Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,41

you were transported there from some other time or place. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“And then when you were unconscious, you started talking.”

“Really? What did I say?”

“You were quoting entire phrases of Walden, verbatim.”

“Which means that—” I have a photographic memory.

“That you’re Henry Thoreau reincarnated.” Thomas interrupts, pointing his wrench at me triumphantly.

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open.

“I mean, just look at you,” he continues. “Dark hair, gray eyes, just like Henry. And you know his writing by heart. I think it’s a reasonable explanation, don’t you?”

“Reincarnated? Thomas, I don’t think—”

Thomas starts to chuckle, and I realize he’s just yanking my chain. But then he stops laughing and jabs a finger at me. “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost—”

“That is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them,” I say without thinking.

Thomas nods to himself. After another moment, he turns to me again. “I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself—” he says and waits. “Than be crowded on a velvet cushion.”

He stares into my face, eyes intense. “A lake is the landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature,” he says.

“It is earth’s eye,” I respond. “Looking into which the beholder…uh…wait, I’ll get it.” I rack my brain, and nothing comes to me. Could be from one of the pages Frankie ate. Or maybe my memory isn’t as great as I thought. “Nope. No idea what’s next.”

“That proves nothing. Not even Henry could recite every single word he wrote,” Thomas says and shrugs. “I still say you could be him reincarnated. Why not? There are far weirder things in this world, Hank.”

I shake my head. “You have a lot of strange ideas, Thomas.”

“I know. I get that a lot,” he says cheerfully. Gotta admire a guy who’s clearly comfortable with his own quirks. “But if anything comes to you about Henry’s love life—or lack thereof—let me know. There are a lot of Thoreau scholars who have questions we’d like to get cleared up on the subject.”

“Promise.”

Thomas smiles at me and winks. Then he turns back to his Harley and loosens the bolt on the oil tank with his wrench, giving the job his full attention like he’s already forgotten all about me and his bizarre theory.

Thoreau reincarnated? Ha. If that’s true, then I’m totally screwing up Henry’s second chance at life. Just one more reason to feel like a loser.

Sitting there on the steps in the sun, watching Thomas change the oil in his motorcycle, my mind wanders to that beautiful butterscotch Tele that Thomas has in the guest room. If I’m really careful, I wonder if he’ll let me play it.

And then I’m struck by a scrap of thought. An old memory? No, a new one. There’s that thing I forgot to remember. Something I was supposed to do before I got sick. Damn, what was that? Then I remember. Hailey.

I never called Hailey. The last time we spoke, when I said I’d call her, was days ago. She’s going to think I blew her off.

“Thomas, can I borrow your phone?”

Hailey answers her phone on the first ring, and at first I have no idea what to say.

“Uh, Hailey? It’s Hank.”

No answer.

“Hailey?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I was sick. I mean, seriously, there was this infection, and I was really out of it for a while.”

“What do you want, Hank?”

Damn.

“Well, I thought we might get together. You know. Play some music. Like we said.”

She makes me sweat it out and doesn’t answer for a good ten seconds, though it feels a lot longer. “Sure,” she says at last, like she doesn’t really care. “Come over to my house tomorrow at four. I should be back from lacrosse practice by then.”

She gives me the address and hangs up kind of abruptly, but I don’t care, because she’s giving me a chance to redeem myself. Standing in Thomas’s front hallway, still holding the phone, I feel a goofy smile spread across my face. I’m going to see Hailey. Tomorrow. Yes.

10

Suzanne drops me off on the way to her afternoon shift at Emerson (as in Ralph Waldo, of course) Hospital, and I show up on Hailey’s doorstep, holding Thomas’s guitar in one hand and a small amp in the other.

When Hailey answers the door, I notice she’s wearing jeans and this tight purple shirt. She looks amazing. We’re shy with each other at first, so we don’t say much of anything past hi and come