Becoming Todd Jarren Andersen

Becoming Todd Jarren Andersen

December, 2010

No one was there when the boy appeared on the swingset at Palm Ridge park, but if they had been, they wouldn't have believed it anyway.  Pat and Teresa Andersen were the ones to discover him, which made it all the more strange, especially that night.  He was in shorts and flipflops and it was December,a cold one at that. They were walking home from dinner, on an anniversary of sorts, at around 11 oclock when they saw the boy.

He was unresponsive about who he was, where he'd come from.  They didn't quite know what to do with him.  They were more apprehensive than most adults in their situation would have been, but no one faults them for it.  They finally agreed on taking him to the hospital to be checked for trauma and later, the police department to see if the boy fit any descriptions of a missing child.

Detective Burkie arrived at the hospital while the Andersens were still checking the boy in.  She couldn't believe what she saw.  It was striking, the similarities. She'd been at the call 7 years prior.  More important than that, their boys' had swum together.  TJ had joined them on vacation to Disney.  He called her "other mom".  But she was no rookie.  The years had to swim together in the back of her mind, tomorrow morning on her day off, tonight with some wine when she could talk it over with Jack.  Not now.  Especially not when they have to be dying inside.  All business."What's your name, sweetie?"  she asked.

"TJ", the boy answered.  He seemed oblivious to the gasps.  To the clacking of a passing nurse's clipboard.  It was a small town, after all.

Teresa turned inside Pat's arms and folded herself into his chest.  She felt too wobbly to walk and as though she might get sick.  Gulping big half sobs, she allowed herself to be led away.  They stopped in front of a vending machine.  She was too racked to ask the question on her lips, he was too consumed himself to answer.  They rocked and swayed as Sarah questioned the boy.

They followed her to the precinct two hours later to reaffirm that he was not a missing persons case.  Sarah called Judge Hack out of bed to determine placement.  The social worker assigned to the case agreed with the judge: there was no better home for the boy than the Andersen's.

They traveled home in silence, which the boy seemed comfortable with.  He smiled when they showed him his room, with TJ painted on the wall in bright blue letters.  They tucked him in, by now moving in stiff detached motions, and stood by the door until they heard his soft, loud, almost heaving slow into a dreamstate.

They walked in a dreamstate of their own and crawled noiselessly into bed.  They fell asleep facing each other, holding hands, knees drawn up as though in prayer, their tear-stained cheeks providing stripes of cool even as the furnace blew on their faces.

They awoke to the smell of burning toast, running out in time to fan the over-vigilant smoke detector.  As if it were stage choreography, they each take a towel and begin to shake them in the air.

"What are you doing?" TJ asks.

"Fire drill", they both reply between giggles.  They used to laugh all the time, but the years have drawn their mouths down into serious crescents.  This old joke, from Before Disaster is the only thing that ever draws a smile these days, aside from the old stand-up tapes they have from college. They don't even have a player to play them, but they don't need one.  The best clips are regularly sewn into their conversation.  One last vestige of normal.  In fact, that easy conversation point, that one parlor trick, saves countless uncomfortable moments around town.  They provide the illusion that for Pat and Teresa life had the ability to surprise them, had joy infused in the small moments.  Little did their townsfolk really understand that it was more muscle memory than a genuine response to life's little quirks.  They didn't have much time to appreciate life's little quirks, ever since they became part of life's big joke.

But this was different.  The sun shone in through the window just so, and their laughter had a bubbly quality of one truly amused.  Not by a clever observation, but of the simple irony of the situation.  This was a truly novel moment.

They laughed themselves into tears, and it took them until the eggs were cooked and the juice poured to bring themselves to explain the joke.

"I don't get it," TJ said.
"Okay" Pat tried again.  He swigged some juice. "You know how when you have a fire drill at school, everyone lines up and the teacher gets the keys and you head outside to a designated spot?"
"Yeah, but..."
"Well, our smoke detector has always been hyper-sensitive.  The builders put one on either side of the stove, so it goes off almost every time we cook."
TJ starts to laugh.
"Get it?"
"No, but I was afraid I'd ruined the morning with my terrible cooking."
"Don't get me wrong the toast is awful." Teresa choked out, struggling with a charred end.  She smiled when she saw TJ's shocked face.  "Just kidding, kid.  This was sweet.  Reminds me of something our boy would do."

"You have a son?"

"Yeah, and that was his first real joke.  When the alarm would ring, he'd run and get a towel and yell 'Fire Drill!' The first time my mom heard him, it took us even longer to explain that TJ understood the concept of an actual drill than it did to explain the joke to you."
"Wait, you have a son...and his name is..." TJ chugged the rest of his OJ. "TJ?"

***

August 2003

TJ entered Ms. Sanchez's first grade classroom slowly.  He was a good enough reader to know that none of his friends from kindergarten were inside.   He found his desk and began putting his supplies inside, organized by color and smell.  The smelly pencils belonged in the back, away from jealous eyes.  They were his emergency pencils, for when he would undoubtedly need a pick me up.  He worked methodically like this when he was 'scoping out the scene'.  One of cool Uncle Jay's terms.  He hadn't felt grown up enough to try it out loud yet, and was hoping today would be the day.  Maybe in lunch line with Alex Dumfries or Serge Romansky.  Not likely now that he's checked out his class.

 "You dropped one."

TJ didn't look up to see the speaker, instead he eyed the ground for the missing pencil.  He stole a look at the shoes, ratty gray converse high tops, before drawing a deep breath.  "Thanks."

He looked up and saw a kid that could have been his cousin.  Longer eyelashes maybe.  Thinner lips, for sure.  But enough similarity for him to smile wider than he wanted to.  He stuck out his hand.  "TJ".

"Kevin."

He used his phrase and three others of Uncle Jay's that day at lunch.  Kevin cracked him up and ate the dried apricots mom insisted were as good as fruit by the foot.  They weren't.  Kevin was kind enough not to notice.

***