Corkey's Hug

The window seat

No, do you?

Not really

The graffiti-covered walls where shops used to be.

***

Cork's Hug

Cork's sitting beside me on the school bus, next to the window. Each time he draws attention to us by peeling back the Velcro strap on his backpack, I feel the disgusted stares from the other students on the bus. When he uses the back of his hand to swipe a string of moist snot off his upper lip, I hear the hushed snickers.

I shift in my seat so that my back is facing him. Looking down at my tennis shoes in the aisle, I wonder why Cork doesn't seem to realize everyone's making fun of him. How agonizing would it be for his to take just a few seconds to comb his hair in the morning?

"Keep an eye on him." My mom tells me that every morning. If not for my mom and Cork's mom working together as housekeepers in the downtown Hilton, there would be no chance of him being anywhere near me.

From behind me, Cork says, "Hey, Eli?"

I slowly turn my head, just in time to catch him taking a pinch of his t-shirt and scrubbing his nose with it.

"Yeah," I reply, hoping he catches my annoyed tone. "What do you want?"

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Cork grins and says, "You know how big our moms are, right?"

I don't say anything.

"Well," Cork goes on. "Today I'm gonna hug every fat girl I see."

The girls in the seat behind us begin to laugh. Probably about Cork and me. About our moms being big. About him hugging every fat girl he runs across today.

"Giants win last night?" I mutter, instead of replying to Cork's stupid statement.

Cork says, "Nobody ever hugs heavy women."

I nod silently. Cork must have mistaken the gesture for agreement, because he starts to ramble on about how this past weekend he and his mom went to the movies. They sat in the way back. While the movie played, Cork says, he noticed lots of people hugging each other in the dark.

"That so?" I say.

"When the movie was done . . . " Cork says. He blinks rapidly again, then slowly rips away the Velcro strap on his backpack. I keep quiet, let him go on. "While we were walking through the parking lot, a car driving past us slowed down and some kids stuck their heads out of the window."

The girls in the seat behind us began discussing a boy in their history class. Some guy named Terrence who played football. Some guy whose mom probably didn't make him babysit a snot-nosed neighbor.

"They started calling my mom names, Eli. Bad names."

"Bunch of dumb kids," I say without looking up from my hands, which are resting folded on my lap.

"Eli?"

I raise my head, look past Cork out the window and watch boarded up shop windows glide past. Behind us, one of the girls shrieks, "Oh, my God!" Then they both start laughing uncontrollably.

"Every one of them," Cork says. "Every single big woman I see today I'm gonna hug. Not just the ones whose husbands left them for someone thinner. Not just the heavy ones who fall asleep at night without turning the TV off." He pauses, then sighs deeply before continuing on. "All of them, Eli," he says. "Not just the ones who cry in the middle of the afternoon for no reason at all. But every one of them. I'm gonna hug them all."

I'm not sure why, but a fractured image of my mom suddenly strikes me. She's still thin. She still laughs a lot. My dad must still live with us.

Once the bus stops in front of the school, I get up and join the other kids filing down the aisle. As I near the exit, over the voices of the students, I make out the sound of Velcro being pulled. He hasn't gotten up from his seat yet.

The moment I'm outside the warm morning air hits me. I hop off the bottom step onto the sidewalk and start across the courtayard. I hurry past Miss Cooper, the fat lunch lady who's standing with her palms on her hips, blowing shrill commands through a whistle that keeps the kids moving away from the bus drop and in the direction of the classrooms.

Halfway across the courtyard of which the classrooms surround, I hear a burst of laughter from behind me.

Whirling around, I can't believe what I'm seeing.

Cork has his arms wrapped around Miss Coopers thick body, his head buried in her belly. A startled, concerned expression has spread across Miss Cooper's downturned face.

Letting his arms fall to his sides, Cork backs away from Miss Cooper, swiping his nose. He grins broadly and says loud enough for everyone to hear, "You deserve that, Miss Cooper."

The whole student body falls so silent you can hear the dried leaves covering the courtyard rustle when the breeze blows and scatters them. Everyone, I'm sure, wants to see what Miss Cooper will do.

Miss Cooper tilts her head to one side. Then all of the sudden a broad smile comes to her face.

The silence in the air diminishes when someone starts to clap. Soon, everyone is clapping and cheering. Miss Cooper, red-faced now, though still smiling, raises her whistle to her lips and the shriek she releases gets everyone moving again. Including Cork.

I stand watching as palms fly up to slap his back in a congratulatory manner.

During my morning classes, I can't concentrate. I keep thinking of Miss Cooper's reaction when Cork hugged her. Later at lunch, I move along the tray slide and stare through the grease-speckled plexiglass at Miss Cooper. She's got on an apron now. Her hair's bunched up under a net. As she scoops mashed potatoes onto my plastic tray, I notice her usually pasty face has high color in it. Her eyes glow as if they're catching light off every piece of metal in the auditorium.

But mostly it's Miss Cooper smile that gets me. She still has the same wide, surprised grin that dominated her face moments after Cork hugged her.

Throughout the day the schoolyard buzzes with a crazy, lighthearted vibe. Something like that feeling that affects almost everyone when they open their nostrils wide to take in that first whiff of spring perfume and warmth after a long, cold miserable winter.

On the bus ride home, Cork sits next to me, smiling. He doesn't say much. Just stares at his backpack, occasionally ripping back the Velcro strap. Other kids on the bus still whisper and laugh. But I'm pretty sure it's not about Cork.

Looking straight at Cork, I grin, too. If my mom's still home when I get there, I think I'll give her a big hug. She deserves one.