thought he must be invisible. One day last fall, in school, his teacher, Miss Lipscomb, was passing out papers, matching pupils to papers, and then paused with one paper left in her hand.
“Johnny Anderson?” she had said. She had looked as puzzled as if the name were foreign. He raised his hand.
“Are you new?”
“No’m.”
School had been going on for six weeks. He had not been absent a single day. Miss Lipscomb had shaken her head, smiling at herself. “Well, Johnny Anderson, you and I are going to have to get better acquainted.”
“Yes’m,” he had said, shifting so that he was, once again, hidden by the boy in front of him. In the spring, when he moved away, she said, “I really don’t feel like I got to know you at all.”
“No’m,” he answered.
Now Johnny walked across the living room, opened the screen door, eased it shut, and went onto the porch. Leaning against the banister, he put on his shoes.
Inside the house Retta was getting out of bed. She was already dressed in her jeans and shirt, and she slipped noiselessly into the hall. She waited a moment in the darkness until she heard Johnny going down the steps.
As he turned onto the sidewalk, he began to pick up speed. Retta moved quickly onto the porch. She went down the steps and stood in the shadow of an elm tree. It was eleven o’clock, and the moon was full and bright, weaving in and out of the clouds.
Down the street, her brother was at the corner. A car passed on Hunter Street and Johnny waited, then crossed quickly and broke into a run.
Retta glanced right and left to see if any snoopy neighbors were watching. All the houses on the street were dark. Keeping to the shadows, Retta moved quickly after Johnny.
R OY WOKE UP AND knew instantly that he was in bed alone. His side of the mattress was lower than usual. He flipped over and said, “Johnny?”
In the light from the living room he saw that the other half of the bed was empty.
“Johnny!”
He got up. He hated to be alone and he sensed that Johnny had not just gone to the bathroom or the kitchen. He stumbled into the hall, eyes alert, mouth worried, body still clumsy with sleep.
He staggered into Retta’s room and turned on the light. When he saw that her bed was empty too, he began to yell for either of them. “Retta! Johnny! Rettaaaaa!”
There was, as he had feared, no answer. He went out onto the porch and sat down on the steps. He began to cry.
“Why did they leave me?” he asked mournfully. “People shouldn’t go around leaving people.”
He paused to wipe his tears on his pajama top. “I wouldn’t have left them.”
Each statement made him feel worse. He began to cry harder. “Next time I’m going to leave them and show them how it feels.”
Even the thought of this just punishment did not cheer him. He could not bring into focus the picture of Retta and Johnny sitting on the steps, weeping, while he went off to some good time.
His tears came faster. Being left behind was a terrible feeling. He had always had a special feeling for anyone left behind. The night before he had seen a television program where the pioneer family left their old dog behind while they went west. He had wept real tears for that dog.
Later in the show the dog followed the family and saved them from a surprise Indian attack by barking. “I don’t care how many Indians attack Retta and Johnny,” he said wetly, feeling a closer bond with the pioneer dog, “I won’t let out one single bark.”
The thought of Retta and Johnny going down under Indian attack while he waited in the bushes, lips sealed, was pleasant, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He continued to weep quietly in the moonlight.
Suddenly he sat erect. He remembered that Johnny and Arthur had had some kind of secret. He licked at a tear on his cheek. He tasted the salt. And Retta had to be in on the secret too, he thought. Everybody was in on it but him.
“They’ve gone swimming,” he said
“Johnny Anderson?” she had said. She had looked as puzzled as if the name were foreign. He raised his hand.
“Are you new?”
“No’m.”
School had been going on for six weeks. He had not been absent a single day. Miss Lipscomb had shaken her head, smiling at herself. “Well, Johnny Anderson, you and I are going to have to get better acquainted.”
“Yes’m,” he had said, shifting so that he was, once again, hidden by the boy in front of him. In the spring, when he moved away, she said, “I really don’t feel like I got to know you at all.”
“No’m,” he answered.
Now Johnny walked across the living room, opened the screen door, eased it shut, and went onto the porch. Leaning against the banister, he put on his shoes.
Inside the house Retta was getting out of bed. She was already dressed in her jeans and shirt, and she slipped noiselessly into the hall. She waited a moment in the darkness until she heard Johnny going down the steps.
As he turned onto the sidewalk, he began to pick up speed. Retta moved quickly onto the porch. She went down the steps and stood in the shadow of an elm tree. It was eleven o’clock, and the moon was full and bright, weaving in and out of the clouds.
Down the street, her brother was at the corner. A car passed on Hunter Street and Johnny waited, then crossed quickly and broke into a run.
Retta glanced right and left to see if any snoopy neighbors were watching. All the houses on the street were dark. Keeping to the shadows, Retta moved quickly after Johnny.
R OY WOKE UP AND knew instantly that he was in bed alone. His side of the mattress was lower than usual. He flipped over and said, “Johnny?”
In the light from the living room he saw that the other half of the bed was empty.
“Johnny!”
He got up. He hated to be alone and he sensed that Johnny had not just gone to the bathroom or the kitchen. He stumbled into the hall, eyes alert, mouth worried, body still clumsy with sleep.
He staggered into Retta’s room and turned on the light. When he saw that her bed was empty too, he began to yell for either of them. “Retta! Johnny! Rettaaaaa!”
There was, as he had feared, no answer. He went out onto the porch and sat down on the steps. He began to cry.
“Why did they leave me?” he asked mournfully. “People shouldn’t go around leaving people.”
He paused to wipe his tears on his pajama top. “I wouldn’t have left them.”
Each statement made him feel worse. He began to cry harder. “Next time I’m going to leave them and show them how it feels.”
Even the thought of this just punishment did not cheer him. He could not bring into focus the picture of Retta and Johnny sitting on the steps, weeping, while he went off to some good time.
His tears came faster. Being left behind was a terrible feeling. He had always had a special feeling for anyone left behind. The night before he had seen a television program where the pioneer family left their old dog behind while they went west. He had wept real tears for that dog.
Later in the show the dog followed the family and saved them from a surprise Indian attack by barking. “I don’t care how many Indians attack Retta and Johnny,” he said wetly, feeling a closer bond with the pioneer dog, “I won’t let out one single bark.”
The thought of Retta and Johnny going down under Indian attack while he waited in the bushes, lips sealed, was pleasant, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He continued to weep quietly in the moonlight.
Suddenly he sat erect. He remembered that Johnny and Arthur had had some kind of secret. He licked at a tear on his cheek. He tasted the salt. And Retta had to be in on the secret too, he thought. Everybody was in on it but him.
“They’ve gone swimming,” he said
Similar Books
