Freak of the Misfits

Three-thirty in the morning, I got the email:

Hey guys,

I hope you all have a stupendous and well-earned spring break. Due to many families being out of town, we won't have any therapy sessions this week. Feel free to call me if need be, otherwise, stay in contact and do some personal belief-searching.

God Bless,

~Dr. White

Many would view this as an unfortunate chain of events. I saw it as a way to get out of working on my school paper. Between the waiter with the fountain T-shirt, the Sherlock Holmes dude, and the warning from that cop who arrested me, I had no idea where to start.

Instead, I could read that book I'd picked up from the school library: An Unbiased Guide to World Religions. Written by world-renowned Atheist, Christian Young.

The book was organized from most to least hated. I skimmed the pages. The words "hate," "scum," and "unintelligent swine" appeared a lot, as well as the phrase "I don't mean to sound biased, but…"

I closed the book. Maybe I should've read this with Austin.

I searched five-star religious books on Amazon. Christianity is the Best, Losers by Sherman Artifice. Mormons Know What's Up by Novus Americus Mundus. I Grew up Jewish, Hinduism: Not What You Think, and I'm a Buddhist Now, Here's Why, all by Ameena Fidelio Loyal. Islam is the New Black by Christian Young Jr.

Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think an unbiased world religions book exists.

My eyes scanned over the email when I spotted the second book I'd checked out from the library. A White Heart in a World of Grey Solutions. By Richard S. White. "Stay in touch. Do some personal belief searching." Easy for him to say—the man had made a career out of sticking moral compasses in teenagers.

Rather than be productive, I spent the first two days of my spring break at the fountain. I kept a blank notepad in hand and waited for the Sherlock Holmes man. A band of boys had left graffiti on the ally walls: a "Homer Simpson" version of Rex Peterson covered in pig's blood. There were a few others farther down the alley: Peterson's gravestone, Peterson in Hitler's uniform, a decapitated Peterson slumped in the gallows, etc.

I didn't understand it until I read the newspaper headline on my third day of Spring Break.

Rex Peterson Accused of Promoting Illegal Black-Market Trade for Personal Profit.

With the first sunshine of spring came a devastating blow to the Peterson campaign, when, on April 9th, rumors of crack trade swept the market once more. Peterson denies any affiliation as he takes his third vacation this year to the Bahamas. Meanwhile, manager Bill Wood states that the funds for Peterson's budget are completely legal, and this is simply further hate spiraled from the controversial man's political opponents. They are hard at work to prove innocence in court as investigative reporters take on the cocaine traces after busting a dealer near Peterson's home.

So that's why my parents hadn't been home.

Peterson's ties with the drug deal that had ties with my fountain didn't raise any red flags. Instead, I raised a white flag, leaned against my fountain, and thought back to Dr. White's assignment. Personal beliefs. Why would I give a piece of fudge about personal beliefs? Still, I needed something. Austin was with his mom on a Florida cruise ship. Stuart scared the living chocolate chip waffles out of me. Kim and Willie were fighting again. I had to steal a belief system from somebody.

That's when I remembered Julia at the library.

It didn't matter if she'd been talking to God, Satan, an imaginary friend, or her Tiny Person. I was going to steal her belief system and get Dr. White off my case. Besides, I'd been alone in my house for almost three days—Tiny Person was getting louder, and my vocal cords had shriveled to dust. If I didn't interact with another human being soon, I'd probably do something stupid, and no one would be around to stop me.

I tore off what I needed in the newspaper and folded it into my pocket.

I remembered the route Julia had taken back when she'd forced me to eat frozen pancakes at her house. The streets were dead empty. I didn't search my internal motivation machine to figure out why I thought Julia's house was the best of my options. Tiny Person wanted to go home, so I let him. My mind was abandoned when I trudged up the stoop to her driveway.

I'd never noticed their bright green door against the pale blue walls. I knocked anyway.

"It's open!"

Doctor White sounded like his vocal cords had been hit by a car. Maybe he had. I would have to ask him how that feels in comparison to intoxicated ones.

I let myself in. I wish I hadn't.

The man was old and round. His hair had climbed off his head and onto his chin, sculpting a shorter version of Santa's beard. He was pale, but when he smiled, I knew he meant it.

I wanted to ask if I was in the wrong house. Instead, I stood there like a deer in the headlights, my hooves stuck in the railroad tracks with a train shrieking for my head.

The old man spoke with a lisp, like he'd been smoking a pipe. "You here to see Julia?"

I nodded.

He held out his hand. Part of his ring finger was chipped off, but I took his sand-papery fingers and shook them like Dad would. If I hadn't, I'm pretty sure the man would've pulled out a Sturm Ruger rifle and left my corpse in a puddle of water. He cleared his throat, and I smelled a chimney. "Now, who're you and why the helicopter do you want to talk to my granddaughter?"

I didn't have to censor him. The man actually spoke like that.

"James, leave the poor boy alone." An old woman kissed him and left a smack of cherry lipstick. She looked at me. "Julia is on her way back from the gas station. Why don't you come on in? The chocolate chip cookies are almost ready."

Chocolate chip cookies? These people were legit.

The flight or fight response kicked in. Usually, I flight. But this woman…her hair was wispy like peach fuzz and her eyes were brown and small. She had flashy gold jewelry around her arms like any snobby grandmother in a princess film, but she didn't seem to know it. She had something I recognized. People were important to her and deserved her attention.

Julia's grandparents exchanged a glance. My heart became the cymbals in a rock concert, and I followed the lady into the kitchen.

"I'm Malinda, by the way. Julia's mentioned you a few times." She shuffled around the kitchen with a wide grin. Her eyes crinkled, and again I knew she meant it. "She didn't mention you'd be coming, though."

I stumbled. "I can…go if—"

"No no no. I'm sure she'll be back in a few minutes." Malinda pulled out a sheet pan and slid each cookie on as if it was a newborn infant.

James, the grandfather, sat next to me. I recognized the start of an interrogation. Dad did it a lot for Kyle. But, again, these two were different. They were smiling and their eyes sparkled. Curious? Maybe. I didn't plan to stay long enough to find out.

"So, how long have you known Jewels?" he asked.

Jewels…Jules…Julia!

"Three months and two days."

James choked on a huffy version of a cackle. "Oh, is that all?"

Malinda slipped a clear glass across the table. I've heard of this concept before: milk with cookies. Like another unfamiliar one: grandparents that exist. I don't know what stereotypes to make fun of. I didn't know how to act unusual. The closest I've come to meeting a wrinkled member of the family was before Mom had that face-job.

"You're…Julia's grandparents?" I didn't mean to ask out loud, but these things happen.

"Yes." Malinda set the plate on the table. She studied me. "We're visiting for Spring Break. Had no idea Rich would be so busy."

"Rich…" I muttered.

James scratched his beard. "Our son's always been ambitious, Mal." He turned to me, an upside-down arch brimmed in his eyes. "So, how is she doing?"

"Who?"

The old woman laughed like an ancient set of jingle bells. "Julia, Sweetheart. Is she doing well here?"

"Um, sure."

How the hermit crab should I know?

"Good," the grandfather said. He nodded at his wife, and they had me surrounded.

I'd be lying if I said I remember everything we talked about. They asked a lot of questions: about my family, Julia, Dr. White, Julia, how tall I was, Julia, colleges, and Julia. I didn't ask my questions, but they managed to answer them. They were Julia's grandparents. They were both retired now that Dr. White had paid off a medical bill they wouldn't talk about. Every sentence they used was followed by three more questions about me.

What they didn't ask? My name.

We were still at the kitchen table when I heard the front door creak open. Julia marched in with two bulky plastic bags dangling from her arms.

"Gramps, the closest thing they had to smoothies was three percent fruit juice."

She froze.

"Julia?" The grandma Malinda lady grabbed the bags and kissed her on the cheek. Julia didn't move. Malinda whispered something that sounded like a rustic engine, and Julia responded with what I can only describe as a cat who had its tail pulled.

"Oh," Malinda gulped. "This isn't…"

Julia grabbed me to a stand. "This is my friend Ben. He's one of the kids in Dad's therapy program."

The man smudged his half-finger on a chocolate chip. Julia's grandparents exchanged a glance before laughing so hard I thought they'd blow the roof off the place. Julia was an ice sculpture.

They invited me over the next day. And every day of Spring Break.

✎✎✎

"Fine young man you've brought up here, Richard," James said.

Julia was my grappling hook to reality. I looked at her and she slapped herself. Why? I'd love credit seventeen years of my upbringing to Dr. White instead of Kyle, my parents, and my tiny person. If only her grandparents hadn't asked me so many questions before they realized I was one of the trouble kids, I could've passed myself off as an orphan.

Malinda was flipping her fingers through old photobooks. She sounded like a horse. "I wish you would've brought a few decent pictures with you. Our house is swimming with them."

"Take the albums with you, then," Dr. White said.

The Whites were weird that way. We had family photos burying every inch of the wall; instead, they kept their few in binding like some priceless family heirloom. This page had a school shot of Julia, sophomore year. The next was a six-year-old Doctor White. There was also a big shot with all the original therapy kids.

"Such an odd place to choose, Richard," she said. "With all of those scandals around here?"

Dr. White tapped the microwave. This was his third attempt to reheat his coffee from this morning. "That's why we stayed here, Mom. You find kids from all different walks of life, from rich neighborhoods to poor ones, and we get to show them what they have in common with each other. You give them all a safe space to find themselves."

With a sigh, Malinda closed the book and pressed the microwave's START button. "I know what you're trying to do, but you should be careful with those kids, Richard. Take it from a woman who has dedicated thirty-five years to the public education system. They're smarter than they let on. Give them some room to grow."

Julia nudged my arm. Again, why? The room wasn't near a boiling point. No one was yelling, no one was swearing. Everyone wore a Mickey Mouse smile. Still, I let her guide me out the door.

"I'm glad Julia is adjusting well here," I heard the grandma say. "We just miss you is all."

✎✎✎

The rest of my week consisted of uneventful trips to Julia's house. I told Julia about my "lack of religion" issues, and she showed me all her big fat religious textbooks. The uncrowned Martin Luther appeared every few pages. He did a lot of this and that, resulting in this and that, and badaboom badabing: Lutheranism. Deadly sins…Catholics…Baptists…

She shoved another book on the desk.

"How come there's four Johns?" I asked.

Our conversation evolved into something like this:

"So, the Bible has books, and each book has chapters, and each chapter has verses. It's like divisions in the government system."

"Oh…"

"You don't know how the government system works either, do you?"

I bit my lip. "No."

I shifted the pages in between my fingers. Why did it all have to be so complicated? Religion should be this: deity, good, bad, heaven, hell. Enough to remember on one hand.

Julia laughed. "Look, maybe you should actually do some personal belief searching. I don't want you to feel forced into anything. Besides, what's the fun if you're just going to agree with everything I say?"

"Sure."

When she giggled again, I had to smile. We walked towards the door. "Look, I'll help you come up with something tomorrow," she said.

I stared at the green door. Julia was right: I wasn't in this for any personal reason. But I was wrong: I wasn't in it to impress the group or get out of a lecture. No, someone else loved that I was "growing up" by therapy standards, and it made me feel good inside. That was the person I set out to impress.