It's Girls Like You, Mickey

by Patti Kim

  “Thanks,” he says.

  “You’re welcome,” I say, and sip my punch. I sip some more ’cause it feels like I should be the one doing the talking, but there ain’t no words coming out of my mouth, which is weird, so the three of us stand in a quiet and awkward triangle, drinking a bunch of punch.

  “This is really good punch,” Larry says.

  “Yeah, it’s great punch. It’s the ice cream. Lime sherbet? The lime-sherbet ice cream is what makes the punch so great. Sunny here thinks it’s too sweet, but that’s just her. I don’t think anything can taste too sweet, if you ask me,” I say, trying to drown the butterflies in my stomach with more punch. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I need to pee.

  “I want to make the toast,” Sunny says, holding up her cup.

  “Yes, what a great idea! You go right ahead. Yes, please. Make a toast,” I say, holding up my cup next to hers. Larry does the same. He looks at me and smiles. I think I smile back, but I can’t tell ’cause my face feels asphalt-in-August hot. I don’t know if it’s the lighting in this room or what, but Larry looks cute. He combed his hair. Not a wrinkle in his blue shirt. Looks crispy, like a sheet of new paper. And he’s wearing a skinny black leather tie. Throw me back, why don’t you. His mouth looks like a mini hot dog bun. He smells all fresh, like a brand-new bar of Irish Spring soap.

  “To our friend Mickey. She is the best friend,” Sunny says.

  I start to tear up. A lump forms in my throat.

  “She calls me Sunny, but she is the one bringing all the sunshine, caring for the people and the animals who need friend the most and making everybody ‘happy when the sky is gray,’ ” Sunny says, smiling so big her eyes crinkle. Then she sings, “ ‘Please don’t take my sunshine away,’ ” and taps our cups.

  “To girls like you, Mickey,” Larry says, tapping my cup.

  “Stop. Y’all making me choke up. I’ll have you know I ain’t wearing waterproof mascara. Y’all going to make me look like Tammy Faye,” I say, wiping my eyes and hugging Sunny.

  She hugs me back, whispering into my ear, “Ask him to dance.”

  “You’re so bossy,” I whisper back.

  The room dims. The disco ball comes on and spins, spotting the walls with moving lights. It’s the Bee Gees. They start singing how they know my eyes in the morning sun and how we touch in the pouring rain, and my body moves automatic like one of them hula dolls on a dashboard. It’s doing its own thing, and just like that, I ask Larry if he wants to dance with me, and the next thing you know, me and him, we’re making our way to the dance floor together to the sound of Sunny’s silly applauding behind us, and I’m trying to look like I’ve done this, like, a thousand times, it’s nothing, just like breathing, but sweat puddles in my pits and a bead trickles down my arm and a salty mustache forms on my upper lip and I still need to pee. Larry puts his hands on my waist. A staple pricks and tickles my side. I wiggle and laugh, which makes Larry’s face drop into a what-did-I-do-wrong look? I move his hands up a little and say, “Staples.” He nods, oh okay, like he knows what I’m talking about. I tell him I got staples holding my dress together and place my hands on his shoulders and rock left right, left right to the Bee Gees asking how deep my love is, but I can’t get into it ’cause this feels like how Frankenstein would dance. And I ain’t no Frankenstein.

  Then Larry starts to sing, which cracks me up. First of all, I can’t believe he knows the words. Second of all, he can’t sing, and he knows he can’t, but he don’t care, and he’s making those desperate faces like he’s singing his heart out. I laugh. I also relax enough to shut off my sweat fountain and stop doing the Frankenstein. I hold his hands instead and just move along to the song. Then I let go and move like I do in my own living room. Larry’s doing his own thing, snapping his fingers, and every once in a while he twirls me and I twirl him back. It’s so much fun I don’t want it to end.

  But it does ’cause the deejay plays “It’s Electric.”

  When the Electric Slide comes on, the dance floor gets swarmed. Everyone—I mean everyone—kids and teachers and parents and all the old folks, don’t matter if you got a wheelchair or cane or a walker or two left feet. Everyone dances the Electric Slide.

  Benny even pops out of nowhere and dances his own take next to me and Sunny. Never mind he moves like a windup toy. Sydney puts down her flyers to join in. Of course, Tammy and Nawsia follow her. Mr. Graves works up a sweat. Principal Farmer’s arms are up in the air, circling like a pair of lassos. Some old woman’s bracelets jangle like tambourines. Asa’s making his own moves in the front corner, popping and locking. Herman looks like he’s hardly moving, but he’s moving all right ’cause his toupee wiggles.

  While we dance, I notice some girls sitting around that old woman with the fancy clothes and big bracelets. She’s telling them something. I have no idea what she’s saying, but she’s got their undivided attention. Then the girls burst out laughing.

  Everyone’s having such a time. This is the closest I’ve come to feeling high on the hog. I wish we could do this again. And as soon as I see Ma standing at the door talking to her boss, I get an idea.

  thirty-six

  Ok sent me a drawing of Cyclops poking her head out of a tent with a bubble that says, “Thanks, Mickey. You saved meow life.”

  Hey Ok,

  Thanks for the picture. I’d draw something for you, too, but I got too many words in me that need to come out. You ever feel like that? I never thought I was any good at writing. I’m good at talking, I know that, but I was always getting Cs and Ds in language arts class, so I steered clear of reading and writing, but I like writing you. It feels different. It sits right. It’s not fake like the school stuff. When I write you, I can hear my inner voice.

  Anyway, long story short, we had this miracle school dance that helped get foster care for 3 cats and 4 dogs and forever homes for 2 cats and 3 dogs. Not bad, huh? Do the math. That’s a dozen lives saved. It was a miracle ’cause it wasn’t supposed to happen on account of the school cafeteria getting infested with dead mice and flies. Gross. I know. Did you see me on TV? We ended up holding the dance at Ma’s work. Which was a total blast. We all had so much fun. By “all,” I mean old folks, young folks, parent folks, and animal folks. And don’t get all jealous, but I even slow danced for the first time with a boy. Do you remember Lawrence Elwood? Everyone calls him Larry now. I think he’s got a crush on me. Well, we slow danced together. AWKWARD. I was sweating like a faucet.

  Anyway, while we were all dancing, I had this idea. It struck me so strong. What if our school partnered with Golden Gardens? What if we had an after-school program that let the students and seniors hang out? Like tell stories, play cards, do homework… you know, chew the fat. I know a lot of these old folks are plain bored and lonely and feeling useless. A bunch of us kids feel the same way. I told Ma about it. She’s going to talk to her boss and Principal Farmer.

  Anyway, want to hear something weird? I think I’m getting to be more like you, Ok. A nerd. I’m getting As and Bs this year. Honor roll. Not one C or D. Coming from me, that’s, like, a miracle. If I keep this up, I might be well on my way to college. I’ll be the first in my family. Unless my supermodeling career takes off. Ha-ha. But seriously, never in my 13 years would I have guessed that the year Daddy don’t come back is the year I’d do my best in school. What’s up with that?

  Writing you’s mooding me into some deep thoughts. Get your floaties on ’cause I’m diving into the deep end. What does it mean to succeed? Is it getting good grades? Is it getting money? Is it being popular? Is it having fun? Is it having friends? Is it getting applause? Is it about being strong? Is it about helping people? Is it about helping yourself? I don’t know. I think it’s a mix of all those things.

  One thing I do know for sure is that it’s about getting back up and not staying down when you do fall. And everyone falls down. Speaking of falling, I gave my roller skates away. They got way too small for me, so I gave them to this girl who
lives in our building. Her name’s Leyla, and she always looked like she was bored out of her mind, so I gave them to her. I saw Leyla rolling around in them, falling and getting back up and figuring it all out, and that made me feel really happy. Like some crack in my heart was getting filled up with the glue of gold.

  Do you know about this glue of gold thing they used way back when to mend broken bowls? Sunny told me all about it. She said that there used to be this old way of mending broken bowls with this special glue that was made of gold to put all the pieces back together again. The glue was gold, so it was like you were showing off the cracks instead of trying to hide them. Isn’t that something? The bowl didn’t look the same as before ’cause it had all this gold running through it like roads on a map. The bowl ended up being stronger and more beautiful and more valuable than before it was broke. I’ve been thinking a lot about this.

  It’s kind of like we’re all bowls. We get made. We get used. We get dropped. We break. And I guess we can stay broke, but I believe in my heart of hearts we all got the glue of gold running through us and we can help bring one another’s broken pieces back together again, and we end up being better, more beautiful and stronger than ever. That’s what life means to me. That’s what success means to me. I guess it’s nice not to never ever break, but what’s the fun in that? I don’t know about you, but I want to be made of trails and rivers and roads of gold holding me together, but that’s just me being me.

  Always here,

  Mickey

  thirty-seven

  You should keep your shoes on unless you want furry feet like mine,” I say to Sunny as she squats to untie her sneakers. I show her my wiggling socks, which look like a pair of newborn pups.

  “I like the furry feet,” she says, taking her shoes off. Sunny smells springtime fresh, like a Saturday afternoon in April.

  Charlie’s wagging tail makes so much wind, it’s like he’s got a fan on his butt. I tell him to sit. He sits. Sunny pets him and says, “Good dog. Good dog. So big.” Charlie rolls onto his back, inviting belly scratches. Sunny laughs. I scratch his belly and tell him to scram.

  Benny comes running out to the living room in his underwear, announcing to the whole wide world that he did a clogger.

  “I need you…,” he starts to say, and slows down, noticing Sunny standing in our apartment staring at him. “To plunge,” he finishes, staring back at her.

  “Who’re you?” he asks.

  “I’m Sunny. Hi, Benny,” she says.

  “How do you know me?”

  “From the dance. Nice to see you again,” she says, putting out her hand to shake his.

  “I wouldn’t do that. He just pooped,” I tell her. She puts her hand away.

  “You here to play?”

  “Yeah, just hanging out.”

  “Well, toilet’s clogged,” he says, and runs back.

  “Wash your hands and put on some clothes,” I yell after him.

  “Ma said take a bath.”

  “Fine, then take a bath.”

  “That’s what I was going to do, but the toilet clogged. You have to plunge or it’s going to flood like last time.”

  “Fine!”

  I turn to Sunny and say, “Hey, you like pancakes?”

  “I love pancake.”

  “Want to make some with me?”

  “Yes! Let’s make it!”

  We go to the kitchen. I get out everything we need: pancake mix, oil, frying pan, bowl, spatula, and fork. I pour some mix into the bowl and water it at the faucet. Sunny pours oil into the frying pan and turns on the heat. I mix the batter, add more water, mix some more until it’s just right.

  “Thank you for having me to come over, Mickey. This is so fun.”

  “I know. I been wanting to have you over for, like, ever—ever since you had me over your place for chew-suck. Did I say that right? Chew-suck? Don’t it feel like that was like a million years ago but at the same time it feels like it was just yesterday?” I say, spooning mix into the hot oil. It spreads into a perfect circle. The edges sizzle.

  “Where your mom go?” Sunny asks.

  “She works on the weekends.”

  “Where your dad go?”

  “Heck if I know. He don’t live with us. They’re getting a divorce,” I say, flipping a pancake.

  “I’m so sorry, Mickey. That’s too sad.”

  “It’s all right. I’m all used to it now. I’ve actually been doing better than when I used to wait around like a dummy for him to come home, and he never stayed long anyway. The waiting was a total waste. And I’ll have you know that this is my best year yet in school. I got more friends. I’m getting more stuff done. I got better grades. Can you believe that? I ain’t getting a single D this year. That’s, like, a miracle. And lo and behold, I think I’m even getting an A in science on account of you being my lab partner. I done fine without him. Sometimes I think he might could’ve been the thorn in my side. He missed out on so much. The big stuff like birthdays and holidays, yeah. But he missed out on the everyday boring stuff too. That’s the stuff a life’s built on. All in all, I think I’m stronger for it. That’s how I see it. What don’t kill you makes you stronger. That’s my motto,” I say.

  “Oh, Mickey.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. Oh man, what I would do for my day in court. I’m not waiting around for it or anything, but I want me some answers. I see it like this. Like he’s sitting in that box, can’t go driving off nowhere, and I’m walking around the courtroom and asking him questions like them lawyers do. I even got on a suit and tie.”

  “What you asking?”

  “All sorts of stuff. But I guess what my heart of hearts really wants to know is why. Like why? Why don’t he want us? Why don’t he want me? I don’t get that part. I’m great. I’m smart. I’m fun. I’m kind. Heck, look at me. I’m a beauty. I get stuff done. I cook some mean pancakes. I care. I’m not perfect, but I’m good. I’m really good. I know I am. So why don’t he want me?” I ask, looking down at the pancakes. My eyes well up with tears, and my mouth starts quivering into a cry-baby face. Sunny looks up at me. The pancakes sizzle.

  She hugs me tight and says, “Oh, Mickey, I don’t know. I never meet your father, but I think he is very lost and sad and stupid man, because you are the best.”

  We hug long enough for the edges of the pancakes to cook crispy brown. I wipe my tears. Sunny wipes her tears too. We plate the first batch.

  “Hey, Benny! Benny! If you want pancakes, come and get it now or they’re all going to be gone!” I yell out.

  I listen for him, but he don’t answer. The bath water runs. He can’t hear me.

  “Great. No syrup. Figures,” I say, shutting the fridge.

  “You have sugar?”

  I open a cabinet. No sugar. I open another cabinet. No sugar, but we got a thing of SlimFast. “Hey, want to make chocolate pancakes?” I ask, opening it up.

  “Okay, but not all. Let’s make half chocolate,” she says.

  I open the junk drawer. Sugar packets. Mustard packets. Ketchup packets. “Syrup! We got syrup!” I yell.

  “Yay!” she says, jumping up and down.

  We finish frying up the pancakes, stack two towers on a plate, and squeeze the packets of syrup on top. It’s not enough, so we use up the sugar packets and sprinkle those on too. It smells so good. We head outside to the balcony. I set the plate of pancakes on a milk crate, and we sit across from each other on the concrete floor. It’s all dusty with pollen, but we don’t care. We dig in.

  “So good. We make it the best,” Sunny says, giving me a thumbs-up.

  “This is the best. Beats IHOP, don’t it?” I say, cutting through seven layers of pancakes with the side of my fork.

  The patio door slides open, and there stands Benny all cleaned up. His hair’s combed down flat with a part to the side. He’s wearing his dress pants and dress shirt. They’re all wrinkly. He missed a button, so one side of the shirt hangs lower than the other. He looks like he’s ready
for church.

  “Why you all dressed up?” I ask, but I know why. It’s ’cause of Sunny.

  He shrugs and says, “I want some.”

  “Come sit here, Benny,” Sunny says, dusting pollen off the floor.

  I give him a forkful of pancake and he eats it, chewing with his mouth closed. He’s putting on his best manners for Sunny, and it’s making me crack up inside, but I ain’t going to say nothing.

  The three of us sit around the crate, the pancakes disappearing fast. They taste so sweet and soft with a little crunch on the edges. I’d say they’re the best I’ve had, and I’ve had my share.

  Sunny says something about how nice Benny looks, and I swear he turns so pink it’s like I’m sitting next to a slice of watermelon.

  Cyclops comes walking out and climbs on my lap, nestling against my foot like I’m her favorite place in the world.

  Yellow dandelions cover the patch of grass in front of our building. I used to pick those. I used to string them into necklaces and bracelets and rings, pretending I was a princess. Once I even strung together a great big mane, called myself Dandy the lion, roared until my throat got sore, and blew at all the fuzzy seed balls like they were birthday candles, doing all sorts of crazy wishing. Seeds floated all around me like pixie dust, landing who knows where.

  thirty-eight

  Never thought I’d see this day, but it’s here. Took long enough. It’s the last day of school. We are done done done!

  I’m going over to Sunny’s. We walk together from the bus stop, swinging our arms like a pair of kindergartners skipping up Sesame Street. We’re all giggles. Anything and everything’s making us laugh. Crack in the sidewalk. Crows cawing from the sky. Our growling stomachs. Clouds shaped like flying saucers.

  It’s hot for June.

  We had an awards assembly today. I knew I was getting an honor roll certificate, which is a first for me, but what I didn’t know was I got voted a superlative by my peers. They gave me Best Neighbor. Mr. Graves said it goes to the student who shows she cares about our community and the ones who tend to get forgotten. I got a lot of cheers for that. It’s a memory I’m holding and tucking away for safekeeping.