Was it possible to read someone's thoughts and feel as if you've known him all your life? Some of the things he wrote I had felt and thought, but not as strongly and as vividly. What I had whispered to myself, he was shouting at the world.
I was still reading when my uncle and aunt returned from the cafe. Aunt Zipporah stopped in to see me. "I half expected to find Duncan here," she said. "He is."
"What? Where?"
"Here," I said and held up the notebook.
"Is that the notebook he's always writing in at the cafe? His poetry?"
"Yes." "Well, where is he?"
"He dropped me off and went home, I guess." "I'm surprised he gave you that."
"We had a deal. I'd let him take me here if he let me read his poetry."
"That was it? All he wanted was to take you home?" she asked suspiciously:
I nodded and then shrugged, and she laughed. "So how is his poetry?"
"Interesting."
She raised her eyebrows. "uh-huh."
"No, I'm not trying to avoid saying whether it's good or bad. It really is interesting."
"Okay. Do you want me to read any?"
"No," I said quickly. "I don't think it would be right without his permission."
She smiled:
"You're right, Alice. See you in the morning when your uncle wakes you and me up again," she said and went upstairs, laughing to herself.
I finished his notebook before I went to sleep. At the end it left me feeling sad and depressed. I didn't think it possible to discover anyone who was sadder about his life, his family and his future than I was, but Duncan Winning took first prize when it came to that. A part of me wanted me to hand the notebook back to him and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. In the state of mind I was in, someone as dark and depressing as he was could just push me over the edge. I should be surrounding myself with happy, contented people, young people my age who were more like Zipporah and Tyler. After all, this was supposed to be that time of our lives when we thought ourselves capable of doing anything and living forever, not dwelling on death, failure and
disappointment.
But then I thought that giving up on him was surely the same as giving up on myself. Maybe the blind could lead the blind. Maybe we were allies fighting similar demons. Maybe I should be kinder, more understanding, and, in doing that, I would get him to treat me in a similar way.
I quickly learned that wasn't the way to win his confidence and friendship.
He showed up at the restaurant right after the lunch rush the next day and took his seat at what was rapidly becoming known as Duncan's table to Cassie and Missy. I went to the back of the restaurant, where I had hidden his notebook, and brought it to him.
"Some of this is truly wonderful," I said, handing it to him.
He took it without saying anything.
"A lot of it is sad," I continued. "There's funny stuff, but most of it is sad. I can understand why, but--"
"But there's a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Sunnier days are just ahead? There's always a silver lining? Which one are you going to give me?" he asked with a wry smile. "I've stored all the lines the way a squirrel stores acorns."
"I wasn't going to give you any line," I said. "I was just going to
say that even though it's sad, it's good." "Right, it's good."
"It is! Have you ever shown any of it to your teachers?"
He looked at me as if I was saying the dumbest thing. "What for?"