Getting to Know Brian

From that day on, Katie waited for Brian every morning. Sometimes he did not show up.  Sometimes she saw him, but he was in too much of a hurry to stop. And sometimes she was too afraid that her mother would catch her talking to him. But occasionally they both had time, and they would talk. Brian did most of the talking:  Katie only thought of things to say to him after he left, or after her mother appeared in the doorway, lips pursed, the picture of disapproval, and Katie was forced to go back indoors. Then she would work beside her mother in the garden for the rest of the day, thinking of what Brian had said to her, sometimes wondering what it meant. 

Fortunately, Brian usually ended up explaining things to her before she had the chance to admit she didn’t understand. For instance, when he asked her if she had any pets, before she could ask what they were he began telling her about his pet, a cat called Jet. So she had told him about her turtles.  Sometimes Brian even answered for her if she didn’t answer right away

But one day he asked her a question and waited for her answer.  It was a cold December morning. Two women carrying a bright green fir tree laughed as they maneuvered it down the street.

Brian looked at them and asked “Got a Christmas tree yet?” Katie frowned.

“Well, do you?” Brian persisted.

Katie shook her head. “We have trees…” she began uncertainly.

“Not trees,” he said, “tree. Christmas tree. As in for decorating with tinsel and lights and stuff.” Katie shook her head.

“So you don’t celebrate Christmas,” reasoned Brian. “Actually when I first saw you I wondered if you were Jewish too. Mom and I are, see, but my dad isn’t. So sometimes we don’t celebrate Christmas, but when my dad lived with us, we did. I don’t think it matters, actually, whether you do or you don’t. Or whether you’re Jewish or you aren’t. Are you?”

Katie gulped.  She couldn’t put it off any longer, she had to ask.

“What’s ‘Jewish’?”

Brian stared at her. “Duh!” he said, grinning.

Katie stared back at him.

“Whoa. You really don’t know?”

“No,” said Katie, feeling irritated. “I really don’t.”

Brian stared at her, then shrugged. “It’s um, well, it’s mainly people who don’t believe in Jesus.”

Katie sighed inwardly. “What’s that?”

This time Brian laughed. “Man, I don’t believe you! Jesus! What does your mother teach you anyway?”

“Lots of things” said Katie stiffly. “About plants and mushrooms and leaves. I know many herbs.” More than you, probably!

“Hmph. Can you read and write?”

“Yes!”

“So you read and write every day?”

Katie nodded.  It was true, she did. Yesterday she had sat and written in her notebook for over an hour. Silybum marianum, cynara scolymus, curcuma longa.

“Well, then you ought to know who Jesus was. And what Jewish is. And that’s just for starters.”

Katie did not know what to say to this. The fact was, she could read and write, but she as only allowed to use one of their three books.  It was about plants, full of words that she had to ask her mother the meaning of.  True, her mother always did explain things to her and occasionally wrote out sentences for her to copy, but Katie had a feeling that there were many things she didn’t know. Things that everybody else – such as Brian, for instance – did.

Brian looked at her for a moment, as though he was trying to make up his mind what to say. Then he looked down at his right foot, and quickly up again before he spoke.

“Want to go to the library sometime?”

Oh no, not again. She bit her lip and stared at Brian, despairing.

Brian rolled his eyes and gave her a look, but before he could say anything the door to their house opened and her mother was standing there, frowning at them.

Brian gave her a quick smile. “Bye. See ya tomorrow.” 

Katie’s mother looked down at her with an odd expression on her face.  She had never told Katie not to talk to people, but Katie knew she didn’t like it. And there was something else:  she knew her mother couldn’t understand why she wanted to talk to anyone. Ever since the time she had seen Katie and Brian at the gate, her mother had had such a funny look on her face, as though she were trying to solve a puzzle. Of course her mother didn’t say anything, but Katie could tell that she was upset. 

The next time Brian and Katie met, he told her about the library. A place full of books, many of which your parents would never want you to look at, let alone read. You could sit there and read all day if you liked. They showed movies there sometimes, even. (Katie did not bother to ask what these were, but they sounded interesting.) There were comfortable chairs and couches and tables and a drinking fountain and a toilet if you had to use it, and it didn’t cost you a thing. Katie could not believe her ears.

“You want to go sometime?” Brian said nonchalantly.

Yes, thought Katie. Yes yes yes.  “I will have to ask my mother” she answered.

It was not until a week later that Katie finally got up the nerve to ask her mother if she could go to the library with Brian. But before she could ask, her mother had interrupted her by announcing that they had to buy fertilizer.  Katie stared at her, baffled:  they still had plenty.