The Lent Boy

Abstract

Winter dusk is particularly conducive to melancholy. At twelve, Aaron was perhaps young to know such things, to feel them as deeply as he did, but temperament and experience had created in him a specific type of preco ciousness. Thus, as he made his way to the Bergstroms' house, the normally pleasant sound of snow crunching beneath his sneakers nearly brought him to tears. In truth, it was not just the crunching or the day's steady retreat but so many things, all piling up inside of him like the mounds of snow that flanked the recently plowed streets, mounds that other children, not he, liked to climb upon as they walked home from school, pummeling one another to preserve their spots on top. There were no street lamps in this part of Morton, but all around him the houses were aglow, predictably, with Christmas lights and kitchen lights and the steady yellow beam from the porch, each anticipating a specific event: a holiday, a warm meal, a father's return. And so the lights discouraged him as well. He could tell, almost to a house, who was having chicken that night and who, roast, the odors wafting from these well-lit kitchens into the street where he walked. His mother was back at the cafe, creating her own good smells as she cooked, but this thought only added to his mood, surrounded as he was by mothers making meals for their families, families whom they solely considered as they cooked, taking into account a child's dislike of onions or preparing to settle a dispute over the much-coveted drumsticks. Aaron could not remember the last time his mother had prepared something just for him, something that was not a leftover from the day's special or a kitchen mistake, an overcooked hamburger that became his supper. He trudged along, dreading his visit to the Bergstroms, whom he had never met, for they rarely visited the cafe. Of course, he knew that Mrs. Bergstrom had taught fifth grade for many years, but he knew nothing of her, of her reputation among students that is, for she had taught all those years not in Morton but in a nearby town. Parents generally liked to keep their teachers close—in town, where they could keep an eye on them—which made her residence in Morton somewhat of an aberration. The Bergstroms had established themselves here, in Morton, because Mr. Bergstrom's liveli hood had demanded it: he owned a tire shop, long closed because they were