O Deus Ego Amo Te
O God I Love You, Christopher knew.
When church ended, Special Ed’s mother went out to the parking lot and lit a cigarette. She took a deep breath in and exhaled a cloud.
“Jesus Christ, that was a long mass,” she said. “Doesn’t Father Tom know we all have Christmas shopping to do?”
She said it without a hint of irony, which Christopher’s mother admitted made her love Betty all the more. Then, after Betty cleaned the bake sale out of snickerdoodles, she offered to take everyone out for pizza to celebrate the good news.
“What good news?” Christopher’s mother asked.
“Eddie was promoted out of the dumb class!” she said.
“Hey!” Special Ed sulked.
“Sorry, honey. But it’s true. You were in the dumb class,” she said, patting his hair. “But that Mrs. Henderson is a genius because you’re reading at a fourth-grade level now. We’re so proud. Right, Big Eddie?”
“So proud. So proud,” Special Ed’s father said, watching the Steelers highlights on his phone.
Christopher saw his mother lock the information about Special Ed away in her mind. Then, the two families joined Matt and Mike and their two moms, who had just finished doing what Betty referred to as “whatever it is that Lutherans do” at their church off Route 19.
They may have had their religious differences, but hey…same God. Same pizza.
As the adults plowed through a pitcher of Iron City beer, the boys played video games.
“I just need help with the windows and roof,” Christopher offered. “I’ll do the rest myself.”
“Sorry, Chris. Our moms grounded us,” Matt said.
“Yeah,” Mike said, wanting their dessert privileges restored.
But Christopher wouldn’t let it go. The headache wouldn’t let him. After his mother went to sleep that night, he tried to carry the windows up the ladder by himself. But they were too heavy. So, Christopher stashed them away and tried to fit the roof, but it was impossible with only one person. He had reached the limit of what one kid could do. The minute he stopped building, his headache returned with a vengeance.
And the nice man was nowhere to be seen.
The next day in school, Christopher found his friends in homeroom.
“The roof is a four-man job. I can’t finish alone,” he begged.
“Dude, we told you. We’re grounded,” Mike said, exasperated.
“Yeah, Chris. Leave us alone. You’re being crazy,” Special Ed said. “And you look terrible. Get some sleep.”
Christopher looked over at Matt, the one person he knew he could count on. Matt quietly looked down at his desk.
“Matt?” he said.
“Leave my brother alone,” Mike said.
“Let him answer for himself,” Christopher said to Mike.
Mike had twenty pounds on him, but Christopher didn’t care. The two boys squared off. Matt didn’t want a fight to break out.
“Sit down, guys. We’re already in trouble,” Matt said.
Christopher turned to Matt. He looked him dead in the eye.
“Are you going to help me or not?”
Matt was silent. He looked up at his brother.
“No, Chris. I’m sorry.”
The headache forced the words out of Christopher’s mouth before he even thought them.
“Fuck you then,” he said.
The minute he said it, he felt ashamed. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. By the end of the day, Christopher’s head was screaming. It didn’t matter that he snuck his mother’s Excedrin into school and ate them all day like candy. It didn’t even matter that the final period of the day was canceled so all the kids could go outside to the playground for the special event. Christopher’s head would not stop hurting.
Not even for Balloon Derby.
He looked around the playground at all the kids in their winter coats and hats. Each of them held a different-colored balloon with a little card attached to the end of a string. Mrs. Henderson told them all to write their names on the card with the school’s contact information. Whoever’s balloon traveled the farthest got the prize. The kids would find out the last day of school before Christmas break. He suddenly remembered Mrs. Keizer sneaking up on him in the hospital, screaming, “Death is coming! Death is here! We’ll die on Christmas Day!”
Don’t cry.
The pain in his head was so terrible. He was never going to finish the tree house. So, either Bad Cat was going to hurt his mother, or he was completely insane.
Don’t cry.
Christopher tried to shake off the pain and just write his name. But the first tear hit the card and smudged the pencil.
Stop crying, you baby.
But he couldn’t. He just hid himself behind the slide, put his throbbing head in his hands, and began to sob. After a moment, he felt a shadow cut across his eyelids. He looked up and saw Matt put a hand on his shoulder.
“What’s wrong, Chris?”
Christopher couldn’t speak. He just kept crying. Mike and Special Ed ran up next.
“What happened?” Mike asked. “Was it Brady? I’ll kill him.”
Christopher shook his head. No, it wasn’t Brady. Special Ed looked around. A little paranoid.
“Well, stand up. You don’t want Brady to see you crying, right?”
The boys helped him to his feet. Then, he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.
“I’m sorry,” Christopher said. “I didn’t mean to swear at you. I didn’t mean to get you guys in trouble.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Matt said.
“Yeah. Our moms aren’t so mad anymore,” Mike added.
“Yeah, my mom thinks I’m a genius now,” Special Ed exclaimed. “Plus, we got to spend a whole night camping out by ourselves. Win win.”
“So, will you guys help me finish it?”
“Why is it so important to you?” Matt asked.
“Because it’s our place. Because we’re the Avengers,” Christopher said, knowing they would never believe the truth.
The blacktop got quiet. The boys thought a minute.
“Okay, Chris,” Special Ed said. “We’ll help you.”
“Of course,” Matt agreed. “But we have to figure out how. We’re still grounded.”
“What if we skipped school?” Mike proposed.
“I can’t skip,” Special Ed said, quickly embracing his new academic success. “If I get an A on a test this year, my dad said he’d get me Showtime in my room. Showtime has a lot of naked ladies.”
“What if we all pretend to be sick?” Matt offered.
“Too suspicious,” Special Ed said.
The more the boys thought, the more they realized that there was no plan that worked. Christopher was the only one who lived close enough to the woods to sneak away at night. Their moms were with them every day after school and on weekends, and they would never allow another sleepover.
“Boys and girls, get ready with your balloons!” Mrs. Henderson called out.
“Come on, guys,” Special Ed said. “We’ve got a Balloon Derby to win.”
The boys held their balloons for Christopher. He tied his balloon to theirs. The four looked over at Brady Collins and Jenny Hertzog, whose popular friends had so many balloons tied together, it looked like the movie Up! But Christopher and the Avengers didn’t care. They were best friends again.