Jeremy Stone (2 page)

The New Kid

That's me.

Like I said,

I'm fairly new at this school

and don't say much

'cause

it's easier to hide that way.

I guess word finally got out

on where I came from, who my parents were

so they started calling me

the Indian

since I am the only one in school

although some call me

the hermit. And there are other names.

Cruel names.

Here's what the Indian does at school:

he keeps to himself,

he doesn't give eye contact,

he drops his books a lot, and

he's afraid to look at girls.

They say maybe he's on drugs

this Indian Jeremy Hermit Stone.

He's somewhere, man,

but he's not here.

The teachers say:

at least he's polite,

he's not much trouble,

he always sits in the same seat,

he's shy,

he's doesn't talk or text on a cell phone,

and he looks awfully sad.

One of them, Mr. Godwin, asks

Jeremy, are you there?

I say

No,

not really.

Hope

I'm hoping,

(yeah, I do that sometimes)

I hope

that some not so distant day

I will feel like a normal

person.

Don't know when

or how.

But someday.

I

was

at

the water fountain the other day

and pretended I

was in the forest

drinking clear water

from

a

mountain

stream.

When I looked up there was

a girl

looking right at me.

I said, I'm sorry,

'cause I thought I was in her way

and maybe she was

thirsty.

Then I stood back

but kept my thumb

on the button.

I offered her

the stream

and the forest

and the mountain too.

Walking

I think the girl smiled.

Maybe she did,

or maybe I imagined it.

And then I got scared

and had to walk

away.

Walking was more my thing:

walking away from,

walking into,

walking out of.

I could walk until there was no more of me left.

Into the woods, along the creek bed.

I was never alone.

There was almost always my companion.

My grandfather.

Old Man would be there

even though he's been dead and gone for a long while,

this very important someone from the past.

He didn't actually speak but there was this:

sometimes I could hear his thoughts in my head.

He'd tell me, This is what you do

if you want to survive

in this ole world.

Don't say too much.

Don't feel too much.

Don't reveal who you are.

Don't stay in one place too long.

The trees are there for you if you need them

and the birds.

Always trust the sky.

The wind will tell you what you need to know.

And the stars.

But don't stare at the sun.

Or you'll go blind.

Sitting Still Through Math Class is Hard

It was math and all about numbers

but it didn't seem to add up to anything.

Zero + zero x zero = zero.

The teacher, Mr. Diamond,

knew I was a long-lost stone and didn't usually call on me.

If he asked me, though,

if he asked me for an answer to anything,

I would have just said eleven.

That's what the Old Man had told me to say

if someone asked me a question I couldn't answer.

He never explained why, though.

Some of the other kids

stared at me

and I tried not to notice.

I tried very hard

not to notice

but when Diamond started talking to the equation on the blackboard

somebody flicked a paper clip at me.

Hit me on the cheek.

Fuck.

I looked over at him. The creep.

Shithead. Scumbag. No, I didn't say it out loud.

Held it inside, instead.

His buddy was laughing

but his laughing sounded more like hiccups.

I studied Diamond's back. He was now acting like he

was making out with those symbols and numbers on the board.

Adults. Go figure.

I wanted to run but told my legs

to stay put.

Told my ass

to stay seated.

Told my brain

to think about the trees—

white pines in the wind.

And then Old Man said

Just think about eleven.

If it gets real bad

say eleven eleven inside your skull.

If it gets real, real bad

I told myself

I'll make myself invisible.

Somewhere in the Back of the Class

Way in the back, she must have been sitting—

the girl.

I couldn't just turn around.

Trees can't do that.

But someone tapped me on the shoulder,

handed me a note.

Little folded up piece of lined paper

that made no sense at first. On top it said this:

Loser

On the back it said:
Welcome to Hell.

But when I opened it,

Someone with beautiful handwriting had written:

Don't let the bastards get to you.

And then a name:

Caitlan.

The girl had passed the note to me.

The other messages were just a couple of my

warm and fuzzy classmates

Adding their regards.

The bastards didn't matter, though.

I finally turned and ignored the sea of ugly faces

and tuned in to her smile.

Would have just kept locked onto that smile too

but Old Man was reminding me

if I kept staring at the sun

well, you know.

When My Father Talked

When my father used to talk to just me and no one else

he sometimes talked about

the black dog

but the dog didn't have a name not a dog name

anyway.

My mom had to later explain to me

that the black dog

was depression

and it would bite my father hard and deep

and not let go.

So I knew all about the black dog when it came up snarling at me

three years ago.

There I was

a thirteen-year-old boy just off the reserve

with his own ugly pet dog.

He didn't bite

at first.

He was skinny and afraid

and needed to be taken care of

but he was the same kind of dog

that my father knew all too well.

And when he turned on me

there was nothing I could do.

At first I felt the pain, the teeth,

saw the meanness in his eyes.

At first I thought,

not his fault maybe,

probably couldn't help it but he hung on

and after a while it stopped hurting.

I think the teeth

injected something into my blood

that made my mind go numb.

And I began to like the feeling—

like being dead

but still breathing.

The Girl

What about the girl?

When class was over, she had moved quickly

down

the

aisle

like

the

wind

right

past

me

and

she

was

gone.

Everyone left quickly like there was a fire or something

and I was left there with the teacher.

Mr. Diamond didn't know what to say to me.

Maybe he'd never

spoken to a kid like me before,

someone off the reserve.

What was your name?

Jeremy Stone, I said.

That was my name

and still is.

He smiled, I think.

Hard to tell with white people

sometimes whether they are

smiling

or laughing at you or just awkward and pale like that

but I don't think he was unkind,

just awkward and pale

and good with numbers

but not words

or people.

Getting Lost in the Halls

That's never much fun

for someone like me.

And I didn't ask anyone

where the gym was

so I showed up late

after Old Man finally said to me

just follow the smell of stinky socks.

And he was right as usual.

I was new of course and everyone else

knew what was going on.

Pretty weird, really.

Wrestling.

By the rules

but wrestling. Just like when I was little and

my cousins and me

wrestled in the living room

until someone got hurt.

It usually wasn't me. Don't know why.

But now we were paired off

and I ended up with the Paper Clip Creep.

Someone said to him

Thomas,

looks like

you get to wrestle

Geronimo.

Geronimo was me. (I guess now I had a new name.)

Thomas Heaney was him.

I didn't understand the rules

but no one was explaining.

So he quickly slammed me on the mat

and that took me back

to the living room.

Only now I was bigger

and Old Man was yelling to me: Get up, Jeremy Stone

and fight like a warrior.

I had forgotten all about

the warrior.

Use your enemy's strength,

against him, said the familiar voice of

Old Man.

I twisted out from under

Paper Clip's armpits

like a snake

and stepped back,

waited for him

to lunge

and miss. Then I threw myself on him

and knelt on his back

like I was praying.

The gym teacher blew a whistle

and yelled at me to get up.

I got up

and Thomas

glared.

I said I'm sorry, Paper Clip

but didn't mean it.

Now the others were laughing at him, not me.

But just then someone farted loudly

and that was the

end

of that.