Erik vs. Everything

by Christina Uss

  Ragnar added, “But it could be news that your town has been invaded by predatory monsters, and able-bodied men and women must take up arms and defend themselves to the bloody end!”

  “That would be cool,” Hrolf said. He had returned from setting up the Land of Giants.

  Brunhilde said, “It would indeed.”

  Ragnar swept the pieces of the phone under an armchair. He was losing interest in the discussion. “Want to practice some axe-throwing in the rain?” he asked. “Good training for foul-weather fighting. It looks nice and muddy out there already.”

  “Just let me get my helmet,” Brunhilde said.

  “Me too!” added Hrolf.

  Erik shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Not me. I’m going to lie down on this couch now. I’m wiped out from the ringing and squirrels and stuff.”

  “Fine.” Brunhilde shrugged into a rain slicker and pulled on some long leather gloves. “We will finish this later and see if there is a phobia regarding failure or criticism in The Big Book. One last question. Do you think we should test your fear of furry long-tailed rodents in more detail? Do you think there is any different, more interesting fear underlying that?”

  “What? Wait. Whoa,” Erik said. “That one I don’t have to think about. We figured out that fear on the first try.” What underlies my fear of squirrels? he thought as he lay down on the couch, putting a pillow over his face. More squirrels. It’s squirrels all the way down. Squirrels alllll the way down.

  Seven

  Things to Criticize

  If you must bite the hand that feeds you, wait until after lunchtime.

  —The Lore

  Brunhilde showed Erik a chapter entitled “People Phobias” in The Big Book of Fear the next morning after they finished washing and drying the oatmeal bowls.

  “There is a fear of failure named atychiphobia. But see here, there is a whole group of related fears about talking to other people. I am pondering whether you have allodoxaphobia, which is a fear of other people’s opinions of you, or enissophobia, a fear of being criticized. Or both. I thought we could take some time this morning to go to the park and suggest that strangers offer their opinions on you, and then ask other strangers to find something to criticize about you. I will take notes on which one you find more excruciating.”

  Hrolf offered, “If it helps, I can make a Things to Criticize list they can choose from. They could criticize your hair, or your weird shoes, or the way you talk, or how you dry dishes—”

  Erik groaned. “Look, I really don’t want to go to the park to have strangers make me feel terrible.” He felt just as hopeless as he did saying, “Mom, noooo,” before some new activity. Maybe even more hopeless. He’d thought his mother was the worst at ignoring his “no” until he’d become Brunhilde’s summer project.

  “Go to the park? No park today, children.” Uncle Bjorn strode into the room. Erik exhaled gratefully. “I need all hands on deck to sink the lodge poles today, and tomorrow I expect to get a good start on the walls. Hilda has an idea that if we can get the new room framed up before Allyson gets here, she can help add something called ‘designer flair,’ whatever that may be. So everyone get your boots on. It’s a fine day to get out there and sweat as a family.”

  And sweat they did. The family was kept busy from sunup to dusk for the next several days. They didn’t even go inside for meals. Instead, they used pine needles and dry branches to start small fires outside, over which they boiled fresh eggs in their shells and grilled wild turkey sausages. The triplets spent the days with them in a chicken-coop-like playpen, occasionally escaping and wiggling inch by slow inch toward the woods, but someone always picked them up before they made it too far.

  Erik had never thought he’d be thankful to spend hours chopping, shaping, and lugging wood, but the aches and pains of hard physical work weren’t too bad. Blistered palms seemed to him to be a better fate than blistered feelings.

  He watched Brunhilde splitting logs, her braids flying. He didn’t like to admit it, but the way she had gotten to the bottom of his fear of embarrassment and fear of phone calls was kind of cool. Knowing he had specific fears rather than a generalized fear of everything might actually be useful. He could focus more on what stuff he needed to avoid when he was planning to AVOID STUFF—instead of feeling like everything on earth was out to get him.

  Even so, he still wished his sister would decide she’d done enough, but there was no way to predict when that would happen. Once Brunhilde made up her mind about something, she was like a massive train chugging toward her chosen station, nearly impossible to derail. If only there was some Lore encouraging her to sit around and read comic books, or to make popcorn and watch a movie with her siblings. What was the medieval equivalent of reading books and watching movies? Maybe listening to storytellers?

  He said out loud, “Make plenty of time to hear stories and eat corn exploded over the fire. Skimp not on the butter and salt, and happiness shall be yours,” earning a weird look from Aunt Hilda. Making up convincing Erik-style Lore was not easy.

  Erik carried a stack of kindling over to Uncle Bjorn, who sent him around to the front of the house to rake up some wood chips. Erik got to work, stopping every few minutes to scan the yard for neighborhood squirrels. Luckily, all he spotted was a handful of chickadees and a chipmunk. He was brooding over what made squirrels scarier than other backyard wildlife—he thought it was something about the tail—when a school bus came trundling up the dirt road that led past his uncle’s house.

  The bus came to stop not far from Erik, and the door clunked open. The driver, a woman with spiky hair and thick mascara, leaned forward and called out, “Hey there, kid, think you could give us directions to Lake Park? We seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere.” Erik was already backing away and shaking his head, ready to run and get someone else to help her, when he felt himself propelled forward by a firm arm around his shoulders. The firm arm had a sweat-smeared rune tattoo of the word CONQUER.

  “How fortunate,” murmured Brunhilde in his ear. “A chance to test your school bus fear, delivered to our door.” How had she gotten around the house so quickly? His sister was sneakier than a squirrel herself.

  “Brunhilde, no,” he said.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “No. No, no, no,” he replied. “No.”

  “Oh yes. Really quite yes,” his sister insisted.

  A moment later, the two of them were up the bus steps and standing at the head of the aisle, looking at a troop of wide-eyed Girl Scouts. Why doesn’t my family listen when I say no? Erik thought. Do they not know the meaning of the word no? Then Brunhilde began shoving him down the aisle, and his heart-hammering fear of school buses took over and he stopped knowing exactly what was going on. He heard a lot of confused Scouts asking, “What’s wrong with him? Does he need first aid?” He thought at some point he may have made a break for the emergency exit at the back, but tripped and ended up collapsing face first onto a green vinyl seat next to two freaked-out girls. Then he faintly heard the driver announce that they’d find their own way, just please get off of her bus.

  Brunhilde hoisted a limp Erik over her shoulder and fireman-carried him back down the steps. She lowered him to the ground and bowed to the driver and Scouts. “Thank you for your service to my brother,” she said.

  Silent, staring Girl Scouts lined every window as the big yellow vehicle drove away. None of them waved goodbye.

  “That was quite successful. I assume you will agree we can categorize bus riding under the fear of embarrassment AND criticism,” Brunhilde said.

  “I don’t know what just happened, I don’t want to know what just happened, and I don’t want to categorize anything,” said Erik, wobbling on uncertain legs.

  They walked around back and rejoined the rest of the family. Erik sat on the ground, not ready to get back to work just yet.

  Brunhilde said to Ragnar, “We were testing Erik’s school bus phobia, and it reminded me to ask: where c
an we go to test his fear of school itself?”

  Ragnar paused in his hammering and leaned one shoulder against the partially finished wall. Erik noticed he’d changed his rune tattoo from CRUSH back to SMASH. Ragnar said, “We’re homeschooled, you know. Not sure exactly where the school is. I think it’s closed for the summer anyway.”

  “Oh,” answered Brunhilde. “Of course. Well, how about we give Erik a taste of your homeschool? Perhaps that will be enough to understand his school phobia.”

  “Right!” said Ragnar. “Ma is usually the teacher, but today, how about me? Da, can we take a break to show Erik how we do lessons?” He didn’t wait for his father’s response to kneel next to Erik and start measuring Erik’s biceps. “Cousin, you don’t look like your muscles are developed enough for math yet, so we could start with art class. First you get a big rock, see? Then you whack it as hard as you can against a different rock until it starts to look like the shape you want—”

  Hrolf interrupted, “I’ll help teach recess! We can try a game of Faceball to see why sports bug Erik too. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

  Anything called Faceball sounded like exactly the wrong way to spend the day. “Why do we have to kill any birds with any stones at all?” Erik asked. Had he actually been thinking earlier that his sister’s plan was a little bit useful? Well, the useful bit was clearly going to get smothered under all the exhausting bits.

  “No, no.” Uncle Bjorn stopped the discussion. “Sorry, children, we’re on a schedule here. Building this must be schooling enough for now. Your mother and I can’t keep sleeping with the triplets in our room forever, you know. Back to work, all of you.”

  The boys returned to hammering. Brunhilde walked by, and Erik clutched her ankle. He pleaded, “How about we decide that school and sports are part of the same fears as the school bus? You know, criticism and embarrassment? I promise they are about criticism and embarrassment. No need to test them. So you can take school and sports right off your list. That’s good, right? You can use more of your time to box with Ragnar and stuff like that instead.” He silently asked any old gods who happened to have nothing to do at the moment to make her hear him.

  Brunhilde gazed at him for a long, long moment. Erik let go of her ankle. “Perhaps,” she said. “But do not think we are done testing your fears, little brother. We do not go into battle against your fears without knowing all we can. We are Sheepflatteners. We do not halfway prepare for war.” She pulled her notebook, folded in half, out of her back pocket and scratched a couple of notes.

  Erik seized the moment to crab-walk away from her and huddle behind the triplet coop. He hoped that whatever new tests Brunhilde might plan, he’d at least have a chance to see them coming.

  * * *

  They had finished the framing, roof, and three walls when Allyson arrived in a swirl of luggage and lip gloss. “Thanks for having me, Aunt Hilda and Uncle Bjorn!” she said as Ragnar and Hrolf carried her bags and suitcases inside. “I can’t wait to meet the triplets!”

  Aunt Hilda beamed. “They are already so strong, Allyson. Come, have something to eat after your trip, and then we’ll go over to the lake.” Allyson, Brunhilde, and Erik followed their aunt into the kitchen, where she buttered a wedge of grainy bread and topped it with tiny cooked shrimp for Allyson. “Here, eat, eat!”

  Hrolf came limping in with a boy triplet under each arm and Sally clutching onto his left pantleg like a blond baby sloth. Allyson squealed through her mouthful of shrimp.

  “No way! Tho thweet!” She swallowed. “Give me one to cuddle!” she reached for Siegmund, who Hrolf had told Erik could be counted on to bite cuddle-seeking strangers with his one tooth. Instead, he gazed at Allyson in rapt wonder as she took him from Hrolf’s arms.

  “Ohhhh,” he said, raising a tiny hand to pat her shiny earrings. Allyson had crafted them herself out of bits of broken Swiss Army knives, gluing together an array of tiny screwdrivers, tweezers, corkscrews, and chisels. “You like your cousin’s pretty earrings? You like your pretty cousin?” She cradled Siegmund in one arm and tickled his tummy. He turned bright red and hid his face against her shirt.

  Sally and Sven exchanged a glance and then looked distrustfully at Allyson. Erik knew Siegmund had cut the first tooth of the three of them, and the other babies expected him to use it. It looked like Sally and Sven were disturbed to see their fellow triplet snuggling this earring-wearing visitor without a single chomp.

  Uncle Bjorn came in to hug Allyson. “How about if Hildy packs us up a picnic and we head over to the lake right now? This whole family has been working like oxen, we deserve a bit of a break to go play like bears. We can gather berries, climb trees—and shall we do some fishing, children?” he asked. Ragnar, Hrolf, and Brunhilde cheered. Erik said nothing. He hoped his more fashion-conscious sister would not want to hand-catch carnivorous fish. Maybe Allyson’s visit would even delay any more phobia tests.

  Allyson was now playing with Siegmund’s toes and singing, “This little Viking went to market, and this little Viking stayed home, this little Viking had wild boar, and this little Viking had none . . .”

  Uncle Bjorn asked her, “Are you up for fishing, Allyson?”

  “You know it! Let me get changed into my new angler’s outfit, and I’ll be ready!”

  Erik sighed.

  Eight

  The Lake Park All-Stars

  Night is dark. But dawn is always coming.

  —The Lore

  At the lake, Erik and Allyson helped Aunt Hilda spread out the picnic blanket while the others scoped out the best fishing site. They were at a different part of the lakeshore than where the pike had tried to swallow Erik. Here, the lake abutted a public park with a playground, splash pad, and a sloping concrete pit where skateboarders were practicing swooping around. A gathering of mountain bikers had set up an obstacle course on the far hillside and were riding their bikes over various ramps and logs. Behind them sat a large open-air amphitheater. Aunt Hilda pointed it out to Allyson.

  “That’s where they will hold your cheer competition tomorrow, dear,” she said. “Are you ready? Has your team got any new cheers to share?”

  Allyson had changed into a set of crimson waterproof hip-waders. A lesser girl might have found them hard to move around in. Not Allyson. She leapt to her feet with a gleam in her eye.

  “Two, four, six, eight! Who do we eviscerate? Eight, six, four, two! This will be the end of you! GO, TEAM!” As she chanted, she performed a series of kicks and jumps that would have given a martial arts master something to worry about. She ended by crossing and lifting her forearms, where she had doodled three different runes translating to GO FIGHT WIN. “I helped write that one.”

  Siegmund gurgled and clapped his hands. Sally and Sven didn’t.

  “That’s lovely, dear, just lovely.” Aunt Hilda laid out platters of smoked fish, dried fish, salted fish, potatoes, rolls, and goat cheese. “Erik, can you find us a couple of rocks to hold down the ends of the blanket so they won’t flutter in the breeze?”

  Erik searched the ground, poking under some bushes near an older boy and a girl throwing a Frisbee back and forth. He’d found a few good-size rocks when Brunhilde came up behind him and nudged his shoulder.

  Brunhilde said, “Finally, we can continue our reconnaissance. Let’s go ask the Frisbee players to offer opinions and criticism of you. Hrolf made a nice checklist.” She unfolded a piece of paper from her pocket with twenty-seven different things to criticize about Erik’s appearance, character, habits, and intelligence.

  “Nooooo,” Erik moaned.

  Brunhilde raised her eyebrows.

  Erik thought, Would it help if I said it louder? Or in Old Norse? He came out with a weak “Neinn?”

  Allyson joined them. “So, are we eating first or fishing first?”

  “Neither,” Brunhilde said. “We are first going to determine whether our brother has allodoxaphobia or enissophobia.”

  “Oh, Erik has difficulties with op
inions or criticism from other people?” Allyson tossed her hair. “Weird. Here’s how to handle that, little bro.” Allyson walked right up to the Frisbee-playing boy and caught the Frisbee for him. “Hi, there! Can you tell me something you don’t like about me?”

  “What?” the boy answered. “Uh, I don’t like that you took my Frisbee without asking.”

  Allyson flung the Frisbee so hard it soared over the treetops and out over the lake. The boy and his friend watched it going, going . . . gone.

  “Wrong answer!” Allyson sang out. “Thanks for your feedback!”

  She came back over to Brunhilde and Erik. “See? Easy as cracking a bone. Any reason why we can’t have lunch now?”

  “Here is where things stand,” Brunhilde said. “Erik is fighting a losing battle with his personal foe of fear. The cousins and I are formulating a strategy to drive his fear before him, hear the lamentations of the fear, smash his fear into tiny little fragments, and then burn those fragments into ash. So far, I have assembled this.” She showed Allyson her notebook lists and sketches. “But he is being stubborn about the tests I’ve designed for people phobias.”

  Erik felt a little proud to be called stubborn. At least it meant she noticed he was trying to AVOID her plans. He looked around Allyson at Brunhilde’s notebook and saw a neat Venn diagram. Overlapping circles were labeled EMBARRASSMENT, CRITICISM, and FAILURE with sketches of buses, phones, pianos, and sports equipment. One circle labeled SCIUROPHOBIA was off to the side with a picture of a squirrel wearing armor and carrying a sharp three-pronged trident. A few other circles had drawings with question marks above them.

  Allyson said, “Well, maybe you can try working on this”—she pointed to a question-marked picture of a tooth-filled fish—“if he doesn’t want to deal with the people phobia stuff right now. Anyway, I’m starving, so let’s go eat.”