I spent yesterday evening social distancing and drinking wine with a friend I've had since the early '80s. We reminisced about some of the places we've visited together and adventures we've shared. When I came back to my apartment I began to remember other friends from the past.
I remembered Arthur Gold's song from the '70s that later became the theme song for "Golden Girls," and even listened to its rollicking rhythms on You Tube. Remember this? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=voNEgCKzves
Then I recalled a story, "Fevers," I wrote about a decade ago for a book about unsent letters...and how it involved a boy from junior high. Though I usually write nonfiction, this one really is creative nonfiction, since I've fictionalized the name of the friend...but not the incident. I called this story "Fevers." I don't think it ever was published...and I'd forgotten about it until now.
Dear Stephen:
I
wonder if you even remember me, let alone the time we both got into a lot of
trouble because of something you did when we were in the seventh grade. Even
though it was decades ago, I still remember all the details of that day, and
want to thank you for those memories.
We
were going to have a test, and I woke up early and pressed a palm to my forehead,
wondering if I could convince my mother that I should skip school. I wanted to
stay home and sip chicken soup and listen with her to her daytime soaps. That sounded
like a lot more fun than taking Miss Warren’s geography quiz.
Does
this ring a bell with you now? Do you recall how we’d been studying bodies of
water? I’d told you that I was all right so long as we stayed on land. I knew that
Montpelier, Vermont,
was the nation’s smallest capital, and Pierre,
South Dakota, was the second, and
that the two cities names didn’t rhyme, even though they looked like they
should.
We
both knew all the countries and their capitals in South and Central America,
and most of those of Africa, so long as they
stayed put and didn’t change their names. But there was something about the
world’s bodies of water that stymied us both.
We
remember how we’d rattle off the names of the oceans and point to them on the
classroom globe. But The North Atlantic Drift, the Antarctic Circumpolar
Current, the Indian Ocean Gyre…I’d told you
that these seemed more like chants to me. You laughed and said you thought that
they didn’t even stay in one place. We agreed that the words had a nice poetic
rhythm, but since we couldn’t find them on the map we joked that we weren’t even
sure they really existed.
When
Miss Warren claimed we all had to become sea savvy to pass seventh grade geography,
I whispered to you that I could hardly wait until we moved on to history. You’d
nodded and grinned. Is it coming back to you,yet?
I’d told you that I didn’t understand sea
fever. I never longed to go down to the sea because I found it all confusing.
We
studied together after school, but it didn’t seem to help. What was the difference
between the Gulf Stream and the Gulf of Mexico?
I told you that so far as I could tell, one flowed out of the other, but which
was which baffled me. And why they were both in the Atlantic
Ocean simply didn’t make sense. When my family visited the Baja California coast of Mexico we camped at the Pacific. When
I squinted out across the waves, I’d pretend to try to spy the coast of China, not Spain!
I
still remember, Stephen, how my mother came into the bedroom and peered down my
throat the morning of that quiz. Even as I write the word “peer” I smile, recalling
how funny we thought it was that South Dakota capital was pronounced “peer,” not
like that Pierre who got eaten by a lion in that Maurice Sendak book. It was
our little joke.
Miss Warren had reassured the class that Pierre was just one
syllable as we exchanged puzzled glances. Not a one of us really believed that,
but she seemed so sincere that we nodded solemnly and repeated it after her.
Peer, South Dakota.
“It’s not pee-air,” you had whispered, and we both giggled.
That
morning y mom claimed I just had hay fever, and pulled some clothes out of my
closet and told me to get dressed. She blamed my sniffles and sneezes on spring
pollen. So I went to school.
Right
before class you and I met in the hallway and talked about the previous night’s
game. We both had Dodger fever and agreed how this might finally be the year we
won the pennant.
Then
we sat down at our desks, and you winked at me when Miss Warren told us there
would be ten questions on the quiz. She said she’d read the clues one at a
time, and give us a minute or two to write our answers. She warned us to
remember to keep our answers covered and added that though this was the honor
system, she wanted to help us all stay honorable.
At
first I thought I would be doing all right, scribbling my answers quickly.
Polar ice caps, English Channel, Angel
Falls, Lake
Superior. Finally, there was just one more clue.
I
decided it had to be one of those gulfs…but couldn’t remember which one, the
Gulf Stream or the Gulf of Mexico. I finally
wrote down the latter. Then I looked up. You were staring at my paper. I was certain
you had copied my answer before I could slap my hand over it. And my answer
might be wrong.
We
started our reading assignment while Miss Warren corrected the tests. I began
to forget about you as I lost myself in the fascinating new chapter about atolls
and archipelagoes. They might be in water, but they didn’t move around.
Then
Miss Warren called out our names and told us to come out to the hallway with
her. She asked us which of us copied the other, and said we were the only two
in the room who wrote Gulf of Mexico when it should have been Gulf
Stream. She said she didn’t think it was a coincidence that we sat
next to one another.
We
were dead in the water. I began to consider the possibilities. If I told the
truth, that I saw you copying me, our budding friendship would be at an end. And
you were the only boy in seventh grade who shared my loyalty to the Dodgers,
the only boy I could talk to without stuttering and stammering. Plus you had
such a cute smile.
If
I lied, and said I had copied you, I’d get an unsatisfactory in conduct and my
parents would ground me forever. I made a silent vow that if you told the truth
I would name my firstborn child after you. Or if the baby were a girl I’d call
it Stephanie.
Just
as I started to open my mouth, you jumped in and confessed that you’d copied
me. Miss Warren acted really mad that I hadn’t covered my answers and gave us
both a stern reminder about how she did not tolerate cheating. You promised
never to copy my work or anybody else’s again. I forgave you on the spot for
getting us both into trouble.
We
both passed geography in the spring of l949. And that fall the Dodgers won the
pennant. I want you to know that I’m a woman of my word, and about a decade
later I named my firstborn Stephen.
A
few years ago I went to our high school’s 50th reunion. You weren’t
there, but your ex-wife was. I wanted to ask about you and how your life turned
out, but I could tell she wasn’t pleased to hear me mention your name.
I
still like the sound of your name, though, and think of you more than you’d
guess. After all, I named my son after you. Just thought you’d like to know. It
was my way of thanking you for telling the truth rather than letting me stay in
trouble. And thanking you for being a friend to a shy little girl.
Did
you ever suspect back then that I had a crush on you? Or did you think it
really was all about the Dodgers? Love always, Terri
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=voNEgCKzves
What a lovely story!
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