Fiction:

Looks Aren’t Everything

by Lisa A. Johnson

Assistant Editor

He looked like trouble. They looked “normal.” But then …

“Hey, Matt, where’d he come from?” Aldo asked as he jerked his head in the direction of the pale figure leaning against the cultural hall stage.

Unfortunately, the reverberating thud of five basketballs bouncing in the gym had forced Aldo to speak a little louder than usual, and the figure obviously overheard. Without expression, he stared straight at Aldo and Matt, lazily extricated one black-gloved hand from his folded arms, extended two fingers, and flashed a peace sign.

The gesture, the figure, gave them both the creeps. He was about their age, but he was thin and blond, his hair slicked completely back from his face and tied in a small ponytail. He wore little, round dark glasses which he hadn’t taken off when he entered the meetinghouse. He also wore an earring, a large silver dagger dangling from his left earlobe. He had on a long, bulky, army overcoat that covered the remaining threads of torn black jeans, and a dirty T-shirt with the neck and sleeves ripped out. He also wore huge, black, lace-up leather boots. He didn’t look like the type who would enjoy socializing with the kids in the ward.

“That’s Courtney Pennington’s brother, Selwyn,” Matt explained as he dribbled a ball to the opposite side of the court. “You know Courtney. She’s new—blond hair—been coming to the ward for a couple of months.”

Aldo followed Matt. He knew exactly who Courtney was. Her dad was a big movie producer from New York.

“Her mom and dad never come to church,” Matt continued. “Neither does her brother. We would’ve noticed him. He kind of sticks out.”

So did Courtney, Aldo thought as he waited for Matt to take a practice shot. But not because she dressed strangely. “You guys were talking when I came in,” he said. “How do you know him?”

“Oh, Courtney and my sister have been hanging around together lately. Courtney says he needs some fellowshipping and asked if I’d do it,” Matt replied as he arched the ball toward the basket.

“You should have told him to bring shoes he could play in,” said Aldo rebounding Matt’s shot. “I don’t think they’ll let him on the court in Doc Martens. We could use his help, too. The guys from fourth ward are really psyched up for this game.” Aldo shot and missed.

“Don’t count on getting any help from Selwyn,” Matt replied, running to retrieve the ball. “He says he doesn’t ‘do the basketball deed.’”

“Oh yeah? Well, what deeds does he do?” Aldo called after Matt.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Matt said as he put the ball under his arm and started to walk toward Selwyn. “He might be a little weird looking, but he’s not blind. He knows we’re talking about him.”

Aldo caught himself. He usually wasn’t so thoughtless. It was just that this was an important game, and he’d been thinking more about that than anything else. He decided to make it up to Selwyn by being extra friendly.

“Hey—welcome to the ward,” Aldo said as they approached Selwyn. His best, broad smile lit up his dark features.

“Thanks, dudes!” Selwyn said, sounding like he’d just stepped off the set of a bad teen movie. Matt and Aldo were surprised at his friendliness and exchanged a relieved look. “I’m, like, totally sorry I can’t play, but believe me buckaroos, you wouldn’t want me on the court. I’m, like, a real dweeb when it comes to sports, ya know?”

“That’s okay,” Matt assured him. He was surprised to find himself wanting to help Selwyn fit in. “Your sister says you never go anywhere without your video camera. Maybe you could film a game for us sometime?”

“I was going to bring it tonight, but my dad, like, grounded me from it for a few weeks. So for now I guess I’ll just sit over here and chill.”

“Well, make yourself at home, man,” Aldo said. “We’ll go out and get something to eat afterwards, win or lose, so why don’t you come with us? Everybody’s good at eating.”

“For sure,” Selwyn said as Matt and Aldo ran off to finish warming up.

“Seems like an okay guy,” Aldo said to Matt as they began shooting again.

“Yeah—he’s probably pretty cool. But why is he sitting like that?”

Both boys looked over to see Selwyn, perched, with his legs folded in a lotus position, atop a folding chair that he’d turned upside down. It wasn’t your basic spectator stance. It didn’t look very comfortable, either, but Selwyn was smiling—and he flashed the peace sign again.

As soon as the game started, Matt and Aldo didn’t have much time to think about Selwyn. The team from the fourth ward was their biggest rival and they were playing rougher than usual. So rough, in fact, that tempers started to flare and angry words flew.

“What did you say, young man?” shouted an angry ref, two inches from Aldo’s nose.

“Whadaya think I said?” Aldo yelled back, with enough control not to repeat the word he’d used, but without enough control to cool down and apologize.

“I can’t believe a bishop’s son would say something like that—ever,” the ref continued. “So I’ll let it slide. But just watch your mouth, or you’ll be off the court and into your father’s office so fast it’ll make your head spin!”

“Lighten up, Aldo,” Matt said as they took their positions around the key while a fourth ward player aimed his free shot. “You are supposed to set an example.”

That did it. Aldo hated references to his being the bishop’s son and this was coming from his best friend. The ball bounced off the backboard, and as Aldo lunged for the rebound, he used the most colorful language he knew to verbally demolish everyone around him.

“You’re out! You’re done! You’re through!” the ref shouted, angrily motioning Aldo off the court. “The bishop’s son. The bishop’s son! I can’t believe it.”

Aldo stomped off the court and into the foyer. He flung the glass door open and was about to leave when he heard someone behind him.

“Hey, dude—I thought we were gonna, like, get something to eat after the game,” Selwyn said, loping up to him.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not very hungry,” Aldo answered, a little of the fire going out of him. He flopped down on the couch.

“So, like, you’re the bishop’s son,” Selwyn said, taking a seat in the chair next to the couch. “You look it, man, but you sure don’t talk it.”

“Oh yeah? Well you probably aren’t exactly like your dad either,” said Aldo, his temper heating up again. It always did when people told him he didn’t live up to the image of a bishop’s son.

“No lie! My dad hates the stuff I wear,” Selwyn responded, gesturing at his clothes. “Mr. Immaculate Diction hates it when I talk like a skater, too.”

“Right,” Aldo replied, slowly gaining control of his temper. He bent over to unlace his basketball shoes. “You dress and talk like you do just to get on your dad’s nerves?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Selwyn said, dropping the affected accent. “I’ve sort of developed my own style.”

“It’s definitely your own.”

“Yep—nothing like my dad would wear, and that’s just the way I want it. Take my ‘fashion footwear,’” Selwyn said sarcastically, hiking his big, black boot up on the corner of the couch. “I could wear Cole Haan loafers like my father’s, but he’d complain because I didn’t keep them perfectly polished.”

“And I bet if you had short hair, he’d say it wasn’t styled right,” Aldo said, almost beginning to enjoy the conversation. There was something familiar about it.

“You must know my dad.”

“No, but I know exactly what you mean,” Aldo said, nodding his head. He paused for a minute. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a problem with my mouth.”

“No lie!” Selwyn said again, but this time it was more agreeable. It made Aldo feel like talking.

“I kind of do it for the same reasons. I won’t ever be as perfect as everybody says the bishop’s son should be, and nobody even compares me when I swear.

“We’re not so different, then, are we? We both want to have control of ourselves,” Selwyn said.

“Some control,” Aldo responded slowly, taking his right shoe off and touching the beginning of a blister on his foot. “My mouth got me thrown out of the game.”

“Yeah, and my clothes just about get me thrown out of the house,” Selwyn replied thoughtfully, running his hand back over his slick hair and grasping his ponytail for a second.

“And you call that control?” Aldo asked, putting the question to himself as much as to Selwyn. “I mean, I know people think the wrong things about me when I swear …”

“… And you are supposed to be setting an example for ‘wayward’ types like me.”

“I’ve heard that before. But think about it for a second. The way you look might keep people from thinking you’re a copy of your dad. But what kind of an idea does it give people about you? Now that I’m talking to you, I think you’re all right, but at first I thought you were one scary guy.”

“That’s everyone else’s problem, not mine,” Selwyn said. “Church people should know that you judge by what’s on the inside, not by what’s on the outside.”

“Yeah, but some people aren’t ever going to find out what’s on the inside because they’re afraid to talk to a guy with a knife in his ear.”

Selwyn just sat there, touching his earring for several minutes. Aldo was afraid he might have been a little too honest with someone he’d just met.

“Okay, you could be right,” Selwyn conceded slowly. “My looks and your language might not be helping either one of us. But if I change, I worry about turning into a clone of my dad.”

“Actually,” Aldo responded, “I feel better when I do something that makes my dad happy than I feel when I do something that gets me thrown out of a game. One of the greatest feelings I ever have is when my dad smiles because of something I’ve done.”

Selwyn paused for a minute, trying to remember what it was like to have his father smile at him. It had been a long time. “I don’t know if it would make my father smile to know that I’ve come to church tonight,” Selwyn said quietly. “But at least I came. Hey, that’s definitely something different from what he’s doing. Nobody could accuse me of being his clone when I’m here.”

“Wait a minute,” Aldo said. Something was coming to him. “Coming to church on your own is not a bad way to be different from your dad. Who knows? If you set a good enough example, maybe he’ll end up trying to be like you.

“My dad wanting to be like me?” Selwyn asked, brightening. “Wow—what a concept!” He stopped for a second, thinking about the prospects, then went on. “Okay, now here’s one for you. You control your mouth, and maybe you’ll see more of those smiles on your dad’s face. We can even work together. Here. Watch this.”

Selwyn reached up to his earlobe and pulled the dagger off. “I just stuck it on with surgical glue, anyway. I didn’t have the guts to really pierce my ear.”

“Okay,” Aldo said. “Then watch this.” He stood up. “I’m going in there to apologize to my team, to the refs, and even to those guys from the fourth ward.”

“Totally bodacious, dude!” said Selwyn as he followed Aldo into the gym. “I mean—good idea, Aldo. Then can we go get something to eat?”

Illustrated by Paul Mann