Still,
The King
P.S. Since your grandmother didn’t mention to me the fact that you’re a finalist, I’m guessing you haven’t told her. I won’t either. Not my place. But I think you owe it to your gram to tell her you’re a contest finalist.
P.P.S. My producer says I haven’t been as insulting as usual on my last two shows. This worries me a little. But not too much. I told my producer to put a sock in it.
Callahan the Comic
Hamilton, MO
August 24
Dear Nick,
This time next week we’ll be in Hannibal onstage!
You better be careful. I’m getting nervous thinking about you riding a bus all night by yourself. How will you get to the bus station? Do you have enough money for a taxi? How will you get out of the house without Travis stopping you? What if he does? And what’s he going to think when he doesn’t find you there in the morning and your grandfather doesn’t have a clue?
I know you’ll get to Hannibal somehow. I can’t believe you’ve never been there. Hannibal’s downtown is pretty small, and that’s where the museum is. The old museum is next to Samuel Clemens’s (Mark Twain’s) boyhood home. It’s really small, so I’ll bet that’s why they have tickets. I don’t think they can fit that many people in there. Maybe we’ll have time to ride the riverboat down the Mississippi River. You can walk to everything—that’s how small downtown is.
Only I don’t know where the bus station is. If I had a cell phone, you could call me when you get in. But Gram has a phone, and you have that number. So use it! And if she doesn’t answer, she’s probably turned off her ringer. But you could still text her, and I’ll make sure she checks her phone a lot. So text her the second your bus pulls into the Hannibal station, and we’ll come and pick you up—even though she will be surprised that you’re there. All of this is not easy to keep straight.
Insultingly yours,
Cassie
Nick Barton
Old Folks’ Home
Chicago, IL
August 28
Dear Cassie,
There may be a small audience in the museum, but the television audience will be huge. I admit I’m getting a little worried about it. Do you remember when I had to give that book report to our class and I couldn’t remember anything, not even the title of the book? Kids started laughing, and that made it worse. Then I saw you, and you grabbed your neck and stuck out your tongue like you were gagging or being strangled . . . or poisoned. The book was called Poison! And that was what I needed to get through that report, which I did, even though I puked in the hall afterward.
Maybe you better be ready to act out some insults so I don’t just stand there.
See you SOON!
Signed,
Nervous Nick
Friday Morning Phone Call
Phone: Ring! Ring!
Jen: Hello?
Gram: Jen, this is your mother.
Jen: I recognize your voice, Mom. And your phone number on caller ID. Is everything all right? Nothing’s wrong with Cassie, is there? Are you—?
Gram: Why would anything be wrong?
Jen: Because I just got up and I’m not thinking straight, and you haven’t said why you’re calling and what this is about.
Gram: It’s nine o’clock in the morning, Jen. How can you sleep in like that and still keep your job?
Jen: It’s 7 a.m. here, Mom. Time difference. Remember? What’s the problem?
Gram: More like who is the problem.
Jen: Fine. Who?
Gram: Johnathan Kirby, in a way.
Jen: Ha. Like the Insult King?
Gram: Exactly like the Insult King.
Jen: What are you talking about?
Gram: Who. And I guess it’s more about Cassie really. I did call about Cassie.
Jen: Cassie? What’s wrong? Did something happen to her? Is she—?
Gram: Cassie is fine. Super, in fact. She won a contest.
Jen: She did? What kind of contest? Why didn’t I know she even entered a contest?
Gram: Because you’re in California, and Cassie is here, in Hamilton, Missouri.
Jen: . . .
Gram: Actually, she’s not the winner yet. But she’s one of five female finalists in the contest. We have tickets to see the show. Johnny got them for us.
Jen: Johnny? Johnny who?
Gram: Kirby, the King. We’re friends. Anyway, Cassie believed that I thought we were just going to watch the contest. But I had already read the letter congratulating her on being a finalist. I figured she’d let me know when she wanted me to know. And she did. When she finally broke the news to me, I pretended to be surprised. Then I signed her parental consent form.
Jen: Wait. I’m having trouble taking this all in, Mom. Cassie’s a finalist in a contest that you’re going to watch. Where? Where are you going? And when? And what kind of contest? And seriously, Johnny?
Gram: We’ll be leaving for Hannibal early in the morning. More like the middle of the night.
Jen: But . . . you mean tomorrow morning? Cassie’s birthday? You still haven’t told me what the contest is about.
Gram: Insults.
Jen: Groan.
Gram: I have to go now, Jen. You should come home. Cassie needs her mother.
Jen: But I can’t. Not now. I have that speech to give tomorrow. And this week’s column to write. Mom? Mom? Mom?
Gram: Click.
Cassie Callahan
Between Hamilton and Hannibal, MO
August 31
Dear Julie,
I hope you’re doing better. I feel lousy that Nick and I had to keep something this big from you. It had to be a secret, though. Only by the time you get this, it will all be over anyway. And with any luck, we’ll all be on a cruise ship heading to the Bahamas.
Let me explain. In fact, I’m writing you a live, as-it-happens report of everything you’ll be missing here. Since you can’t be in Hannibal, I will bring Hannibal to you! When you get this, the cat will be out of the bag. I’m guessing your dad will call my gram as soon as he discovers Nick is missing. Nick will be in big trouble, but at least you won’t be because we’ve kept you out of it on purpose (even though we both hated doing that).
For the record, Nick and I are finalists in The Last Insult Standing contest to be held tomorrow evening (make that THIS evening, which means “Happy Birthday to me!”) at the Mark Twain museum in Hannibal, Missouri. We have to compete—me with four other insulting females, and Nick with four insulting males. The guy winner will have to face the girl winner. And then the big winner gets a cruise for the whole family, and that’s why we’re doing this, Julie, so that ALL of us can be a family for at least 10 days, on a ship, where nobody can run away. One of us just has to win.
It’s so early in the morning that it’s still dark, and I’ve been writing by the dome light and sitting in the backseat while Gram squints at Old Highway 36 and drives 30 miles an hour so we won’t hit any deer. She doesn’t like the new highway, so it’s going to take forever to get to Hannibal.
Only now I have to stop writing because she says she can’t see well with the light on inside the car. Plus, I’m getting carsick.
To be continued . . .
Cassie
SHOPPING LIST
Dad, if you’re reading this, it’s probably Saturday morning, and you don’t realize that I’m not still in bed. Or maybe Julie got up first, read this note, woke you up, and now you’re reading it.
Or maybe (and I hope this isn’t the right one) you checked on me in the middle of the night like you do sometimes—yep, I’ve heard you come into my room and just stare at me while I’m pretending to be asleep. Why do I pretend? Because I kind of like that you peek in on me. Only you haven’t done that since we moved to Chicago.
So back to now. have won that contest I am one of five guys who are finalists on The Last Insult Standing. There are also five girl finalists, of which Cassie is one. If I win the whole thing,
I win a cruise for the entire family, 10 days on the ocean and in the Bahamas and other countries I can’t remember the names of. And I thought it would only be fair to let Cassie and her family come along as part of my family because it still does feel like she is. And her mom and Gram.
I need to win this contest. You wouldn’t take me to Hannibal when I asked you to, so I have to take the bus. I am sorry if I’m making you crazy and worried, but I’m fine. I’m probably still on the very fancy and comfortable bus that takes me all the way to Hannibal, Missouri, where the contest is. And if you want to, you and Julie can watch me on TV tomorrow (probably now today) evening at seven o’clock, same channel as The Hour of Insult.
Before you try to call me on my cell and yell at me, you should know that I’ve turned off the ringer so I can sleep on the bus and not get yelled at before I compete in the contest, and turning off your phone is probably a bus rule anyways. But the main reason is that I don’t want to hear you yell at me until this contest is over and we are on the cruise, because I don’t think you will feel like yelling then.
Love ya,
Nick
P.S. Tell Julie that I wish she could have come with me. She did not know anything about this. So don’t take it out on her. I’ll be back.
Cassie continuing . . .
Hey, Julie—I’m back! And we’re in Hannibal, Missouri! As usual, Gram had us here hours early. But this was early, even for Gram, who has always been first in the pick-up line at school (by about 30 minutes at least) and who freaks out when she’s just on time or only a few minutes early.
But I didn’t mind at all this time. We got to visit Mark Twain’s home, even though it didn’t open to the public until later. And we got a personal tour of the downtown area, including the Mark Twain museum and the riverboat on the Mississippi River! Who gave us this grand tour? Kirby the Insult King!
You should have heard Gram when she called the King to let him know we’d arrived. They sounded like school chums (that’s an old-time, Gram word for “friends”), and the King said he’d be right over. I asked Gram if she’d like to put on lipstick to meet him. She laughed. Me too. I’m glad she’s not one of those grandmothers who pile on red lipstick and cake blue eye shadow and eyeliner in thick, jagged lines.
The King got here fast and used his own key to unlock Mark Twain’s house, and we walked through it together. When we finally got outside again, I plopped onto this park bench to soak up the sun and cool breeze from the river. Flowers are blooming everywhere, and do they ever smell stupendous and phenomenal (haven’t used my words much this week). I spy an inordinate (yep, word for today) number of cardinals flying around. Sounds like they’re tweeting, “Happy Birthday to Cassie!”
I sure wish Nick would hurry up and get here!
To be continued . . .
Phone call to Emma Hendren from Travis Barton
Phone: Ring! Ring! Ring!
Travis [muttering under breath]: Answer your phone, Emma!
King Kirby: What’s that buzzing sound? I think it’s coming from your purse. You expecting a call?
Gram: I don’t hear anything.
Phone: Buzz! Buzz!
Phone call from Jen Callahan to Emma Hendren
Phone: Ring! Ring! Ring!
Jen [muttering under breath]: Come on, Mom! Pick up, will you?
Gram: I’m starving. Got anything to eat around here, Johnny?
King Kirby: Follow me.
Cassie: Gram, can I see your phone? Thanks. Okay. It’s not Nick.
Gram: Why would Nick be calling me?
Phone: Ring! Ring! Ring!
Gram’s phone: You have reached the voice mail of Emma Hendren. Please leave a message after the beep.
Jen: Where are you? I’ve been calling the house and your cell. Listen, Mom, you were right. Cassie needs me. I don’t want to miss her big moment. I’m in the airport right now. I should arrive in Kansas City this afternoon. Then I’ll rent a car and drive to Hannibal. Tell Cassie I’m on my way!
Phone call from Travis to Emma
Phone: Ring! Ring! Ring!
Travis [muttering under breath]: She’s not picking up! What’s the matter with her?
Gram: I haven’t had this many calls since I burned a pan of cinnamon rolls and set off the smoke alarm, and the fire department came to put out the fire in my oven.
King Kirby: Emma, you make me laugh! You and the kid both.
Phone: Ring! Ring! Ring!
Julie: Leave a message this time, Dad! You have to go!
Gram’s phone: You have reached the voice mail of Emma Hendren. Please leave a message after the beep.
Travis: Emma, I wish you’d answer your phone! Nick’s run off. He’s taken a bus, but I don’t know which one. I know he means to get to Hannibal, so I’m taking the first flight there and renting a car. I’m leaving Julie with Dad and his housekeeper. From Nick’s note, it sounds like Cassie’s going to Hannibal too. If you see Nick, tell him—
Gram’s phone: End of voice mail. To listen to your message, press . . .
TEXT TO GRAM FROM NICK:
Nick:
Gram, are you there? I’m here! In the bus station. Can you come get me?? It’s kind of creepy here.
To Julie, continued . . .
Hannibal, MO
Hey, Julie!
We’ve got Nick!
We almost didn’t. I’d warned him that if he called Gram, he shouldn’t leave a voice mail because she doesn’t know how to retrieve messages. She’s had the ringer off since we got here. So Nick sent Gram a text. And, of course, Gram didn’t hear the text come in. She was too busy eating donuts. But I started getting worried about Nick, so I asked Gram to check her text messages. She did, and there he was! He’d been waiting at the bus station for over an hour. So Mr. Kirby drove us there to pick him up. And that was pretty nice for an insult king. He tried to phone your dad, and so did Gram, but they never got him. Gram couldn’t believe your dad wasn’t driving Nick here.
The bus station isn’t anything to write home about. Two old guys were sleeping on the concrete floor, and a group of guys who looked like they could star in a gangland-murder movie rated R were laughing like crazy and kept looking over at Nick. When Nick saw us, he came running. “You came! You’re here!” he cried. I have a feeling he won’t be traveling alone again anytime soon.
Nick’s pretty wrinkly since he slept on the bus in his clothes. He kind of smells bad too, like the old Geri’s Tavern on Main Street in Hamilton. Remember? We used to have to walk past it to get to Dairy Dan’s. Nick said the guy next to him on the bus kept pulling out a silver metal bottle (which is called a flask, although Nick didn’t say that word). Sometime during the night, the bus stopped fast and the guy spilled his whiskey flask all over Nick. Your brother didn’t bring anything else to wear, so he went into the bus bathroom and tried to wash his shirt and wash off his pants, which are still kind of damp and smelly.
Kirby offered to buy Nick a new shirt and pants, which was also pretty nice for an insult king. (You would not believe how nice the King is to Gram and how nice she is back. Just like old buddies.) But Nick said no thanks because there’s nothing he hates more than shopping for clothes. The Insult King has to drive us—
Nick just asked me what I’m writing about. When I told him I’m writing you, he said, “For crying out loud, you numskull, will you just get a cell phone?” So I guess he’s in good insult shape for our contest.
I don’t think I’m in good shape for the contest at all. I didn’t even insult him back or make fun of the way he smells, which is still a lot like that tavern.
I have been reading Proverbs in the Bible all week. Some of those proverbs I’ve read so many times that I have them memorized, Julie. You know how easy it is for things to stick to my brain and get stuck in my head—like songs and commercials and words and definitions. Anyway, with those proverbs stuck there, I just haven’t been feeling all that insulting, not even when I think of Mom being in California on my birt
hday without me. Not even when I think about Travis just leaving like he did, without even saying good-bye to somebody who was almost his stepkid and who thought of him as Dad already because he was the closest thing to it she could remember.
So I’m hoping the insults come back to me here, like riding a bicycle, which I’m not so great at, so maybe that’s not the best analogy (word of the day, which means “a similarity between like features of two things, on which a comparison may be based”). (See what I mean about things sticking to my brain?)
We are back in town now, and Nick is asking me a thousand questions.
More later . . .
Later: Cassie to Julie
Hannibal, MO
Still August 31
Hi, Julie,
In case you’re wondering, I really like writing you about everything. It’s kind of like when I used to journal because our teacher made us. Only this is better because no one is making me and because it’s you instead of me at the other end of this letter.
The King and Gram sent Nick and me back to the boyhood home of Samuel Clemens, aka Mark Twain. King Kirby told me to “show the kid around” because the tourist stuff is now open for business. Gram objected and said we were too young to be on our own, but the Insult King said, “Are you kidding? Nick smells so bad, he’d make skunks run away. The government could use him as a lethal weapon. Nobody will bother them!” And Gram laughed.
Nick and I walked the sidewalks, which are lined with those tiny white flowers you love. They’ve got big pots of flowers on the corners, with marigolds, zinnias, phlox, and other flowers I don’t know the names of but that smell so good you can even smell them when you’re walking next to Nick.
You probably guessed that Nick isn’t much of a sightseer. We zoomed through the boyhood home and headed to the museum so Nick could scope out the stage and everything. But there’s still a curtain closed onstage, so we couldn’t see much.
Just Sayin' Page 8