by Barbara Park
“Sit down and eat, honey,” said Mom. “Your father will be picking you up in a few minutes.”
This was news to me. I hadn’t even seen my father since Monday morning.
“What’s he picking me up for?” I asked. “I wish someone had asked me first. I might not feel like being picked up.”
The more I thought about it, the more annoyed I got.
“It really makes me mad when people go around picking me up when I don’t want to be picked up,” I said again. “It’s just inconsiderate, that’s all.”
My mother tried to reason with me. “Charlie, it’s really time that you and your dad had a chance to talk,” she said. “He’s been waiting all week to speak to you. But he wanted to let you settle down before he came over.”
“What makes you think that I’m settled down?” I asked. “If I was settled down, do you think I would have run away to live in a tree? Does that sound like a kid who is settled down? I don’t want to see him.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I guess it doesn’t matter whether or not you want to see him,” said Mom. “He’ll be here any minute.”
A few seconds later, the doorbell rang. I can’t tell you how weird it is when your own father starts ringing the doorbell of his own house. It makes him seem like a deliveryman.
My mother hurried to let him in. When she came back to the kitchen, she kissed me on the cheek and left right away. It was pretty clear that she didn’t want to be in the same room with Dad and me. I knew exactly how she felt. I didn’t want to be in the same room with us, either.
My father was the only one who was acting happy. He came bouncing into the kitchen all smiles.
“Good morning, Charlie,” he said. “Mmm. What smells so good in here?”
“French toast,” I muttered.
“French toast? Mmm. Do I love French toast!” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “Too bad you don’t live here anymore. Then maybe you could have had some.”
I held a big bite out in front of him. It was dripping with maple syrup. I stuffed it into my mouth.
My father could plainly see that I wasn’t settled down. He stopped being quite as cheery.
“Let’s just try to get along today, okay?” he said. “I’ve got a nice little trip all planned for us.”
Oh no. Not a dumb little trip. I couldn’t stand it. It was going to be just like on TV. On TV, whenever parents get divorced, the father always gets the kids on the weekends and takes them on stupid little trips. They almost always end up going someplace real corny … like the zoo.
“We’re going to the zoo,” said Dad.
Geez. I knew it. Just like on TV. Well, no thanks … not me.
“I don’t like the zoo,” I said. “The smell at the zoo makes me puke.”
My father looked disappointed. “Oh, come on, Charles,” he said. “We’ll have a great time.”
“The zoo is for babies,” I said. “What’s so great about seeing a bunch of stinking animals?”
Dad didn’t answer. As a matter of fact, he hardly said another word. But after I finished eating, he took me by the arm and led me to the truck.
I didn’t really think that after all the mean stuff I had said he would still want to take me to the zoo. But I was wrong. We went to the zoo anyway.
As soon as we got out of the truck, I sniffed the air and held my nose. My father ignored me. He paid at the gate and we went in.
I made some gagging noises. People began to stare. You’d have thought that they’d never seen anyone smell stink before.
Dad walked over by the lake where all the peacocks hung out. I followed. When he sat down in the grass, I just stood there.
“Sit, please,” he said.
“No, thank you,” I said. “Bird poop.”
“Excuse me?” asked my father. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the big pile of peacock poop you just sat in,” I told him.
Dad jumped up and looked at the grass.
I smiled. “April fool.”
My father was losing his patience. When he sat back down, he pulled me with him.
“I’m tired of your little jokes, Charlie. I’m tired of the way you’re acting. And most of all, I’m tired of trying to be nice,” he said. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shape up right now.”
He went on. “There are a couple of things I want to talk to you about. And the first one is about where you’re going to live,” he said. “Your mom and I aren’t quite sure what to do with you.”
“Nice,” I said. “Why don’t you just give me to Goodwill? Isn’t that what people do with stuff that they don’t want anymore?”
Dad rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way and you know it,” he said. “Now could you please stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to listen to me? Who said we didn’t want you?”
I shrugged.
“Charlie, the trouble is that we both want you,” he said. “Believe me, no one is trying to get rid of you. As a matter of fact, I was just going to ask you if you would like to come and live with me for a while. I’d really like to have you, and I could sure use the company.”
I have to admit this took me totally by surprise.
“You mean you already have a place of your own?” I asked.
“I’ve got an apartment,” he said.
“Where?”
He stood right up. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll show you.”
We left the zoo and drove for about fifteen minutes. We finally stopped in front of a dumpy old building. I was hoping we had just run out of gas or something. But no such luck.
“Well, this is it,” said Dad. “What do you think?”
I kept looking around. “What do I think about what?” I asked. “All I see is that dump over there.”
My father looked annoyed. “That ‘dump’ is my apartment building,” he said. “A friend of mine owns the building, and he rented me the apartment on the second floor.”
Some friend, I thought.
I had already decided that I didn’t want to live there. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go inside.
My father opened my door and led me around back to the stairs. We climbed to the second floor. When he unlocked the door to the apartment, he had to give me a little shove to get me to go in.
I took a whiff of the place.
“Phew. What’s that smell?” I asked.
I think the question hurt his feelings, but I couldn’t help it. The place smelled worse than the zoo. Charlie,” he said. “Your mother and I aren’t screamers. In fact, what we did was probably even worse. We just shut each other out.”
He continued. “It’s so hard to explain what happened to us, son. I’m not even sure we know ourselves. Your mom and I started out loving each other very much. But over the years, our feelings for each other changed completely.”
“But why?” I asked. “Why did you let your feelings change?”
“We didn’t mean to,” he said. “It happened so slowly that we hardly even realized it. All we knew was that after all these years, the fun of being together just wasn’t there anymore. But it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that we finally sat down and talked about how deeply unhappy we’ve both been.”
My father shook his head. “I wish that we had talked about it sooner,” he said. “Then maybe we could have stopped what was happening to us. But we didn’t. And now it’s too late.”
“No, Dad. It’s never too late,” I told him. “You’re always telling me that a person can do anything if he really wants to badly enough.”
“Yes, Charlie. But in our case, that’s exactly the problem,” he said. “Neither of us wants to try. Your mom and I want to stay friends. But we don’t want to stay married to each other. We both know that for sure.”
After that, my father and I sat there for a long time. I didn’t want to admit it, but part of me understood what he was saying. The same kind of thing had happened to me and a friend o
f mine.
A few years ago, this kid named Andy Roberts moved in across the street. At first, I was really happy about it. Andy and I became instant best friends. We did everything together. My mother said that we were more like twins than just friends.
But after a year or so, Andy started getting really interested in insects. It seemed like every time I went over there, all he wanted to do was collect bugs and put them in jars. He kept telling me it was a fascinating hobby. Seriously. He must of said the word fascinating a million times. I mean, I have nothing against insects, okay? But after you’ve put a few bugs in jars, it gets pretty boring. All you do is watch them crawl up the sides and then knock them back down again. Real fascinating.
Anyway, we never fought or anything. I just stopped going over there. And now mostly all we do is wave at each other from across the street. I don’t hate Andy or anything. And I don’t think he hates me. I guess it’s like my father said. We just changed too much to hang out together.
After a few minutes, Dad walked over to the smelly chair where I was sitting.
“So, how about it?” he said. “Do you think you might want to live here with your old pop?”
I didn’t want to hurt him anymore. But there was no way in the world that I was ever going to move in there.
“Um, well, I don’t know … maybe it would be better if I just stayed with Mom for right now,” I said. “She’s probably going to need my help around the house a lot more than you will.”
I crossed my fingers and hoped that she hadn’t told him about how I’d run away from home the other night. When someone runs away, it doesn’t actually make them sound that helpful.
Dad looked at me. “That’s true, Charlie. She will be needing your help,” he said. “But what she doesn’t need is for you to keep acting up. She told me that you ran away last night.”
Good old Mom. The woman can never keep anything to herself. I bet when she was little she was an exact copy of MaryAnn Brady.
“I’m not going to run away anymore, Dad,” I said. “I swear.”
“I certainly hope not,” said my father. “I’m not going to have you making things worse for your mom. If you’re not happy there, you are always welcome to come live here with me.”
Dad looked at his watch.
“Okay, now that we’re straight on things, how about some lunch?” he asked. “Are you hungry yet?”
I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway.
He walked over to his little kitchen. “I’m actually getting to be a pretty good cook,” he said.
He reached into the cabinet above him and pulled out a box.
It was macaroni and cheese.
(nine)
WHEN MY father brought me home that afternoon, I said hello to my mother and went straight to my room. I wasn’t sure why I was in such a hurry to get there. But as soon as I closed my door, I started to cry.
It was really weird, too. I didn’t even know I was going to do it. And the worst part was, I couldn’t stop.
My father was still in the house. He heard me and came in to see what was wrong. I asked him to leave me alone.
When he left my room, I heard him tell my mother that it might be good for me “to get it out of my system.” They didn’t bother me after that.
This was the first time that I had cried in almost a week. In fact, until then I hadn’t even felt like crying, hardly. I guess I had been more mad than sad. But after seeing my father’s apartment, it all started sinking in.
Every time I thought about it, I cried even harder. I know this makes me sound like a total wuss. But I don’t really care. I think when you’re sensitive, you have more crying in you than other kids.
All I know for sure is that when my mother called me for dinner that night, I couldn’t eat a thing. I just sat there looking down at my food and sniffling. It was too bad, too. She had made fried chicken.
I tried to make her feel good by eating a few bites, but it was no use. I couldn’t swallow. I just sat there with chicken in my cheeks. Finally, Mom told me I could come back later if I was feeling better.
I went back to my room and cried a little more.
That night I must have even cried in my sleep. Because the next morning my pillowcase felt soggy.
It was Sunday, and there wasn’t much to do. I got up for a while and wandered around the house. But I kept ending up back in my room, thinking about my mom and dad.
By late that afternoon, my mother was getting worried about me. The only time I had come out of my room was to get more Kleenex. She made me some homemade soup and brought it to my room. It was real nice of her and all. But I couldn’t eat it.
I went to bed early. I thought maybe if I got a good night’s sleep, I would feel better in the morning. But when the morning came, I still felt lousy. My mother must have sensed it, because she let me stay home from school again.
About nine o’clock, my father dropped by to see how I was doing. At least, I thought that’s why he came by. Actually, he had another reason. And it turned out to be a very sneaky one.
“Could you get your clothes on, Charlie?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, Dad. Please. I can’t go to school today. I don’t feel good,” I said.
Anyone could see that I wasn’t faking.
“I know you don’t, Charlie,” said my father. “But there’s somewhere else I’d like to take you this morning. Just get ready, all right? It’ll be good for you.”
As I was getting dressed, I convinced myself that he was taking me out to breakfast. For some reason, even if I don’t have an appetite, the thought of blueberry pancakes usually cheers me up a little.
We drove for several miles. Finally, Dad pulled up in front of a small white building.
“Come on,” he said, getting out of the truck. “There’s someone in here I’d like you to meet.”
It didn’t look much like a restaurant. I was getting suspicious.
My father and I went inside and headed down a long, narrow hall. When we were almost to the end, he stopped in front of one of the offices.
“Well, this is the place,” he said.
I looked at the sign on the door. It said:
DR. HENRY T. GIRARD
Child Psychologist
A shrink? Oh no. Not a shrink! I couldn’t believe he’d brought me here.
“Why, Dad? Why did you do this? What a sneaky trick!” I said.
I started to back up, but my father grabbed me by the arm.
“Just talk to him one time, Charlie. That’s all I’m asking,” he said. “He can help you feel better. I know he can. If you don’t want to come back after today, you won’t have to.”
Quickly, he pushed open the door. The secretary at the desk looked up and smiled.
“Good morning, Mr. Hickle,” she said cheerfully. “This must be Charles.”
My father nodded. “Is Dr. Girard ready to see him?”
“Yes. He can go right in,” she said. She pointed to a door across the room.
Dad knocked twice, opened the door, and gave me a nudge. “I’ll be out here if you need me,” he said.
Dr. Girard was sitting at his desk. He wasn’t very old for a doctor. When he stood up to greet me, I could see that he was wearing faded jeans and a sweater. I don’t know why, but that really surprised me. I didn’t think doctors were allowed to wear jeans to work.
“Hi, Charlie,” he said, smiling. “I’m Henry Girard.”
I didn’t smile back. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even say hello. I just sort of stood there feeling like a fool. I still couldn’t believe that I was talking to a child psychologist. It made me feel all weird inside. Like I was a nutcase or something.
“Please, sit down,” said Dr. Girard.
I sat.
He sat, too.
“Do you know why your father brought you here today?” he asked.
“Not unless you serve pancakes,” I said. “I thought he was taking me out to breakfast.”
Dr.
Girard laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “But I have a hard time just making cereal.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of,” I told him.
“Oh, believe me, Charlie,” he said. “There’s nothing here to be afraid of. Your dad just brought you here because he knows that you’re really unhappy right now. And he’s hoping that maybe I can help.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. I had never been a nutcase before.
Dr. Girard sat down in his chair. “So do you want to tell me what’s going on at home?” he asked.
“No, not really,” I said.
I wasn’t trying to be rude. It just felt weird talking to some strange man I didn’t even know. I mean, all your life your parents go around telling you not to talk to strangers. Then all of a sudden, they decide to get a divorce, and boom … they dump you in some strange guy’s office and they expect you to spill your guts out.
I looked around some more. “Where’s the couch?” I said. “Aren’t crazy people supposed to lie down on a couch when they talk to you?”
Dr. Girard laughed again. “Well, I don’t get many ‘crazy’ people in this office,” he said. “But you’re not the only one who thinks that you have to be ‘crazy’ to come here. At first, almost everyone I see thinks that.”
I had to admit, the guy was trying to be understanding. But even so, he was still a stranger.
“It probably feels funny talking to a stranger about your problems, doesn’t it?” he said next.
Great. Now he was reading my mind.
“I promise you, Charlie. You won’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to,” he said. “In fact, all I would like for you to do is answer one small question for me. It’s a question I ask all my patients. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
“Okay, here’s the question,” he said. “How do I look?”
Geez. What a stupid thing to ask.
I didn’t answer. If you ask me, answering a stupid question is almost as stupid as asking it.
Dr. Girard stared at me.
“I’m serious, Charlie. How do I look?” he asked again.
I was going to try to outstare him, but I figured he was probably a lot better at staring than I was. After all, he got to stare at people all day long. So finally, I gave in and answered the stupid question.