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Irvin
By Bubakin
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“Irvin?
You can come in now.”
Irvin followed the counselor through the door. Irvin had a somewhat
ungainly walk, and his brown lack-luster hair was tousled and disarrayed. One
shoe was untied, and the formerly white shoelace of that shoe faithfully dragged
across the carpet behind him. But Irvin also had beautiful baby blue eyes, the
kind you see on advertisements for cereal and Hanes underwear. They were two
lapis lazuli-stained stars glowing with goodness and innocence and the clumsy,
rough love found only in the truly good. May such innocence remain ever
unspoiled.
“Irvin?”
Irvin let forth a grunt, “Uh?”
“You can sit.”
“Ok.” Irvin more dropped than sat down in a quick, uncontrolled
motion. It was not enough for a “My God!” or a dropped chin, but it was enough
to strike a queer note through the room. Irvin looked toward the counselor,
elbow crooked, wrist bent, so that his hand laid somewhat awkwardly across his
chest, thumb inward. Irvin grinned and bobbed his body back and forth, back and
forth, in a rocking motion.
“Irvin?”
“Uh?”
“Look at me.” Irvin continued to lean alternatively forward and
backward.
“Look at me, Irvin.” Irvin stopped and turned his unfocused gaze
toward the authority figure. He continued to grin.
“What happened today?”
“Had fun.”
“How’s that, Irvin?”
“Wit ma frens.” Irvin began to bob again and glanced furtively
around the room.
“Irvin, how'd you get that cut?” The counselor pointed out the nasty
gash that ripped across Irvin’s forearm, now cleansed with peroxide, but still
oozing slightly.
“Havin fun.”
“Irvin, what happened?” The counselor, of course, already knew
exactly what had happened. It was just another variation on Irvin’s history of
social interaction. Irvin’s need for acceptance drove him to do whatever The
Others asked of him. He was a cross between a manservant, a financial backer,
and a live entertainer. This time a knife had been involved.
“Will you read now?”
The counselor sighed. “Irvin….”
“Please?”
“Why do you let them do this?” The counselor gestured toward the
diminutive boy's arm.
Irvin looked puzzled for a moment before he answered, “They are ma frens.”
Irvin’s funeral was small but nice. They said the fall had immediately snapped his neck. Only a few of The Others involved were brave enough to attend. And now he lay in a simple brown coffin in a simple gray suit that did not fit him. He no longer rocked. He no longer grinned. And his baby blue eyes were closed.
