Chapter 11: D Is for Dinosaur
1533 Words
Boston is a big city—way too big for this hayseed child from Tupelo, Mississippi, the birthplace of Elvis, who was about the only exciting thing that ever happened there. Well, that and the opening of the Starbucks on West Main.
Boston was claustrophobic. Too many streets, cars, intersections, people coming and going, too many towering buildings, steep inclines. It was exhausting just looking at it. Give me the backwoods where you can scratch an itch without dislocating someone’s shoulder.
I wisely left the driving to Jackson and drank in the sights with Tony, who sat in the backseat, decked out in a winter coat, gloves, and hat like a little snowman, safely buckled up. He craned his neck to stare out the window like he was a tourist in his own town.
Tony was very self-contained, seemed perfectly content to be by himself and think his own thoughts. He reminded me of the sort of person afraid to call the fire department if his house was burning down because he wouldn’t want to bother someone. With any luck, we could change that, I thought, glancing back at him, hoping to catch his eye.
He paid no attention to me.
Dark, heavy clouds threatened to inundate us with snow, a prospect I found both exciting—I’d never been in a genuine blizzard—and rather dreadful. There was already a half foot of snow on the ground, and I was surprised folks were driving around like it was nothing.
As Jackson and I wandered about at a truly massive mall—they could have staged the Olympics inside it and had room for a rehash of Woodstock—we did not receive the sorts of looks we got back home when we took Noah to Barnes Crossing Mall for a sniff around GameStop followed by pizza at the cafeteria. These Northerners did not seem to care about two would-be daddies walking around with a little boy.
As we passed a bookstore, Tony halted in his tracks and stared at a display window that featured a huge cutout T-Rex to promote a science book on dinosaurs. He gaped at that dinosaur, a goofy grin plastered on his face. He walked up to the glass, put his hand on it, captivated by the monster charging out of the display window.
You like dinosaurs? I asked.
He shrugged, which I took to mean he did not understand me, so I tried again. I pointed to the cutout of the T-Rex.
You like him?
He grinned from ear to ear.
That’s a d-i-n-o-s-a-u-r. Here’s the sign for d-i-n-o-s-a-u-r.
I made the sign.
He repeated it back to me, smiled.
See? I said you were a smart kid, didn’t I? Want to go see?
He nodded eagerly.
“You and your books,” Jackson said despairingly.
We went inside the store and found our way to the kids’ section, which had a big display featuring books on dinosaurs. Tony sat at a child’s table with Dinosaurs for Kids spread out in front of him, his eyes like saucers behind his glasses. He flipped open the book, stopped at a page featuring a stegosaur. He ran his index finger over the stegosaur’s body, outlining it, grinning as he did so.
Love, he signed to me. He pointed at the dinosaur as if to make sure I understood.
He’s very handsome, I agreed.
Love. Love. Love. Me…love!
I smiled.
Mister?
Yes?
Where…now?
The dinosaurs are gone, Little T.
Why?
It’s a long story…
Oh.
He looked down at the stegosaur and began to run his finger over it again, a wistful, sad look on his face. He eventually flipped the page and found an Eotyrannus. He grinned at the goofy but adorable way it looked. He was so wrapped up in looking at the pictures, he did not seem to notice much of anything else. He thumbed through the pages, stopping now and again, spreading his small hands over the page, smiling, grinning, tracing the outlines of the different dinosaurs depicted. For almost thirty minutes, he sat there, completely engrossed, in his own little world. Every now and again he looked up at me, smiling, pointing at a dinosaur he liked.
Do you like this book? I asked.
It’s expensive, he said straightaway, and I was surprised he knew that word, and apparently knew it very well.
Never mind, I said. We’ll buy it for you.
True?
He seemed astonished.
True, I signed.
True? he asked again, as though he could not believe me.
We want you to have it.
Me?
Yes, you.
He bit his lip and looked at me very frankly.
Why?
We want you to be happy.
Me?
Yes, you. Little T.
He did not seem to know what to make of this, as though the experience of someone wanting him to be happy was completely foreign.
Why? he asked, trying to puzzle it out.
I wanted to say that all children deserved to be happy, or some such thing, but I knew he would not understand it.
We love you, I said, settling for a direct approach. We want you to be happy. Me and J-a-c-k…we both want you to be happy. We want to be your family. Your family are people who love you and want to take care of you and want you to be happy. Do you understand?
I don’t have family.
That’s why we wanted to meet you. Maybe we could be your family…
You?
Yes.
You want to be my family?
Yes.
Why?
We used to have a little boy like you. We miss him. We want to have a family again, so we’ve been looking for someone like you.
True?
True.
No one wants me.
We do.
But no one wants me. I’m…not good.
Yes, you are, honey.
I’m…not good. C. said I’m stupid.
You’re not stupid.
But C. said I’m stupid.
That’s not true.
He thumbed through more of the pages, pausing now and again to look at his dinosaurs. He seemed troubled.
Jackson, who had gone off to browse, returned with the latest Stephen King novel.
“Seriously?” I said, looking at the cover.
“You’re in Stephen King country, boy. Watch your mouth, or you’ll find yourself sucking face with a chainsaw.”
“You Yankees are so mean.”
“And don’t you forget it. Tony seems to like that book.”
“He loves dinosaurs.”
“That’s good—he’s going to have two of them for his dads.”
“Speak for yourself, dipshitosaurus.”
“I don’t believe that’s a dinosaur species. And let’s face it. We’re at the age where getting lucky means being able to find our car in the parking lot.”
“We’re not that old!”
“We should get going. The snow is starting to fall.”
“Really?”
“It does that up here. I’m going to have to do my shopping later—I don’t want us to get stuck out on the road. Oh, and Wiley?”
“Yeah?”
“I think this is the first time we’ve ever walked into a bookstore and you didn’t immediately walk around to see if they had your books on the shelves. I’m proud of you.”
“I was getting to it!”
“Well, hurry up. I don’t want to tell that Heather Duport woman we got caught on the side of a road in a snowstorm. She’ll think we’re irresponsible. It wasn’t supposed to start snowing until later, but you never know in Boston.”
I smiled at Tony.
We need to go. Let’s pay for your book.
He carried it proudly to the register and peered at the cashier over the edge of the counter as he scanned it.
“Kids love dinosaurs,” the cashier observed, flashing a smile at me. He was twentysomething and all kinds of cute.
“I was more of a Ninja Turtle guy myself,” I offered.
“He yours?” the man asked, glancing at Jackson and myself then down to Tony.
“I hope so,” I said. “That or we’ll get arrested for kidnapping.”
“Oh.”
As we made our way to the exit, I spotted a photo booth.
“Come on,” I said to Jackson.
“Wiley, we need to go!”
“We will, but first we’re going to take pictures of our first day. Like we used to do with Noah at the mall.”
“Okay, but make it fast.”
We hurried over to the photo booth. Tony had never been inside one, did not know what it was. We crowded inside. I sat on the stool with Tony on my lap as Jack squeezed in behind me. We made goofy faces as the machine flashed four times. Outside, we collected two strips of photographs and examined them.
Tony stared very solemnly at the strip I handed him.
He seemed amazed.
He looked up at me, a huge grin on his lips.
You keep it, I said, gesturing for him to put the strip in his pocket.
He smiled.
- Writer
