and the corner of her mouth at the same time. She flung her braids back over her shoulder and teased me earnestly. "But, you and I are friends."

"Yes. Good friends, but it'd be nice to have a 'different kind' of friend too."

Jodie laughed; touched my arm. "I know what you mean."

"Do you..?"

"Yes, Simon. I do – someone special. We all deserve and want that."

"Oh Jodie, sometimes I feel so alone. So, so – separate. And I don’t know what to do about it."

Her smile stayed a smile, but grew sad too. Seemingly out of the blue, she whispered: "It's been hard without him, hasn't it? Without Dustin."

Dustin was a boy I befriended and then betrayed in the 6^th grade. I finally stepped up and did the right thing, which restored us as best friends, but now he's moved away – and, I haven’t seen him in a long time.

I slowly nodded my head.

Her palm came to rest flat on the skin of my lower arm. Her touch was warm and dry.

"Simon, there is no reason for you to feel alone. No reason, trust me." Her eyebrows flashed up for a moment. "You need friends, so let me see what I can do about it. Ok?"

"What you can do for me..? Do for me, like – what?"

She pursed her lips into a display of pitying determination, and shook my arm slightly.

I'm sure I appeared somewhat amazed and confused, so into her silence I re-thrust the question.

"What can you do about it?"

"Well first of all, you should talk with Blakie."

"How come?"

She grinned knowingly and leaned in close. "The issue at hand is sort of a secret, right..?"

I nodded somewhat.

"Well," she concluded with a breezy head-toss. "Then so is the solution."

Part 2: The Walk to Nowhere

Bobby's clippers make a zipper sound close to my ear. He holds a length of hair up with his comb, and runs the whirring blades against the plastic teeth to cut a smooth line.

To the side of the mirror, I suddenly notice a smaller movie poster – one that is about eleven-by-seventeen – mounted in a highly polished brass frame.

"Hey. That's Wings!"

Bobby pauses cutting. He switches off his clippers and goes to stand by it. "You know this movie?"

"Yep. A 1927 classic." I realize I sound all smart aleck, but Bobby Strand only smiles.

"And what do you know about it?" he asks.

I stop and consider this by looking over the poster. In it, a rectangular photo shows the three main actors – two boys, and Clara Bow. Under this still from the film is the movie's title and director's name. As the image is framed and offset, the yellow background of the poster is speckled as if it were the sky with silhouettes of World War One fighter planes as seen from overhead. These planes are in colors of red, blue, and black.

But, it's the photograph that's the main interest. Sitting on a bench, and leaning in to one another with big smiles are the two almost impossibly handsome 'flyboys' in their brown uniforms. They are so close; one can instantly see the depths of love these young aces have cemented with each other. The girl is stuck in the middle. She leans back, letting the boys share their intimate space, and in her French-blue uniform, she frowns and looks aside towards the boy she presumably can tell is her rival for the affections of the other guy; the young man she loves.

I tell Bobby, "I know the movie means a lot to my dad."

The barber comes back to stand behind me. He assesses where to resume the haircut, and we chat via the mirror.

"Why is it special to your dad?"

"He was ten when it came out, and it was a big deal."

"You mean, your granddad?"

"No, my dad. He was in his early fifties when I was born. So the movie was a big deal to him as little boy."

"Yes, I can imagine it was. Do you know it had sound?"

"But it's a silent movie."

"True, but it had the first ever special effects on film."

"What do you mean?"

"None of the dialogue was recorded, but all of the flying sounds, and the swooping dives, and even the engine sputters and machine gun fire was."

"Oh yeah, my dad did mention that."

"People apparently went crazy in the theaters – they never imagined such realism, and it made talkies inevitable."

In the corner of my perception, I notice Elvid reappear. He busies himself with folding towels. I have a thought, and maybe I shouldn't tease Bobby, but then again, why not?

"Know what else…" I say in a voice loud enough to draw Elvid in, "…my dad told me about that film?"

"No."

"He told me about, 'the kiss.'"

Bobby stops cutting; Elvid stops folding. They divide glances between one another and my growing grin.

Bobby says all slow and low: "And, what did he say about it?"

"He said that when the boys finally kiss, there was not a dry eye in the house. He said that even he, a tough little Southtown boy, was bawling like a baby. And, he says he'll never forget the experience for the rest of his life."

The barber makes an audible gulp. A tender glance lingers between Elvid and Bobby Strand, and instantly I am reminded of the same loving looks Greg and Joey, my hairdressing friends from Pinckneyville, freely exchange in their salon mirror.

"Well," Bobby sighs. "In '27 it was less than ten years after the war, and I've read the director wanted to capture the spirit of how men felt about each other."

"Yes. And it worked." I begin to recite another World War One poem I know, this time out loud:

"Every man will dance to his tune,

Whether his comrades can hear it or not,

And when the music fades too soon,

The memory will glue him to the spot.

Feted wonder then is it there

That to such a man as this, others will stare.

To twist and turn about his fate,

Is no mean feat when others are in charge,

Inclined to pause and hesitate,

A private moment to enlarge.

But what's done in equality

Is bold beyond words, for all that might agree.

Who a man dances with is his,

For in the music they make together,

Softly, nobody's business is,

But theirs and the memories made forever.

For men about to die may dance

One last waltz before they go to meet the lance."

"That's very impressive, Simon." Elvid snuffles and goes behind the curtain. From there, like the wizard of Oz behind the veil, he adds through loud nose blowing, "Where did you learn it?"

I shrug at Bobby in the mirror. "In school," I lie. Truth is – I think mercurially to myself – I leaned it from Blakie Williams.

˚˚˚˚˚

It was a few days after her Speech performance in the library, and Jodie was walking me down the hall.

The three o'clock bell had rung, and most kids had already run for the exits.

In contrast, Jodie and I sauntered in easy contentment. We passed the 4^th grade classroom door and entered the glass-enclosed breezeway. She grabbed my arm and latched on tight to slow me down.

"What are you doing..?"

"What's your hurry!" she said, and performed an even greater drag on my arm. I watched her eyes slide off of me completely, and mosey out the glass to the sidewalk and beyond.

I halted in my tracks.

"Jodie, what is up with you? Don’t you walk home in the opposite direction as me? You know, past the high school." I made a dumbfounded lip movement and uttered a sigh.

"Yes, very good Simon. But, maybe today I want to hang out with my buddy. Anything wrong with that!"

I slowly started walking again. "There's nothing wrong with it, but – it is kinda suspicious."

She deflected my point with a grammatical chide. "Don’t say kinda, it makes you sound lame. You don’t want to sound lame, do you?"

I cocked both my head and my grin at her in a massive display of disregard. "Sorta."

She sighed with an open-mouthed exhale. "Figures. Try to talk sense to a boy, and that's what I get."

"Ok. Sorry." I pulled on her arm and we continued on like that, linked up. "But why are you walking me home when you live on the other side of town again..?"

"I want to get some nice spring air. Nothing wrong with that, now is there?"

I pursed my lips at her. "Nothing at all."

In silence, we walked past the library, then the activities room, and straight through the deserted cafeteria. We both pushed on separate doors and left the school.

The warm sun and breeze of an April afternoon greeted us right away. In recognition, we paused at the top of the concrete landing.

Ahead of us, a few cars were parked close to the building, for after lunchtime recess, this play yard becomes a convenient place for teachers and staff to move their cars and park.

We strode off our platform, and then I saw him.

Blakie Williams was wearing a Judas Tree High windbreaker and a pair of gray Levi corduroys. He was kicking some gravel with his suede shoes, and obviously waiting for something, or someone.

An excited breath caught in Jodie's throat, which she tried to make into a casual tone. "Oh, look who it is."

"Yeah. Look who it is." I wasn't buying it.

Jodie ignored me. "Hey!" she called out.

Blakie glanced up. "Hi, Jodie."

"Walking home..?" she asked with sham disinterest.

"Yep. You?"

"Us too!"

"Cool." I tossed into their innocence fest.

The three of us formed a line that stretched shoulder-to-shoulder across the sidewalk while we walked past the nuns' house.

Jodie was in between, and played hostess.

"Blakie, have you ever met my classmate Simon?"

"Hey," he said to me. "I've seen you around."

"Hey. Me too," I replied.

We went on for half a block in silence, but as we turned the corner of the building and started heading towards West Main Street, Jodie renewed efforts.

"You two have a lot in common, you know."

We didn't say anything.

Jodie's tone became slightly flushed with frustration. "You both are super smart, you both like history and literature. Who knows, you might find you have a lot more in common too."

"How do you like high school?" I finally asked something directly to the grocer's son.

"It's cool. There's a greater diversity of people, and it's easier to find friends."

My "That's cool" quickly faded back into quiet.

I noticed Blakie do something unexpected. He pulled out a little plastic bottle from the pocket of his jacket. It had a bright green flip top, but the bottle itself was in the shape of a shiny yellow lemon.

He undid the flap, tilted back his head and squeezed some it. He held it out to Jodie.

"No thanks," she said with a smile. "I heard it's not too good for your teeth."

Blakie shrugged.

Now I remembered that some kids did this. They said the lemon juice was like taking a little hit of energy every so often. But Blakie did not offer me a 'hit,' instead, the top was snapped closed and the bottle got stashed back into his pocket.

I also remembered seeing where in William's Groceries they kept those plastic lemon juice bottles; it was next to the produce.

As we continued to walk, I thought about the last time I was actually in their store. It was after school, I was alone, and craving something sugary. What exactly that was, I didn't know, so I wandered up and down the aisles just checking things out.

I emerged at the back to the coolness coming off of the refrigerated produce shelves. All the greens were neatly stacked up, and seemed as fresh as if just plucked from the farm moments ago. I turned right to head to the next aisle, and there he was – Ralph.

From the back I could see he was wearing jeans and a white tee-shirt, but overlaying these was a buff-colored apron. The strap hugged his bare neck, and the bottom hem went below his knees. I knew it was him right away because of his red hair and the freckles on the back of his arms.

Next to him was a rolling cart piled high with loose broccoli, and he was busy with thick blue rubber bands making bundles of two or three stalks.

I thought maybe I could go undetected, but he casually glanced my way, and saw me.

I went up to him with a head nod. "Hey."

"Hey," he said, and acted nervous. I saw him send a quick look over his shoulder, and then glance up and behind me. There was no one around.

"What you up to?"

He acted like it was a stupid question. "Bundling broccoli." He held one up so I could see it better.

"Cool. I didn't know you work here."

"Yep, for a few months now. Blakie told me they needed some after-school help, so I came in and got the job."

"Congrats. Well…" I couldn't really think of more to say to him.

"Hey..?" There was a soft and genuine plea for attention in his tone.

"What is it, man?"

"Um, it was a long time ago now, but I just wanna say thank you, you know, for – "

I cut him off to be polite. "It's all over now. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I'm never gonna say a word about it, Ok?"

He squeezed the broccoli in his hand and just slowly nodded. "You are a good kid."

I moved towards the cookie aisle with a little forced expression of 'hang in there' on my face, but before I disappeared down it, I swallowed once and told Ralphie, "You're a good guy too. Take care, man."

Now, looking around at the fine afternoon surrounding us, I considered that there was something really mellow and guarded about Blakie. His dark hair glinted in the sunlight, his navy-blue windbreaker rustled in the breeze, and he seemed for all the word to be an open book, except of course, he wasn't. None of the passionate drive for success, or for a life of freedom away from our small town, was showing on the calm and handsome features of the boy only an arm's length away from me. He had the kind of cool collectedness that Ralphie lacked.

By the time we got to the turnoff leading to the new Saint Roch Hospital, Jodie stood still. She called up to us as we went on. "You two go ahead. I suddenly remembered something."

She turned on her heels and began jogging back towards school.

"That was odd," I told Blakie as we crossed the street.

"I know, right!"

Blakie's glance was somewhat warm. He continued in a similar vein, "You live around here?"

"On East Main; it's the antique shop."

"Oh right. That's your dad."

"Yep."

"Do you know where I live?"

"I do," I said pointing. "You live on this street, a couple blocks up."

"That's right."

We went another half-block without saying a word.

"You were great as the cowardly lion."

"You think so?"

"I do. Just awesome."

"Thanks."

"It's nice you came back from high school to help Jodie."

"I like her, so it's a pleasure."

The rest of the walk sauntered along in an awkward silence.

Blakie paused with a hand on the iron gate to his front lawn and house.

"Well," he said. "I guess, I'll see you around."

He did not invite me in. In fact, it seemed Blakie Williams did not like or find anything very interesting about me at all. I wondered if I was blushing, because it is not characteristic of me to keep quiet, ever. I get the mental impression that most people are telling me to 'shut up' most of the time. But, with Blakie, my natural inclination to reach out to him was stymied by that high school guy's handsome and intimidating reserve. I felt scared and frustrated.

"Ok," I said.

He opened the gate, went in and latched it closed behind him. As I watched him head up the path to his front door, I stood glued to the spot, thinking: 'Blakie is some sort of puzzle, so why does Jodie think he holds any kind of key to unlock my sense of personal loneliness?'