My family used to live not far from Mirror Lake, on a nondescript street that culminated in a dead-end. We had moved there from New York when I was 12. Next door was a ramshackle old house that had been abandoned for a long time. The old man who owned it and had lived there alone for decades had died. He didn’t have a family, so it was put up for sale as part of his estate. Since no one had come in to do any repairs or to give the house some curb appeal, it just sat there, an obvious insult to the rest of the community. I don’t think any agents had bothered to show it for months.
Mom was annoyed that the house was such an eyesore. The lawn was never mowed and the cement wall along the driveway was overgrown with weeds. It was a liability, she said, that was destroying the neighborhood, bringing down property values. Dad laughed at her concern, and pointed out that the Archers house across the street from the empty one was in even worse condition. But Mom said that was because Mrs. Archer was a widow, raising a family on her own. She had enough trouble keeping tabs on her teenage son, Tony, who was always getting into trouble with the law. He’d once gotten caught stealing candy from the vending machine at school and had been suspended.
Tony didn’t hang out with the rest of us much. Although in the same class as me, Tony had been left back and therefore was a year older.
Even at 13, he looked much more mature than his age. He suffered from what today would be termed “learning disabilities,” probably dyslexia. But back then he was labeled “a problem child.” He wasn’t stupid. He just wasn’t a whiz at math and his verbal skills were less than stellar. He preferred working on cars and bikes to studying.
That summer Tony always seemed to be out on the street, in a tank top, sporting beat-up jeans. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. He was also more developed physically than I was. One time I saw him without his shirt on. He was built like a wrestler, wiry and taut, with abs of steel.
Sometimes when I was bored I would walk from our house to the lake a few blocks away. I’d go there to watch the ducks and the herons and to sit on one of the green benches that lined the shore. On the south side sat the imposing Mirror Lake Library. The structure fascinated me.
Mom said it was built in the ’20s, with money donated by Andrew Carnegie, some big-time industrialist. I liked its graceful Beaux Arts architecture. It reminded me of some of the grander buildings in our town back in New York. Plus there was a funny statue out front of a handsome Greek god. I think it was Apollo. Made of concrete, it was missing its hands and had a large fig leaf covering its private parts. The first time I saw it, I was reminded of Tony Archer. The face and body were almost identical. It was uncanny.
One afternoon when I was down by the lake, I felt a punch to my back shoulder and spun around. Tony was standing there, dressed as usual in his tight jeans, wife-beater, and black jacket. He had an odd smirk on his face.
“What you starin’ at?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just killing time.”
“Watch this!” he said, as he ran off toward the library. He removed his jacket and flung it back at me. Tony’s t-shirt had perspiration marks at his armpits. He pulled that off too. His skin was a deep, dark tan and spotless, his muscles rippling in the sunlight. I followed after him. He approached the library wall and hopped onto a blue water pipe, then scrambled onto the limestone ledge that lined the facade. He looked like one of those statues you see on a temple, holding up a column.
Tony gingerly slid along the ledge by sliding his feet, while maintaining his balance with the flat of his hands behind him. From my vantage point, it looked like an impossible feat since the angle was so pitched. Surely gravity would win out.
“Careful,” I yelled at him. “You’re going to break your neck!”
Tony laughed. “Never have yet. It’s not as hard as it looks.”
“You better get off of there, Tony. You’ll get in trouble.”
“Don’t be such a freakin’ sissy,” he yelled back. “Come on up. The view is amazing.” His voice was gruff and demanding.
He inched back to the point where the pipe stuck out and leaned down to grab my hand. His grip was strong and forceful. He pulled me up and hoisted me onto the ledge. I swung my body around so that my back, too, was pressed up against the brick wall. It felt as if all my weight were thrust down onto the tips of my feet. I looked down. The ground seemed miles away. Instantly I felt a rush of vertigo; my head spun and I felt slightly sick to my stomach.
“I can’t do it, Tony. I’m sorry. You go ahead without me.” I somehow found the strength to claw my way back to the starting point where I could climb back down to safety.
“I didn’t realize you were such a girl,” Tony said, frowning, when he came back. “But considering it’s your first time, I’ll cut you some slack.”
We walked back along the lake. Soon we were standing outside his house. “You wanna come in for a Coke?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. Inside, the first thing I noticed was how messy the place was. There was a garbage can right smack in the center of the living room. It was filled with discarded pizza boxes, and empty beer cans. The sofa had a sheet over it. On the coffee table lay a pack of old playing cards, cigarette butts, and empty beer bottles.
Tony didn’t pay any attention to these things. Instead, he led me into the kitchen, which was filled with dirty dishes and more beer bottles. He opened the fridge and pulled out two Cokes. He stood in the cool air of the fridge and threw his head back as he gulped the soda down. He finished the soda and burped. Then he grabbed another one, slamming the fridge door shut. He pointed towards a small back staircase, next to a cupboard, that led to the second floor, and his room upstairs.
His bed was unmade, and looked like it hadn’t been changed in months. His pillow was on the floor, next to a pair of high tops and some gym shorts. A jock strap lay in a pile by the closet. Crumpled candy wrappers were strewn about. A half-wet towel hung over the bed post. A box of Kleenex was tucked between the mattress and the box spring.
Tony jumped up onto the creaky bed. He jack-knifed his body forward to flick on the TV on his bureau, then bounced right back. Some basketball game was on, but the sound was on low. A voice was screaming in my head: “Say something, do something!” But I was too shy to utter a word.
We sat like that for 10 minutes or so. Finally a commercial came on and Tony got up and turned the sound off. He walked over to the closet, which was open, and rifled through the clothes that were on hooks and hangers. Lots of stuff was on the floor, including a basketball and some dumbbells. Tony crouched down, reached into a laundry bag and pulled out some blue jeans, an older pair with holes around the knees. “These don’t fit me anymore,” he said, throwing them at me. “Try ‘em on.”
“I already have a pair of jeans,” I said, catching them in my hand.
“Well, if you don’t want ‘em,” Tony said, “don’t take ‘em. I just thought they’d look good on you.”
“You want me to try ‘em on now?”
“I don’t care what the hell you do with ‘em!” he yelled. I stood up, pulled my pants off then slipped into Tony’s jeans. They fit very well although they were a bit big around the waist. Tony came over and grabbed the front, just above the zipper, placing his fingers between my stomach and the waistband. “Tuck in your shirt and see if that helps…” I did as he asked. Tony led me over to a full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. “They look freakin’ awesome on you.”
I thanked him and there was an awkward pause. “I still don’t know why you want me to have them.”
“Because you look like a geek in those other pants you had on,” he said. “Where did you buy those?”
“They’re khakis,” I said. “My Dad bought ‘em for me.”
“Well, you can’t expect people to hang out with you if you dress like some goddam preppie dork.”
There was a knock. His mother stood in the doorway. She was harried-looking, thin with dyed blond hair, dark brown roots, a shapeless house dress on, and an odor of fried food. “Tony, it’s almost time for supper. You going to invite your friend to join us?” She didn’t look at me but right at Tony. I glanced at the clock. I was late for dinner at my place.
“That’s awful nice of you, Mrs. Archer,” I said, getting up. “But I’ve got to get back home.”
Dinner that evening was a blur. I barely spoke to my siblings. Mom was in one of her cranky moods so she didn’t pay me any mind. After a few hours of TV, I went up to my room and lay in bed thinking about Tony and our little adventure at the library. I thought of that statue of Apollo, and then Tony. I glanced over and saw the jeans he gave me. I leaned down and grabbed them. They had a faint musty odor, like wet leaves under snow.
A couple of days went by and I didn’t see Tony Archer. He wasn’t up at the school, nor did I see him hanging around the neighborhood. No one seemed to know what had happened to him.
Then one night, after I had gone to bed, and was fast asleep, I woke up with a start when I felt a hand on my chest, shaking me. It was Tony. The lights were off and I could barely make him out in the dark, except for his white teeth that glowed in the moonlight. “Tony!” I gasped. But he clamped his hand over my mouth.
“I came in through your window. It was open. Listen, I need your help. I’ve run away from home. A couple days ago, Mom cursed me out, said I was going to be sent away to reform school. But I refuse to go.”
“What do you want me to do?” I wasn’t sure why he had come to me.
“I need some food. And supplies. Can you give me some stuff?”
“Well, sure. But we got to be careful. Mom keeps track of every slice of bread in this house.”
I took Tony downstairs, careful not to turn on any lights, or make a sound. I made Tony a quick sandwich and gave him some sodas. As well as some apples and stuff I found, like crackers and cheese. While I bagged it all up, Tony explained to me that he had moved into the abandoned house next door. He’d broken in through the screened-in porch next to the driveway, and was camping out in the attic.
“How long are you going to stay there?” I said.
“Couple more days. Then I’m going to hitch a ride down to Arcadia. I know this guy there with a cabin in the woods. I can stay there until I figure out my next move. Don’t tell anyone you saw me, okay?”
“Nah. I won’t tell a soul. I’ll bring you some more food tomorrow after school.”
Tony locked my head close to his in a chokehold. Our noses grazed against each other, like two Eskimos. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, brother.”
Then he was off, slipping away as quietly as he had come in.
The next day I could barely concentrate at school. I walked home by way of the grocery store. I bought some jars of peanut butter and jelly, a loaf of Wonder bread, some Oreos, a half-pound of sliced roast beef, some mayo, a package of Slim Jims, and several candy bars. But as I was in line waiting to pay for the stuff, I realized that without a working refrigerator, much of this stuff would go bad. So I put the mayo back, and picked up some bananas instead.
Later, making sure not to be seen by anyone, I snuck over to the empty house, and slipped behind the cement wall lining the driveway to the side porch Tony had told me about. Tony opened the screened door. I was short of breath, more from nerves than exertion.
“Jesus, you brought enough food here for an army!” he said, laughing. I could tell he was thrilled by the selections.
“You said you were hungry.”
He ate one of the bananas. “Tastes good,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He lit a candle and placed it on a metal tray he found so we could see better. He placed it near a pile of yellowed newspapers and dusty old rags. I noticed some cans of old paint and turpentine beside them.
“What’s the candle for?”
“The electricity has been turned off. I can’t see anything at night without it.”
“Be careful where you put it,” I said. “This place is filled with trash.”
“Listen to you, you sound just like my mom,” Tony said, laughing.
“She must be worried sick.”
“That bitch? She could care less. I hate her. Besides, I’m out of here tomorrow. Maybe I’ll go to California. I’ll hitch a ride across the country.”
The thought of Tony actually leaving tore at my insides. “You’re going to need some money if you do that.”
“Nah. I’ll figure it out. I’ll get some work at a gas station or maybe valet parking. Shit, I could even caddy if I had to.”
“I’ve got a little money saved up from my allowance. I’ll bring it over tomorrow.”
Tony smiled. He stubbed out his cigarette on a plate, then stood up and came over towards me. He leaned in close. “How much you got?”
“About 50 dollars.”
His eyes lit up. “Man, I knew I could count on you.”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt as happy as I was that night. When I got home and crawled back into my bed, careful not to let Mom or my siblings hear me returning, I couldn’t sleep. My heart was beating so fast. My mind raced. I counted backwards from a thousand, but nothing could stem the excitement I felt. I thought of what it would be like if I went with Tony on his trip. If I ran away from home, too! Just the two of us on the road. He’d be safer with someone beside him. And I could get more money. I knew where Mom kept the food money, and where Dad kept his gold cuff-links and tie clips and a Swiss watch he never wore that he told me was worth a fortune.
I was just finally falling asleep when I awoke to someone shouting very loudly. Then I heard the sirens. It sounded as if the entire town was under attack. I ran to the window and saw floodlights outside. Someone called out. A door slammed. A dog barked. Then a woman screamed.
I raced outside. Smoke rose in the sky above the empty house next door. Flames were shooting up through the attic windows and licking at the eaves. Several firemen ran over carrying a hose. Mom had come out on the street in her bathrobe. She pointed to the roof of the house. “Look! There’s a figure up there!”
I glanced up. Tony was on the ledge beside the dormer window in the attic. He was half-naked, covered in soot. The men below yelled up at him not to move. But he wasn’t listening. He looked almost as if he were sleepwalking. He started to step over the roof tiles, like a cat, along the edge, looking for a way down.
I cried out to him. “Wait!” But he couldn’t hear me.
Suddenly a ball of fire exploded out of the dormer window, nearly enveloping Tony as he stumbled forward. He threw his hands up as if in triumph, or as if to say “Hey, look at me, I’m on top of the world.”
I yelled again: “Tony!” He turned suddenly, looked down. Our eyes locked, and he smiled. But just as he did, the ledge gave way under his feet, and he fell as if in slow motion to the ground. I heard a thud, but couldn’t see past the bushes between us. I raced over. But when I got there, it was too late. Tony had hit his head on the cement wall along the driveway. His lifeless body lay in a heap. It was too dark to see the blood.
I felt a sharp finger jab at my shoulder, and spun around. “What in God’s name are you doing here?” Mom yelled. “Get back to the house immediately!”
“Shut up!” I screamed at her. Then I turned and walked away. Down the steps to the driveway, and along the sidewalk, away from the fire engines and the crowd on the street, moving swiftly toward Mirror Lake and the old library.
This article appears in Mar 12-18, 2015.
