AN HOUR later, we’re still on the freeway, traffic having backed up, and it’s raining harder. Creed’s been telling us what’s been going on in Arizona, more for Ty’s benefit than mine as I speak to Creed a few times a week. Ty tells him about the new teacher he had at school who he’s had to correct a few times when the teacher had been wrong in class, and about how I had to go in for a “Brother-Teacher” conference (he refuses to call it parent-teacher). He makes a face as he tells Creed about how Mr. Epson had called Benjamin Franklin a fine president. Creed looks over at me quickly, and I nod, and Creed turns back in horror to Ty, asking how anyone could get that mixed up.
“I know!” Ty mutters darkly. “There are apparently no standards to teach the third grade. And we don’t get out of school for another month.”
Ten minutes later, Ty’s talked out and asleep, his head resting on Creed’s bags. Looking back over his shoulder to make sure the Kid is actually asleep, Creed then turns to me and says quietly, “I thought Benjamin Franklin was a president.”
“I thought he was too! I had to look it up later just to make sure. Apparently he didn’t do a lot of things I thought he did.”
“He’s on money though, right?” Creed asks.
“Yeah, he is. How’d he do that if he wasn’t president?”
“He probably had a big dick.”
I grin. “Like the bigger it was, the higher the bill you would be on or something?”
“Yeah. Poor George,” Creed says, laughing. “Of course, I would be on the million-dollar bill.”
“They don’t make a million-dollar bill.”
“Well, yeah. They haven’t seen how big my dick is.” We both laugh. Then he quiets down and looks over at me. “It’s good to see you, Bear. Thanks for coming to pick me up.”
I shrug. “Sure. It’s not every day you come back, so it’s no big deal. How were finals?” I ask, trying to prolong the conversation from where it’ll inevitably go.
He groans and covers his face. “A nightmare. I don’t think they’re going to let me go back next semester.”
“Liar.”
He grins. “You’re right. Bear, I could do this crap in my sleep. I’m getting so bored being in school. I’m doing this stupid internship right now, and it’s literally the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done. Apparently ‘intern’ means ‘glorified errand boy’.” He shakes his head. “The recommendation will be good when I graduate, though. Speaking of, I know it’s a year away, but make sure you know you and the Kid need to be in Phoenix for graduation.”
I nod. “It’ll give me enough time to start saving up some money. We should be able to swing it, at least for a couple of days.” Goddamn it! Why’d I have to—
“Bear, if you’d just let me—” Creed begins, going into that same old dance that I’ve long memorized the steps to.
I cut him off. “Don’t start that again. You know that if I needed help, I’d ask. It’s not that I’m so full of pride that I don’t know to ask if I needed to.”
He looks out the window. “I know that you would make sure Ty’s covered but you wouldn’t ask help for yourself.”
I don’t respond because I know it’s true, and anything said to the contrary would sound hollow to both of us.
Creed turns back to me. “C’mon, Bear. You know I worry about you and the Kid. It’s my right as your best friend and job as being Uncle Creed.”
“I know,” I say irritably. “But we are actually doing okay right now. I’m almost all caught up with the bills. We’re not behind on rent like we were last year. The only things I am really worried about right now is what to do about the Kid’s school next year and”—I look back to make sure Ty is still asleep—“his birthday party.”
“Brother-Teacher Conference?”
“Brother-Teacher Conference. Apparently he’s a ‘disruption’ in class, but even the teacher and principal think it’s because he is too smart for the material. They want to move him up to fifth grade next year, but I don’t know.”
Creed whistles. “Skipping a grade? How the hell did he get so smart?” He grins and lightly punches me on the shoulder. “We know it’s nothing you did.”
I punch him back, careful not to swerve the car and end up in a ditch. “You’re telling me? I know that already. I just wonder if he needs the disruption of skipping a grade. I don’t know if that would be good for him or not.” And I really believe that. I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that Mom chose to leave me with the goddamn smartest kid on the planet. “Whatever I decide, they want an answer two weeks before the new school year begins, to fit him into a classroom.”
“And they’re not giving you any more shit over the power of attorney?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nah. Not as much as they did at first. But they’ve been dealing with me since Ty was in kindergarten. You know I was at these meetings more than my mom ever was. The only thing that really changed is that her say-so really wasn’t needed anymore.” This had terrified me at first, of course, on top of everything else—that I had the final say over anything and everything Tyson. Even if I’d been the one to attend these teacher conferences and doctor’s appointments when our mom had still been around, she’d usually still signed off on everything. I remember being afraid that everything I did was going to be wrong and that there’d be no one there to correct my mistakes. Looking back, I don’t really know how we survived. Sheer force of will, perhaps.
Creed looks back at Ty and then at me. “Dude, if you’d have told me three years ago that we’d be having this conversation, I would have said you were high.”
“I know. It’s crazy, right?”