Acre Under a Green Sky

That night as I lay in my bed I heard Danny crying. His pain was beyond my comprehension. I tried to imagine how I might feel if Garry had been killed. I couldn't. Other people's feelings mystified me. I seemed to experience things differently than other people. I got mad. Danny cried. And yet I felt that in some way Danny was right to cry and I was wrong. He seemed to have access to a world of feeling that simply eluded me. I had made up my mind a long time before that he was good and I was bad. It seemed the simplest and best explanation for the differences between us.

But I did care about him. I wanted him to stop hurting –– to stop crying. I wanted to be good, too. I found the red yoyo in my jeans and took it over to him. I sat beside him on his bed like my mother sometimes did and offered him the yoyo.

He recoiled from it with a start –– almost afraid. As soon as he realized I wasn't going to hit him or pick on him, he looked bewildered. What new trick was this? I offered him the yoyo a second time; saying, "Here! Take it." And he did.

"Where'd you find it?" he said.

"Over there."

"Thanks."

Then, with a supreme effort, I said, "I'm real sorry about Jeff."

"That's okay," he said, and I rushed over to my bed swearing I'd never do anything like that again.

Then I heard Danny say:

"I left two 'Superman' comics and one 'Spiderman' over there at Jeff's house."

"So?"

"So they're Angel's."

"So?"

"So I have to get them back to Angel."

"Angel won't know the difference."

"He knows stuff."

"So what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Couldn't you get them outta there? You know, like you did the yoyo?"

"Maybe. Go to sleep."

"Promise?"

"I said, 'maybe'. Now go to sleep."

Then out of the stillness, he said:

"I sure wish Jeff wasn't dead."