Theo by Ed Taylor Page A

flicker seagulls. The sky is close enough to touch.
    Gus, when is my dad coming.
    That, my friend, only he and the Almighty know. And his managers, I suppose. But it will be soon.
    You said he was going to make a record here.
    True, son. Soon as your da tells me I’ll tell you.
    Can we get a TV.
    Ah, you know how your mother feels about that.
    I just want to watch TV. I want to be normal.
    Well, bucko. What exactly is normal, in your estimation.
    TV.
    Anything else.
    I don’t know. I don’t remember right now.
    Theo drifts with birds, hearing the low rushing of the ocean, and a bugle, and two people singing somewhere in the house, and somebody teasing the dogs, their snarls the kind of thing that happens when people are mean to them but think they’re playing. Adults seem to do that to each other, too.
    Theo is anxious to not be treated like a kid. But he wonders how many ways there are to grow up, and can you pick the one you want, or do you even get a choice.
    Theo watches the gulls, hears the new sound of Gus snoring a little. Theo listens to the wind, the house, other stuff that mustbe the world. Then he closes his eyes to see if the spins come back, and when they don’t, he leaves his eyes closed, watching fire on his eyelids and feeling really, really tired, suddenly.
    He’s in a boat, just him, on the water, a rowboat but there aren’t any oars or a motor or anything. Or a life jacket. Just the ocean and the sun, and the boat, and whispering.
Hold on tight
. The waves get bigger, the boat starts to rock, and jump, slow and low at first but then faster and higher, and it’s a bucking bronco, like a horse, and Theo is lifting off the seat and slamming back down, going a little higher each time, and slamming harder and –
    He opens his eyes. Sky birds snoring house sounds. He’s on his back in the yard, where he was, next to the mound of Gus. The pipe is cold on the table.
    Theo remembers little paper pills his dad sent one time that dropped into water turned into dragons and swans. From Japan. The day is unfolding. He wants to be in the ocean. Paper. Where’s the fax.
    Theo is not holding the fax anymore. Where is it. It was for Colin, but what did it say. Something weird, about a ship. Did he leave it in the house or outside. It’s hard to remember stuff.
    Theo wants to be responsible. He can be trusted with important things. He pushes himself up, and slowly onto his feet, and steers back to the house, which he just left. All day he’s done nothing but circle around, in and out, up and down. He’s getting dizzy. He wants to go in a straight line and not stop. Find Colin.
    There’s the lady from the car. She’s out on the terrace now, drinking a glass of something, smoking a cigarette, sitting with two other people Colin doesn’t know, two men. One has goggling eyes that pop out, and spiky hair. His clothes are all torn and both he and the other man have on long sleeves and long pants and hard heavy-looking black shoes. The men sit propped on the stones of the terrace. All three are smoking. One is beating on the terrace with his hands. The others nod their heads to a rhythm they hear.
    Hi Theo, the lady says. You remember me.
    Theo does, but he doesn’t remember her name. Sort of, he says, but not wanting to be rude. He’s a little fuzzy.
    I’m Gina. This is Richard and Alan. This is Theo, Frieda’s son.
    Hey: one speaks, the other nods and smiles.
    Where’s Colin.
    Colin. Oh, Colin.
    The motorbike’s waspy whine echoed from the ballroom. I think that’s him. He’s inside, Gina says.
    Thanks.
    Theo walks around them, and toward the open French doors. He can see the noise shooting out like smoke or waves. It hurts to hear, and Theo puts his hands over his ears. Ducking from the light into the darker ballroom Theo gets dizzy for a few seconds and halts, looking while he steadies himself, hands cupped over ears.
    Colin straddles the lime motorbike wearing the towel cape, revving the bike, staring