The Night Jaimie Grew Up

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After his mother pleaded with him for a little while, standing on the other side of the locked door of his room, she went away. He lay on his bed in the long September dusk, looking out through the screen across the side yard. He could see, beyond the hedge, the white brightness of the kitchen windows of the Robbins house. He could see a lot of movement in the kitchen. They were having a big party over there. Their hifi was turned loud. People talked loudly in their back yard. Have fun, he said to himself. Have a big time, just as if nothing at all has happened.

His father knocked on the door. “Open up, Jaimie. I want to talk to you.”

He hesitated, then went slowly over and unlocked the door. He heard it open behind him as he walked back to the bed. “Don’t turn on any lights, huh?” Lights to show the red puffy eyes.

“Okay. No lights.” His father came to the bed, tall and solid in the shadows. “How about moving those size eleven feet out of the way, boy?”

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