Okay for Now

by Gary D. Schmidt

“Some family,” I said. “No one’s paying attention to the mother. Who could blame her if she took off? Look at them.” A minute or so went by, and then Mrs. Windermere said, in a voice as soft as summer blue air, “Skinny Delivery Boy, you have it all wrong. Look how she’s standing close to her little one. She’s looking around to watch for the next spectacular thing that’s going to come into his life.” And I’m not lying, she was right.

When you find something that’s whole, you do what you can to keep it that way. And when you find something that isn’t, then maybe it’s not a bad idea to try to make it whole again. Maybe.

Do you ever wonder what it’s like to be so angry that you . . . And then something happens, and after that, everyone figures that’s what you’re like, and that’s what you’re always going to be, and so you just decide to be it? But the whole time you’re thinking, Am I going to be like him? Or

am I already like him? And then you get angrier, because maybe you are, and you want to

Maybe the Snowy Heron is going to come off pretty badly when the planes come together. Maybe. But he’s still proud and beautiful. His head is high, and he’s got this sharp beak that’s facing out to the world. He’s okay for now.

And you know what they said when they saw my brother in his uniform sitting in a wheelchair with bandages around his eyes, his legs gone? You know what

they said? They said he got what he deserved. They said they were glad his eyes were gone. They said they were glad his legs were gone. They said he got done to him what he did to Vietnamese babies and how did he like it? They said that’s what happens when you let yourself get used by fascist pigs. My mother tried to get in front of Lucas, but the crowd was so thick and so close that she couldn’t work herself around the wheelchair. She looked back at my father, and he pushed himself past her and stood in front of Lucas, who sat there the whole time, facing straight out, even when someone spit on him. He didn’t say anything. He just took it, like there was nothing else he could do. You know what that feels like? It feels like having Principal Peattie tell you that not a single teacher in the whole school gives a rip about you—not a rip—because they all gave up on you a long time ago, like on the day you started. That’s what it feels like.

That’s what the picture was about: meeting, even though you might be headed in different directions. All movement relies on that kind of tension, you know.

Lucas stopped and slowly spun himself around. And you know what? He looked like he was going to be okay. He might be tired and beat up, but he was going to be okay.