Chapter 22

Tuesday, 14 December 1973--I woke up on my own about twenty minutes before Mom normally called us, as I had been tending to do ever since I started sleeping well at night. My muscles were stiffer than when I had gone to bed, but I at least didn't have the feeling of impending death that I'd had the morning before.

Once I climbed out of bed, I saw that I had been sleeping on my amulet. I took it with me and grabbed some clothes as I eased my way into the big bathroom. I let a hot shower work out some of my soreness and massaged myself a bit as I washed. I didn't yet have a way to hang the amulet around my neck, so I put it in a pocket of my trousers. By the time I was out of the bathroom, Mom had awakened the rest of the clan.

"Are you feeling any better this morning?" Mom asked.

"A little. Stiffer than I was last night, though. I'm going downstairs for a while to see if I can work out some of it." Once there, I cleaned up my mess from the night before, practiced guitar picking for about ten minutes, and did some gentle stretching.

Over breakfast, Mom said that trying to bicycle to school would be a bad idea, and I didn't argue. After I finished eating, I called Sean to tell him that we'd pick him up in the van.

We arrived at the grade-six door before Kirsten. Carol hawked and spat when he saw me, but it wasn't in my direction, so I ignored him. I had just finished telling Sean why I was moving so stiffly when Kirsten slipped around me and gave me a hug. I returned it and added a brief kiss. "I have great news!" she said with a huge smile.

"Tell me."

"Dad has given in. I can start seeing you again outside of school."

"That's wonderful!" And it was worth another hug and kiss.

"Get a room," Carol yelled.

Kirsten looked at him and said, "Shut up, asshole."

Carol seemed taken aback, and wonder of wonders, he shut up.

Kirsten snuggled back in beside me and said, "Dad wants Mom to talk to you first, though, so can you come over for lunch tomorrow?"

"I don't see why not. I'll double check with my mom."

"Great. I'm so glad things are starting to work right again."

"Yeah, it was like being punished for something we didn't do."

"Exactly. It took a while, but Mom and I finally made him see our point."

As I predicted, thought Ursus.

Indeed, O wise one.

"I'm really glad he did." That earned me another smile. "Do you think we could play together sometime soon?"

"Hmmmm, what kind of play?"

"Something that involves big instruments."

"Well!"

"You know: organs--and mouth organs--and guitars, drums, and the like."

"I see that someone is starting to lob my BS back at me. I think I like it. And, yes, I'd love to play with you sometime soon."

"Hmmmm, what kind of play."

She slapped my shoulder.

"Danny, Mike, Terry, Mary, and I have managed to work a song into good enough shape that everyone says it sounds pretty good, and we've started practicing another."

"Mary, too?"

"Yeah, she's been playing some chords on that old chord organ in our basement. She's been trying to teach herself."

"That's great. I hope she can get piano lessons like she wants."

"I hope so, too. I don't think Mom or Dad ever thought music was that important, but they seem impressed with what I've been able to accomplish."

"They should be."

"I just hope my example makes it easier for Mary to get her way."

"Uh-huh, she's a nice person and deserves nice things to happen to her."

We chatted with Pam and Sean until Miss Gorse let us in. As we were hanging up our coats, Kirsten asked, "Why are you moving so stiffly?"

"I badly overdid the snow shoveling."

"Oh, poor baby." She kissed my cheek.

When we went into class, Mr. Dean said, "You appear to be in pain, Mr. Powyr."

"Snow shoveling--lots and lots of snow shoveling."

"Did you go door-to-door clearing drives?"

"Yep, my friends and I cleared several too many."

"I used to shovel drives when I was a kid, and I managed to overdo it a time or two myself. DOMS can be brutal."

"What's DOMS?"

"Delayed onset muscle soreness."

"That's a good name for it." I dug out my term paper and handed it to him at his desk.

"First one in. I'm impressed."

"It weighed heavily on my spirit, and I just wanted to get it done."

"Heavily on your spirit, I see."

I sat back down. About then, Debbie Taylor came in and carefully extracted her own term paper. It was in a fancy plastic folder. When she gave it to Mr. Dean, he said, "Second one in. Thank you. I like to spread out the grading of these things if I can."

"Who was first?"

"Arthur."

She looked at me. "Hmph!" She made the noise in such an exaggerated way that it was clear she intended it to be humorous. She then almost marched back to her desk, extracted a book report from a folder, and posted it on the wall. "I'm catching up to you Art." She now had four.

"I was too busy to read very much this weekend."

"Did you do anything good?"

"Removed snow, watched siblings, and practiced guitar."

"You play the guitar? I didn't know that."

"I just started."

"I've been playing the piano for a few years."

"So have I," said Kirsten.

"Me, too," said Lisa Springer, Debbie's best friend and another of the excellent students who had chosen Mr. Dean's class. She had been tied for second place with Kirsten in the first marking period's book-report contest.

Mr. Dean, sitting just a few feet away, had heard all of this. "We should have a room talent show."

"That would be fun!" said Debbie.

"It would!" said Kirsten. Several other girls voiced their approval of the idea. I didn't notice that the boys said anything.

It would suck rocks, I thought. The Arthur part of my brain found the idea horrifying.

It would allow you to show that you are more than a dangerous nerd, thought Ursus.

I remember back in second grade, thought Arthur, there was a mandatory in-class talent show. I didn't have any talent, so I played a pencil. It was humiliating. With Arthur's internal dialog came the memories, flooding all three of us who shared the brain.