More information and fiction can be found on his website:
http://todd-wheeler.com.
Nice Shade of
Blue
by Todd Wheeler
On television
there would be moving trucks. He was sure of it. The
cardboard boxes would be brown and new, not scuffed up ones
with “oranges” or “Kossack Vodka” printed on the sides. The
family’s clothes would be in suitcases, not garbage bags.
On television people didn’t lose their homes.
Devan stood in his room, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
The hardwood floor was bare of even dust. Through the
window he could see the backyard where he’d never play
again. Beyond the yard, the sparse woods separated his
street from the next one over.
He heard Uncle Jack cursing outside as Jack dropped boxes
and furniture into the back of his pickup truck. Devan’s
mother Sherri was on her second trip to the new apartment.
And Devan’s little brother Tyler was somewhere in the
house.
Tyler was two years old. Devan was thirteen. None of
Devan’s classmates had siblings that young. Tyler had
straight black hair while Devan had blonde. Tyler was part
Asian. Devan told his friends that Tyler was adopted.
Devan walked around the house and found Tyler in the
kitchen playing with plastic blocks. They were moving to an
apartment complex in town known as the Heights. In Devan’s
school the losers lived at the Heights: the poor kids, the
freaks, the ones that didn’t dress right, or have iPods or
cell phones. Devan knew he wasn’t the coolest kid in school
but at least he had a cell phone. He hadn’t yet told his
friends he was moving.
Uncle Jack entered the kitchen through the
side door. He wasn’t really Devan’s uncle. His mother
described him as a “good friend.” Uncle Jack didn’t sleep
over, only gave Sherri pecks on the cheek, and didn’t yell
at them. He wasn’t Asian and he wasn’t blonde so Devan was
happy enough to call him Uncle and leave it at that. Jack
wore new looking blue jeans and pointed cowboy boots. The
tobacco tin made a circle in the pocket of his red shirt
and there were juice spots on its front.
“I think that’s it,” Jack said, fingering his mustache.
“You want your bike in the truck?”
“No. I’m riding it to the new place.”
Jack nodded and leaned into the sink to spit. “Amazing how
much stuff you can get into a small house. You’ll be
tripping over each other in that apartment.”
“Yeah. And I gotta share a room with this one.”
“Oh, this one’s no trouble,” Jack said, picking up Tyler.
“Are you buddy? You doing okay, Devan? This must seem
pretty confusing, having to move and all.”
“Yeah, I get it. My mom’s rolling over to the bank.”
“Uh, well. I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s not her fault.
Anyway. There’s nothing left in the basement, is there?”
“I’ll go check.”
“Thanks, Devan. If I have to go up and down those stairs
one more time I’m gonna have a stroke.”
The basement was little more than a damp crawl space. The
floor was gravel and the head clearance low. Devan peeked
behind the oil furnace that sat on a small slab of
concrete, wandered over to the sump pump, and took turns
around the steel support posts, reaching out with his hand
to touch the cool painted metal. Nothing was left. The
house, the one constant in his thirteen years, was empty.
The house had belonged to Devan’s grandmother. When Grandma
Rose was alive they visited once a month and on every
holiday. The kitchen always smelled like dessert:
strawberry shortcake in the summer, pumpkin pie at
Thanksgiving, and cookies year round. It was his real home,
not the other apartments, the motels, or the car they’d
lived in for two weeks.
When he was eight years old, Grandma Rose died. He didn’t
know many people at the funeral. There were a few of
Sherri’s cousins and the next door neighbor, old Mrs.
Reilly, whose house was so close that she could see into
their living room. Sherri inherited the house along with
the back taxes and the second mortgage. She stretched the
life insurance money along but in the end, with two kids,
day care for Tyler, and a small Wal-Mart income, she
couldn’t keep the house.
The bank was eager to foreclose. Every day the creditors
and lawyers called. Sherri was overwhelmed and wanted the
ordeal to just go away. She signed away the deed to the
bank. An apartment at the Heights was the best she could do
without moving out of town.
Devan
picked up a handful of gravel. The first rock missed the
pump in the dry well. He threw harder, his jaw clenched as
he whipped the sharp rocks. They hit the pump and
ricocheted away with a ping!
“Devan, your mom’s here!” Jack said.
“Okay!”
Everything was done and everyone get out. The new people
were coming that afternoon. Devan went up the narrow cellar
stairs and then outside to the yard. His bike leaned
against the back of the house. He pried up the bottom
shingle at the corner of the wall and caught the spare key
as it dropped down from where he had hidden it.
His mother had given the other keys to the lawyers. She’d
searched the house and assumed the extra one had been lost.
Devan slipped the key into his pocket and walked his bike
around to the front of the house.
#
The Heights was made up of five buildings, each three
stories high, forming an “E” around the parking lots. In
their building, the carpet on the stairs was faded and worn
down the middle. The hallways echoed with music and soap
operas that bled through the walls. The building seemed
like a series of jail cells, each door identical except for
the number. Dozens of cars were in the parking lot, but no
one was outside, no kids playing, nobody talking to their
neighbors.
They took turns holding the security door open as they
unloaded the truck. Tyler was occupied with some toys in
the living room, boxes around him forming a playpen. Up and
down the stairs they went, Devan grateful for each trip
outside as he escaped from the stale, funky air in the
hallways. The parts of the crib were stacked against the
wall in the bedroom the brothers would share. Each trip up
added a few more boxes until most of the floor was covered.
When everything was in the apartment Jack went out to get
pizza and soda. Sherri rested on the couch with Tyler.
Though she was only thirty, Sherri looked older than the
mothers of his friends. She had more lines around her eyes
and mouth. Her straight blonde hair looked like dry straw.
With their heads together Devan could see the lips of
Tyler’s and Sherri’s mouths were the same as well as their
noses. The rest of Tyler looked like the guy. Sherri told
Devan she had been out with some guy and she got pregnant
and that was all. The guy wasn’t coming back, just like
Devan’s father, whoever that was.
“Mom,” Devan said.
“Hmm?” She opened her eyes slightly.
“What’s Jack’s deal?”
“What do mean deal?” Sherri asked.
“Are you, like, dating him and stuff?” Devan blushed a
little at braving the topic.
“I told you before. We’re just friends.”
“Is he rich? Someone I know at school says he’s rich, and
kind of nuts. At least, his parents said Jack’s a head
case.”
He had her full attention now. It seemed like a simple
question to him but she took her time answering it. Tyler
shifted in her arms and opened his own eyes as she stroked
his head.
“Not rich, but he’s got money. He won the lottery a long
time ago. Maybe he doesn’t act like your friend thinks he
should, like he’s had money all his life. But he’s a good
person. So don’t let this kid tell you he’s not.”
“Well if he’s rich, maybe you should date him.”
“Go set the table,” she said with an edge of anger in her
voice he hadn’t expected.
“If I can find the plates,” Devan said.
Jack did the talking as they ate. He had worked as a car
salesman, disc jockey, house sitter, and professional poker
player. Lately he’d been singing for a country western
band, as close as he’d get to being an actual cowboy. The
stories he told usually made Sherri laugh but that night
she sat mute and glassy eyed.
“Can I go out?” Devan asked when the pizza was gone.
“Out? Where?” Sherri asked.
“Just out, ride around the neighborhood.”
“Might be easier,” Jack said, “with one less body in here.
Me and Devan will get the crib together so Tyler can settle
down. Then Devan can have a break from us old folks
complaining about our backs.”
Sherri shrugged and nodded. The pieces of the crib baffled
Jack. Devan arranged the springs and bolts until he
deciphered the order they went in. He tightened the nuts
while Jack held up the sides of the crib. When it was done
Devan said goodbye and his mother waved, distracted by the
piles of stuff that filled the living room.
Outside, the dishwater sunset was draining away through
gray clouds. Devan lay his bike flat in the woods where it
wouldn’t be seen. He walked carefully from tree to tree
until he could spy around one and see his old house.
The lights were on and their voices carried through the
open windows. Devan saw a guy come into the bedroom that
Sherri used to have. He put a box down and went away,
brought another in and went away. He looked normal enough,
had short hair, was clean shaven, and wore a t-shirt. The
woman’s voice was light, friendly sounding, going up and
down in tone. Devan was too far away to hear what they were
saying. He backed away quietly, got his bike, and went
home.
#
There were six weeks of classes left at the middle school.
Devan took satisfaction in the number of friends he could
talk to in the hallways. In the eighth grade he was the
master of his universe. The following year in high school
he and his friends would be at the bottom of the food chain
again. After classes let out Devan was unlocking his bike
when his friend Mike found him.
“Hey D-man,” Mike said. “Up for some baseball?”
“Yeah, all right. Where we playing?”
“Vet’s field,” Mike said, unlocking his own bike. Devan
coveted the expensive BMX model that Mike had tricked out
with a reinforced fork, axel pegs, and triple wall rims.
“Got your glove?”
“Gotta go home first.”
“I’ll come with you. It’s on the way.”
Devan had hoped to finish the school year without telling
anyone about the move. He couldn’t get past Monday. He
leaned on the handlebars of his own bike and thought for
moment.
“What’s up?” Mike asked.
“Promise not to tell anyone?”
“What?”
“I moved last weekend,” Devan said.
“What, like out of town?” Mike asked.
“Worse. The Heights.”
“Damn. You’re going to get shot.”
“I know. It sucks. Don’t tell anyone?”
“I won’t,” Mike said, wheeling his bike around. “But I
don’t think my mom will let me come over to your house any
more.”
At the baseball game Devan played well at shortstop. He
made good throws to first, turned a double play, and didn’t
throw over anyone’s head. He had been practicing at school
on the weekend, throwing at a square he had drawn with
chalk on the brick wall. Devan got on base twice but his
team got out before he could score. Their side was last up
and down one run.
Devan hit a single and took a big lead off of first base.
Mike was up and hit a grounder to third. Devan pumped hard,
feeling strong and mean. The second baseman was a seventh
grader who Devan didn’t like much. As he slid, Devan aimed
high and kicked the kid in the shin to take him off of
second base and miss the throw. An argument started and
shoving began. Mike and the other captain managed to get
everyone cooled down and broke up the game. Devan rode
home, keyed up and ready to break something.
#
He went back to
his old house after school. There were no cars in the
driveway. Wednesday was senior’s day at the center and the
next door neighbor, old Mrs. Reilly, would have been picked
up by the van already. It would be safe enough to go into
the house.
Devan crept up the side stairs and unlocked the door. His
pulse throbbed in his temples as he slipped into the
kitchen. This was his kitchen but their things sat on the
counter like silent, watchful strangers. The refrigerator
door, stripped naked when they moved, now had different
magnets and pictures on it. He recognized the man in a few.
The woman had a big smile, freckles, and short curls of red
hair.
Boxes were scattered in the rooms, brown boxes from U-Haul
with descriptions written on the sides in neat black
letters. He stood just inside the doorway of their bedroom.
The bed, dressers, and side tables were a golden oak and
looked new. The room smelled lived in already, a
combination of musk and flowers and dirty laundry.
His room was empty. Sample color strips from the paint
store were taped to the walls, green squares on one side
and yellow on the other. The back wall had different strips
of blue with strange names like “Ocean’s Wave,” “Dusky
Night,” and “Forget-Me-Not.”
In the living room was a large entertainment center made of
black painted wood. It was against the wall where the couch
should have been. Opposite, the couch was between the
windows where the television belonged. Devan shook his
head. These people had it all backwards.
A dozen trophies sat on the shelf above the stereo. One had
a plaque engraved with MVP, Little
League Championship. The column
sparkled green and white in the afternoon sunlight. A gold
figure on top was delivering a pitch. Devan grabbed it by
the column and slapped the heavy granite base into the palm
of his other hand. It occurred to him that the trophy would
break the television set very easily.
Outside a car door slammed. Devan’s muscles tensed. He
edged toward the side window. The driver helped Mrs. Reilly
down the steps of the van. There were no blinds or curtains
on the windows of the house. She’d be able to see him.
Devan reached back to replace the trophy.
Only the shelf wasn’t where he thought it was. The trophy
hit the edge and dropped towards the floor. Devan spun and
grabbed at it. The shelf with the other trophies tipped
down and spilled. It was a slow motion disaster as he
grabbed and danced, not wanting anything heavy to hit his
feet. The shelf came down on the stereo. The corner of the
next shelf gave way and the black stereo boxes went
sliding. Thunking sounds on the floor were joined with the
cracking of wood and the crescendo of falling CD jewel
cases. Devan sandwiched the stereo boxes between his hands
and felt the whole entertainment center leaning forward. He
let go of the boxes and pushed up and back, getting the
heavy wooden furniture back on center. The television had
slid out a few inches but seemed stable.
Devan backed out through the kitchen. On the floor he saw
his muddy sneaker tracks. He grabbed some paper towels from
the counter top and tried to wipe them up. Another car door
slammed. He stood up and ducked back down quickly. The
woman was home.
He peeked up again and saw she was going to the front
steps. Devan quietly opened the kitchen door and eased out
onto the porch. He just got the door closed when he heard
her swearing in the living room. His whole body was
shaking. He got down the steps and started running fast for
the woods without looking back.
#
Another day after school Devan saw a car idling near one of
the other apartment buildings. It was a black Acura with
tinted windows. As Devan rode by on his bike the driver’s
side window slid down and the music inside the car was
turned off. The man motioned Devan over.
“You want to make some money?” he asked. The wraparound
shades and goatee made him look like a rock star.
“Doing what?”
“I got some medicine for a friend of mine. He was too sick
to pick it up. Only I don’t want to leave my car ‘cause
this isn’t a good neighborhood.”
“Like, just deliver something?” Devan asked.
“Yeah, that’s all,” the man said, looking around and in his
mirrors. “This building here, apartment 318. I’ll make it
worth your while.”
Devan agreed and took the heavy paper grocery bag, thinking
the guy must be pretty sick to need that much medicine. At
the door he got buzzed in without being asked who he was.
Holes were worn through the carpet on the staircase. The
fire door on the third floor was missing the handle and was
propped open with a wedge of wood. The apartment was at the
end of the hallway. Devan opened the bag as quietly as he
could. Inside were clear plastic bags of marijuana.
At the apartment door he prayed he didn’t get shot. Or
arrested. Sweat dripped down his sides. After he knocked
the door opened a crack and a man peeked out.
“Who the fuck are you? Where’s Tony?”
“Downstairs,” Devan said.
The man looked up and down the hallway. He had on a muscle
shirt and jeans. There were tattoos on each arm and on his
neck. He grabbed the bag from Devan and told him to wait.
The minutes stretched on. Devan felt like he would throw
up. He had a hard time taking a deep breath. The cops would
come running up the stairs any second, or maybe busting out
of another apartment door. He would get shot. People got
shot at the Heights. The door opened again and the man
passed a smaller bag to Devan.
“Here. Tell Tony he’s a pussy and he oughta come up himself
next time.”
He didn’t wait for Devan to answer. Back in the parking lot
Devan delivered the other bag and the message. The guy
smiled and nodded. In the bag was a roll of money. He
peeled off a fifty dollar bill and put the rest inside his
leather jacket.
“Here kid. Stay out of trouble.”
When he got to his own apartment Devan locked the doors and
went to his room. He sat in a corner, back to the wall, and
hugged his knees to himself. He stayed there until Sherri
came home with Tyler.
#
There were two weeks of school left. Devan rode his bike
straight home, avoiding friends, strangers, and especially
black cars. Jack smiled as Devan came into the apartment.
Jack was on the floor building towers of blocks. Tyler
knocked them down and squealed with glee.
“You’re getting to be a regular here,” Devan said.
“Tyler wasn’t feeling good. The day care had to send him
home. Your mom couldn’t leave work so I picked him up.”
“Debah!” Tyler said, pointing.
“That’s right,” Jack said. “That’s Devan. Your brother
Devan.”
“Half-brother,” Devan said.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s still family.”
“Gee, thanks for the advice,” Devan said, slumping down on
the couch.
Jack ignored the remark and built up another tower.
“No chew today?”
“Quit,” Jack said.
“You quit? I thought you were going to be Garth Brooks or
something. Don’t all country singers chew tobacco?”
“It was messing up my perfect smile. And I quit the band.
Well, truthfully, they kind of quit me. I was just doing it
for fun. They’re going to let me DJ at that new country
station. Nights for now. I think I have the chops to do
drive time. What do you think?”
Devan shrugged. Jack could sell rocks on the moon for all
he cared.
“You like living here?”
“No,” Devan said.
“I don’t think much of this place myself. Building is worn
down. People are worn down. There’s fear in their eyes, at
least in the people you actually see around here. Nobody
dares go out, trapped in their little apartments.”
“Not everyone gets to live by the lake.”
Tyler stood up and toddled over to a box filled with
blocks. He dumped them out, put the box on his head, and
squealed again, doing a little dance.
“Your mom and I were talking,” Jack said. “I’ve got a lot
of room at my house. My sister was living there for a while
but she’s been gone a couple years.”
“Dead?”
“Might as well be, she moved to Buffalo. Anyway, I wanted
to get your opinion of this. You’d all have your own rooms
there. I got a big yard to play in. It’d be a lot safer
than this place.”
“So what’s the deal? You and my mom together?”
Jack smiled and shook his head. “Just friends.”
“Are you gay?” Devan asked.
“Hardly,” Jack said, laughing. “I’ve known your mom a lot
of years. She, uh . . . she ever mention what a ‘sponsor’
is?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m just offering her a chance to get
ahead a little bit. She‘s been kind of a wreck since losing
the house.”
“She should have got her own lawyer,” Devan said.
“That wouldn’t have changed anything. I told her she could
fight it and be broke, or walk away and be done with it.
Either way the house was gone.”
“You told her? But that other lawyer said--”
“Lawyers will say anything,” Jack said. “See, your mother’s
problem is she tends to expect the best of people and winds
up getting the worst. I told her to come stay with me.
Maybe seeing this place changed her mind. Or maybe she just
wants to shut me up about it. But she said if it was okay
with you, maybe living at my place for a while would be a
good thing. What do you think?”
“I dunno,” Devan said, getting down on the floor. He moved
some of the blocks toward Tyler. “You got Xbox?”
#
A week later Devan rode to the old house and stopped in the
front yard. The woman’s car was in the driveway. He took a
few deep breaths and went up the steps. She was at the door
a second after he rang the bell.
“I used to live here,” Devan explained.
“Oh, yeah?” she said.
Her smile fell. Devan tensed, guessing she knew about the
bank and the liens.
“Um. It’s a nice house. You want to come in?”
Devan shrugged then opened the screen door. Most of the
boxes were unpacked and out of the way. They had painted
the living room a bright yellow. He looked at the
entertainment center and saw the shelves had been replaced
with plywood boards. The stereo was dented and missing a
knob. The trophies were gone.
“Looks a little different now.”
“We’ve been decorating,” she said. “Did you forget
something here?”
“Forgot to leave this,” Devan said, holding his hand out.
“Extra key.”
“Ah. Thank you,” she said. Again, her smile faded a little.
She stared at the key, turning it over in her hands. “It’s
a nice neighborhood. I grew up two blocks over. After
college I convinced my husband this would be a good place
to raise a family.”
“It’s okay,” Devan agreed. “You have a kid?”
“Going to,” she said, looking up and touching her stomach.
“Where did you move to? Did you stay in town?”
“Yeah. The Heights.”
“Oh. That’s, uh . . . ”
“It sucks,” he said. “But we might move again.”
“Well that’s good. Did you have the bedroom next to the
kitchen? Want to see it?”
Devan shrugged and they walked in. Test squares were
painted on the walls: a few green and yellow ones and eight
different shades of blue.
“We’re having trouble picking a color.”
“No kidding. You like blue, huh?”
“It’s going to be a boy,” she said, walking to the far
wall. She pointed. “I like this one and that one on the
bottom. My husband likes that one over there.”
“That’s too dark.”
“That’s what I said. You don’t get much sun in this room,
do you?”
“No. And it’s cold as hell in the winter.”
She nodded. “Good to know. What do you think? Which color
do you like?”
Devan thought about it for a moment. Most of the colors
were a shade darker or lighter than each other. He looked
carefully, making an effort to focus that he usually
reserved for playing video games or sweating through a test
he hadn’t studied for. He walked to the wall and pointed to
a square.
“That one?” she asked. “It’s kind of a powder blue, don’t
you think?”
“It’s brighter. Like in the living room. The room will be
brighter.”
“You don’t think it’s a little, you know, girly?”
“He’s a baby, what does he care,” Devan said. “When he’s
six he’ll want race cars, then posters of basketball
players.”
She nodded again. “And then Led Zeppelin posters at
thirteen, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
They went into the living room. He stopped by the
entertainment center, looking at the stereo. Hands in his
pockets, he fingered the fifty dollar bill.
“Funny thing about that,” she said. “My husband messed up
putting the shelves together. Must have been all his
trophies weighing down the top one. The whole thing came
falling down the other day.”
“It didn’t fall,” Devan said.
“Yes, it did,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“It fell. Okay?”
He looked at her and felt angry. Not like before, not
wanting to break and smash. Angry at her compassion and mad
at himself for what he had done to get it. He took a deep
breath and held out the money.
“It didn’t fall. I’m sorry.”
She hesitated and then nodded, taking the folded bill.
“Where are you moving to?”
“By the lake, maybe,” he said, pulling away from her and
going to the door.
“Oh really? How fancy. From the Heights to the lake in only
a month. You’re quite the social climber.”
He shrugged and blushed. “It’s uh, a long story.”
“What’s your name?”
“Devan.”
“I’m Karen. If you need any boxes for your move, come on
back. We’ve got more than we’ll ever need.”
“Okay,” he said, going out the door.
“And Devan. Take care of yourself, all right?”
“Okay,” he said, smiling.
He rode his bike, traveling fast on the streets of his
town. He decided he would get a summer job. He would go
home and talk with his mother. He knew he could convince
her to stay at the Heights for now. Jack wasn’t his uncle,
or his father, and
he sure as hell wasn’t Devan’s sponsor, whatever that was.
They would get out of the Heights because they could, not
because someone had pitied them. They would leave as a
family, himself, his mother, and his brother. Moving men
would arrive with a truck. Their clothes would be in
suitcases. And everything else would be packed away in
boxes, new brown boxes from U-Haul with descriptions
written on the sides in neat black letters.
Copyright 2008 by Todd Wheeler