The Nonconformist
by Ken Cohen
Chapter 1
Returning
Daniel Stavros waited in the arrivals line at Canada customs, Toronto Airport at the end of August, 1964. He felt relief because the summer was finally over. But he was angry and anxious about the future.
He wondered if he would get in trouble because of what he was bringing home.
Someone motioned him to a vacant wicket. He gave the man his passport and customs form.
"You in the same group with these other kids?"
"Yes."
The man stamped the passport, handed it back and said, "Welcome home, you can go."
He followed everyone out of customs, carrying his half full bag. He'd given many things to local boys he met in Greece, so many poor kids there. He just wanted to forget.
His excited family waved. He approached them.
"Hi." He gave his dad a brief hug, then his mother, his sister Mary. "Let's go home."
His parents wondered why he wasn't excited to be back. They walked to the parking lot. He placed his bag in the trunk of the car and sat in the back with his sister.
Barbara noticed his bag seemed light. "So did you have fun?"
"Yes."
"You sound tired."
"I guess I am."
"Where is everything you took with you?"
"I gave some stuff away. It didn't fit any more."
"Why?"
"I guess I lost weight."
"You should have brought everything home. It's not yours to give away. We paid for it."
Shut up, he thought.
They drove home mostly in silence. Back home, he unpacked and placed his clothes with the laundry. He went to bed early. Just a couple years ago, he thought, had he been away from his parents for two months he would have been thrilled to be back in their arms.
On Wednesday, Barbara received a phone call from the organization that had taken the group on the trip to Greece. One of the boys had come home sick and was diagnosed with hepatitis A, a serious food borne illness that is highly contagious. It was important Danny see his family doctor as soon as possible. Barbara made an appointment for Friday morning.
On Thursday evening, Miss Campbell came for Danny's first piano lesson of the fall. He was her star pupil, currently playing at Royal Conservatory grade 9 level. After six years of lessons, endless hours of daily practice, exams and public recitals, he had a future in the music business if he wanted it, and Miss Campbell looked forward to an even greater level of achievement from him. She and Barbara chatted amiably waiting for him to come from his room. He appeared and approached them.
"Hi Danny, welcome home."
He couldn't look his teacher in the eye. She was a thin, plainly dressed, middle-aged woman he had known a long time. He respected her. She was a patient, skilled teacher and an excellent pianist. But he was seething inside, with far more anger than he'd ever felt. He hadn't the experience to cope with it.
On the spur of the moment and without understanding why, he looked at his mother and quietly said, "I'm not taking any more lessons, I'm through." He turned and walked back to his bedroom.
His mother quickly followed him, asking in a hushed voice, "What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this?"
"I'm done."
"But…"
She saw him glaring at her. Since he came home. Cold. Not the boy she sent to Greece two months ago.
She returned to Miss Campbell. The teacher felt shaken, confounded. Barbara needed to let her down easy, make something up. He listened from the open door of his room. "He's not feeling well. He has a doctor's appointment in the morning. Apparently some of the kids he spent the summer with came home sick. He hasn't been himself. I'm sure he'll feel better in a few days. I'll call you next week."
Lies, he thought. She doesn't want to know.
The next morning at the doctor's office, Barbara told Dr. Churchill about the call she received. A boy with hepatitis A. "Also, Danny's not been well since he came home last week. He's like a different boy. He hardly talks. He wants to quit piano, after six years. It's such a waste."
Danny sat quietly. He liked and trusted the man.
"Mrs. Stavros, please wait in the reception area. I need to examine Danny and then I will talk to him privately."
"Why? I want to know what's wrong with him. I want to come in."
"He's nearly 15 years old. I have to examine him. Then I need to speak with him privately. He's too old for you to be present. Wait out there. I'll tell you my findings when we're through."
She grunted and left the room. Dr. Churchill took Danny into the examining room, closing the door behind them.
He looked at Danny. "Good morning."
"Hi Dr. Churchill."
"First, please take all your clothes off except your underwear, I need to examine you. I'll be giving you a shot as well, in one of your buttocks. It's a substance called gamma globulin, to help your body fight the infection in case you have the hepatitis A virus. The virus is highly contagious. Many people have the virus with no symptoms at all and the immune system often destroys the virus with no medical intervention. If you do have it, hopefully that will be the case, but giving you the shot will increase the chance of a good outcome."
Danny took his clothes off and sat on the examining table. The doctor spent ten minutes asking questions and examining him. Then he said, "You seem quiet."
Danny said nothing.
"We've known each other a long time. Is there anything you want to talk about? I can promise you, I won't tell your mom anything unless I feel your life is in danger."
After a moment he answered. "I don't feel like talking, maybe another time."
Dr. Churchill was holding a hypodermic, ready to inject. Danny didn't care much about needles. He could isolate most physical pain in a distant part of his mind, so they didn't bother him.
"You ready to do that, doctor?"
Dr. Churchill smiled. "Yes, ready when you are."
Danny stood, dropped his underwear, bent over, felt the jab. It's no big deal, he thought, a tiny pain that lasts two seconds, a million kids get needles every day.
Dr. Churchill finished, placed a small bandage on the injection site, told him to dress and come into his office, left the room. Danny joined him a few minutes later.
"I see you'll be 15 next week. And it's the first week of school. A nice birthday present for you," he kidded gently. "Are you starting high school?"
"Yes, I'm starting King High on Tuesday, the day after Labour Day."
"Alright. You're moving up in the world, I'm proud of you. I've known you since you were born, you know that. For now, if you don't want to talk today, make an appointment on your way out or come back whenever you feel like you want someone to talk to.
"It helps to talk about your problems with someone you trust. You can't do it alone, none of us can. In the meantime I suggest you start a diary of your thoughts and feelings. Keep it where no one will find it. Be honest in what you write, whatever comes into your mind. Write in the diary for as long as you like. It will be up to you."
"Okay. Thanks."
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