Cory McBrown: Year 2-Chapter 4

20th of December, 2002

I don’t believe this. At the beginning of the week, I did not care about boys in the least. Romance seemed like something I would never EVER be interested in. How can two minutes with a stranger whose real name I don’t even know change that? I still don’t really care about boys. It’s Smithy I care about. I lean against my locker and look around at the sea of students and know that not one of these boys makes me feel like Smithy did. I don’t have any clue why. I don’t even know where Smithy lives. Maybe he doesn’t have a home. He had the look of an addict. What could I have possibly seen in him?

But underneath all that sadness that surrounded him, he had the brightest, most infectious smile. I couldn’t help but smile when he did. And I’d never seen eyes like that before. I suppose one could argue he had pretty generic brown eyes, but there was something about them. I almost felt dizzy and dopey looking into them. Mum told me once that you can see a person’s soul through their eyes. Well, if that’s true, then he has a wonderful soul. Brimming with life, but burdened with sadness.

That’s the other thing. He didn’t get defensive until I made him feel vulnerable. Obviously something’s happened to him to make him afraid to trust people, and that breaks my heart. I wish I could’ve helped him, if for no other reason than to know he’s gonna be okay.

“Cory, are you okay?” Sam comes up to me. “Why are you crying?”

I didn’t even realize I was crying. I was just waiting for her and John before we went home.

I try to shake it off. “I’m fine.”

Sam eyes me suspiciously. “You’re not still on about that kid, are you?”

“I just can’t help wanting to know if he’s okay,” I say. “He didn’t look so good.” I don’t tell her that I liked him in another way. For one thing, I’m a little afraid she’ll judge me. For another thing, I don’t really want her to make a big deal out of the fact that, yes, I was wrong. I have now had feelings for a boy. Big deal.

Sam puts her hand on my shoulder. “You can’t help everyone.”

I sigh. She continues. “Remember what Bart said when he came back? The kid had downed nearly half a bottle of whiskey by then, and it wasn’t that long between when we left and when Bart went to see him.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

21st of December, 2002

Yule

In my house, we’ve always done Yule, the pagan version of the holiday, and Christmas because we have non-pagan relatives (Edward for example). In our case, we open one present on Yule and then the rest at Christmas. We also have another special dinner, and sometimes a fire in the fire pit in our backyard.

Tonight, after exchanging gifts and having our meal, we sit out by the fire, roasting marshmallows. I remain kind of quiet.

Mum sits next to me. “How’re you doing, honey?”

I look at her. “Fine.”

“You’ve been kind of quiet the last few days.”

Bart perks up on our conversation. “This isn’t still about that kid, is it?”

I frown at Bart. “Bart!”

“What kid?” Mum asks.

I sigh. Why did he have to open his big mouth? “We were walking home from school the other day, and I saw this boy on the street-“

“Smoking herb outside a liquor store.” Bart comments.

I frown at him. “And then what happened?” Mum asks.

I get uncomfortable. “I went over to talk to him, and… I don’t know.”

Bart blows out his marshmallow. “He pushed her.”

Mum raises her eyebrows. “Bart, quit telling the big brother version of the story. That is not what happened!” I say.

Mum looks at me. “What do you think happened?”

“Bart’s gonna make fun of me.” I say.

“I will ground him until graduation if he does.” Mum assures me.

Bart makes a face. I sigh. “Fine. I wanted to help him. He looked like he was only my age. No kid who’s loved spends time smoking weed on the street. I just wanted to be his friend, and… That scared him I think… I mean, before I said that, we were totally connecting. And once I did, he got defensive and retreated. He didn’t push me. He pushed my hand off his shoulder. He didn’t hurt me… I mean, not physically anyway… It did kind of hurt my feelings when he did that.”

Mum nods. “Honey, I understand you wanting to help people, especially a kid, but I don’t think that was a situation you should’ve gotten involved in. Not by yourself anyways. That could’ve been dangerous.”

“Mum, he looked terrified. Terrified and sick.” I start to cry. “It was almost like I was the first person who ever showed him kindness. I just wanted to help him.”

Mum puts her arm around me. “And you’re wonderful for that, sweetie… But you can’t help everybody.”

“I know everyone keeps saying that, but… I don’t want people to tell me I can’t help everybody. I don’t want to help everybody, I wanted to help him, and I feel sad that I can’t.”

Mum rubs my arm. “I understand, sweetie… Was there something else that happened?”

I don’t answer right away. Then I sigh. “Let’s just say I think I know what Sam’s talking about now.”

Mum nods. Bart frowns. “Wait, you had a crush on him?”

“Graduation, Bart.” Mum warns.

Bart frowns and goes back to roasting marshmallows. “So you had some unexpected feelings for this boy, is that what you’re telling me?”

I nod. “And I don’t suddenly think all boys are cool, now… No one at my school is even remotely interesting to me… I don’t know why I cared about this boy so much.”

“Well, honey, the heart doesn’t always make sense. You don’t have to rationalize it.”

“But why do I miss someone I don’t even know? Why do I worry about him still?”

“Well, maybe it might help you to pray for him.”

I frown. So does Bart. “Pray for him?” I say, quizzically.

“For whatever reason you had a connection with this boy, and because you’re such a loving, caring person, you want things to be okay for him, right?” Mum explains.

I nod. “So instead of trying to rationalize why you felt that way, why not ritualize it? Wish him well on his journey and let him go.”

I think about that for a moment. There really isn’t anything I can do for him practically. I guess praying for his well-being is the next best thing. I mean, I believe receiving loving energy is beneficial, even if you don’t realize it’s coming to you, or where it’s coming from.

I nod. “Okay.”

Mum nods. “Wanna take my hand? Edward!” Mum calls to Edward, a few feet away.

He comes over and sits down with us. “We’re going to send some loving energy to Cory’s friend.” Mum explains.

Mum takes my hand, and Edward’s. I also take little Jenny’s hand. Edward reaches for Bart’s hand, too. Bart is a little hesitant, but he takes Edward’s hand anyway.

“Mother Earth, we call upon you to pray for the healing of another. Cory, would you like to say it?” Mum asks me.

I nod. I take a deep breath, thinking about what I want to say. “Mother Earth, I ask you to please take care of Smithy. I do not ask you to fix, or spare him, I know I cannot ask you that… But just take care of him. Help him on his journey… Let him know that there are people in this world who love him… He really needs that.”

We’re all silent for a moment.

I look at Mum. “I know I don’t know him… but I could tell he hasn’t had a lot of people love him, so somebody has to… Even if from afar.”

Mum puts her arm around me. “That was beautiful, honey.”

Edward nods. “I don’t know who we’re talking about here, but I agree.”

Bart nods, too. “I guess that’s all in the spirit of Christmas isn’t it?… Love even those you don’t know… Especially the unloved.”

Mum nods. Bart’s right, I think. Why does the world only do that at Christmas, I wonder. Why is it “the Spirit of Christmas” to help strangers, and love the unloved? Let’s forget for a moment the personal feelings I felt for Smithy. I saw a 14 year old on the street, in front of a liquor store, smoking weed, completely disheveled, malnourished, and terrified. Now, I know that you can’t help everybody, but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t try? He clearly needed help, and I tried to give it to him in the way I knew how. For me, that was being his friend. Although, to a certain degree, that’s weird cause I’m not usually the type to make the first move when it comes to making friends. That’s more Sam’s speed. Even Bart gives long glances before he’ll ever say anything.

But let’s examine that further. Smithy is very clearly an addict, or at the very least, he’s in need of some kind of help. I know there are places for people like that, but why are they social outcasts? Shouldn’t it be easier for them to get that help? These are people in pain, who have turned to the only source of relief they could find, however unhelpful. Society shouldn’t outcast them as “drunks”, “lowly addicts”, etc. These people need a healthier source of relief. They need love and connection, even if they don’t believe that.

Well, I hope he finds it. If not that, I hope he at least finds peace.

25th of December, 2002

Christmas Day

Christmas morning, I take little Jenny and barge into Bart’s room, yelling. “Wake up! Wake up!”

Bart rolls over and puts his pillow over his head. “Ugh. Shouldn’t you have grown out of this part yet?”

“Oh, tthhpbb!” I blow a raspberry at him.

Then I start to tickle him. “Ah! Hey! Not fair!” He yells.

“Bart, wake up! Wake up!” Jenny yells.

Bart rolls out of bed. His hair looks really funny. “Fine. I’m up. Is Mum up yet?”

“No. You know the rules,” I say. “The kids get up first.”

“Thank god I’ll be an adult next year.” Bart says, fixing his hair.

I run out of the room. “Wait, Cory! Take Jenny with you! I have to get dressed.”

I stick my head back in the room. “Bart, we always open presents in our pajamas!”

“No, no, and no! I drew the line at that at 15,” Bart informs me.

I roll my eyes and leave the room. Did I really just do that? Did I really become a teenager? I rolled my eyes at my brother. Oh well. It’s a rite of passage, I guess.

I take Jenny downstairs and sit her down in front of the tree. I turn the lights on, and it shines in brilliant points of white and multicolored light. I always insist we have colored lights as well as white lights.

Just as Bart comes downstairs, there’s a knock on the door. Bart goes to answer it cautiously. It’s Sam and John, dressed in their elf clothes again. John has some kind of baked good.

“What are you two doing here? It’s half 6 in the morning!” Bart scolds them, although I can tell he doesn’t sound too mad at them.

“It’s Christmas morning, and it’s the last Christmas we’re all going to be kids,” Sam says.

Bart lets down his shoulders. “Ye had to appeal to my sentimental side,” he says. “I’ll go make some breakfast.”

We all sit for about half an hour while Bart makes chocolate chip pancakes until Mum and Edward make their way downstairs. Jenny asks what Santa brought everyone. I figured out a long time ago that Santa wasn’t actually real, but I think it’s sweet that Jenny still believes. Actually, don’t tell anyone, but there’s a small part of me that still wants to believe.

We spend the day opening presents, eating John’s candy cane cake (yes, he really did make it), watching Christmas movies, and singing carols. It almost makes me forget about my troubles. Almost.