by Jack Gantos
I went outside and picked up the sign and carried it for the fifteen minutes it took to walk to the entrance of Dutch Wonderland. Even though the outside air was cool, the temperature was about a million degrees inside my costume. I couldn’t ask anyone to pull the zipper down and help me out of the costume because I only had on my undershorts. All I could think about doing was going down the Log Flume ride and getting soaked. But when I reached the ticket window it was twenty-three bucks to get into the park. “How about half a day?” I asked.
“Nope, it’s a whole day or nothing,” said the girl, who was dressed like a Dutch milkmaid.
“Give me a break,” I said, looking at a notice taped to the window. “It’s the last weekend before you close for winter.”
“Rules are rules,” she said pertly.
“I’ll give you some honey,” I offered.
“Buzz off,” she snapped, “or I’ll call an exterminator.”
I spun around and went back to the parking lot. The front of the park was shaped like a castle, and a green concrete moat filled with water circled all the way around the grounds. I walked past the castle part and followed the moat around to the far side, where I didn’t see anyone. Since I was dressed as a bee I figured if I could sneak in I’d just look like someone who worked on the “Baby Bee” merry-go-round for toddlers. I glanced over my shoulder, then scooted on my rear down the side of the moat and slipped in. The water only came up to my knees but it was freezing cold, and the moat bottom was slippery with algae so I couldn’t walk very quickly. I pushed one shoe forward, then the other. It was slow going and I got a little nervous. I twisted my bee body around and spotted a few people who had stopped to watch. This made me more nervous. I began to wave to them as if this were how I went to work every day—but then I lost my footing. My feet went straight up and I fell with a splash onto my back and I couldn’t get up and soon the water was pouring through my bee ears.
“Help!” I hollered. “Help! I’m drowning.”
Someone must have alerted the guards. In a few minutes two high school kids dressed in security uniforms scrambled down the bank and waded into the moat. They grabbed my arms and slowly pulled me upright, but it was hard to move me because my foam-and-fur bee costume had instantly sucked up about a million gallons of water. They couldn’t drag me up the slippery side of the moat until four more guys pitched in to haul me out. I was the most unhappy soggy bee you’ve ever seen. I sat down on the curb and the water drained out of me and made a puddle as if I had beed my pants. One of the security guards offered to unzip me but that would have been worse.
Finally, an older guy approached me. I guess he was an undercover rent-a-cop at the park dressed like an Amish farmer. I could see that his goaty-looking beard was fake, but the badge he flashed was real.
“Don’t be scared of me,” he said, and pulled at a few long white hairs that were stuck to his lip.
“I’m not,” I replied. “My dad’s planning on buying this place.” I was hoping they’d let me go if they thought I might soon be their boss.
“And when is your dad going to do that?” one of the young guys asked.
“As soon as he hits the mega lottery,” I said.
All three of them laughed.
“So where does your dad live while he’s planning his takeover of the theme park world?” the older cop asked with a sly smile.
“We own the Beehive Diner up the road,” I said proudly, jerking my thumb in that direction, and as I looked up I saw a police car enter the parking lot with its lights flashing.
When the squad car pulled up next to us one of the security guards pulled me up onto my feet. From his window the cop saw how wet I was and frowned. “What’s your name, kid?” he asked.
Without hesitating I replied, “Freddy Heinz.” It seemed so much easier to say it now that I was dressed like a bee.
“Well, Freddy,” he continued, “I don’t want my backseat to get wet, so why don’t you just promise me you won’t pull a stunt like this again.”
“I promise,” I repeated.
“Okay, now buzz on back to the hive,” he said, and laughed at his own joke as he drove off.
“Thanks for saving my life,” I said, waving to the guys who pulled me out of the water, then I turned and sloshed across the parking lot. By the time I waddled all the way back to the diner Dad had returned with Mom.
“What happened to you?” she asked as I stood dripping and dejected in front of her. I looked like a stuffed animal that had gone through the washing machine.
“Don’t go there,” I replied. “Just help me out of here.”
While she unzipped me Dad asked, “Did you drum up some good karma for the beehive?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “You got your ten bucks’ worth of karma out of me.”
“And I bet that FAST FOO trick got their attention,” he said, proud of himself.
“It sure did,” I replied. “In fact, I think you better put some FOO on the menu or people are going to be disappointed.”
“Okay,” he said, and rubbed his chin. “But what do you think FOO tastes like?” He gave Mom a puzzled look.
“Something kind of brown and sticky,” I heard her say as I trudged back toward the house. When I got there I climbed up into my quiet room and sat on the bed in my wet underwear. I looked out the window and all the fall leaves were off the tree but one. It looked like a little hand sticking straight out and as I watched, a breeze came by and that last leaf fluttered but hung on. It seemed to need a helping hand. I hopped up and opened my window and reached for it. “Hang on, leaf friend,” I said, “hang on. You can do it.”
But it didn’t. It let go. The leaf did not slowly drift to the ground where it could sadly look up and miss its twig and tree. No, once it let go it vanished in an instant and went from being something real to being something lost and blown away by a force it didn’t understand.
Sitting there, I knew that soon Joey was going to blow away, too. I hadn’t forgotten I’d told that cop I was Freddy Heinz, I just didn’t want to think about what it meant. Maybe I was just trying to blame Freddy for all the trouble I got into at the park, but I knew it was more than that. “Give a camel an inch and he’ll take a foot,” I quietly said to myself. That much I understood.
8
GOT TO GIVE TO GET
It was Thanksgiving morning and I was practicing my daredevil skills when Mom heard me land hard and bounce onto the floor. Ever since my dive out the window, my balance has been lopsided. Normally I can run across the top rail of a fence or scamper up a rock-climbing wall without a problem. But now, when I jump down from my loft bedroom toward the living room couch, I have to make sure I land on the beanbag chair I put on top the couch cushions. But even if I hit my target I sometimes bounce off and slam into the recliner or a side chair or something. Still, even if jumping is dangerous it’s a lot quicker than climbing down the ladder.
“Is that you?” Mom called out from her bedroom when she heard the coffee table scrape across the floor.
“Nope,” I yelled back. “It’s Freddy.”
“You fruit loop,” she said. “Now come here.”
I staggered into her room. I thought she was going to be mad so I smiled at her before she could frown at me.
But she was in a good mood. “If you are going to dive off the loft,” she reminded me, “please wear your helmet. Okay?”
“Oops,” I said touching my head. “Sorry.”
“Well, you can make up for being scatterbrained by rubbing my legs,” she continued. “They are so sore today. I had the same aches and pains when I was pregnant with you. This morning I got up for a little while and helped your dad at the diner but ran out of steam and now I’m just bushed.”
“Dad can wear anyone out,” I said. “He’s like a weird cleaning machine.”
I took a bottle of lotion from her bedside table and squeezed some into my hands to warm it up first.
“So,” she said, trying not to sou
nd pushy. “Have you given some thought to forgiving him? This is the perfect day to make it official.”
“Can I get back to you on that?” I replied.
“Don’t play games with me,” she said sharply. “You have got to get over the past and move on. Now, I want you to stop making a drama out of this and do it.”
“What if I don’t feel like it?”
“Do you know how sad you have made me by not embracing our new Heinz family life together?” she asked.
“I don’t think this is something you can make me do,” I said stubbornly.
“I don’t think this is something you can defy me on,” she replied.
I started to say something but she cut me off.
“You are speedy at everything in life. You zip around here like greased lightning. Your mind is moving a mile a minute. So I don’t want you telling me that you need more time. Time is up. So you do what I told you to do. Forgive him in your heart and then when the time is right you forgive him to his face.”
“Does that mean I have to be Freddy forever?” I asked.
“Look,” she said harshly. “Get over the name issue. Freddy Heinz is a good name.”
“For someone who really is Freddy Heinz,” I said.
Her eyes popped open and she looked toward me and scowled. “Zip it up,” she snapped. “You can argue with me till the cows come home, so just do as I say.”
I sighed and rubbed her feet. “Well, I bet if he runs out of money he’ll run out on us,” I said spitefully, and looked at her to see what she’d say to that.
“You’ll lose this bet just like you lost the last one,” she said. “Because he needs love more than he needs money.”
“Isn’t that what he has you for?” I replied.
“No—that’s what you are for, and little Heinzie, too,” she said, rubbing her tummy. “There is nothing better than to be loved by your children and that’s what he needs. Love in the form of forgiveness. Now get with it.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”
“This isn’t the kind of trying like you’ll try to eat your vegetables, or try to eat squid,” she insisted. “This is do it!”
“Do I have to?” I asked.
“Good Lord!” she cried out. “I could use a drink! When I was pregnant with you a little drink every now and again did me a world of good.”
I stopped rubbing. “Don’t say that,” I said sadly. “It hurts my feelings.”
“See,” she responded. “No one likes hurt feelings. So forgive your father and let bygones be bygones. Let’s get over this last big hurdle.”
“Okay,” I said in a small voice.
“Plus, it’s Thanksgiving,” she added. “Now get on out there and be thankful that he rescued us from that roach trap on Plum Street.”
When I went into the diner kitchen Dad was already at work mixing up a small batch of gray-looking turkey burger meat in a metal bowl. He poured a measuring cup of oily brown sauce onto the mixture and stirred it with a large spoon.
“What are you doing?” I asked, and sniffed. Something smelled kind of fishy.
“Testing my secret sauce on the meat,” he replied in a voice like a mad scientist. “I was thinking we might want to bottle it. You know, have a few items at the cash register for people to buy.”
“What’s it taste like?” I asked, reaching for the measuring cup, then pausing as I got close enough to get a good whiff.
“Stop!” he barked. “Don’t taste it now. Let it soak in, and when I make a burger then you’ll discover the magic in the meat.”
“Fine with me,” I agreed, and pulled away. “What can I do?”
“First, wash your hands, then open those gallon containers of cranberry sauce,” he ordered, pointing to a stack of them. “Spoon it into paper cups and put them in the cooler.”
“How much are you paying?” I asked, and stuck out my hand.
“This is a charity operation today,” he said. “We are all volunteering. That’s how you get good karma—through acts of goodwill.”
“You told me you got it by meditating on the sound of one hand clapping,” I replied.
He raised one hand in the air. “I’ll show you what the sound of one hand clapping feels like,” he said.
“It’s bad karma to hit your kid,” I shot back.
“Just get to work,” he grumbled. “We are way behind.”
I got busy with the cranberry sauce and then we shucked about a million ears of corn and scrubbed a mound of sweet potatoes, wrapped them in foil, and put them into our giant oven. By then Mom had revived in time to join us and mix up a batch of instant stuffing. While she did that, I cut up premade pumpkin pies and put pieces on paper dessert plates. After a couple hours of work we were beat.
“How about one of those famous turkey burgers?” Mom said. “I’m starving.”
“Okay,” he said. “The meat should have soaked up the sauce by now.” He put one of his experimental burgers on the grill, and as it heated up a funky aroma filled the diner.
“That doesn’t smell so fresh,” she remarked. “Has the meat gone sour?”
“Hey,” Dad replied, “it was discounted for a fast sale but no one is going to complain. Besides, when you get food for free you take what you’re given. That’s how life works. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Do you get good karma for serving up food poisoning?” she asked pointedly
He ignored that. “Just wait until you taste this gourmet treat,” he said, sliding the burger onto a bun and spooning a little of his secret sauce on top. “Then you’ll change your tune. Now eat up.”
Mom took a bite out of the burger and instantly spit it out into a paper towel. “You have to change this recipe,” she sputtered. “Otherwise your customers are going to make a beeline right to the bathroom.”
“Hey,” he said, “don’t insult my special sauce.”
“Just stick with ketchup,” she suggested. “It can hide the taste of dog food.”
“Hey, buddy, you take a bite out of it,” he instructed, sounding a bit exasperated. “Your mom is picking on me.”
I was afraid. Just the smell of the sauce on that flattened grayish puck of turkey meat made my eyes water. “El Gordo! Quesadilla!” I called out to the dogs, who were also using the new names Dad gave them. “Come here.” When it came to food they’d answer to any name we called them. They scampered over and I lowered the burger for them to eat. El Gordo instantly put on his brakes and did a reverse moon walk, and Quesadilla began to twitch as if she had permanent nerve damage.
“What does a dog know?” Dad asked. “They’ll eat trash, then turn around and not eat what’s good.”
“Then you take a bite out of it,” Mom suggested, daring him.
He held the burger with both hands and took a huge bite as we leaned forward to watch him chew. “Best dang turkey burger I’ve ever eaten,” he mumbled with his mouth churning.
“You really have become someone else,” Mom remarked. “You’ve become the hungriest man on the planet.”
Dad got up and opened a diet soda. He chewed and drank, chewed and drank until he had washed about half of it down. From the look on his face he couldn’t take another bite.
“Okay, okay, no más,” he said. “My special sauce isn’t so special. Let’s just stick to ketchup. After all, Heinz ketchup is part of my good karma past.”
“Freddy,” Mom said, taking control. “You take the rest of this failed experiment and practice cooking a burger while your dad and I make patties out of the rest.”
“Before you go,” he said to me, burping politely as he wiped his lips on a white kitchen towel, “and before all these people show up and we have to jump into action, I think we should have a family moment where we give thanks for what we have.”
“Amen to that,” Mom echoed.
Dad held his hands out and we all joined together.
“Freddy, you go first,” Mom insisted, and when I glanced up at her she shot me th
at stern raised-eyebrow look.
I took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. I waited for my heart to speak to me but my heart was too busy just keeping me alive, so I spoke what was on my mind. “I’m thankful that I’m with my family and that we are going to help other people,” I said carefully, “because we’ve been helped so much in the past.”
“Is that all?” Mom asked, raising her eyebrow again because I still hadn’t said what she wanted me to say.
“Amen?” I guessed.
“Well, I have something to say,” Dad eagerly cut in. “It’s been burning a hole in me all day to say it.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I’m thankful I’m so blessed,” he said solemnly. “I’m no longer drinking. I have my family back together again and now there is one more on the way.”
When he stopped talking he peeked over at me. “Well? What do you think of that news? Huh? I’ve been dying to tell you.”
“Well,” I stammered, “I kind of already knew.” I tilted my head toward Mom’s rounded belly.
“Oh, I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said, and looked disappointed.
“So, is it a boy or a girl?” I asked eagerly, wanting to cheer him up. “That would be a surprise.”
“It’s a Heinz!” Dad said proudly. “Either way, it’s a quality product. And you know what else?” he added. “It won’t know anything about our old family. It will have a fresh start—a clean slate. No bad Pigza karma raining on Heinzie’s parade.”
“What about me?” I asked. “Am I under a rain cloud of bad Pigza karma?”
“Hey, buddy,” he said with sudden enthusiasm. “You can have sunny skies, too. All you have to do is switch over to the Heinz way of life and step into your future.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s as simple as one, two, three.”
Just then a white van pulled into the parking lot. Dad’s eyes bugged out and he looked at his watch.
“High noon!” he hollered. “Man your battle stations! I called every shelter in town. Man, we are going to have good karma for a lifetime if they all show up.”