sound like say-bluh-wuh-kwa-plyoo or something, and I wish I knew French.
“Yeah?”
“It means, it’s only the first step that costs. Times like now, you’ve got to own yourself, Bennett. It’s my pleasure to help you feel like you’re not just anybody in somebody else’s jacket. But the rest is up to you. When you see your mom tonight, it’s up to you to know who you are. And I’d start by ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. It’ll give you some nerve, and nerve lives right next door to courage.”
None of her advice is from Lyle’s book, so I know I’m getting a free page out of the real Mallory. “I know another expression, in English,” I tell her. “It goes, the clothes make the man.”
“Ah, that’s a good one,” she says, but I have a feeling she heard it before.
She crumples the receipt into her purse so I won’t see it, which is nice of her. I know if I’d caught a look at the total, it would have made me feel weird.
Every good time I spend with Mallory feels like another handful of loose change dropped into a rainy-day water cooler. If hard times ever come up between her and me, there’s some genuine savings to fall back on.
“Is saying my whole name Bennett part of owning myself?” I ask her when we’re driving back to the motel.
“Mainly I like the sound of Bennett,” Mallory answers. “Especially when you consider that everyone and his brother is named after the guy on the hundred dollar bill.”
It takes me a minute, and then I tell her that’s a good one.
E VEN BEFORE YOUR PERMIT came through, you were driving Lyle crazy. Counting down calendar Xes to your permit and driving his car around the block without permission and saving your pizza money for Dogger’s half-wrecked car with the taped-up back window. All you could talk was car, car, car, and when you weren’t talking car, you were so quiet you seemed invisible.
How did that paper turn out? Lyle would ask you. The one you were writing on the French and Indian War?
Mmm. Your face bent over your dinner, your chin an inch from the table. As soon as you were done eating, you’d ask to be excused, polite enough so Lyle had to say yes, but quick enough to show how much you didn’t want to stick around.
More than once, Lyle got called in to talk to your teachers about your cutting school or, when you did show up, your bad behavior. Wild pranks like spray-painting your locker or deflating the basketballs in the gym with your black-T-shirt friends. And since there wasn’t a mom around, I got the bulk of Lyle’s worrying.
What should I do, Ben? he asked me more than once. He refuses to stay in counseling. Punishments, rewards, fear tactics—nothing fazes him, nothing interests him.
It’s probably a stage, I’d usually answer, which seemed to be the most settling explanation, the one I’d heard the most on television talk shows.
All you really wanted was to visit Mom. You wore Lyle down with the asking.
Gina can’t handle you, Lyle would say. She’s trying to work out her own life.
But Lyle couldn’t handle you either, and once you got your license and bought Dogger’s car, there wasn’t much anyone could do to stop you from leaving.
You took off on the Fourth of July, while Lyle and me were at the town fireworks, and you pulled up at Mom’s two days later. All the way across the country, nonstop except to refuel. When you phoned us from her place, it wasn’t any surprise. Lyle had figured where you’d gone, and he’d already wired Mom extra money to pay for your visiting expenses.
Lyle’s always been a think-aheader.
Mom said she’d take you for the summer, but that was it. You’d have to go back once school started, she said.
How you got her mind changed is still not all the way clear in my understanding, but I bet it wasn’t too hard. Mom always had someone to keep her company. First Dad, then me, then Lyle, now you. A fair trade so long as I got to keep Lyle, I figured. All truth
“Yeah?”
“It means, it’s only the first step that costs. Times like now, you’ve got to own yourself, Bennett. It’s my pleasure to help you feel like you’re not just anybody in somebody else’s jacket. But the rest is up to you. When you see your mom tonight, it’s up to you to know who you are. And I’d start by ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. It’ll give you some nerve, and nerve lives right next door to courage.”
None of her advice is from Lyle’s book, so I know I’m getting a free page out of the real Mallory. “I know another expression, in English,” I tell her. “It goes, the clothes make the man.”
“Ah, that’s a good one,” she says, but I have a feeling she heard it before.
She crumples the receipt into her purse so I won’t see it, which is nice of her. I know if I’d caught a look at the total, it would have made me feel weird.
Every good time I spend with Mallory feels like another handful of loose change dropped into a rainy-day water cooler. If hard times ever come up between her and me, there’s some genuine savings to fall back on.
“Is saying my whole name Bennett part of owning myself?” I ask her when we’re driving back to the motel.
“Mainly I like the sound of Bennett,” Mallory answers. “Especially when you consider that everyone and his brother is named after the guy on the hundred dollar bill.”
It takes me a minute, and then I tell her that’s a good one.
E VEN BEFORE YOUR PERMIT came through, you were driving Lyle crazy. Counting down calendar Xes to your permit and driving his car around the block without permission and saving your pizza money for Dogger’s half-wrecked car with the taped-up back window. All you could talk was car, car, car, and when you weren’t talking car, you were so quiet you seemed invisible.
How did that paper turn out? Lyle would ask you. The one you were writing on the French and Indian War?
Mmm. Your face bent over your dinner, your chin an inch from the table. As soon as you were done eating, you’d ask to be excused, polite enough so Lyle had to say yes, but quick enough to show how much you didn’t want to stick around.
More than once, Lyle got called in to talk to your teachers about your cutting school or, when you did show up, your bad behavior. Wild pranks like spray-painting your locker or deflating the basketballs in the gym with your black-T-shirt friends. And since there wasn’t a mom around, I got the bulk of Lyle’s worrying.
What should I do, Ben? he asked me more than once. He refuses to stay in counseling. Punishments, rewards, fear tactics—nothing fazes him, nothing interests him.
It’s probably a stage, I’d usually answer, which seemed to be the most settling explanation, the one I’d heard the most on television talk shows.
All you really wanted was to visit Mom. You wore Lyle down with the asking.
Gina can’t handle you, Lyle would say. She’s trying to work out her own life.
But Lyle couldn’t handle you either, and once you got your license and bought Dogger’s car, there wasn’t much anyone could do to stop you from leaving.
You took off on the Fourth of July, while Lyle and me were at the town fireworks, and you pulled up at Mom’s two days later. All the way across the country, nonstop except to refuel. When you phoned us from her place, it wasn’t any surprise. Lyle had figured where you’d gone, and he’d already wired Mom extra money to pay for your visiting expenses.
Lyle’s always been a think-aheader.
Mom said she’d take you for the summer, but that was it. You’d have to go back once school started, she said.
How you got her mind changed is still not all the way clear in my understanding, but I bet it wasn’t too hard. Mom always had someone to keep her company. First Dad, then me, then Lyle, now you. A fair trade so long as I got to keep Lyle, I figured. All truth
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