Romeo Blue by Phoebe Stone Page A

seemed startled himself by their sound. Derek’s face rather crinkled up, as if someone had just clapped their hands way too close to his ears. “Where was I born?”
    “Ah, of course, you would be curious. Do you really want to open this can of … this can of …”
    “Worms,” I said.
    “Yes, this can of worms,” said Derek’s father. “Well, perhaps it’s time. You know I hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Really, I had hoped we could somehow just let it go and start afresh. It’s rather sad. Your mother and I were married in Texas. She had the idea that she wanted to marry a cowboy. You were born in that state. I worked on a ranch outside of Austin. I was a cowboy but I must confess I wasn’t a very good one. I never could lasso a single steer because I couldn’t handle a rope. This was because of muscle damage in one of my arms from a childhood injury.”
    “Oh, but that’s like me,” said Derek. “My left arm is pretty much paralyzed. I can’t use it.”
    “I am so unhappy to hear this. Ah, but we are father and son, are we not? Parallels, you see,” said Derek’s dad.
    “But how did you come to leave me or whatever itwas?” said Derek, sort of twisting in his chair. “What happened anyway?”
    “Well, your mother died. I became deeply depressed. I am sorry to say that I am given to depression. I do hope you have not inherited that! I came to Maine because I lost my job. I really don’t like horses anyway.”
    “But why did you not want me anymore? Why did you leave me here? What happened?” Derek’s voice was plaintive and his face was pale. He looked tired suddenly and I barely recognized him for a moment.
    “Derek, people’s lives are changing. Sometimes there is no use for regretting. We cannot look around. It would be too painful. I cannot talk about it. I do not want to break down and cry. I don’t have a handkerchief. Will you excuse me for a moment? Where’s your lavatory? I think I’ve drunk too much tea. And I cannot bear to remember.” He laughed and cried in a confusing way and stumbled out of the room, as if the sadness made it hard to walk.
    “It’s just up the stairs and down the hall on your left,” said Derek. And then he propped his chin in his hand and looked down into the depths of the floor.
    I was always looking to cheer up Derek, so when his father left the room, I picked up his glasses, which he had left on the table in his confusion and sadness. I put them on and I made a face at Derek.
    “Come on, Fliss,” he said, “put those down.”

    “Very well,” I said, looking round the room through them. It was really quite strange. I expected them to be blurry because most glasses are fitted with lenses to suit the needs of the owner. But these glasses seemed to have no special lenses. They were clear glass. I had no trouble seeing through them.
    I put the glasses back on the table and I looked up at Derek. He was now inspecting the little brochure that came with the box of Lincoln Logs that his father had brought him. “This is a special, complicated set. It’s not for little kids, Fliss. It’s a teenager’s set,” said Derek, looking a bit brighter.
    “Derek,” I said, “perhaps we shouldn’t allow your father upstairs. I mean, perhaps Gideon would be upset.”
    “Oh no, he’s family,” said Derek. “It’s fine. He was so sad. I shouldn’t have asked all that. Didn’t you see how he almost cried?”
    I was wondering why someone would wear a pair of glasses that did not help him see better. I mean, what purpose would those glasses serve? Why wear a pair of clear glasses? I suddenly felt a draft sweep through the room.

    Lying in my bed across from Auntie that night, I felt I was drifting in a kind of fearful fog. As Derek had said, why can’t a person wear clear glasses if they want to? Why was I being so glum? Why did I want to cast shadows onthe best thing that had happened to Derek in years? He said he loved his father. He said he would