Grey Matter of an Irish Aries

Remember that boy

I turned on the news after my mother called down from the attic.
“There’s something interesting on TV that I think you should see,” she informed me in a voice halfway between a regular tone and a loud, screaming sort of tone.
I was in my room on my bed, my legs swinging back and forth above my head. In one hand was the portable phone my parents had given me for my sixteenth birthday. I was talking to Joe, my boyfriend of three years who was coincidently three years older than me. In the other hand was my television remote, bought by myself with money earned from shoveling endless driveways the previous winter. I was flipping through the channels, sighing every so often due to the lack of available entertainment on it, when I heard my mother’s voice. Having a slight interest, I stopped Joe before he got too into an explanation of why he had chickened out on the high dive the day before and promised I’d talk to him tomorrow, if I felt like it.
I flipped to the channel my mother suggested and started watching. I put the phone and the remote down and listened.
“A seven year old boy was shot today,” the reporter said as she fumbled with some papers on her desk. “The shooter, a security guard at the coliseum, claims that the child had gone insane and was screaming and was trying to push him off the fourth floor balcony of the Nassau Coliseum Arena in Port Washington.” The reporter raised her eyebrow, clearly showing the TV viewers that she didn’t believe the guard’s story for one minute.
“I had a gun,” the man behind the crime started to protest as the camera flashed in his face. “And at the time, I had no option. He was getting out of control and I would have fell four stories to my death if I hadn’t used it.” He was sitting in a café, chewing on a huge cinnamon roll and sipping an expensive cappuccino. “He wouldn’t stop pushing and screaming. He was crazy!”
He shook his head. “It was so tragic and I regret doing it, but I had to.”
“Didn’t it occur to you to call for help?” The interviewer seemed to be asking questions with utter disbelief.
“I tried,” the man argued, “but nobody came!”
The other man nodded to the camera, signing off.
The shooter had been set free, on a self-defense verdict. This surprised me a lot. It also shocked me that he showed no signs of remorse or regret for his actions. It just didn’t make any sense to me that he wasn’t in prison for his action and he had a poor motive for doing it. Unless this child was a huge seven year old monster, with white foam dripping from the mouth and rippling muscles that should make him able to defeat pro wrestlers, there was no way he couldn’t have fought the child off.
I watched the news for the rest of the boy’s story and then turned it off, wiping the angry tears from my eyes.
“That’s just plain wrong,” I told myself, as the report ended. I slipped off my bed and went over to my bookshelf. Scanning the many, many books I had somehow managed to squeeze into three tiny shelves, I finally paused on a thick hardcover volume. I had to use both of my puny hands to pry it out, but I got it and returned to my bed, covered in teddy bears, and pushed some bears aside so I could get into my “reading position.” [Okay, I am a picky person. I have to have a certain position reserved just for reading. I lie on my side and rest my head on my arm, while I use my free hand to turn the pages when necessary. Sue me.]
I opened the heavy book and began to leaf through it. It wasn’t just another novel; it was a scrapbook that my grandfather had made to remember his days at the Coliseum. He worked there as a security guard for twelve years until he met my grandmother. Then, they fell in love, got married and lived happily ever after. But, that didn’t stop them from visiting and revisiting the Coliseum. They went there tons of times, too many to count. And they’ve had some great memories there, as I could tell by the book. My grandfather practically lived there, until he died. After that, my grandmother stopped going. It was painful enough without Grandpa by her side, but to visit somewhere that held so many dear memories to both of them was just crossing the line.
That was years ago. My mom’s dad died a year I was born, which didn’t stop my parents from telling my siblings and me stories about what he was like when he was alive. My grandmother, seeing as how she’s lived with us ever since her husband passes away that cold December, always listens to these stories and, nodding her head, says, “Good times we had, good times.” She’s in her nineties now, so she’s a little on the senile side, but love is love and from what I’ve heard, it lasts a lifetime if it’s with the right person. That’s what my grandmother always says. Of course, this is coming from the same woman who said, “s*** happens!” when she found out that her husband had died of a heart attack while watching the nineteen seventy-two version of “Tales from the Crypt.” That’s not to say that she was happy about his death. I mean, she did love him very much. But, I guess, as you get older, you know you’re going to croak eventually, so you prepare for it.
Moving onto to a less depressing topic, I continued flipping through the scrapbook a little while longer before I came up with a great idea. Why not go and visit the Coliseum? Then, I could check out things for myself and try to find out the complete story behind this seven-year-old going bonkers. Plus, I would get to see what made it great for my grandparents.
My dad agreed to drive me the next day, along with my friend, Liz, and her little brother, Derek. We blasted the latest New Found Glory CD, Sticks and Stones, during the twenty-minute car ride there. We arrived in the midst of “My friends over you,” so we had to wait in the car until the song was over. When it did, we got out and walked quickly to the building, trying to get out of the heat as soon as we could. Derek begged me to carry him, so I had to. He puts on this little face, where his lower lip is curled around his upper one and his eyes look sad like a puppy dog. He’s too cute for his own good. Once we were inside, we strolled to the front desk, moving around a gigantic fountain spewing water up from the center every so often out of a dolphin’s mouth.
We approached the receptionist’s desk, which we knew was somewhere under the piles of papers and pens that were scattered on it carelessly.
“Excuse me,” my father said, practically in a whisper.
It was a small voice, yet it still made the receptionist jump. She looked up at us and I saw her small half-moon shaped spectacles slide down her somewhat wrinkly face. She had light brown skin and tiny eyes that looked like they could use a rest. I looked further down towards the desktop and I could tell she had been scribbling something on one of the papers. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a newspaper article that she was scrutinizing and making notes of.
“Can I help you?” She looked at me and smiled. I saw that she was missing her two front teeth, but her smile was sincere, so she was all right.
“Yes, my daughter and her friends would like a tour of this place,” my dad told her. “Her grandfather worked here as a security guard for twelve years and they would like to see why he loved it so much.” He smiled at me and I smiled back. There really wasn’t any sense of telling him why we were really here, although he probably did hear about it on the news.
“All right,” replied the lady behind the desk. She reached into a drawer and rummaged around for a few minutes. Finally, she pulled out a brochure and handed it to my dad, who handed it to me.
“Our next tour should be in about half an hour,” she said. “If you don’t mind waiting,” she added.
I sighed. Half an hour just for a stupid tour. Liz, Derek and I could wander around by and be back before that time. After a few minutes, I just gave up and figured waiting another half an hour couldn’t hurt. I walked over to a nearby bench, still carrying a now sleeping Derek, and sat down. Liz sat down next to me and grinned.
“I think he’s got an attachment problem,” she joked.
I made a face and stuck out my tongue. We both laughed and started talking about what we would do when we got home later that night. We were in a deep conversation about Tom, this hot guy who worked at Dunkin Donuts, where we always went to get our morning coffee before school, when we noticed a group of people enter the lobby. There were people of various ages, including a few young children around Derek’s age.
“I didn’t know that happened here,” we heard one tall and slender woman tell her similarly shaped husband as she shook back her platinum blonde hair.
“This is a very interesting place,” the husband replied, nodding his head.
I had been listening to this until the man glanced over at me. I pushed my head forward and my eyes stared at the white marble floor. When the crowd had broke up, I lifted my head and caught sight of the disorganized receptionist waving at me. I motioned to my dad, who nodded and bid me farewell, promising he’d be back in one hour to pick us up. I stood up and handed Derek over to Liz before walking over to the desk.
“Another tour will begin shortly,” the lady reminded me.
I nodded, thanking her. Then, I returned to the bench and sat down. Derek opened an eye grumpily and struggled his way to me. Having no choice, I reached out and hugged him. He slid onto me and rested his head on my shoulder. Liz sighed, but didn’t seem to mind, reminding me that he weighed a ton for his age.
I watched the crowd until only one person remained and I figured it was the tour guide. Besides the fact that it said TOUR GUIDE on his gray shirt, he noticed Liz and I staring at him and nodded, knowing perfectly well why we were doing so. He was talking on his cell phone, but he did smile at us. Liz stood up and pulled me to my feet. Together, we walked over to the tour guide, who was just finishing a conversation with someone on his cell phone.
“Hi!” he said, cheerfully. We both decided he was a little too cheerful.
“Are you the tour guide for the next tour?” I asked.
“Yes, I am,” the guide replied, a little too enthusiastically, “I take it you’re here for the tour?”
I looked at Liz, who rolled her eyes and grinned.
“You bet!” she said, raising an arm into the air, as if she had won an award.
I was about to laugh, but I wondered if the guy got our joke.
Nope.
“All right. It’s starting in a few minutes. I just want to wait for a few more people before we head off.” He smiled, stupidly, and walked over to the receptionist’s desk. I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t exactly want to see him. She was wearing a totally fake smile on her face and her cheeks were bulging with annoyance.
A few minutes later, a trio of college girls, who were most likely in their early twenties, had joined our group and was standing near us.
“You guys are here for the tour, too?” Liz asked them.
One of them glanced at her. She was a tall brunette wearing a black skirt, white blouse, fish stockings and tall black boots. She smiled and nodded.
“I’ve heard so much about this place,” she said so softly that I had to strain to hear her.
By the time our tour guide had returned to us, five more people, a young couple and three of their friends, had joined the group. When the guide noticed that eight more people had arrived, after us, he ended the conversation with the thankful receptionist and came over to us. He stood next to Liz, who smiled with a lie, and started talking.
“Hello, my name is Matt and I will be your tour guide for the next two hours.” He stopped, as if he expected us to groan at that. “I’m going to show you around the first floor before moving on to the other three and we’ll stop along the way to see the gym, where a youth team is practicing for their next game this Thursday.” He cleared his throat, giving me a second to be thinking about how I never knew there was a gym in this place.
“Let’s get going,” he finished, starting to walk down a huge hallway that reminded me of a hallway in a humongous mansion, with rooms and corridors that even the owners never went down.
Our adventure had begun.
The first room on the left was a small one. It was used for storage of hockey equipment. It had extra nets, extra padding and sticks. Matt said that there were plenty of fights in here involving who would use which hockey stick or which net the team would use. Liz stopped me and muttered something about an interesting detail. I couldn’t understand her between the noises that the crowd was making, so I simply nodded, hoping it would shut her up. It did.
We moved on to the next room, which was the storage for the wrestling equipment. I sighed when I heard this and started wondering if there was a room for badminton storage, as well. I was surprised to hear that “nothing really ever happened here,” as Matt put it, with a tear in his eye. As we continued, the other rooms were pretty much the same. Matt would occasionally remember a fight or two that went down in each room and I was glad Derek wasn’t awake to hear the stories. I realized he’d never put on another helmet again to play any sport without worrying about another player, a huge strong guy, coming up to him and beating him because he wanted to use a certain helmet.
The second floor consisted of dressing rooms for the athletes and performers. We were only permitted to see one room, currently Cher’s dressing room. She was on the forth and top, floor, belting out her lyrics in rehearsal. We wandered aimlessly around the room, oohing and ahhing the entire time at all the riches that Cher had and didn’t acknowledge. There was a huge bathroom with a bath and shower. Everything in the bathroom was made of white marble. I was stunned over the medium sized Jacuzzi next to the shower. There was a babe statue spewing hot water from his mouth into the Jacuzzi. There was also a bubble dispenser and a drain for plugging up the water. If I was Cher and I had this room, I’d fake an illness and stay here.
I had never realized that celebrities were so spoiled, but I guess they have the money to waste, so they can buy all those things. When Matt told us it was time to move on, there was a single groan, but we all left quickly. We still had to explore the third floor. We knew what was on the fourth floor. I did, anyway.
The huge gym took up most of the next floor. We entered and were asked to sit on the rolled up mats, usually used by wrestlers, to rest a little bit. Matt went outside for a few minutes, but when he returned, he smelled of smoke. Anyway, I had to wake up Derek at that point because 1. He started to drool on my shirt and 2. He was moving around too much to get comfortable. He opened his eyes and before long, he was his regular hyper self. Watching him spin in circles, I climbed onto the mat, but fell off. I finally managed to get up on the third try and settled down to see what was going on.
There was a basketball game going on and I looked around at each player, curious as to whom he was. I grew excited when I recognized one of the players as my friend, Crystal. I didn’t even know that she played the game until that moment when I saw her speeding up and down the court like a pro. She didn’t notice me through the whole game and I didn’t get an opportunity to chat with her after because had to continue our tour. We left the gym and went into a small lounge. It had three black leather couches set in a circle and matching end tables at each end. A small coat rack caught my attention and suddenly I noticed the dreaded heat that filled the room. I removed my coat and hung it up on the rack.
As I turned away, I caught sight of something that resembled a Benji; it was small, flat and green. I faced the something and stared. I reached out and had the money in my hand when suddenly an arm streaked past me and snatched it out of my hands.
“Hey, that was mine!” I exclaimed. I faced the thief.
“Well, you’re not going to need it now, are you?” the culprit was one of the three college snobs with the tour group. She cradled “Ben” and sniggered at me.
“As a matter of fact,” I informed her, “I am, so give it up!”
The girl scoffed and turned away, as if she couldn’t tell me off to my face.
“Are you?” I snapped.
“Of course,” the girl retorted, pushing Benji toward her mouth. She was going to slide it in when my arm shot forward and grabbed the money right out of her hand. She was too slow to react and I smiled.
“Hey, you stole that!” She pointed an accusing finger and stomped her foot.
The tour guide stopped talking and faced us.
“Is there a problem here?” he inquired, with an annoyed sigh.
“She stole my money,” the girl told him, aiming her finger at me. In fact, she had it pointed about an inch away from my face.
“Did you?” Matt turned to me and asked.
“No way,” I said, “That was my money. I saw it first and she ripped it out of my hands and I took it back. It’s mine.” I finished and winked at the guide, knowing that would make him give in to me.
I was right.
“The money is hers,” he announced, awarding the cash to me.
“But, she stole it!” the girl protested.
“There is no arguing!” the guide told her, sternly, starting to continue rambling on about the original use of the room we were in. It tuned out to be some kind of sanctuary for the athletes who wanted to get away from the deafening cries of the crowds in the gym. He told us about the time Bret “the hit man” Hart had lounged in here and wanted a cappuccino so badly he actually kicked a waiter because he told him their cappuccino maker was broken. This time, I turned to Liz and said, “What an interesting story,” under my breath, so that Matt couldn’t hear it.
I clutched my new found fortune and plopped down next to Derek, who had exhausted himself out and was now sleeping on his sister’s shoulder. I had been sitting for a few minutes when I heard my cell phone go off. I opened my shoulder bag and followed my ears to the sound that sounded like the song called “Let’s push things forward” by The Streets. I finally found it buried under my number of coins that I hadn’t bothered to dump in my wallet. I stood up and strolled over into a corner, passing the couple jointly speaking into a cell phone with a person they had put on speakerphone. The woman was talking and saying something about dating two guys at once. I rolled my eyes and continued walking until I was far away enough to hear myself think. When I was, I put my ear to the phone and greeted the caller.
“You may speak now,” I said, in an arrogant voice.
“Hey, what’s up?” I sighed.
“Joe?” I smiled, knowing immediately who the caller was. “What’s going on?”
“Not a lot,” he told me, “It’s very cold here.” He snickered.
I smiled.
“Joe?” I could barely keep down the laugher. “You work in Carvel, so it should be a little cold.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got a sweatshirt on and I’m still cold,” he whined.
I took my phone away from my ear and glared at it.
Derek, thinking I was mad about something waddled over to me and tugged at my sleeve.
“Are you okay?” he asked, sincerely. His eyes were full of concern and I melted, thinking that he thought something terrible had just happened. He was a great kid, an unselfish one to the finish.
“I’m fine, Derek,” I assured him. He smiled and went back to Liz, who shrugged her shoulders, but had to smile at her mature younger brother.
For a second, I forgot about Joe, but luckily he was so loud.
“Are you there?” Hello?” I thought that Liz heard him when I saw her glance at me.
“Joe?” I said, pushing the phone upward, “I’m here.”
“Oh, okay, for a second, I thought the coldness did something to the phones.”
I shook my head again, but kept a straight face, for Derek’s sake.
“If you have a sweatshirt, then shouldn’t you be warm?” I teased him.
at that moment, everyone started moving and I followed the crowd. I noticed we were going upstairs, which meant we were heading to the fourth floor.
“Yeah…” His voice seemed to trail off.
“Are you eating the ice cream?”
“Ahm..."
I sighed.
“Joe, you’re hopeless.”
“Hey!” He found that offensive.
I smiled, knowing my wits had once again defeated Joe’s mere intelligence.
I was walking around now, and not really paying attention much around me. Then I heard the tour guide say that we were nearing the balcony where the boy had died. I stopped and looked at him. He was pointing outside a door and I could tell it was the balcony. I told Joe I would call him back and hung up before he could answer. I followed the crowd outside and waited for Matt to start talking.
“He was said to be a normal kid,” he began, “but something just went wrong that day.”
That stuck with me as I wandered around the balcony. I walked alongside Liz, who was still holding Derek, but my mind slid into another universe, where normal children did awful things. I tried to think of some reason, any reason at all, that could tell me why this child lashed out and why the security guard had to shoot him to calm him down, if that was what killing him did to him.
Liz noticed my nervousness and asked if I was okay.
I looked at her and nodded.
“I’ll always remember that boy,” I told her, looking out over the edge of the balcony. I could see buildings, too many to count, cars, people and everything. I could see everything for miles and miles.
She didn’t seem surprised at my comment.
“I couldn’t forget him, either,” she said, “I don’t think I could ever forget him.”
“it was so sad.” I wiped more tears from my eyes so I could see where I was going.
“I know, but he’s safe now,” my friend told me, doing her best to comfort me.
I nodded and looked out over the edge of the balcony.
Yeah, I thought, he’s safe now. And I’ll always remember him.