What Was Lost

“Obvious?” Robbie asked.

“Now, don't take it so hard, it's just that I expected so much more from you,” Viola said, smiling at her friend in that way she had that always made his chest hurt. “It's a compliment, really, if you focus on the positive.”

“I worked real hard on it,” Robbie pointed out.

“There, there, Robbie dear,” Viola said, patting Robbie on the knee in that way that always made Robbie feel very embarrassed and also like he was about to melt into a little puddle.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Mr Richard Killmon chose that moment to pull School Bus number 1509 out of its spot in the lot at Poker’s Bluffs Montessori Academy. Viola, who had leaped next to Robbie in the back seat where Mr Killmon couldn't see, had to let go Robbie’s knee to keep her head from hitting the next seat forward. Which was kind of a relief, even if it also made Robbie anxious.

Viola drew herself up to her full height, all five foot, five and a half inches of her. Robbie, who in spite of being five months older than her hadn't hit his next growth spurt, strained in his seat while she towered more than a full head above him. Not that Robbie worried about things like that, or even understood why some people might.

Anyway. The bus creaked out of the lot under the inattentive guidance of the crossing guard, who chewed his gum with more vigor than he managed traffic. Robbie fingered the zippers of his Spiderman backpack, now and then looking askance at the girl who sat between him and the aisle.

“There's nothing wrong with it,” he said.

Viola didn't seem to hear him, apparently more interested in observing the activities of a group of Fifth Grade boys eagerly discussing a Popular Sporting Event. Robbie would have found this diversion intensely stupid at any time, but now that they were distracting flighty little Viola he seethed. What did those wretched numbskulls know about anything that was really important?

Without looking away from the idiots at the front of the bus, Viola said, “There's no need to be so… sensitive, Robbie. There's no need to be so… touchy. I didn't say it was a disappointment to me, or anything. You don't have to take it so hard.”

“You said it was obvious.”

“Only because I can see you're not challenging yourself,” Viola said. “And from anybody else that would be just fine. But you? You're made of something different, Robbie, it's why we get along, in our way. You want a challenge.”

Robbie made a face and looked out the window at a field of dandelions. “I want my essay back.”

“What, this old thing?” Viola said, producing a few pencil-scrawled sheets of wide ruled. Which made Robbie do a double-take–how had she done it? Where had she kept it? She'd never so much as touched the hot pink zippers of her Barbie backpack. And yet here was the essay, nearly in his hands, natural as dandelion seeds blown in the wind. “You can go ahead and take it. I just hope you'll have something a little more interesting for me tomorrow…”

And even though he couldn't have cared less, Robbie asked her what a more interesting essay would look like.

It didn't take her long to explain, which was good because her bus stop was the first one on 1509’s route. Viola told him she looked forward to seeing him tomorrow, and Robbie grunted and nodded toward the exit door. When she stopped in the aisle to exchange a few words and looks with the older boys who all seemed to like her so much, Robbie thought of sticks of dynamite and radioactive wastelands.

Stupid Viola. She didn't even know what she wanted.

It had all started so simply. Just a couple of months ago, when Viola had shown up in Mr Robert “Buzz” Johnson's Fourth Grade class. Mr Johnson had introduced the new girl to the class, saying that she was from Tucson, Arizona and her family worked for the National Parks Service. She'd seemed shy and lonely and profound in those first few days, which made Robbie want to help her out as much as he could. Within a couple more days he'd decided the best way to help her out would be to say nothing at all to her and look away distractedly when and if she ever made eye contact with him.

Which seemed to have a salutary effect on the girl, who had become fast friends with that one girl who never looked at Robbie and he couldn't remember the name of, as well as that other girl who never acknowledged Robbie's existence and he also couldn't remember the name of. This seemed perfectly natural to Robbie, who was glad to see the child flourishing under his tender care and expert tutelage.

Which was where things had remained up until the day Viola had sat herself next to Robbie on the bus on the way to Poker's Bluffs. Not that it bothered Robbie and not that he found her intrusive. It just would have been nice to be asked, is all.

Viola was a fast talker, and once she started speaking Robbie had a hard time keeping up till she finished: “Oh, that reminds me, do you have the math homework from last night?”

“Yes,” Robbie said. What kind of idiot did she think he was, the kind who goes to school without doing his homework first? He reminded himself to be understanding with the girl, who wasn't from around here, after all, and couldn't be expected to know how insulting she was being.

“Well, do you think I could see it a minute?” she asked, touching Robbie's knee for just a moment. This sent a thrill up Robbie's spine, which both confused him and made him angry. The girl went on though, “I just want to make sure I did it right, is all, I know you're so clever and I'm just a big moron.”

It pained Robbie to think that the girl was so deficient in self-esteem. So as he pulled the math folder out of his backpack and fished out the homework, he said considerately: “I don't think you're a big moron, Viola. More like an average-sized moron… a petite moron, really.”

(He was particularly pleased with himself for this last flourish, because he was pretty sure petite was a French word and ladies always love it when you can speak French.)

Snatching Robbie's math homework and pulling out her own, Viola said, “It's so kind of you to say so, Robbie, you're such a gentleman.”

Which was nice of her to say, really. Although the fact of the matter was that Robbie was more than a little appalled at the most un-ladylike manner in which Viola had taken his math homework. Snatched it, really, was the word for it, the same way a lizard might snatch up some ants on a sidewalk because its mother had never taught it better manners. Still, Robbie reassured himself there was still hope for the petite moron. She was only from Arizona, after all, and couldn't be expected to know all the ways of civilized life.

“Long division really is pretty easy, it just looks complicated when you see it on paper,” Robbie explained modestly. “All you have to do is follow the steps over and over, and it just works out that way.”

“That's really fascinating, Robbie,” Viola said, glancing between Robbie's worksheet and her own and making marks on her page at intervals.

“And it's kind of the cool thing about it, the way there's only one right answer,” Robbie pointed out. “You never have to wonder if you accidentally left out something important.”

“You know, I really hate it when things go over my head,” Viola agreed. Which Robbie found incredibly comforting. Maybe there was some hope for the wayward girl, after all.

But now they were reaching Poker's Bluffs Montessori Academy. As the bus pulled into the parking lot, Viola handed Robbie's math homework back to him, saying, “Thanks so much for your help, it looks like we both got the same answers. That's a relief, you know how my anxiety can get to me sometimes.”

Robbie took the worksheet back, saying it was nothing. By the time he'd slipped the paper back into his folder and the folder back into his backpack, the bus had parked and Viola was halfway down the aisle. She laughed uproariously, surrounded by a group of Fifth Grade boys, smacking one of them on the wrist as he made a crude gesture.

Robbie had no thoughts to spare for the Fifth Grade boys with their plebian concerns and vulgar jokes. And though it was disappointing to see how easily poor, defenseless Viola was taken in, at least she did her math homework and made her studies a priority. It might take work to save her from the evils of the world, but he felt certain she could be saved.

This pattern became something of a regularity as October gave way to November and November to December. Infrequent at first–maybe once a week Viola would come to the back of the bus and ask to check herself with Robbie’s math homework. Which Robbie, for his part, was always willing to share. He came to look forward to her visits, since she was too busy for him at any other time, and he felt a sort of affectionate indulgence for the girl's uncertainty about her mathematical ability. She always seemed to get the same answers Robbie did–so why did she doubt herself?

Robbie thought long and hard about this at times, but he couldn't understand it.

Sometime early in the winter, though, Viola started showing up more often. She'd visit the back of the bus and ask to check her answers on a worksheet about the East India Company, or a line by line reading of Sonnet 130, or a connect-the-dots anatomical depiction of a human vulva.

(“It's not quite as pink as you have it here, Robbie,” Viola observed, although she did borrow Robbie's pink crayon.)

Which raised Robbie's eyebrows on the bus, and even more after he went home. But he wasn't a suspicious sort by nature, so if Viola said she was just checking her answers that was good enough for him. She had such an innocent face, too. Even if it had occurred to Robbie to suspect any hijinks, it would have seemed cruel to suppose she was capable of any duplicity. Or at most, the shy little thing was just making up excuses to spend time with him.

Which was a somewhat flattering thought, even if in his heart Robbie found all falsehood distasteful. Not to mention, of course, vulgar.

All of which is preparatory to explaining Robbie's shock and utter dismay one December morning. By chance it was the last Friday before Winter Break (known in former times as Christmas Break). Robbie’s heart leapt when Viola settled in next to him and asked, “Do you think you could lend me your worksheet on Henry VIII? I think I might have missed a little something about Anne of Cleves.”

“They do kind of run together after a while,” Robbie said, pulling out his social studies folder and handing the paper to his trusted companion.

“And so many of them are named Anne, what's that all about?” Viola said, widening her eyes to comic effect.

After some friendly laughter at the innocent little joke, Viola stripped off her pair of gloves. Robbie, for his part, would always cherish this moment, the last of what he could only think of as the before time. Maybe Viola’s frozen hands trembled a little, unused to the December chill of northern climes. Or maybe a window was opened just a crack, letting in a gust that blew the worksheets out of her hands. Whatever the cause, the sheets fell loose, and Robbie couldn't hold back a gasp as he retrieved them to find Viola’s worksheet was completely blank.

Which was so strange and unexpected that Robbie couldn't make anything of it, or at least not there on the bus. Viola simply smiled at him, said a playful little, “Clumsy me!” and got down to business with her pen. He hardly heard her voice, hardly noticed the harsh wind coming in through the cracked window, and hardly felt the paper Viola finally handed back to him when she was finished.

All day long, Robbie's mind was full always and only with the absolute blankness of Viola’s worksheet. She'd tricked him! She'd made a fool of him! But no, it was worse than that, he realized, he should have known long before, he'd let himself be fooled. He'd wanted to believe so badly that she was only checking her answers, but no… he'd allowed himself to be complicit in something sinister. She hadn't written anything at all on her paper! And he'd been idly playing the fool for so long…

And she'd written nothing. Nothing.

At one point during class that day, Mr Johnson roused him from his cyclical meditations, saying, “Now, would you care to tell the class what was waiting in the wooden horse that the Trojans let into their city, Robbie?”

“Nothing,” Robbie croaked. It was the only word that had any purchase on his mind at that moment.

The whole class roared with derisive laughter, which would have injured Robbie's pride had he really noticed it. Mr Johnson raised an eyebrow at this answer, but recovered quickly, asking, “Viola, would you like to help Robbie out a little?”

Viola at the front of the class straightened up and said, “All the Achean heroes were in the horse, waiting to sack the city. And once the horse has been brought in, Helen comes down and circles around it. She calls out the names of all the heroes, imitating the voices of their wives as she does it.”

“Precisely,” Mr Johnson said. “Now pay close attention, everybody, because once Winter Break is over you'll all be writing essays on–”

But Robbie wasn't paying attention to the rest, absorbed as he was in the shock of the moment Viola had dropped the worksheet. He felt already like some part of himself had been left behind there, in the before time.

A serpentine belt in 1509 had started squeaking by the time class dismissed for Winter Break. The engine still ran, but even from the back of the bus Robbie could hear it squeak! squeak! squeak! at regular intervals. It went on squeaking as Viola came to the back of the bus, standing over Robbie as she asked, “What do you think you'll write about for your essay on the Trojan War?”

Squeak!

Robbie shrugged, looked out the window, and said, “I dunno. I figured I'd write about Helen coming out to try and trick the Acheans into coming out too early.”

Squeak!

Viola sat down next to him. She asked, “Are you sure that's what Helen was really trying to do?”

Squeak!

“Of course I'm sure!” Robbie said, more angrily than the academic subject really warranted. “It's all her fault the war even happened in the first place, and she's just trying to lure more good men out to their deaths!”

Squeak!

“Well, I see your mind’s made up,” Viola said with dignity. She straightened up and scanned the front of the bus, which hadn't started moving yet.

Squeak!

“Oh, it's made up, all right!” Robbie spat.

Squeak!

“Well, I hope you have a good Winter Break, Robbie,” Viola said. She got up and moved a few seats forward on the bus, taking a spot by herself and slipping her earbuds in.

Squeak!

“I… I hope you have a good Winter Break too, Viola,” Robbie mouthed. It confused him, he'd wanted her to leave so badly, but now that she'd gone he felt empty inside. And why should he care about her, anyway? He wasn't a real human being to her, he was just a useful little tool she could copy homework from now and then. How had he ever been so blind?

Squeak!

Robbie promised himself he wouldn't cry. At least not until he got back home.

Squeak!

And he didn't cry. At least not until he got back home.

Winter Break passed the way Winter Break always passes, with Christmas gatherings, decorations, and the New Year celebration following that. His mother made him go to the mall and take a picture with Santa Claus even though he was ten years old and didn't believe in Santa Claus anymore. Which was a demerit on the break, but only a minor one.

He didn't dwell on Viola, and he certainly didn't dwell on her tricks. He didn't dwell on how stupid he felt for being so eager to believe her. He didn't wonder why it was so easy for her to use people that way.

But there was an emptiness in the back of his mind, and when he noticed it he thought of her, wistfully.

One night, he had a strange dream that he was in a courtroom, and he was either the defendant or a member of the jury, he couldn't remember. And the judge with her gavel at the head of the court was either Viola or Helen of Troy, he couldn't remember. Or was she someone else entirely, or both and something else besides?

Whoever she was, Robbie couldn't recall the proceedings when he woke up. Only a moment where the woman, whoever she was, looked at him and spoke at length about something of great moment. But only one word remained in his memory come morning: “Remember.”

He thought of Viola again after New Year's, when the time came to write his essay on Helen and the Trojan Horse. She seemed to pervade the whole effort, and Robbie poured all his fury and stifled hurt and self-reproach into it. Many times when he wrote about how Helen had tried to fool the Acheans to their deaths, he had to go back and erase what he'd written–for where he should have written Helen, he'd written “Viola.”

He was proud of the essay once he'd finished it. But somehow it seemed one-sided to him.

It was this essay that Viola had read on the day our story began, and it was this essay she had called obvious. For his part, Robbie had promised himself he'd never let Viola read it. But as soon as she'd sat beside him and asked about it he'd given it to her without hesitation.

She wanted something more interesting, Robbie reflected when he got home that afternoon. Well, I'll give her something interesting, I won't change a single word!

He thought about what she'd said, about how Helen might have been up to something other than luring overeager men to a quick death. Nonsense! It wasn't worth thinking about, he decided.

“I've been thinking about that,” Robbie said when he called Viola that afternoon. “What did you mean by that?”

“Well, just look at it from Helen's perspective,” Viola said. “This awful war’s been going on for what, ten years? And if she has any heart at all she's got to feel at least a little responsible for it all. But now it looks like it's all over, it looks like the Acheans have packed up and left and dropped this horse off as a parting gift.”

“Right…”

“So she wants to see it, and she goes to it and starts wandering around it. And the whole tragedy of it all comes home to her then, maybe. All the death, all the pain, all the men slaughtered so far from home. And maybe she thinks of the friends she's left behind in Greece, the ones she'll never see again. She's just trying to remember them when she starts imitating their voices. Maybe she's not trying to make more bloodshed. Maybe she's just trying to remember what was lost. What can never be again.”

Robbie made a face she couldn't see, and said, “I see what you're saying. I don't love the idea, I mean why–”

Viola cut him off, said, “I'm not asking you to love the idea, Robbie. I'm just asking you to consider it, toy with it, write about it a little. Maybe she's not the evil woman you think she is. Maybe she's just another person, trying to deal with this crazy world we all live in.”

“Well, why don't you write about it, then?”

“I'm sure I might,” she said. “I'm just curious to see what you come up with.”

Robbie grimaced. He wondered why he resisted Viola’s idea. Finally he said, “Fine. Maybe. I'll see what I… what I come up with, like you said.”

“I might like that very much, Robbie,” she said.

Robbie huffed into his room after supper and washing the dishes. He'd already written his essay, why should he write another one for Viola's benefit? Why should he make any effort for her, after she'd lied to him, made a fool of him, and didn't so much as pretend to feel any remorse for anything? It was beyond anything. Who did she think she was? Who did she think he was?

No. No, Robbie firmly decided against doing one more single solitary thing for Viola's benefit.

Still… it was an intriguing idea, wasn't it? If only he could get her mind on a dissecting table and take a scalpel to it…

So it wasn't for Viola's sake that Robbie groaned and dragged himself to the desk. It wasn't for Viola's sake that he picked up his Number 2 pencil and sharpened it to a surgical point. And it certainly wasn't for Viola's sake that he started writing, “While the most obvious reading in the incident of Helen and the Trojan Horse is that the face that launched a thousand ships is trying to launch a few more unwary men to their deaths, nonetheless…”