The Schwa Was Here

Gunther sighed. "She did disappear, in a manner of speak­ing," he said. "And she was not the only one who disappeared that night."

I waited for more, but then he sat back, thought for a moment, and said, "No." He stood and returned to his meat cutting.

"What do you mean 'no'? You can't start and not finish."

He slammed the side of beef back down on the cutting table. "I tell this story only once. Your friend should be here when I do. Bring your friend and I will tell you both about that day."

Then he gave me four pork chops, cut thick like they used to in the days when meat was meat, and he sent me on my way.

17 A Traumatic Experience I'll Live to Regret, Assuming I Live

Just as she had promised, Lexie sprung a top-secret trauma attack on her grandfather. It came without warning (without me being warned, that is) the morning after my visit to the Night Butcher. It was Saturday. A day I should have been able to sleep late. As I was tossing and turning all night with unpleasant dreams about meat, I was dead to the world when the phone rang. My mom practically had to use heart paddles to wake me up.

"She says it's important," my mom said, shoving the phone into my hand. "I don't know what could be so important at seven in the morning."

"Hewwo?" I said, sounding more like Elmer Fudd than I truly want to admit.

"Today's the day," Lexie said excitedly on the end of the line. "Everything's set for noon."

"Huh? What everything do you mean?" I croaked out.

"Trauma therapy," she whispered. "My grandfather—remem­ber?"

I groaned, and Lexie got all annoyed.

"Well, if you don't want to help, you don't have to come. It's not like you're under any obligation."

"No, no," I said. "I want to help," which was true. Traumatiz­ing Old Man Crawley was actually pretty high on my list of Things I'd Most Like to Do. "What do you need me to bring?"

"Just yourself," she said, "And Calvin. Tell him I want him to come, too."

"Why don't you tell him?"

Lexie hesitated. "I haven't spoken to him since the day we all broke up."

After Lexie hung up, I dialed the Schwa. It rang once, and I hung up. My encounter with the Night Butcher was still fresh in my mind, and I knew if I talked to him, he'd hear something funny in my voice. I wanted to tell him about it, but a sensitive matter like this had to be handled carefully, at the right time and place.

The phone rang, and figuring it was Lexie again, I picked it right up.

"Hi, Antsy, it's Calvin."

"Schwa?" He caught me completely off guard.

"Yeah. You rang a second ago. So what's up?"

He had star-sixty-nined me. Curse telephone technology. "Uh ... so whatcha up to today?"

"I've got big plans," he said. "The biggestl Of course I can't tell you about it just yet."

He was so excited, I knew he was itching to talk about it as much as he wanted to keep it a secret. I should have asked him about it. That's what friends do, right? They nag you until you tell them the secret they're pretending they don't want to tell. The Schwa needed that kind of friend now; one who would lis­ten, and yell at him, "What, are you insane?" And maybe stop him from doing something he'd regret. I should have been that kind of friend.

"Cool," I said. "Guess I'll see you on Monday." And I hung up. I didn't ask him what he was planning, I didn't tell him about the Night Butcher, and I didn't invite him to traumatize Crawley with us. You never realize when you make little choices how big those choices can be. I can't really be held responsible for everything that happened next, but if I had made the right decision, things could have turned out differently.

***

At noon I stood at Crawley's door, taking a few deep breaths. Some dogs were already barking on the other side, sensing me there. One more breath and I pounded on the door over and over, until all the dogs were barking.

"Mr. Crawleyl Mr. Crawley! Hurry, open up!"

I heard him cursing at the dogs, a few dead bolts slid, and the door cracked open just enough to reveal four chains stretched like iron cobwebs between me and Crawley's scowling face.

"What? What is it?"

"It's Lexiel She fell down the stairs. I think she broke some­thing. Maybe a few things."

"I'll call 911."

"Nol No, she's asking for you—you've gotta cornel"

He hesitated for a moment. The door closed, I heard the chains sliding open, and he pulled the door open again. Pru­dence and a few of the other dogs got out, but Crawley didn't seem to care. He just stood there at the door.

"Mr. Crawley, come on!"

The look of fear on his face was like someone standing on the edge of a cliff instead of someone on the threshold of an apartment. "Aren't there people helping her?"

"Yeah, but she's asking for you."

As if on cue, Lexie wailed from the bottom of the stairs.

"Mr. Crawley—she's your granddaughter! Are you just going to stand there?"