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I started to open it, but she put her hand on mine. “I’d rather you looked at it with your father. I’m not ready to deal with what’s in there.”
“Why? Is it bad?”
Surely, she didn’t have something awful like crime scene photos from his death or autopsy reports. But this was my mom, and she was weird, so there was no telling.
She shook her head. “No. It’s just…I can’t think about him too much.” Her dark eyes grew wet as she touched my cheek. “You look a lot like him.” Pulling her hand back, she tapped the envelope I was holding. “You’ll see.”
“Ah. Why now?” I asked, holding up the envelope. “I mean, why are you giving it to me now?”
“My therapist suggested it. She said we should look through it all together, but…” she shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t want to.”
I didn’t know what to say. Time ticked away, and I knew I’d need to leave soon. As I opened my mouth to tell her I had to go, she spoke again.
“This is the only way you’ll ever know anything about your uncle at all, and, well… He deserves to be remembered.” Mom leaned forward to kiss my forehead. “You’re going to be late.”
I glanced at the time. “Shit.”
Shoving some of Mom’s string cheese in my backpack to eat as a snack later, I paused on my way out the door. “Mom?” I held up the envelope. “If you ever do want to look at this stuff together, I’d like that.”
Mom bowed her head. “Maybe one day. Now go. Don’t be late to your first class as a college student.”
***
Situated on theoutskirts of downtown Knoxville, the University of Tennessee campus was already bustling with commuters and students by the time I arrived and found parking.
As I walked to my first class, a few Humanities professors, friends of my father, called out to me. I waved but kept my head down. I didn’t have time to chat, and I didn’t want to be Abe Mandel’s son right now. I wanted to be Peter, freshman on campus, lame for the usual reasons, and no one special at all.
Ducking into the Austin Peay building for Psychology 110, I sat down in the back of the enormous theater-style classroom filled with students.
As I readied my notebook and pencil, anonymity rolled over me like a blanket of peace. After the tiny classes at Kingsley, I’d forgotten what it was like to sit in the middle of a group of people and not have a single one of them know who I was or even give enough of a damn to find out. We were here to learn, not get into each other’s business.
In an instant, I saw it all as a photograph: me in the center of the classroom, the focus tight, and the others blurred. Alone in a crowd. A different kind of quiet.
All at once the seat on my left was filled. I glanced over to find a small, dark-haired girl with glasses. She smiled, and as I opened my mouth to introduce myself, a very loud voice spoke directly into my right ear.
“Peter, you bitch!”
Jerking around and rubbing at my ear, I blinked in shock as Minty dropped into the seat on the other side.
He arranged a fresh notebook, four pencils, and a bottle of Snapple on his desk. Wearing a spring green, feminine-cut short-sleeve sweater and navy corduroy pants over pointy, high-heeled boots, he was a rainbowfish in a sea of plaid flannel gloom.
My fingers itched to dig into my backpack for my camera to capture his shine.
Glancing around, I found all eyes were now on Minty, and thus on me too. If I’d been treasuring my anonymity, it was gone. Still, I was relieved he was talking to me at all. The last time I’d seen him, he’d wanted to kick my ass.
“Uh, hi. Why are you in this class?” I asked, watching as he lined his pencils up lengthwise on his desk, each straight and perfectly sharpened.
“Same as you. Gotta have it to graduate, duh.”
“But you’re a Junior.”
“You know I always arrive late to a party so I can make an entrance.” Minty smiled and ran his fingers through his white-blond hair. Girls stared, boys squirmed. The discomfort in the room was palpable.
As nervous as the attention made me, Minty was undeniably a sight to behold. He reached into his own backpack and pulled out a compact mirror, checking his teeth, and then blowing a kiss to himself. I unzipped my backpack, but my camera was at the bottom. I’d have to empty everything out to get to it. I zipped it closed again.
“Who’s your friend?” Minty asked, nodding to the girl on my left. He didn’t wait for an answer, sticking out his hand, wrist limp and fingers dangling. “I’m Minty Arnold.”
“Jennifer Alvarez.” She took his hand and gave it a firm shake.
