Gifted & Talented by Coleman Bigelow

As we shuffle into class on Wednesday, near-sighted Nellie spies a shiny golden apple on our teacher, Mr. Ward’s, desk. The apple has a perfectly sculpted stem and leaf. It’s shocking that Nellie is the first to notice the apple because, before she discovered a new pair of glasses in her locker, Nellie could barely read the chalkboard. Mr. Ward is questioning the class about the apple’s origins when creepy Carl walks in. Carl’s not wearing his customary cape, because it’s already draped across his chair. “Guessing it was Carl,” no-neck Nick blurts as Carl folds his lanky body into his chair. 

“Is this from you?” Mr. Ward brandishes the apple almost like a gun.

“I just got here,” Carl replies, combing his long dark hair in front of his face. For someone so tall, he’s constantly trying to disappear.

Mr. Ward throws the apple up in the air and catches it. “Well, we need to stop all this anonymous gift-giving. It’s getting a bit out of hand.” He polishes the apple on his shirt and places it back on the corner of his desk.

The week had begun with a series of surprises. On Monday, Nellie found her cat-eye glasses. On Tuesday, sparkly suspenders were waiting on stumbling Stew’s desk. The suspenders were made of some kind of holographic iridescent material and when Stew tried them on; he looked like he came from the future. We were all complimenting Stew on his space-age style when Carl muttered, “And they’ll keep your pants up.” That stopped us dead, because Carl rarely spoke. He's always wearing black and slinking around in his cape. We don’t know who he’s pretending to be, but we know it’s creepy.

On Thursday after gym, a set of sweatbands, in patriotic red, white and blue, is laid out on sweaty Sam’s desk. At first, Sam’s wary, but he does have a hard time keeping cool, especially post-gym. And the sweatbands work wonders. As soon as he puts them on, Sam’s forehead is less shiny and his undersized wrists seem more substantial. We all comment on how “cool” Sam looks, and we notice Carl beaming with suspicious pride. Mr. Ward, who has been grading our morning quizzes, coughs loudly. “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Nothing,” we say, even though it is everything.

“Were you in the classroom the whole time we were gone?” Nellie asks.

Mr. Ward nods. “The whole time.”

We can barely pay attention for the rest of the day. At recess, we call a huddle. Now that Nellie can see and Stew’s pants aren’t tripping him up and Sam’s not so sweaty, we’re debating what we should call them now. “Why don’t you just call them by their names?” creepy Carl suggests, sweeping by in his cape.

We roll our eyes and tighten our circle. 

On Friday, as we’re taking out our homework, no-neck Nick discovers a green scarf tucked inside his desk drawer and we all crowd over. The scarf appears to be hand-knit, with one end tapering to a tail and the other end complete with googly eyes and a forked red tongue. Before we have time to look closer, Mr. Ward swoops in and snatches the scarf.

“Enough is enough. We’re not going anywhere until the gift-giver comes forward.” All eyes cut to Carl, who’s the only one of us who hasn’t rushed to Nick’s desk. Carl is studying a tattered leather-bound book. As Mr. Ward marches toward him, we think Carl’s done for sure, but then there’s a loud explosion. A few kids scream and drop to the floor before we realize what has happened. The golden apple has exploded, expelling a thick cloud of smoke and a rainstorm of glitter. Glitter floats and flickers in the air, covering us in its shiny film. It isn’t until after Mr. Ward extinguishes the smoldering apple and we’ve brushed the glitter from our hair and clothes that Quentin shouts through his megaphone, “Carl’s gone!”

There’s no sign of Carl or his cape. We run to the hall, but it’s empty. Mr. Ward races to the exit, but there’s still no trace. A few of us check the windows, but they’re all closed tight to keep out the wintry air. 

***

Years later, as we slog through our desk jobs, one of us spots a magazine profile on grown-up Carl, accompanied by the caption: The Fashion Magician of Seventh Avenue! The article quotes a celebrity devotee gushing: It’s like he knows what I need even before I do…

And we wonder who was the one who first called Carl “creepy.” It sure wasn’t us. We always knew he was someone special.

Coleman Bigelow's work has appeared recently in BULL, Bending Genres, Cease, Cows, Cleaver, Flash Boulevard, and Your Impossible Voice. Find more at: www.colemanbigelow.com or follow him on Twitter @ColemanBigelow.