go to that phone booth. And to call that number. And I will tell you who you were about to call . . . does that sound alright. Evan.
EA _ O okay.
Y _ Perfect.
EA _ Sh she told me she used to talk to someone outside the school. And made me swear not to tell.
Y _ And where did you find the phone number.
EA _ I uh wrih. Written in her room. When I was picking up homework.
Y _ Well. Would you look at that.
EA _ W what.
Y _ You told me truth and the world doesn’t end. Now I know something that helps me find your friend. See how easy . . .
EA _ Who was she calling.
Y _ What. Oh. Right. A phone sex hotline.
EA _ What.
Y _ Yep. That’s the number you called. A service called swingers.
EA _ What is . . .
Y _ What is a phone sex hotline.
EA _ Yes.
Y _ Oh boy. Well. It’s a phone number for people to have simulated sex over the telephone with a professional on the other end. Phone sex of course. No actual sex. Just sex noises.
EA _ N no. No that’s not it. She wouldn’t.
Y _ I have no reason to lie to you Evan. That’s how you know you can trust me. I want to believe the same about you.
EA _ Okay.
Y _ Is there anything else you want to tell us.
EA _ No.
Y _ You can’t think of anything.
EA _ No.
Y _ Okay. I’ll call a doctor.
Testimonial: Aiden Mallet.
Year 1995–1996. Day 24.
LAST NIGHT, EMMA didn’t want to do anything except paint.
I went over to her room late at night (before curfew, of course) and instead of talking about anything, she pulled out a box of watercolors and gave me a piece of paper and told me to paint whatever I wanted. I painted a horse. It looks like shit.
She painted the backyard of a farm; I think the one from Kansas. She’s much better at painting than I am, even if she says she’s not.
She was talking a lot tonight, more than usual. It was one of those days where she wanted to talk about my life, so I told her about the Mavericks scout, and how when I want something, I picture it in a photograph, and pin it in my head until I have it. I told her the picture of me in an NBA jersey had been in my head since my dad and I put it there twelve years ago.
She asked what other photographs I had, and where they were now. Behind my desk, I told her, the photos with all my other teams, my AAU teams, holding championship trophies. She asked if I ever looked at them and I said not really, why would I. She asked if I felt any closer to how I was supposed to feel, right now. I said no, but I probably would when I had the NBA picture.
Emma said that means I’m thinking about my dreams in the wrong way. She said I should shoot for the dreams that aren’t just photographs. She said I should think about dreams as living, breathing things, instead of just checked boxes on a list that would one day get crumpled and thrown in the trash anyway. And I think she’s right.
On days when she wants to talk, Emma is smarter than anyone I know.
All she wanted to do was paint and talk. She fell asleep on my shoulder, and I put her into her bed and put the blanket on top of her and left.
Then, when I saw her today, she didn’t want to talk to me at all. I have no idea what I did. I went to her room before lunch and she said she was going to do an assessment. I tried to find her at dinner, but she spent dinner in her lounge, talking to basically everybody except for me. Then, when I finally caught up with her, she told me that I wasn’t a priority right now. I asked if I did something to hurt her, and she said no, but she still wouldn’t tell me why she didn’t want to be around me.
Some days Emma needs me. She tells me how happy she is that I’m around, and how I make her feel safe and noticed. Today, she must have forgot.
Aiden.
“AND YOU KNOW what you’ll say to the scouts, if they come talk to you?”