It had taken us longer than a week to write the script for Miss Stuart’s production of Julius Caesar, and in the middle of the second week we had been working on it we had still not managed to come to the point in the play when all the senators murder Caesar. So Miss Stuart said it was time we stopped talking about our respective characters and did something about the play to move it along faster. Altschuler spent so much time convincing everyone that Caesar was an old bastard that the good-looking kid playing Mark Antony, who was dumb, couldn’t think up any reasons for honoring Caesar’s memory. The play would end with my death, everyone agreed. Everyone but Miss Stuart. She said we had to follow Shakespeare’s plot because that was the whole reason for putting on the play this way in the first place. Altschuler said that the only fair thing was to vote, so the class voted in favor of the play ending when Caesar is killed. The only ones voting against that ending were me and Malcolm, whose sympathies always seemed to be with the underdog. Even Mark Antony voted for the new ending, so Miss Stuart said OK, and we put on the play for the whole school on the second Friday I was there. I was pretty good. The little kids booed me a lot, so I know that I played Caesar just as Altschuler wanted. Altschuler got a big hand at the end. Miss Stuart said it was a waste of her time because Brutus isn’t supposed to be the hero. Altschuler told her life is filled with surprises.
That afternoon when everyone is piling into the bus to go home, my young buddy, Frankie Menlo, is waiting for me next to the door. He asks me how come Caesar got killed in the play and that was the end of it. He says that on television the play didn’t end that way. Brutus is the villain on television, not Caesar. I tell Menlo about the vote and about how much longer we spent putting the play together than Miss Stuart wanted us to and about how Caesar probably wasn’t such a kind gentleman anyway.
Altschuler comes along and says he is going to walk home today if I want to come with him. He tells Menlo he can come too. Menlo beams and suddenly thinks Brutus is the greatest hero who ever walked the earth.
“You mean it? I can walk home with you?” the kid says.
“Sure,” Altschuler says.
Menlo runs onto the bus. I can hear him yelling to all his buddies that he’s walking with Altschuler and Ross today, so the bus shouldn’t wait up for him. The driver asks him what he thinks he’s talking about. He tells Menlo that Altschuler and I live about half a mile from school, while he, Menlo, lives about four miles away, somewhere up on Riverside Drive.
“That’s all right,” Menlo swears. “I don’t mind walking the rest of the way by myself.”
“You won’t get home until tomorrow morning,” the driver tells him.
“No, no,” Menlo yells. “Ross and Altschuler said I could walk with them.”
“You may never get home!” the driver threatens. “Do you know what happens to rich kids walking the streets alone in the middle of New York?”
Menlo doesn’t ask for the answer but only looks at the driver and walks to the door.
“I’ll give you guys a rain check on that walk,” he says. “I have to be home early today.”
The driver thinks Menlo is funny and laughs very loud. Menlo looks at him as though he wants to wrap the steering wheel around his neck and then waves back at Altschuler and me.
“See you, Altschuler,” he yells as though we are a hundred yards away. “See you, Ross.”
Altschuler and I walk along without saying anything. When we come to the avenue where Altschuler’s friend has the candy shop, he crosses over to the other side of the street so we won’t pass in front of the shop.
