Walking the Plank

Matt was wearing his favorite snapback, the logoless one he had found in his stocking almost three seasons ago. (His other presents from under the tree were either edible, playthings, or hand-me downs. And what was new was Christmas-sweater ugly.)

The other boys echoed the command to Tom from across the two boughs with their hoots and hollers, but Tom wouldn’t move. He was discouraged by the tauntingly cold breeze, which had grown stronger with every branch they’d climbed—and at almost twenty-five feet, it tousled Tom’s unkempt hair into his eyes.

“I told you guys. I don’t think I can do it,” he called back. “Not today. Not ever.”

He turned his back to them, still hugging the trunk. “I’m sorry.” He then proceeded to carefully descend the first live oak, losing his footing several times, which forced him to momentarily freeze in place until his anxiety abated, extending his trip down the vertical path. Disappointment lingered on each familiar point of support that his hands and the soles of his shoes touched, so that when he finally reached the ground, his supply of chagrin was fully depleted. Furthermore, the comforting thought that he had one last chance tomorrow engrossed his mind.

The four boys in the adjacent tree watched from above as Tom picked up his jacket, gave them a weak wave, and headed home.

#

“That’ll be five bucks. Pay up.”

Matt turned to Ryan, who had her right hand outstretched, palm opened, while her left gripped the ridges of a reliable bark on the trunk. She was wearing her usual outfit: a Dodgers jersey, rolled up jeans, and her only pair of black faux-suede boots. (The kind with zippers on the outer sides.) She could have had long silky hair, but no one knew—not even her own parents—mostly because she always had a beanie on. Sometimes the other boys thought they saw a lump towards the back of her head that could either be her bunned-up hair or just the natural shape of the fabric. None of them ever dared to squeeze it to check.

The twins followed her lead, with their arms outstretched on either side of her. They didn’t have usual outfits, but they were unknowingly flaunting their usual style. They were old enough to dress themselves, but they still had their mother lay out their outfits for them every morning—even on weekends. It wasn’t that they didn’t have any interest in their appearance, or that their mother enjoyed doing so; it was done out of habit from both sides. They had witnessed their mother laying out clothes for their father ever since they could remember, and their mother didn’t mind doing the same for her children. (She would have actually insisted on doing so if she had a daughter.) She would make it easier on herself by buying the same clothes for them, but in different colors. In a way, she hoped that Derek and Evan would one day become aware of their childishly embarrassing, matching appearance and take matters into their own hands. Their twininess was highlighted even further by their identical bowl cuts. “One day,” she’d say to herself, while rummaging through her husband’s and boys’ closets.

Matt chose not to oblige. He didn’t have fifteen bucks on him anyways. He pocketed his cap, letting his conditioned hair shine in the evening sun.

“Double or nothing?” He pleaded with Puss-in-Boots eyes, or just eye, since an eyepatch covered his right eye socket. And without waiting for confirmation, he sprinted across the main branch and leapt back over the gap to the neighboring tree for what could have been the thousandth time that summer break. His lithe body twirled and fluttered for a moment in the air. “First one to the ground wins!” he said as he landed. And before Ryan or the twins could react, Matt was already tracking Tom’s downward path, but with deft movements.

It was a close race, with Matt (thanks to his head start and four-foot flip at the end) touching the ground only seconds before Ryan. (At their age it was typical for girls to be significantly taller, and by definition, better climbers than boys, at least for as long as Mother Nature permitted. But unlike Tom and the twins, Matt matched Ryan’s height.) And although they didn’t initially agree to Matt’s terms, Ryan and the twins honored the bet.

#

As it usually was the case, Tom was too embarrassed to meet his friends the following morning, though he knew he’d have to see them on Monday when the new school year starts. But as it usually was the case, his friends came to him. He’d always try to avoid them and tell them that he wanted to spend some time alone after every failed attempt, but they were too good of friends to respect his wishes. Tom may not have known it at the time, but he craved the attention—like a common jumper in midday. And he further hid (or divulged) this fact by having his high school sister answer the door in his stead. Evelyn was the police line that his friends had to get through to shout and plead for him to come to his senses.

“Hey, how’s it going beautiful,” Matt said. “Is your brother home?” He chose to leave his cap at home today, and instead, elected to wear a more sartorial outfit, with a collar, buttons, and sleeves, although he was still wearing his designer sweatpants.

Tom’s sister scoffed and Ryan rolled her eyes as Matt kept up the act, combing his fingers through his thick black hair and winking his one good, eye. You could tell he was winking by the way he exaggerated the dipping of the left side of his head. And the flashing white reflection from his retina seemed to irritate his courtee more than his words had had.

“Tom, your dumb friends are here,” Evelyn shouted as she retreated back to her room.

“Thanks Eve, baby,” Matt called after her, sending her a final one-eyed wink.

“You are pathetic,” said Ryan, her scornful words rained down on him like pellets of hail.

But the elements had no effect on Matt: “I may be pathetic, but at least I got style.” He said this proudly while tucking in loose bits of his shirt that had managed to escape on the walk over.

The tomboy pinched the top of her jersey with both hands and straightened it, leveling the number 99 on the back. Derek and Evan did the same with their matching striped polos—one red, the other blue.

“It’s not about how you look; it’s about how you feel,” Ryan said. “And I feel pretty shitty looking at your outfit.”

And before Matt could defend himself, Tom appeared at the doorway with one hand hugging the other arm. He had them wait long enough.

“Hey, what’s the deal with your sister?” Matt asked before anyone could say their hellos. “Why doesn’t she like me? I mean, I’m a good looking guy. What gives?”

Tom, disappointed by the fact that Matt seemed more interested in his egotistical sister than in him, hesitated before answering: he had a strange feeling that he was about to ruin the end of their perfect vacation. “Um, well, she thinks you’re a scarleton or something.”

“A what? Are you talking about those women’s handbags?”

“I think he means charlatan,” corrected Derek.

“It means a fake or an impostor,” added Evan, without missing a beat.

“She says you dress like a Jehobo’s Witness every time you visit.” And anticipating his friends’ confused faces, Tom quickly qualified, “You know, because of your sweats.”

But Ryan’s face held its baffled look: “Wait, are we not going to talk about Matt’s impressive quiz-show knowledge of handbag brands?”

“I’ll have you know, these cost almost forty bucks!” added Matt, quicker than Evan had interjected earlier. But Matt still took a second to mentally compare himself with the weirdos who used to knock on his family’s door in cleanly pressed shirts—some with ties, only a few electing to go without, but all with the intent to proselytize.

“And your teeth don’t help.”

“What? What did she say about my teeth?”

“They’re too white.”

Ryan had a difficult time holding in her laughter ever since the word “scarleton” had come up, especially since she didn’t try to at all, and the Jehobo comment made her ailment worse. But once the measure of whiteness of Matt’s teeth was broached, her chuckles turned into a full-fledged guffaw. The twins obviously joined in.

But Matt didn’t pay them any attention, and Tom knew why. Matt enjoyed his visits to the dentist. He didn’t go to Dr. Edward Lai, DDS because he was dying. He went for trivial matters, like cleaning, straightening, or most importantly, whitening his already milky white pearly whites. He’d never had to get a cavity filled. And Matt loved those visits because he trusted Dr. Lai to get the job done. Completely. With no uncertainties left. His favorite moments were getting his tartar picked. “Ah yes, tartar,” Dr. Lai would announce with each successful flick of his scaler. “Tartar… tartar… tartar…”

Matt waited for the laughter to subside before asking Tom, “Anything else?”

And without thinking, Tom muttered, “Your eye.”

Matt reactively cried, “What now?”

Ryan, now silent, shook her head at Tom’s impetuousness. The twins followed.

Tom didn’t want to respond—he was afraid—but he was more afraid of what would happen if he didn’t.

“Well…aside from the fact you only have one…”—he swallowed—“it’s also too white.”

Tom remembered how the twins had explained to them one day, while they were waiting for Matt, the reason for the white, cat-like reflection. How it had something to do with a missing layer of tissue, though he seemed to have had carelessly forgotten their agreement to never mention it to Matt.

Matt’s magnanimously amaurotic eye refused to blink, but his legs had already taken him to the sidewalk.

All the while Tom was calling to him how sorry he was.

#

Matt detested the idea of sunglasses. Why would anyone want to taint their wonderful eyesight? Negate the luridity? And cover half of their beautiful face? No. Matt would never wear one, no matter how fashionable they’d become. And his eyepatch was like half of one of those pretentious Ray-Bans, but worse, since it was completely opaque (not that it mattered since there was no sight to obstruct in the first place). But Matt was still going to miss his disguise, which made him quite popular in the better part of the past year amongst the other boys at school. Being able to talk like a pirate with impunity was all the envy in the sixth grade.

A sudden speed bump knocked the family a few inches into the air. Matt’s dad grunted his apology and kept driving, maintaining his precarious speed, and mood, of 40 miles per hour in a 25 zone.

“Mom.” It was one of Matt’s older brothers. “Tell me again why I have to come. Matt’s the one getting a new eye, not me.” He was careful not to carry the tone in his voice too far.

“Not me either,” the other brother said. “Today’s our last day before school starts. I should be at the beach with my friends; bonfire and everything.”

“Quiet,” said Matt’s father haltingly, and the van was immediately inundated with fearful obedience.

But not a minute and a half later did Matt’s middle brother speak out again. Like Matt, he was also a risk taker. And this time, he made his surly mood known: “Mom. We’ve already been through this before, when it actuallymattered. When we visited Matt every day after school at the hospital. When Matt had no hair. When Matt was dying. But Matt’s not dying anymore.”

The eldest son earnestly nodded in agreement. Being in their junior and senior years of high school made them closer to each other than with Matt, and of like minds.

Before Matt’s father could lose his temper, Matt’s mother calmed him with her hand on his shoulder, told him to mind the road, and addressed her sons.

“We all have to be here to support Matt precisely because, as far as we know, he’s no longer in any danger. This way, we can all finally leave behind what’s been troubling this family for so long.” She turned in her chair, electing to direct her attention towards the middle seat, at Matt’s eyepatch. “This is important. If you don’t understand why now, you will when you’re older.”

Matt hated the way his brothers would talk about him like he wasn’t there, but he hated the way his Mom would do so even more. Like he was a defused landmine waiting for the Bomb Squad to properly dispose of him before he spontaneously reactivates. But it wasn’t just the way she would talk about his condition; it was also how she would treat him differently from his brothers; how she wouldn’t take any interest in his achievements and sometimes ignore him. His Dad, as reticent as he was, would do the same, but at least he would make an interested comment once in a while, like encouraging Matt to try some real sports. But even then, his Dad was only trying to mold him into what was familiar: his brothers. Matt wondered if it was the same for Ryan, being the youngest of three daughters. He knew what it meant to be the third and last son (or daughter), and knew it must be so.

For the rest of the ride, Matt’s brothers remained silent, and Matt pretended to sleep. He daydreamed about his imminent visit to the ocularist. Of removing his eyepatch and asking if he could keep it as a souvenir. Of slipping the last glass eye (or whatever they use to make it nowadays) he’ll ever need into his right orbit. Of starting his new, normal life. But his dream was interrupted as soon as it had begun.

“Get out,” ordered Matt’s father as the car pulled to a stop.

#

It didn’t feel right for them to climb the oaks without Matt, so in the end, Tom wasn’t able to complete the summer’s rite of passage. But he no longer cared much about that, namely because Matt didn’t show up for the first two days of school. Tom was afraid that Matt was still upset with him, but he knew that Matt is unable to stay upset for more than even ten minutes, which made Tom worry even more. Where is he? So at Tom’s suggestion, the boys decided to take a trip to the junior dive practice after the third day of school.

The divers had finished warming up and listening to their coach’s notes from yesterday’s practice, and were now each taking turns diving off of the boards. Some of the younger kids performed impressive somersaults off of the five-meter board, while kids Tom’s age were performing reverse dives with multiple somersaults off of the seven-and-a-half-meter board. The ten-meter board was reserved for older, and more accomplished divers, and was therefore usually not used by junior divers. But one boy apparently had permission, and the skill, to use it.

Tom watched as the boy repeatedly climbed to the top of the platform and dove off the end of the board. When he’d reach the top, the boy would slowly inch his way towards the end, left foot always scouting ahead, and pause, as if catching his breath. Tom liked to think the boy was calculating his odds of a successful dive: whether he should bet for or against himself. And after pulling off perfect back dives with somersaults and twists galore, the boy would emerge from the pool’s surface with a wide smile, knowing he’d won the jackpot each and every time. And when the boy climbed out of the pool for the final time that evening, and whipped off his swim cap and threw his hair back, Tom was reminded of Matt.

Matt, like the boy, was probably good enough to be on the junior national squad, and compete in the Olympics in five or nine years, but health concerns subverted any chances of that. Both of his doctors, who had previously encouraged him when he wished to pursue diving years ago reneged their support the year before last. Since then, Matt would occasionally attend the practices, and sometimes get into the water, but he would never dive. Tom wondered why Matt enjoyed diving so much in the first place, and came to the conclusion that divers don’t have to necessarily be able to see to do it; they don’t have to see where they’re going. So, it’d be something Matt could get good at despite his disability. But what about before jumping, when the diver would have to walk to the edge of the diving board? Tom wondered if muscle memory would be enough for something like that.

It was only after the boy disappeared into the showers when Ryan spoke: “It’s obvious he isn’t here,” she said. “Why can’t we just stop by his house?”

“Because,” Tom said, “Matt told us that his father doesn’t like to be disturbed. He needs quiet to work.”

“So what?” she retorted, but didn’t push the point any further.

Just then, an older boy in nothing but a pair of speedos walked by and smiled at Ryan. A lump in her beanie was unmistakably visible. She pretended not to notice the boy, but blushed anyways. The tinge of redness in her face surprised her more than it did the others, and she got up quickly to leave.

“Later losers,” she muttered as she dashed away.

Derek looked at his brother and shrugged, “Shall we go too?”

“Might as well,” answered Evan. “See you, Tom.”

Not meaning to, Tom gave the twins an insipid smile: his mind was on far too many things.

“Okay, bye guys.”

#

Matt’s hair was already beginning to thin when his friends visited him for the first time. Of course, they had no idea since a crocheted beanie, resembling Ryan’s, encapsulated his entire scalp, and his eyebrows and eyelashes were still clinging on to dear life. Matt was thankful for this, but there wasn’t much he could do about his clothing.

“Damn, what’s up with your getup?” were the first words Matt heard before looking up. Ryan was standing by his bed, followed by Derek, Evan, and Tom. Matt wanted to say something to defend himself, but his muddled mind prevented him from doing so. Instead, he decided to let the comment pass, otherwise Ryan would have went on about how shitty his hospital gown made her feel.

After giving Matt enough time to sit up, Tom asked, “How do you feel?”

This question didn’t require as much wit as the previous one so Matt was able to respond with: “I’m okay. A little weak, but I’m better off than the first time.”

“That’s good,” said Derek.

“Very good,” added Evan.

Matt smiled with his cat eye and thanked them. He wanted to smile with both eyes, and even had his prosthesis in place to do so, but that too was hidden from his friends. The idea of displaying his fake eye in his current position was too embarrassing, so he had it covered with his eyepatch.

“How’s school been?” Matt said, trying to keep the conversation alive. “Anything crazy happen yet?”

The four guests looked at each other and shrugged relaying that the first three weeks had been uneventful.

“Well, if anything does, you let me know.”

The quartet nodded in sync.

A nurse walked in and announced to the group that visiting hours were over, so they said their goodbyes.

As his friends walked out the door, Matt thought he caught a glimpse of Ryan slipping her beanie off. He also thought he saw the twins look derisively at each other and cross their arms over their shirts to conceal the identical striped patterns. But, the only thing he could be sure of seeing was Tom waving back at him with an off-white smile.