This Is for Jamie, Truman Capote

This Is for Jamie

I

Almost every morning, except Sundays, Miss Julie took Teddy to play in the park. Teddy loved these daily trips. He would take along his bike or some plaything and amuse himself while Miss Julie, glad to be rid of him, gossiped with the other nurses and flirted with the officers. Teddy liked the park best in the morning when the sun was warm and the water spurted out of the fountains in a crystal spray.

“It looks just like gold, doesn’t it, Miss Julie?” he would ask the white-garbed, carefully made-up nurse.
“I wish it were!” Miss Julie would grumble.

The night before the day Teddy met Jamie’s mother it had rained, and in the morning the park was fresh and green. Although it was toward the end of September, it seemed more like a spring morning. Teddy ran along the paved paths of the park with a wild exuberance. He was an Indian, a detective, a robber-baron, a fairy-tale Prince, he was an angel, he was going to escape from the thieves through the bush—and most of all he was happy and he had two whole hours to himself.

He was playing with his cowboy rope when he saw her. She came along the path and sat down on one of the vacant benches. It was the dog she had with her that first attracted his attention. He loved dogs, he was crazy to have one, but Papa had said no, because he didn’t want to have to housebreak a puppy and if you got a full-grown dog it wouldn’t be the same. The woman’s dog was just what he had always wanted. It was a wire haired terrier, hardly more than a puppy.

He walked slowly up, a little embarrassed, and patted the dog on the head.
“That’s a fella,” “Atta Boy.” That’s what they said in the movies and the adventure stories Miss Julie read him.
The woman looked up. Teddy thought she was about as old as his mother, but his mother didn’t have such pretty hair. This was like gold and it was wavy and soft looking.
“He’s an awfully nice dog. I wish I had one like him.”

The woman smiled, and it was then that he thought she was very pretty. “He’s not mine,” she said. “He’s my little boy’s.” Her voice was nice, too.
Immediately Teddy’s eyes lit up. “Have you got a little boy like me?”
“Oh, he’s a little bit older than you. He’s nine.”

Eagerly Teddy exclaimed, “I’m eight, or almost.” He looked younger. He was small for his age and very dark. He was not a handsome child, but he had a friendly face and a disarming manner.
“What’s your little boy’s name?”
“Jamie—Jamie.” She seemed happy, saying the name.

Teddy got up on the bench beside her. The dog was still in a playful mood and continued to jump on Teddy and scratch his legs.
“Sit down, Frisky,” the woman commanded.

“Is that his name?” Teddy asked. “That’s an awful cute name. He’s such a nice dog. I wish I had a dog, and I could bring him to the park every day and we could play, and then at night he could sit in my room and I could talk to him instead of to Miss Julie, cause Frisky wouldn’t care what I talked about—would’ja?”
The woman laughed a deep, somehow sad laugh. “I guess maybe that’s the reason Jamie’s so crazy about Frisky.”

Teddy cuddled the dog up against his leg.
“Does Jamie run with him in the park, and play Indians and things?”

The woman stopped smiling. She turned her gaze away toward the reservoir. For a moment he thought she was angry with him.
“No,” she answered, “no, he doesn’t run with Frisky. He just plays with him on the floor, he can’t go outside. That’s the reason I take Frisky for walks. Jamie’s never been in the park—he’s sick.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” Teddy’s face flushed. Suddenly he saw Miss Julie coming up the path and he knew she would be angry if she saw him talking to a stranger.
“I hope I see you again,” he said, “tell Jamie hello for me. I’ve got to go now, but maybe you’ll be here tomorrow, huh?”
The woman smiled; he thought again how nice and pretty she was. He rushed down the path toward Miss Julie, who was feeding crumbs to the pigeons. He looked back and called, “Goodbye, Frisky,” The woman’s wavy hair shone in the sun.

II

That night he kept thinking of the woman and of the little boy, Jamie. He must be very sick if he couldn’t go outside. And, while Teddy lay in bed, he saw Frisky over and over. He hoped that the woman would be there the next day.

In the morning Miss Julie awakened him with a shake and a sharp command. “Come on, you lazy bones! Get out of that bed this minute or you won’t go to the park.”
Immediately he jumped out of bed and ran to the window. It was clear and cool and with the fresh smell of early morning. It would be beautiful in the park today!
“Yippee, yippee,” he yelled and ran wildly into the bathroom.

“Now what do you suppose has got into that child?” Miss Julie said, looking after the flashing Teddy in utter bewilderment.
When they reached the park, Teddy slipped away from Miss Julie while she stood talking with two other nursemaids. The long curving pathways of the park were almost deserted. He felt completely free and alone. He dodged through some underbrush and came out by the reservoir and there, just ahead of him, he saw the woman and the dog.

She looked up when the dog started to bark at Teddy.
“Hello, Teddy,” she greeted him warmly.
He was pleased that she remembered him. How kind she was! “Hello, hello, Frisky.” He sat down on the bench and the dog jumped on him, licking his hand and nudging against his ribs.
“Ouch,” Teddy squealed. “That tickles.”

“I’ve been waiting for you almost ten minutes,” the woman said.
“Waiting for me?” he said, startled and sick with joy.
“Yes,” she laughed. “I have to get back to Jamie sometime before the day’s over.”

“Yes,” Teddy said hurriedly, happily. “Yes, you do, don’t you? I’ll bet he misses Frisky while he’s out here in the park. I know I’d never let him out of my sight if he was mine.”
“But Jamie isn’t as lucky as you,” she said. “He can’t run and play.”
Teddy fondled the dog; he pressed its cold nose to his warm cheek. He had heard that if their noses were cold, dogs were healthy.
“What’s Jamie sick with?”

“Oh,” she answered vaguely, “something like a cough, a bad cough.”
“Then he can’t be very sick,” Teddy said brightly. “I’ve had plenty of coughs, and I’ve never stayed in bed more than two or three days.”
She smiled a little. They sat in silence. Teddy cuddled the dog in his lap and wished he could jump up and run with him across the great green lawns marked “KEEP OFF THE GRASS.”
Presently she got up and gathered the dog’s leash in her hand. “I must go now,” she said.
“You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to. I promised Jamie I’d be right back. I was just supposed to go down to the cigar store and get him some comic magazines. He’ll be calling the police if I don’t hurry up!”
“Oh,” he said eagerly, “I have lots of comic magazines at home. I’ll bring some tomorrow for Jamie!”
“Good,” the woman said. “I’ll tell him. He loves magazines.” She started off down the path.

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow and I’ll bring the magazines. I’ll bring lots of them!” he called after her.
“All right,” she called back, “tomorrow.” And as he stood watching her disappear he thought how wonderful it must be to have a mother like that and a dog like Frisky. Oh, Jamie was really such a lucky boy, he thought. Then he heard Miss Julie’s sharp voice calling him.

“Teddy, Oh—yoo-hoo! Teddy come here this instant. Miss Julie’s been looking everywhere for you. You are a naughty boy and Miss Julie’s angry with you.”
He turned laughing and ran toward her, and suddenly, running as fast as he could, he felt like a young sapling bending in the wind.

That night, after he had finished his supper and had had his bath, he set to work to gather up all his comic magazines. They were stuffed helter-skelter in his closet, cedar box, and bookshelf. Except for the brightly covered magazines, his bookshelf was a picture in solemn literature—The Child’s Book of Knowledge, The Child’s Garden of Verse, and Books Every Child Should Know.

He managed to gather thirty fairly recent issues together before his mother and father came to say good night. His mother was dressed in a long flowery evening gown and she had flowers and perfume in her hair. He loved the smell of gardenias, so pungently sweet. His father was in his tuxedo and carried his tall silk hat.
“What are all these magazines for?” his mother asked him.

“For a friend,” said Teddy, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more. It would not be quite as secretive, quite as exciting, if his mother knew about it.
“Come on, Ellen,” his father said impatiently. “The curtain goes up at eight-thirty, and I’m tired of getting to shows right in the middle.”
“Good night, darling!”
“Good night, Son.”

He threw them a kiss as they closed the door behind them. Then, quickly, he turned back to his magazines. He got the sheet of wrapping paper his new suit had come in, and awkwardly wrapped them in it. It made a big package. He tied it up