City Kid

Luke knew. “The doughnut shop,” he said without hesitation.

I nodded. “Okay, you show me.”

Luke quickened his pace so that he was slightly in the lead. Down the side street to one that was a little wider, but still quiet in the early morning. A grocer was piling grapefruit and oranges in the front window of his store and he waved to Luke as we went by. Luke waved back and I thought, this is what I need. A feel of Luke’s world.

He slowed down as we went by the five-and-ten. Was this the one where he had stolen jewelry and toys? Probably. He stopped and stared at a red fire engine. I moved away a little and studied a sale of wicker baskets. Nobody likes to be rushed when they’re window-shopping.

In a few minutes Luke was back, nosing around like a small puppy, his body urging me down the street. We waited for a light at the corner and then stopped in front of a shabby-looking movie theater.

Luke read the coming attractions out loud to me. “Godzilla and the Hairy Monster; Big Foot and Dracula.”

“Scary,” I said.

“Yup. I saw Big Foot. His foot’s as big as that whole building.” Luke pointed to the bar and grill we were passing. “He could step on you and just like that you’d be dead.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

“It’s okay, it’s just a movie.”

We rounded a corner and there was Dunkin’ Donuts. Luke stood close to the window and inspected everything going on inside, his breath making steamy patches on the window. “See,” he said, pointing to the waitresses in their white uniforms, the shiny steel coffee maker, the rows and rows of doughnuts lining the wall.

“Let’s go in,” I said.

Luke hesitated. He obviously hadn’t planned on this, but he followed me through the door – Counter or table? Counter. Better view of the doughnuts. Luke and I sat silently admiring them.

A waitress swished a wet rag in front of us. “What’ll it be?” she asked.

Should I go first? Had Luke ever ordered?

“Do you have a menu?” I asked. That would give us a little time.

“A menu? Uh – yeah, I guess so.” She was back in a minute and handed me a pink and white cardboard menu.

“Thank you.” I spread it out between Luke and myself. We read in silence the information inside. TETE HEARTY WESTERN (two eggs any style, bacon, hash browns, and muffins), THE PICK ME UP (tomato juice, one egg, cottage cheese), THE CONTINENTAL (orange juice, Danish, and coffee).

“Where are the doughnuts?” Luke whispered.

“There I guess.” I pointed to the bottom. DONUTS – 35¢.

“Oh,” was all he said, but I could hear disappointment behind his voice.

Suddenly I remembered Howard Johnson’s, and how I had loved hearing the flavors of ice cream.

I looked at the waitress. “Could you tell us what kind of doughnuts you have?”

“Cinnamon, sugared, raised, potato, chocolate, jelly, cheese, or plain.”

It was wonderful. Almost like a litany. I wished she’d do it again.

“Cinnamon, chocolate, raspberry …” I said, making the mistakes easily, purposely.

“Cinnamon, sugar, raised, potato, chocolate, jelly, cheese, or plain.”

Wonderful, wonderful.

I looked at Luke. He was smiling. I had never seen him smile before.

“Jelly for me,” I said, “and coffee.”

“Me too,” said Luke.

“Two jellies. Two coffees. Be right back.”

Luke poured two containers of cream and four spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and held it between his two hands. Nutrition experts would have a stroke, but sometimes there are more important things than too much sugar.

It was nice, sitting there in the sunlight, sipping our coffee, nibbling at our doughnuts, and licking jelly from our fingers. I wished we could have stayed all morning, but the wall clock said 10:00. We had already used up thirty-five minutes and I wanted to be back on time so we could get out again.

On the last block before school, Luke stopped beside a telephone pole and dug deep in his pocket. He brought up his fist closed tight. He looked up at me and then opened his hand. A shiny gold shell lay in the center of his palm. My stomach lurched. A bullet shell?

But Luke was talking to me. “See? I got it at the factory and shined it. You can see your face if you want.”

“The factory?” I asked.

“Yup. The lipstick factory. I go by it on my way home. I got a secret place there.”

An empty lipstick tube. Not a bullet after all. But I still couldn’t find my voice.

Luke touched me this time. He put his hand into mine and turned it upside down. “It’s a secret place. But you can keep this one if you won’t tell. I got more. Look. See if you can see your face.”

I peered at the gleaming shell, and sure enough, there I was, distorted and oval around the empty tube.

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s nice. Lucky, too. I can tell.”

“Yup,” said Luke. “It’s luckier than anything.”

Chapter 8 (#u042f5711-346d-5f23-a1b5-d9f6af79f374)

March meant midterms at college. Background of Mathematics II. Not too bad. We were studying probability.

Current Methods of Teaching Mentally Challenged Adolescents was easy. A take-home exam, plus an interview with someone who was willing to hire a mentally challenged person. I interviewed Cal. He had several people, good people, in his plant with IQ’s in the seventies.

Counseling and Guidance. Even easier. Lunch with Norm Foster to report on the Special Education Independent Study Project. My project, of course, was Luke.

Reading practicum. The exam read, “Discuss causes of reading disability in four categories.” I knew those. I even knew five. Meeps: mental, emotional, educational, physical and social.

But Statistics and Orientation to Psychological Testing was not so easy. We had spent an inordinately long time on bell curves and standard deviation. The curve I understood. Its normal distribution curve did seem normal

It seemed right that there would probably be more average people than other kinds. Professor Frye said that a random sample of a thousand people in Times Square yielded 68.26 percent (2/3) with IQ’s between 85 and 115. However, the curve wasn’t always normal; sometimes it skewed to the right, sometimes it skewed to the left. Then beware the mean and trust only the median.