The Fading Read online

  He couldn’t go back to class today. He never wanted to go to school again. He wanted to go home and lock himself in his room. But what would he tell his parents? What if someone in the school was calling them right now? Maybe he would just run away. From school. From home. From everything and everyone. Visions of an adult life filled his head. He would take a cab downtown, to the mall, order a steak with fries for dinner, check into a fancy hotel. He would stay up till ten, go to the arcade for hours, then skip school tomorrow and the next day and …

  Money. If he was going to have to survive on his own, he would need lots of it. Suddenly the myriad ways in which money seemed like the thing that would save him were too vast to count. Where could he find some money right now?

  Actually … close. Closer than he’d ever realized.

  He raised himself up from between the cars and, still feeling a little nauseated, headed back toward the school.

  *

  Mr Hendren’s School Supply & Toy Shoppe wasn’t a real store, only a closet in Mr Hendren’s sixth-grader classroom with a fold-up counter, its door decorated and shelves stocked to look like a store. For sale to all students who came during store hours (10 a.m.–noon, closed for lunch, 1–3 p.m.), with their teachers’ permission in the form of a yellow hall pass, were all kinds of useful things: pencils (both regular and mechanical, with lead refills), erasable pens that most of the other teachers had banned, rulers, notebook paper, Elmer’s glue, twenty-four-count boxes of crayons, and other school supplies ranging from ten cents to a buck fifty. There was even a little toy cash register with working buttons and number signs that popped up inside the glass cover and a spring-loaded drawer.

  Mr Hendren had created the store to teach his students about math, retail inventory, customer service and a few other basic business concepts. As the store thrived and his students began to jockey for the envious role of store sales clerk, Mr Hendren expanded his inventory to include a few simple toys to be given out as rewards for excellent scores on tests, best behaved student of the week, and eventually for general sale to any kid who wanted them, further boosting his profits (all of which were rolled into a kitty for the end of the school year pizza and soda party).

  Noel had been here on various missions to replace a broken pencil or refill his TrapperKeeper, but, strangely, the sight of all the toys did not stir his interest the way they had so many times before, when he couldn’t afford them. He saw now that most were trinkets, the kind of junk you got out of the gumball machines at the grocery store. Plastic finger puppets, cheap yo-yos, miniature NFL football helmets, crappy rings and necklaces for the girls, all stuff Noel had somehow outgrown this year.

  There’s only a few minutes of recess left. Grab the money and go, hurry!

  Only now, staring at the little cash register, did he realize he had nowhere to hide the money. He couldn’t carry it … or could he? The truth was he didn’t know what would happen because he’d never tried taking something with him into one of his spells.

  The closest he’d ever come was two summers ago in his backyard tree house, where he’d hoarded his Hot Wheels and a good length of track. He’d built a ramp down, across the yard, to launch his cars into the sandbox where he had dug a pit and filled it with water for the alligators which would chew the imaginary driver to pieces. He’d been sitting Indian style at the top of the ramp, the purple Corvette with orange flames running up the hood resting on his palm, when he blinked out. The ’Vette was suspended in the tree house’s hot and faintly sour wood summer air. He’d picked up another Hot Wheels, and then another, gliding them, hypnotized by his ability to make the cars fly. By the time he remembered to put one in his pocket and see if it too disappeared, it was too late. The five- or six-minute spell had elapsed.

  Nor had it occurred to Noel that day, at age seven, to ask how the thing that changed him changed his clothes, too. Only a few weeks later, watching Grover on Sesame Street change into Super Grover, with his cape and metal helmet, did he consider the ways in which a costume changed you. Like how the cape and helmet seemed to be all Grover needed to become Super Grover.

  Since then, the closest he’d come to understanding his rare and unpredictable visitor was to think of it as a kind of bubble that concealed everything it contained. The question now was a simple but baffling one: how large was the bubble?

  And as crucial – how much could it hide?

  Large enough to hide a Nerf football? No, that wouldn’t have worked. The Nerf was too big to fit in your pocket. But what about something smaller? Say, for instance, a folded wad of dollar bills and a handful of change? After all, his jeans pockets were hidden inside his jeans, and now his jeans were hidden inside the bubble with him.

  Mr Hendren and his class would be back any minute, as soon as the bell rang. This was his big chance. The lights were off and even if he had been normal, no one would see him do it. The toy cash register had a broken drawer. Noel knew this because he had seen it and because there was a thick rubber band holding it closed now. He unsnapped the band and the spring-loaded drawer banged out at him like a square tongue. Inside the drawer was a cigar box with a smiling woman in a slim blue dress on the lid. Under her was a nice sheaf of paper money. Ones and fives mostly, but at least half an inch of them, plus about thirty quarters and some smaller coins. No time to count it, but it looked like at least thirty bucks, maybe forty. A fortune.

  Noel reached for the drawer as if it were one of the bright red coils on his mom’s electric stove. For a moment he was disoriented by the darkened classroom and the clumsiness that came with not being able to visually orient his hands and arms in relation to physical objects. Then his fingers grazed the bills and his tummy fluttered and his face flushed with hot shame.

  It’s stealing.

  When he’d been hiding in the teachers’ parking lot, the idea of raiding Mr Hendren’s School Supply & Toy Shoppe hadn’t seem like stealing at all. He deserved a way out of this mess and the whole school seemed to be standing against him. But now, on the verge of doing it, he felt like Dean and his parents and Principal Lare-Mo and all of them were watching over his shoulder.

  But. So what if it’s stealing? Wasn’t there something in the Bible about how it was okay to steal bread if you were starving? Didn’t Jesus want you to steal if it meant saving you from dying? Well, I may not be starving after eating those two baked cheese sandwiches, but I need help and there’s no one here who can help me.

  I need help. I need help so bad …

  ‘Somehow I knew you’d find your way in here,’ a scratchy old voice said, managing to come from behind him and from within the closet at the same time. ‘Just like I found my way into you.’

  Noel backed into a box of supplies and cried out as he stumbled to the floor. He whined in fear of the punishment he would now receive and a few hot drops of urine leaked into his underwear. When a minute passed in quiet, Noel got up and took two tentative steps out of the closet, his eyes darting across the rows of empty desks and dusty chalkboards. The darkened classroom was empty.

  ‘You have a problem,’ the scratchy voice continued, from nowhere and everywhere. ‘You can’t use a phone to call a cab, not to mention pay the driver. Whattya think the suckhead’s gonna do when an invisible boy hops in and tells him to beat it to North Boulder Park?’

  Noel’s lips began to tremble. That weird person in the playground might have been Dimples, but this wasn’t Dimples’s voice. He didn’t know who this voice belonged to, even though it did sound a little familiar, kind of like it belonged to a thug on TV. Fresh hot tears burned down both cheeks.

  ‘Aw, now, don’t be a baby,’ the man said, and there was a creak, as if he had just sat down on one of the desks. Noel looked to Mr Hendren’s chair and he was pretty sure it was leaning back now in a way it hadn’t been before. Also, the air around the chair was darker, as if a special shadow was hanging all over it. ‘We can find a way out of this, Noelski. You did the right thing getting away when yous did. They
wouldn’t understand your powers. Know why? Because they ain’t special like you. They ain’t got no powers and they’re frickin’ dumb as stumps, ’cause they can’t do the things you and I can do or see the things you and I see. Ya see?’

  Noel was a long way from being able to respond, but his tears stopped when the speaker said the word ‘powers’. Noel had never thought of it that way, like something a superhero owned, and it sounded a lot better than a bubble or a freak condition.

  The shadows were fuller now, with the suggestion of big belly, thick chest. Above the wide shoulders, the outline of a smaller head sitting next to, or part of, a larger head made Noel think of Mr Potato Head and maybe his little brother.

  His visitor sighed. ‘You don’t remember me, do you, kid?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. You were just knee-high to a god-damned grasshopper when you walked out in that road.’ A pair of dark but still blurry shoes propped on Mr Hendren’s desk. Behind them, pants, and now a white t-shirt with dark blotches of something on it. ‘Ah, hell, it wasn’t your fault, I guess. Wasn’t even Ronald Lee’s fault, I see that now. If I was to blame anyone, it should be that fucking willow tree. If that hadn’t a-stopped me, I mighta plowed into that fucking house and eaten the sofa … well, your mom remembers me, I’ll bet. Pretty little gal, she was. But she can’t help you anymore than she helped me, kiddo. That’s the sad fuckin’ truth.’

  ‘I love my parents,’ Noel said, defensive but scared. He didn’t understand who this man was or what he wanted.

  ‘I know you do, Noel. Your parents are good yolks. But they ain’t here now, so it’s all up to you today, isn’t that about the tits?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘But you’re not alone in this. No, sir, my friend. Because Anthony Sobretti, the Italian Torpedo from Toledo, is here and he understands everything.’

  Noel wiped his nose and stepped out of the closet. A smear of small white teeth smiled at him from the shadow at the desk. ‘You do?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Mr Sobretti continued, the smaller, darker potato on his shoulder wobbling a bit. ‘Been in a few jams myself, just like this one you find yourself in today. Now, are we in agreement that you need to get out of here before the clock strikes twelve fifty-five and all the boys and girls come back inside?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And we understand now that a taxi cab, while a nice idea for someone in a pinch, isn’t going to do jack-squat for you?’

  ‘I know. It was a stupid idea.’

  ‘Not at all. In fact, you got it half right! The taxi is a no-go, but the money. The money, Noel. That was brilliant. Long green is my specialty, see? Money won’t fix everything, at least not today, but you would be surprised at the things money can buy once you’re all grown up out there in the world. Money is always nice. So, grab what you can and let’s hit the fuckin’ bricks.’

  Noel turned back for the money but, as before, his hand stopped a few inches above the bills and he felt a quiver of sickness inside.

  ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you want it?’

  ‘But if I can’t take a taxi … or check into a hotel or go to the arcade, what do I need it for? Why do I have to take it?’

  Mr Sobretti chuckled. ‘My friend, you don’t have to take a friggin’ thing. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, capiche?’

  Relieved, he began to shuffle away from the closet.

  ‘Hold your horses, shortstack.’ Mr Sobretti leaned forward in the chair. ‘I am afraid you’re looking at this situation the wrong way.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, just because you can’t do anything with the money now, while you are hidden away from the rest of the world in your special bubble – excuse me, inside your special powers – that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to use it later, does it?’

  Noel blinked a few times.

  ‘Think of it this way,’ Mr Sobretti said, and shot out from his chair until he was standing at the edge of the desk just a few feet away. It wasn’t a Mr Potato Head. It was part of his broken head and it made Noel look down in shame and revulsion. ‘The things you are able to do with your powers can make your life so much the better when you don’t have your powers. Today’s money, which is really just some extra change from the bottom of a few purses, doled out by impatient mothers for children who chew too many pencils, could be tomorrow’s new Nerf football. After all, they—’ and here Mr Sobretti jerked his thumb toward the windows, beyond which was the playground, ‘—took your football away and your mother might be, excuse me, A BIT FUCKIN’ PEEVED IF YOU DON’T REPLACE IT! Now, am I right or am I white?’

  She stole it in the first place, Noel thought but did not say. From my dad’s store.

  ‘But who needs a Nerf football? What if some day, some day in the very near future, you need a new bike? What if you want a new pair of hi-tops, like Dean Boettcher has? Wouldn’t it be nice to go to the movies anytime you wanted? And candy bars and sodas from the 7-Eleven on the way home from school? What if when you grow up you turn out to be an ugly old greaseball like Poppa S and the girls, they don’t like you so much, see, and maybe you wanna go out and get yourself a real nice hoor? No? Okay, look. It doesn’t matter what you decide to do with the coin. My point is that winter is coming and you are still a young squirrel. If you don’t start saving some acorns for when the weather turns nasty – and it is going to turn nasty, I assure you, Noel, because our secret can’t and won’t stay a secret forever – you might find yourself shut out in the cold. Alone. Starving down to your ribs and veins. With no mom and no dad and no friends to help you. When that happens, you will look back on today, on this moment, and you will be very sorry you didn’t prepare yourself.’

  Noel was too frightened by this vision of the future to speak. He wanted to say no, no, please, it won’t be like that. He wanted to make Mr Sobretti tell him things would get better, not worse. He opened his mouth as two pools of tears filled his eyes –and the lunch bell went bbbbbrrrrraaaannnnnggggg! shattering the quiet of Mr Hendren’s classroom.

  Mr Sobretti stared at Noel and Noel stared at the old man’s separated head shapes. No words were spoken but it felt like Mr Sobretti was shouting at him. And then he did shout, but it was only one word, spoken under the bell’s quieting echo.

  ‘HURRY!’

  Noel turned and raked the cigar box clean.

  ‘Noel? Noel. Wake up, pumpkin.’

  His body was stiff, his stomach hollow. His mom was patting his leg. He sat up on his elbows, confused. Full dark outside his bedroom window. He barely remembered coming home. Crawling into bed to hide. Missing dinner, his dad at work, his mom somewhere else, the house silent until he had fallen asleep as the sun set. He couldn’t remember leaving the bubble, but he saw by the look in her eyes – that she could see him at all – he was normal again. It must have lasted six hours or more …

  She looked stunned by something. Her eyes were unfocused and she smelled like apple cider, her clothes like smoke. She must have gotten a call from the school.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetie. Don’t ever apologize for things like today. It’s not your fault. Don’t you know that by now?’

  When he didn’t answer, she looked to his window, as if she were trying to see something hidden there.

  ‘Do you think your momma’s crazy?’ she said, not meeting his eyes.

  ‘No. Course not.’

  ‘Can I tell you a secret, Noeller Coaster?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Your daddy thinks I am. Maybe not all the way, but enough.’

  ‘Why?’

  Her eyes focused. She was seeing all the way into him. He was sure she knew all about the money he’d stolen and he was almost relieved. Her voice was careful and hushed with frightened wonder.

  ‘Where do you go? Hm, my boy? Where do you go? What do you do?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ he said, emb
arrassed and afraid.

  ‘Yeeeessss. Always going away. Where no one can find you.’

  ‘I’m here.’ Noel swallowed, closing his eyes. ‘You just can’t see me when it happens. No one can.’

  ‘I know. Oh, how I know.’ She sighed. ‘Is it scary for you? That’s been my worry. Ever since you were a baby. I get so scared for you, Noel, you can’t imagine.’

  ‘No. It’s okay, Mom. I promise.’ A tear rolled down his face and fell in silence to his blanket.

  She reached out and touched his cheek, rubbing below his eye with her cold thumb. ‘You’re a miracle. A beautiful miracle boy. Don’t you ever forget that.’

  Noel swallowed and nodded.

  She closed her eyes and patted her chest. ‘I can’t help you, can I? There’s nothing I can do about it. I know that now. So many nights I tried to think of a way to stop … not like there’s someone to call … they would ruin us.’ But she couldn’t finish, only shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, baby. I wish I could take it away. I wish I could go back …’ She covered her mouth, unable to speak.

  ‘What should I do, Mom?’ He sat up, scooting toward her. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘Don’t let them catch you!’ she whispered, clutching him fiercely. ‘Never give in and let them win. When you find yourself alone, in trouble, you do whatever it takes to protect yourself. You fight. There are no rules in that time. You are the only thing that matters. Whatever happens, whatever you have to do, I will never blame you or be mad at you. I will always be your mommy, no matter what. Understand?’

  He nodded, fascinated. All this time he assumed she didn’t know.

  ‘And don’t tell anybody, Noel. Nobody can know, not ever. It will be our secret, no one else’s. You can’t trust anybody with it. Police. Teachers. Not girls when you are older. Not even your best friend. There’s monsters out there.’ She placed her hand over her chest. ‘And in here too.’