“No,” he said with remarkable clarity and conviction and confidence.
“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “I want you to practice differently. Just getting your feet right and holding the violin in play position. That’s all. No notes.”
“Okay,” Byron said. The gleam of triumph in Byron’s eye gave him away. To Byron this was a battle of wills, not learning a musical instrument. He wanted to beat the adults.
And I’ve been a perfect sucker, letting him do what he wants.
“Let’s go, Daddy,” Byron said cheerfully.
Byron chattered on their way home, growing happier with each step, his energy up and surging with his victory.
“I’m getting good,” Byron said. Peter grunted.
“I’ll be able to play with the big kids,” Byron went on, happy and happier.
At home, Diane was arranged cozily on the couch, a cup of tea beside her, a mystery clutched to her bosom. Byron ran to her, ran into her arms. “Mommy,” he blessed her.
“Mmmmm,” she said. “What a nice hug. Did you have a good lesson?”
“I’m really good,” Byron said.
Diane smiled. Byron’s head was facing away from Peter. Over the bowl of sandy hair, Diane looked at Peter for confirmation. Peter shook his head back and forth, contradicting Byron.
She saw. But she kissed Byron and said, “I’m glad, honey.”
14
“IT’S NIGHTTIME!” Byron showed Luke. He pulled the string down. The shades went crazy with a loud shaking. Half the window was uncovered.
“It’s nighttime, Daddy!” Luke called out.
“No,” Byron said. He grabbed Luke’s hand. “Don’t tell them. They’ll make us go to bed.”
“But, Byron.” Luke sighed. The effort of arguing with Byron was so great, sharp and hurting, like when the poop was stuck. “They know it’s nighttime.”
“No!” Byron shook his head back and forth. Then back and forth harder. “Oh, no! My head is loose! Ram Man, help me, my head is loose.”
Luke liked that joke. “Okay.” Luke put his hands out and stopped the crazy head. “Don’t move!” he ordered the evil head.
“Oh, no, it’s coming off, it’s coming off!” Byron danced on his tiptoes, his hands pressing down on his head.
Byron always goes on and on. “No, it isn’t,” Luke informed him. “I saved you. I stopped it.”
“You didn’t, you didn’t.” Byron’s arms spun out, out and out, like Sy-Klone.
“Byron?” His mommy was at the door. Daddy was behind her. “What’s going on?”
“My head is coming off!”
“I saved him!” Luke said to Daddy.
“No! No!” Byron spun himself to the ground, holding on to his head.
“Shhhh!” Byron’s Mommy said to Byron. “It’s late. You have to play quietly.”
Luke held his body still. Please, Byron, don’t fight. We can go on playing if you don’t argue.
“I am being quiet!” Byron shouted.
“Why don’t you play with your new Play-Doh?” Byron’s mommy asked.
“Yea!” Byron was up on his feet. He jumped up and down at his mommy. “Yea!”
Luke also tried to act excited. He wanted them to know he liked the idea. “Yes, Daddy,” Luke said, and hopped up and down, but less than Byron. He didn’t want Byron’s mommy to end the play date because he was acting too happy.
“Okay, okay, quiet down. We’ll set you up at the kitchen table.”
Byron had a lot of Play-Doh. Every color. He had yellow, blue, red, green. Byron took all those to his side. He gave Luke the white Play-Doh. “I’m going to make something terrific,” Byron said.
“Me too,” Luke said. He stared at his one can. White was boring.
“Mine’s going to be lots of colors,” Byron said.
“I’m going to use the blue,” Luke said. He took hold of the blue Play-Doh.
“No,” Byron said. He pulled the blue can out of Luke’s soft fingers. “You use the white.” Byron pointed to the white PlayDoh. Byron opened the blue can and shook it hard to get the PlayDoh out.
Where was Daddy? He was talking to Byron’s mommy in the living room.
Tell me if there’s anything wrong, Luke, Daddy had said. Tell me how you want it to be and I’ll fix it.
“Daddy!” Luke called.
“Don’t!” Byron said.
“What is it, Luke?” Daddy answered, but didn’t come in.
“Here.” Byron pulled a chunk of blue PlayDoh off and put it in front of Luke.
I have it. Luke touched the small chunk of blue Play-Doh. Byron had all the cans open. He was rolling colors, making shapes. Already doing everything. Luke thought about what to make.
“I’m making He-Man,” Byron said. “You make Ram Man.”
“I don’t want to,” Luke said softly. He hoped Byron wouldn’t hear.
“You have to!”
Daddy’s head appeared at the edge of the wall. “What is it, Luke?”
“Nothing!” Byron shouted.
I wanted the blue Play-Don. But I have it. What can I say?
“I asked Luke, Byron, let him answer me.” Daddy sounded angry. He doesn’t want me to need help. “What is it, Luke?” Daddy asked.
“Are you cooperating, Byron?” Byron’s mommy called out.
“Yes! I’m making He-Man, Luke is making Ram Man. We’ll show you when we finish!”
“What was it, Luke?” Daddy’s voice got close, right in Luke’s ear.
“Nothing,” Luke mumbled. Daddy left. Luke held the PlayDoh in his hand. He wanted to make a sailboat, like the sailboat in Maine, just right outside his window, quiet and tall, slicing the sky. He pushed the cool, soft PlayDoh, watched his fingers disappear. Shape round and smooth here and long there. He pulled a piece up—
“This is good, you know why?” Luke explained to Byron. “I’m making a sailboat, like the sailboat in Maine. And it’s blue and white. And those are the colors I have!” This was great.
“No,” Byron scolded. “No, you’re not. You’re making Ram Man.”
The sail rose up thin and blue from the chunk of PlayDoh. Luke let it go — his boat was ready!
“You’re doing it wrong!” Byron’s hand crushed the sail, smashed the boat. “You have to make Ram Man.”
It was gone. He had made it so great. And now it was gone. He hated Byron. He wanted to throw him in the garbage and put his many colors in there too. “I — don’t — I—don’t—” but Luke couldn’t move the words through his feelings, couldn’t push them out.
The tears were here, hurting and pushing his eyes, poking and hurting, everything wanting out—
“Byron! What have you done?”
“I was just playing and Luke smashed his thing and cried!”
“Luke.” Daddy in his ear, pushing to get in, but everything wants to come out. “Luke, what is it?”
“Byron!” His mommy was going to yell and yell and break everything. “Are you—”
“Really, Mommy, he cries. He cries a lot. Like a baby.”
“Oh, and you never cry,” Byron’s mommy said.
“Luke, what happened? You couldn’t make what you wanted?” Daddy in his ear, buzzing like a loud television.
“I wanna go home,” Luke said to push them away. “I wanna go home!”
“Don’t go home, Luke,” Byron said, and he began to yell and cry. “I want to keep playing.”
“It’s past your bedtimes,” his mommy said.
“No!” Byron cried now.
Good. Make him cry.
“I wanna go home,” Luke said, now clear, able to push them away.
“Okay,” Daddy said. “We’ll go home right now.”
“No!” Byron smashed his stupid He-Man and pushed all the PlayDoh off the table.