Vade Mecum by Lee Benoit

André is a confused and angry fourteen-year-old boy whose aunt rescues him from state care after the death of his mother. She takes him to live with her motley extended family in a ramshackle old house. Against the backdrop of plans for a most unconventional wedding, André finds himself increasingly helpless to resist the charms of his eccentric aunt, moody grandfather, and sexy tutor. This young adult story is ultimately about finding a place to be oneself, and to belong without question.

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Here is how the story begins:

One knock on the dorm's door-jamb is all the warning I get.

"Your aunt's here, Andrew." That's the group home's director, trying to sound all gentle.

"Don't get up," says the lady with her.

I'm folded up on my bed, wrapped up in the one blanket they gave me. It's fucking cold here, and I don't have a coat yet. Didn't need one back home.

I watch her cross the room, trying to keep breathing and not panic. She stops just short of the foot of the bed.

"Oh, my God. You look just like your grandmother."

That fat old hag? "I fucking hope not."

"My mother, I mean. Just wait until your grandfather sees you!" I swear there's a hitch in her voice, which kind of makes me feel better, like I'm not the only one in a panic, here.

"You two might want a few minutes to get acquainted," says the social worker. "I understand it's been a long time since you saw each other."

I have no memories of the curvy, brown-skinned lady in front of me. Not one.

"It was more than ten years ago," my aunt says to the social worker's retreating back. Awkward. "You probably don't remember." She says that to me.

"Nah." I refuse to make it easy on her.

"I'm sorry about your mom."

I'm not. "She was a junkie."

"Doesn't mean she didn't have good in her. She did when I knew her."

"Like you said, long time ago."

"Sister City must seem way different from North Carolina." She's trying too hard.

I shrug.

"Your file says you ran away after your mom died. Asheville?"

I put on my most poisonous smile. "I'm a fucking faggot. Where would you go in NC?"

I'm surprised when she doesn't recoil or even look away. "Shit, no wonder you keep getting bounced from placements. Listen. Sister City may not be as gay-friendly as Asheville, but it's big enough to have pockets. You'll see."

I do my skeptical face.

"Was there someone special? Someone you were running to?"

I shrug. I'm embarrassed to have run away to an idea.

My aunt looks around. "This place is grim. Let's beat feet, what do you say?"

She's trying to sound hip. Failing. I give her a good look. Thirty-ish, round in a not-fat kind of way. Hair in a tight bun, painfully careful makeup. Caramel skin like I wish I had. I have freckles.

"I don't have a coat." I put a note of challenge into my voice. No way am I going to be all pitiful, but no way am I going out in this cold without a coat, either.

"Wear mine." She shrugs out of her black pea coat and passes it over. It's warm from her body and smells hippy-ish, like flowers and smoke.

One more test. "You got any eyeliner?"

"I didn't wear any. I was afraid I might cry when I saw you, like some stereotypical maiden auntie."

I don't say anything, just blink at her. Most grown-ups don't use words longer than two syllables with me. She shrugs.

"We can stop for some on the way."

I give her my second-best smile. "So let's beat feet."

I ignore her outstretched hand and follow her to the social worker's office, where we get shitloads of paperwork, and out to the worst beater of a truck I've seen since coming north.

"That would fit right in back home," I say. It surprises a laugh out of my aunt.

"This is Papi's truck – he almost never drives it. My girlfriend has my ride today, and a scooter didn't make quite the right impression, you know."

"And this truck does," I snark automatically to give myself a split second to decide what to comment on. Wheels trump girlfriend. "You have a scooter?" I ask.

© Lee Benoit

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