فصل چهل و یکم

Chapter 41

“Let’s go, Bradley!” his mother said on Saturday morning as she entered his room. “We’re off to a real barber shop!” She said it as if a barber shop was the most wonderful place in the world.

In the past, she had always cut Bradley’s hair herself. But this time he had asked to go to a “real” barber shop. That was earlier in the week, when they were out buying the birthday present for Colleen. “You make my head look like a chili bowl,” he had complained.

Now he sadly looked up at his mother and said, “I don’t want to get my hair cut.” “You want to look nice for Colleen’s birthday party tomorrow, don’t you?” she asked. “You don’t want to go looking like a punk rocker!” “I’m not going to her birthday party!” he snapped. “I hate her!” Bradley’s mother left him alone.

He heard Carla’s voice in his mind. Saturday, I’m going to need someone to help me move all my things out of the office. I would appreciate it very much if you would come and help me.

The knot in his stomach tightened.

“No. I hate you!” he said out loud.

His father knocked, then came into his room. “Bradley, I think we need to talk,” he said, “man to man.” Bradley stood up.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?” asked his father. “Maybe I can help.” Bradley didn’t want any help.

“I was very sorry to hear that your counselor had been transferred to another school,” said his father. “I know how much you liked her. At first I didn’t like the idea of you seeing a counselor, but—” “I have to get my hair cut,” said Bradley. “Mom said so.” He walked out of his room, leaving his father behind him.

His mother drove him to the barber shop.

Carla’s voice spoke in his mind. We could have lunch together. We can go to a restaurant.

The knot pulled tighter.

Just the two of us.

And tighter.

It will be lots of fun, Carla said. And it would be a great help to me.

And tighter.

Maybe I’ll see you on Saturday, said Carla. I would like that very much.

And tighter.

You’re not Cinderella, and I’m not Prince Charming.

And tighter.

I like you, Bradley. I can like you, can’t I? You don’t have to like me.

The knot pulled so tight, it broke. “Stop the car!” he shouted. “I have to go back!” The car swerved. “Don’t ever do that again!” exclaimed his mother. “We could have had an accident.” “I don’t believe in accidents.”

“I’m getting sick and tired of your nonsense, Bradley. What is your problem?” “I can’t get my hair cut now. I have to go to school.” “On Saturday?”

“I’m supposed to see my counselor. She is waiting to see me. Call the school if you don’t believe me.” The car stopped in the parking lot in front of the barber shop. “We’re here!” his mother said sternly. “You’re getting your hair cut, now.” He stepped out of the car and reluctantly followed his mother into the barber shop.

It smelled oily, like hair and hair oil and stale bubble gum all mixed together. All around him, mirrors reflected mirrors. The place was ugly and the mirrors reflected the ugliness, multiplying it a hundred times back and forth. They seemed to reflect the awful smell too.

He couldn’t believe he had asked his mother to take him to such a place. It was like some kind of horrible dungeon where kids went to be tortured. But worst of all, he had to wait his turn to be tortured. All the barber chairs were occupied.

He sat on a torn red couch.

“Do you want to read a comic book?” asked his mother.

“No thank you,” he answered quietly.

Finally, it was his turn. He climbed into a slippery, oily, vinyl barber chair. The barber tied a shiny apron tightly around his neck, nearly choking him to death.

The barber began by combing his hair. Bradley wondered why he had to comb it if he was going to cut it anyway.

At last, the barber picked up the scissors and began to cut. But he never cut off a big piece of hair all at once. Instead he kept snipping little bits of hair off of the same piece of hair, over and over again. The whole time, Bradley had to stare at himself through the filmy mirror. He gritted his teeth and waited for it to be over.

The barber put down the scissors, but then he picked up the comb and started combing again.

I knew he shouldn’t have combed it before, Bradley thought. Now he just has to do it again.

The barber sprayed some kind of smelly junk on Bradley’s head, combed his hair one last time, then unhooked the apron around Bradley’s neck.

Bradley quickly hopped off the chair before the barber could change his mind.

But the barber wasn’t through. He made Bradley stand still while he ran a small vacuum cleaner across his neck. When he finished, he offered Bradley a piece of bubble gum.

“I hate gum,” said Bradley. He never used to hate gum. But after smelling it in the barber shop, he never wanted another piece again.

“You’ll be the most handsome boy at Colleen’s party,” his mother said as they walked outside.

“Can you drive me to school, please?” he asked.

She nodded.

Ten minutes later he jumped out of the car, ran up the steps in front of the school, and pulled on the double glass doors. They were locked. He pressed his face against the glass and looked inside. Mrs. Kemp, the janitor, was waxing the floors. He pounded on the door until she looked up.

Mrs. Kemp scowled at him as she opened the door. “What do you want, Chalkers?” “I have to see Car—Miss Davis,” he said.

“Miss Davis is gone.”

He ducked under her arm which held open the door, and ran into the building.

“Chalkers!” she shouted after him. “I’ll call the police!” He opened the door to Carla’s office and stepped inside. Except for the round table and chairs, the room was empty. But in his mind he heard Carla say, Hello, Bradley. It’s a pleasure to see you today. I appreciate your coming to see me.

Tears rolled down his face.

He noticed a large manila envelope lying on the table. He picked it up.

BRADLEY CHALKERS was written across it in big letters. Under that, in smaller letters, was the following: Mrs. Ebbel’s class Room 12 Good friend, Honest, Thoughtful, Caring, Polite, Whom I will never forget, And who I hope Will someday Forgive me Last seat, last row “There you are!” said Mrs. Kemp as she came in after him. “If you don’t get out of here right now, I’m going to call the police.” “Look!” he exclaimed, holding up the envelope. “She left this for me. See! We were friends. Carla and me. We were best friends.” “You have ten seconds to leave this building,” said Mrs. Kemp. “One … two …” He took the envelope and left.

He opened it on the playground, next to the monkey bars. Inside was the book My Parents Didn’t Steal an Elephant, by Uriah C. Lasso, and a letter.

Dear Bradley,

This book was a present from me to you. It was a gift from the heart, and that kind of gift, for better or worse, can never be returned.

I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to. If it makes you feel any better, you hurt me, too, when you didn’t come see me Friday or Saturday. I kept hoping I’d see your happy face walk through the door.

I hope you didn’t mind that I gave your book report to Mrs. Ebbel. It was just too good to throw away. You can do such wonderful work. Now, if only you can learn how not to rip it up.

I hope you went to Colleen’s birthday party. If you did, I’m sure you enjoyed it. If you didn’t go, that’s all right too. There will be lots of other parties. You’re a very likable person. You’ll always be very special to me.

It was always a pleasure to see you. I appreciated your coming to see me. Thank you for sharing so much with me.

I love you,

Carla

Bradley’s father was leaning on his cane, on the front stoop, when Bradley came walking home. “I want to talk to you, Bradley,” he said sternly.

Bradley ran to him and hugged him, nearly knocking him over.