What's for Dinner? by James Schuyler (to read list .txt) 📕

where there’s a record player. Guess I’ll have to groove on the stars instead.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick said, “if I want to get into dope.”

“It’s not dope—it’s not addicting, I mean,” Nick said. “It’s a nice kick. The important thing is not to be scared of it, then you’ll get relaxed and enjoy it.”

“Somebody at school was smoking it in the can the other day,” Michael said. “You could even smell it in the hall.”

“How do you know how it smells?” Patrick said.

“I could guess. It’s a special smell. You’ll see.”

“It must have been that lunkhead Luke,” Nick said. “He’s bad news. He’ll take any crazy chances—and I’ve heard about the way he drives when he’s drunk or stoned. He’s going to wind up in the morgue or jail or out on his butt. I’m glad I’m not old enough to be in his crowd. And does he ever play dirty basketball!”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “I’ve noticed.”

In front of the Candy Kitchen they joined Pete Petrosian and a couple of other youths.

“Got it?” Nick asked.

Pete touched the breast pocket of his shirt.

“Well?” Nick said. “Why don’t we amble over to the athletic field and set the world on fire?”

“What’s the rush?” Pete said. “I kind of like it here.”

“The twins have to go home real soon. You know how strict their Dad is,” Nick said.

“Yeah,” Patrick said, “he is pretty strict.”

“He wasn’t so bad tonight,” Michael said. “At any rate, we’re here.”

After some more palaver, the group set off for the athletic field, an open space between the park and the highschool, with bleachers and a track.

“I better explain to you guys how to smoke this,” Pete said. “Take a drag, pull some air in with it and suck it down into your lungs. Hold it there, then let it out slow through your head and nose. This is good stuff my brother gave me, so it won’t take much to turn you on.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick muttered. Pete took a joint out of his pocket, lit it and passed it around. When it came to Patrick, he took it and inhaled deeply, then had a coughing fit. Michael was more expert. On the second joint, Patrick did better, inhaling deeply and keeping the oddly scented smoke in his lungs a long time. He exhaled, feeling slightly lightheaded. After what seemed a very long or else a very short time, he looked up and saw the stars stagger in their courses.

“Jesus,” he said and sat down hard. Nick went off into spasms of silent laughter.

“You all right, brother buddy?” Michael asked. He extended his arms and said, “I’m a kite and I’m flying.”

“That’s the idea,” Pete said. “Groove with it. Look: it’s like you can see right around the high school, all four sides at once.”

“I’m going to lie here,” Patrick said. The stars slowed down and seemed individually to glitter and smile down on his young face. “I don’t know if I like it or not. I’m not sure. I just can’t tell. You ought to lie down and dig the stars. Did you know that infinity has no end? It just goes on and on and on and on.”

“He’s starting to rap,” Pete said.

“I’m on top of the world,” Michael said. “The whole world comes to a point in this athletic field, and I’m the one who’s on top of it.”

“I wish we had a transistor with us,” Nick said. “I’d like to hear some music.” He began to sing a pop song, off-key.

“Holy shit,” Patrick said. “It must be midnight. Dad will skin us alive.”

“We haven’t been here fifteen minutes,” Pete said. “Look.” He held out his wristwatch which had a luminous dial. It was indeed still early.

“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I think we better get home.”

“First you better see if you can get off your back and walk.”

“A shooting star!” Patrick said. “I saw a shooting star.”

“Where?” Nick said.

“There,” Patrick said. “In the sky.”

“When you think about it,” Michael said, “it’s great, being a part of the universe.”

3

“Do you know what I miss?” Lottie asked. She and Norris were strolling down the corridor to the room where family group was held.

“I never was any good at mind reading,” Norris said, “and it gets worse as I get older.”

Lottie lifted her head to his ear and whispered, “B-e-d, bed.” Norris gave her arm a hard affectionate squeeze. “It won’t be so long now,” he said.

The others were already assembled around the table when the Taylors came in, closely followed by Dr Kearney. Mr Mulwin looked pale. Good-evenings were exchanged between the patients and the visitors. Behind Bertha sat a pleasant-looking couple, who were introduced as Mr and Mrs Hartz, her parents.

“I see, Bertha,” Dr Kearney said, “you finally took the giant step.”

“Sure,” Bertha said. “Why not?”

“No reason that I ever knew of,” Dr Kearney said.

“I was mad at them for putting me in here, among other things,” Bertha said. “I think that was it.”

“We’re glad to see you looking so well, dear,” Mrs Hartz said. “Your brother sent his love.”

“I’ll bet he did.”

“Perhaps what he actually said was, ‘Say hello to Bertha,’ but I knew what he meant. A boy his age isn’t apt to be demonstrative.”

“How are you feeling, Mr Mulwin?” Lottie asked.

“Sapped. Or maybe I mean zapped. It’s like I don’t know what hit me, although of course I do know. How do you feel?”

“Better,” Lottie said. “Not so shaky and driven. But I still get the craving. Not so often as before.”

“Did you send me a plant?” Mr Mulwin asked her.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Mrs Mulwin frowned slightly.

“I figured as much. Nobody else would I could think of. Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome. The men’s bedrooms look so cheerless from the hall, while all the women’s have flowers in them.”

“What kind of a plant is it?” Mr Mulwin asked.

“An azalea,” Norris said.

“Oh, were you in on this too?”

“Just as an agent for my wife. She isn’t allowed off the grounds to go