The Catcher's Dreams (FEATURED)

CHAPTER TEN - tomatoes pt. 2

Cassandra Hirsch was laughing more often nowadays, and the soft smell of baby powder had slipped into the Hirshes's everyday routine. As Drake came home after the Zachary Incident, there was a welcome of cheering footsteps.

"Cassie?" he muttered, standing at the doorstep. The lights flickered on, one by one. The Ayis turned their heads at the staircase in curiosity, interrupted in the middle of their welcome home speech.

"Come back here, Grey!" a voice danced.

The staircase purred as mittens of cloud laced with lilac appeared at the top, slowly jumping down a tentative step, pausing, then another step and gaining in speed. Four little paws now, jumping down the stairs with acrobatic accuracy.

Another pair of feet appeared at the top of the flight of stairs, bare and pale and dressed in a jolly layer of dust. "Grey!"

The kitten mewed, and the bell of sound was joined by more laughter. Cassandra came flowing down the stairs in her brown tinted dress, and with a mellow scoop and two creamy arms, Grey was back in his place.

Her glow pulsed, clearly lilac with streaks of grey. It was a healthy glow if Drake ever saw one.

"Cassie," he said. "You came out."

She peered away from Grey for a second to rest her eyes upon Drake and the Ayis scattered on the floor. "Oh, hello, food-bringers."

The Ayis nodded at her. Tall Bun's bun came undone.

With a skip and a flourish, Cassandra flew up the stairs again. Grey's meow kissed the stuffy air.

She was getting better. A few days later, her brother heard her singing.

#

Perhaps, too, there were some dreams.

Drake fell asleep that night tossing and turning to the beat of his own heart. It was too hot, and as he kicked the blankets aside, too cold. He waited for soft hands to tuck him in, but as always, those soft hands were on the other side of the globe or who knows where. He didn't even know why he waited for them anymore.

As the minutes ticked away, eight o'clock came, followed tediously by nine and then finally ten, who gave up, crumpling on swollen arthritic knees and biding Drake to sleep.

There were two of him in his dream. As a huge recital hall fell into place around him, a volley of silence hit his ears. He looked around. He was standing on a curved wooden stage, holding an extension of his arm. The violin rested on his shoulder, and he pulled his extension back, letting a flurry of B flat blunder off the strings.

The crowd waited. Drake hefted the violin off his shoulder and it met the extension, which unraveled from his normal arm. Then the ground shook with cheering. Drake bowed. Some people tossed red roses stripped of their thorns and others stood up to clap. The red roses thickened, and soon it was raining layers of them. Yet they made sure to stay out of his way; bouncing off some invisible forcefield and landing in a neat circle at his feet.

Something pulled at his gaze. Amid the blood of the roses there was a single tear – a rose with a bleached whiteness that drifted down towards him with ghostlike humility. Unlike the others, it seemed to penetrate his forcefield. Soft white petals met the smooth wood of the violin.

Drake looked in the direction it had come from. Another Drake looked back.
This Drake was a blurry figure in the far right of the first row, but it was him, all right. His pale cheeks shone with pink, face melting down to a delicate point of a chin. The Drake in the audience smiled, a smile with all his teeth. He then blew real Drake a kiss, and threw another white rose.

Muscles pulled into a matching smile. The white rose hovered in midair, and he woke.

there were two of me.
one played, one listened.
then i threw myself a kiss
and roses danced.

#

(A simple equation:

Math + Drake = Ø.)

Today it was geometry, shapes and shapes of nothingness floating around his head, covering him in their soft silky vapors. He sat in the back, and like the rest of the class, stared more at the teacher's tight translucent shirt than the Smartboard. Every time the teacher asked for volunteers he bent down, untied his shoe, and retied it. The laces were soon getting worn.

"What shape is this?"

He ducked down too slow.

"You, in the back – Drake? Drake, what shape is this?"

"A jewel," Drake said immediately, snapping out of the clouds. That's what it looked like. The shape was right, and it was colored in purple, too, like some exotic amethyst his sister used to enjoy finding among the rest. It pulsed on the Smartboard, gentle waves of the screen rippling it to life. But as he said it, he knew it was wrong. A diamond was a shape, and so was a kite. But a jewel...

Strange laughter bounced around the room, tickling Drake's cheeks.

"A parallelogram, Drake. Please pay attention in class." The parallelogram was colored in disdain. The teacher sniffed, flipping her hair and pulling down her shirt so it seemed even more tight and translucent. Children nowadays were as hopeless as her ex-boyfriend.

Tommy slipped something under the table. From the scratch against his knee, Drake could tell it was paper. He peered at it. Math Notes. Below it an array of shakily drawn shapes were displayed. Sure enough, the jewel was written down as a parallelogram.

"What is this shape?" The teacher looked around. "Tommy?"

A hand snatched back the notes and Tommy answered, "A rhombus."

The teacher nodded in satisfaction, but the boy sitting at the table next to them pointed accusingly. "Ms. Waters, he's looking at his notes!"

"Shut up, Rice," Tommy hissed. "Shut up or I'll Drake you."

"You'll what?" Drake repeated, looking over with the immediacy of someone who has heard their name being said. "You'll what him?"

Tommy looked back at the Smartboard as if he couldn't hear. The screen changed. A blue tissue box appeared, or as others knew it, a rectangle. "Nothing," he muttered.

"He said he'd you me," Aidan Rice said to Drake. "I mean, he'd Drake me. You get –"

"Quiet, Aidan," the teacher said. Drake continued looking at the scrawny redhead, but Aidan Rice had fixed his gaze on the teacher's chest once more. Drake turned to Tommy. He did nothing but stiffen.

Drake didn't let their ignorance fool him. They must've remembered.

Drake was right.

That night, the rumors started circulating. No one knew where they'd come from – the dusky depths of the air conditioners, the No Man's Land that was the teacher's bathroom, or propaganda against Drake's House (the green one) in preparation for Field Day. But they were there, of course. Hiding and lurking like serpents inside shoes. The consensus was that Tommy would "Drake" you if you got on his bad side. The actual "Drake"-ing...thoughts varied on that. Same with who did the "Drake"-ing: Tommy or its titular boy, Tommy's weird friend Drake von Hirsch.

Everyone was sure of what everything was and how The Universe worked at all times, yes all times, as everyone always was during an era of rumors. The only one who wasn't sure of the Tommy Drake story was Drake.