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He passed over a couple of thick cloth napkins. I suspected they were to replace paper napkins that could blow away in the breeze.
When everything was laid out, he settled back and opened his box.
I opened mine, finding small pieces of fried chicken, bite-sized to eat with a fork, along with potato salad and diced peaches in the other compartments.
He held his box close to his chest, and picked out a piece of chicken, looking at me and waiting.
I sensed he wanted me to eat first, so I chose a piece of chicken and began to eat it. It was white breast meat and was tasty, despite being cold.
Once I’d taken a bite, he began to eat too. I couldn’t think of what to say, so I focused on the food, enjoying the comforting tastes in an otherwise very curious situation.
The entire time, I waited for someone else to arrive, but no one ever did. He never looked for a third person behind him to arrive, but also seemed to ignore the place setting for the third person. He hadn’t set out a water for the person, just the tea.
I finally realized no one ever was ever going to arrive for the food and a haunted feeling washed over me, wondering who it was for, but not daring to ask. As we ate, I occasionally glanced at the third set. I shifted as I sat, uncomfortable and feeling out of place.
When there was nothing left to eat, I sipped at my water until Mr. Blackbourne was finished.
When he did finish, he put his empty box down and sipped at his tea, looking out over the lake. I did as well, getting lost in watching the water lapping against the shore. In the distance, bare trees stuck out over the water. Without a strong wind, all was still. The gentlest of sparkling light reflected against the water, despite the light covering of clouds overhead.
After a while, the silence between us became less awkward and I felt myself relax. Feeling like we were almost meditating, the quiet trance-like, I was aware of my full stomach, the cool, crisp air, the nice park surrounding us, and his close, silent company.
It was an hour before he finally sat up, having shifted to sitting cross-legged after lunch. He collected the empty boxes and forks and emptied my unfinished tea into the water.
The lunch for his third person, our invisible guest, he simply slid aside to sit on the dock, while he collected the other items. I stood and helped him collect the blanket which he refolded and put it back in the basket.
We walked away from the dock, leaving behind the paper items and the food. I imagined animals and bugs would be by to eat what was left over, and the paper items he used wouldn’t hurt the environment, being biodegradable. Isn’t it still bad to leave it behind?
With my tongue glued inside my mouth, I followed him back to the car. I recalled something from Japanese class, where Dr. Green once talked about how the Japanese often left food for those who have passed away on different event days just for their ancestors. Leaving behind purchased or homemade bento, fruit, or other items.
But wasn’t the food left at grave sites?
Mr. Blackbourne was doing something similar but had added his own twist to the tradition. For whatever reason, on his birthday, this is what he wanted to do.
I waited while he placed the basket back into the trunk and shut it.
He walked around to the passenger side, and I followed, presuming he was going to open the door for me.
Instead, he stopped at the back door, and opened it, pulling out the gift. He held it in his hand, looking at it, tracing the gray paper and maroon-colored bow with a finger.
I was compelled to break the silence, even though it felt like I was somehow breaking a spell. “You don’t have to open it now,” I whispered. It felt silly to have even brought it up at such a time. I should have held onto it and given it to him when all the others had had a chance to.
He moved forward, and I backed up, allowing him space. He placed the box on top of the car’s trunk, and delicately removed the paper and bow, to get to the white gift box underneath.
He opened the flap and pulled out the protective paper to uncover a crystal flower vase.
I panicked, feeling silly. I’d remembered the roses, and some comments he’d made about other flowers, making me think he had a fondness for flowers. I thought something as perfect as crystal, a nice vase, might be a unique enough a gift.
Though as I stood there, it occurred to me that if he did like flowers, wouldn’t he have plenty of vases? It was too late to change my mind now.
He held the vase in his hands, smoothing his fingers over the curves. The store had described it as a bud vase, slim, meant to only hold one flower at a time. It narrowed in the middle, giving it a slight design, but otherwise, it was clear and simple.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice a gentler version than his usual strong tone. He looked over the vase once more and then gently put it back in the box. “You have a unique way of understanding, Miss Sorenson. I couldn’t have imagined how perfectly...” He quieted again.
Saying, “You’re welcome,” was on the tip of my tongue, but I waited to see if he was going to say more.
He pressed his lips together, sighed gently, and picked up the box. “I should get you home,” he said.
I understood. It must have been very emotional for him, to think of his dead mother on a day like today. I didn’t know why he brought me along. He hadn’t done it for any of the other boys. What about Dr. Green? Did even he know what Mr. Blackbourne did on his birthday?
Why, of all days, did he pick his own birthday to be so somber, making it like a memorial? It was more like visiting a grave than a celebration.
I held on to those questions and more while he placed the box and the paper gently back into the rear seat. He opened the door for me, and soon we were off for him to drop me back at Kota’s house.
I never told the other boys what happened, and they never asked, although questions filled their eyes when I returned. I couldn’t offer any explanation. It wasn’t my story to tell them.
They respected my silence, and never prodded me with a single question. I sensed their respect for Mr. Blackbourne.
Mr. Blackbourne had shared something big with me, inviting me along. Would I ever learn the mystery behind it? But I didn’t need to really know. I sensed it that day, felt it. Through it, Mr. Blackbourne reached out to me and again, like many times before, something profound had happened between us.
Mr. Blackbourne had let me in.
I would never forget.
CHRISTMAS MORNING
For the first part of the holiday break, it was a whirlwind of decorating. I found myself in awe of how much care the boys took to decorate every one of their homes.
Most of the time was spent on Kota’s and Nathan’s, and then Vi
ctor’s estate and Silas’s apartment. We didn’t do the whole house, just Victor’s and Silas’s rooms, and then certain other areas. I wondered if Charlie, or if Victor’s parents would notice. They didn’t seem worried about it. To me, it seemed they simply kept themselves busy to pass the days.
Dr. Green had no problem adorning his condo with fancy crafted snowflakes made out of paper.
Pam decorated the Coleman trailer, despite Gabriel pleading with her to let him handle it.
North said not to bother decorating their house; no one would see it except for him, Luke and Uncle. But despite his protests, Luke and I spent an afternoon putting up a tree and hanging simple holiday wreaths at every window. North only disapproved of the ones on the second story windows, telling us not to walk on the roofs.
Compared to my past Christmases, this one was full of activity. In what I’d started to think of as my old life, my stepmother had my sister and I put up and decorate the tree from when we were very young. At first, decorating was different, and different in the house that was always the same was exciting. My father was always working so it was usually up to us.
As we’d gotten older, when my stepmother was sick in bed and had directed us to put up the tree a week before Christmas, it had started to become a chore, and one that I often did alone.
There was little appreciation for it; no one wanted to help or even looked at it until Christmas. I did it more out of something to do because it was something I’d always done. There was little joy in the holiday.
Still, I knew Christmas this year would be different.
Leading up to the holiday, I had dreams of Academy people behind walls, whispering to me that something was coming. I kept those dreams to myself, not wanting to admit to the guys that I was stressed about the upcoming introduction. Being busy kept me just distracted enough during the day, but at night, with the long stretch of time between lying down and actually falling asleep, I worried about what was to come. Every evening, I practiced in my head what I would say when I was finally asked which group I’d like to join.
