Dressed for success

“James, you are not going to school in a dress.” Marcus’ mother leaned desperately out of the door, intent on capturing James’ attention but fearful of being seen by the neighbors in her nightgown. 

Marcus stared down at his Frosted Flakes. Outside his window, he watched his brother halt on the pavement and look back at their mother. James’ long hair, unbrushed, was tucked behind his ears. At the dining room table, Marcus’ stomach turned with anxiety. 

The dress on his brother looked comical, even grotesque, to Marcus. Marcus himself had chosen his own clothes that morning with the single goal of fitting in - a grey sweatshirt and the same brand of expensive jeans worn by his most popular classmates. 

Marcus’ brother James was a sophomore in high school. The family had moved to Westbury last fall and James had made a group of friends. Marcus, who was still in middle school, adored these friends. They were cool and funny and independent. 

They were also kind. They let Marcus come along when they went out for pizza or ran errands: picking up trombones, dropping off science projects. 

They were also more trouble than James’ old friends back in Alton. For instance, they all drank coffee. For instance, Alla smoked. For instance, Marcus sensed other transgressions were taking place just out of earshot, just beyond the outer edge of his comprehension. 

One Friday back in March, James had skipped school. This led to an argument between Marcus’ Mom and Dad where his Dad said, “Listen to me. Those kids seem okay but James is too much in their control. What happens if they go out drinking? What happens if they start doing drugs?”

Ever since, Marcus had been on edge about the new friends. Of the two brothers, James was always the happy-go-lucky one and Marcus was the wary one. Marcus worried enough for both of them. 

Marcus could see his Dad’s point. James was, in point of fact, in thrall to his new friends. James had told him that there was a plan - so far a secret plan - to visit Maine in the summer. John Chen’s family had a house near Kennebunkport. James explained to Marcus that they would spend the summer swimming and playing cards - the whole gang alone and independent in summer idyll. James was confident that all their parents would acquiesce. 

Marcus was also included in these plans. He promised James not to tell anyone. 

Recently, James’ grades had declined and he had begun to challenge the curriculum itself. Why were they reading Hemingway? From whose perspective did their history lessons come? 

Then, this morning, James decided to wear his tatty grey Reeboks and a floor-length dress - a sleeveless number, flowers printed on cheap white polyester. There didn’t seem to be any plan to evade their mother - there was no plan at all. He just strolled out the front door while Marcus and his Mom were eating breakfast. 

“Bye guys,” he called out. 

She was in her pink nightgown, reading the paper and drinking coffee. She gawped for a moment and then threw the paper on the table. 

She leapt to the door and opened it. “Get back in here,” she hissed. 

They got into a heated argument, which led to James storming upstairs in tears. Marcus’ mother considered herself a liberal free-thinker - but this mostly manifested in kitchen table political discussions. Outside their home, she had been quick to fit into the Westbury mothers’ circle and was careful to cultivate her reputation. Both her boys were known to be clever and nice. 

After a few hostile exchanges, James changed into black jeans and, with an angry shout, told their mother that she couldn't control him forever. He went out to school. 

Marcus himself went on the bus to middle school but couldn’t concentrate. He was uneasy. The kids at the middle school were the younger brothers and sisters of James’ classmates. What would happen if anyone found out? 

That afternoon, James did not return from school. Until 3pm, Marcus’ Mom assumed that he had gotten a ride back but an hour later she was stressed enough to call their father at work . 

Marcus listened as she spoke to his Dad on the phone. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “I should’ve let him go in that skirt. If that’s what he wants, what business is it of mine?”

She was silent for a while. James, upstairs in his room, breathed shallowly. 

“Brett, I already called them all… All of them: Mizzou, Ted, John Chen, Alla. Nobody’s seen him…. All right… no, there’s no need to come home. I’ll call you if he’s not back in an hour.”

She hung up. Marcus began to pace in his room. Why were they not taking this more seriously? A missing child? The police should be called. 

There was a tightness in his chest. He resolved himself. 

His heart pounding, Marcus opened his door. He held at the top of the back stairs and breathed. 

He practiced what he would say: “Mom, we have to call the police.”

At first, his Mom would deny that there was any problem but Marcus would insist: “Mom, James is in trouble.” She would finally concede. She would telephone the police who would put out a call. James, lonely and afraid in some parking lot, on the cusp of some desperate act, would be returned in the back of a squad car. 

At this point, Marcus’ Mom would break down on the floor crying. Marcus would kneel gently beside her. 

“Hey,” he would say. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now but maybe you’re being too hard on James.”

“Too hard?”

“Isn’t it possible that James is just going through a phase here? Whatever it is, we’re his family and we’ll be there for him.” 

From that point forward, the atmosphere in the house would change. James’ friends would come over for barbecues, their families too.  

Then the phone rang. Marcus listened as his mother laughed. “At the library? Oh, James! I totally forgot. I’ll be there in five minutes.” 

Marcus returned to his room and laid down on the floor. He listened as his mother gathered her keys and opened and closed the front door. The motor of the car started up and peetered away. Marcus knew that everything would always be all right.