Joey Pigza Loses Control

by Jack Gantos

  But I didn’t go manic and spend everything. I had my fun. I spent my limit. And I walked away with total self-control. Maybe Dad is right, I thought. I don’t need the patch. I just need to act like a man.

  I was so excited about feeling good I wanted to call Mom. Most of the pay phones were on outside street corners and the car horns were louder than my trumpet, so I went into a department store and found a phone booth by the snack bar. I put in a quarter from Mom’s phone money and dialed her number. The operator came on and told me to deposit “three dollars for the first three minutes.” I did, but the telephone rang and rang until after I counted twenty rings I figured she wasn’t there unless she was in the shower, so I let it ring twenty more times. I hung up, got all my quarters back, and then I called the beauty parlor.

  “Beauty and the Beast,” Tiffany, the receptionist, answered. “Can I help you?”

  “It’s me, Joey,” I said. “Is my mom there?”

  “She’s on vacation,” Tiffany replied. “Said she needed a few days to herself.”

  “Where’d she go?” I asked, and I could feel my chest getting tight.

  “Didn’t say. Maybe Mexico.”

  “Mexico? She doesn’t know anyone in Mexico. She doesn’t even like Mexican food. Why’d she go there?”

  “It’s just a guess, Joey. Now hold for a minute,” she said, “I’ve got another call.”

  Mexico? I thought. Why there? Why didn’t she tell me? And I could feel myself getting all twisted up inside like when bad things do happen. Maybe Dad told her I wanted to stay with him and instead of getting mad she decided to run off and celebrate. Suddenly the operator came on and told me to put more money in the phone so I just hung up and told myself to calm down. Maybe Mom went down to Mexico to get me another Chihuahua as a surprise for me when I came home. Maybe she went to Tijuana to hear Herb Alpert. There were many good reasons to go to Mexico. And as Mom always told me, when you feel mixed up always try to think positive thoughts.

  So I ran outside and cupped my hands around my mouth and faced what I thought was Mexico and I yelled out at the top of my lungs, “Have a great time south of the border and bring me back something good!” That made me feel much better, except I had to go to the bathroom so I ran back inside the store.

  I was cutting through the boys’ clothing section when I passed a kid that looked like somebody I knew from school. I turned to say hello to him, but realized he wasn’t a real kid at all but a mannequin. Then I started examining the mannequin. It was the most real-looking one I had ever seen, and the kid seemed perfect in every way. The hair was just the right blond and the right length. Very cool sunglasses covered his eyes, which were blue and bright. The nose was medium size and straight. The lips were barely open, as if he were going to say something perfectly polite. The chin was strong. His skin was as smooth as new vinyl, with no bumps, scars, moles, weird hairs, or pimples. Not even freckles. His arms were reaching out as if he were going to catch a beach ball. His bathing suit and T-shirt were new and clean and he was wearing sandals. Even his feet were perfect.

  I just kept staring at him. There he is, I thought, the perfect kid, and I bet he is perfectly normal too. I wondered how it would feel to be one-hundred-percent flawless in every way so that from waking up in the morning to going to sleep at night I didn’t make one mistake, big or small. Like, I didn’t even get itsy-bitsy crumbs on the floor, or feel moody, or forget to feed Pablo. Maybe the store could sell perfect kids that could be placed like mannequins around the house, just sitting next to their toy boxes without ever making a mess, or taking fake showers without ever getting a huge puddle of water on the floor. Or you could put them out in the front yard like garden statues waving to the neighbors or holding a goofy flag with a bright flower on it. Mom once said it was my mistakes that made me interesting, and although I didn’t understand her then, I did now.

  Then I got a great idea. I went to the clothes rack and got a beach outfit and went into the bathroom and put it on. I hid all my stuff in my backpack, then dashed over to the mannequin. I hopped up and stood on the fake painted beach like I was his friend and took his sunglasses off and fit them on my face. I clipped my tape player to my waistband, pressed in my mini-speakers, and struck a pose like a lifeguard looking out at the surfers. As people walked by they didn’t notice me or my new friend.

  But I was looking at them. Most everyone was going somewhere in a hurry. And it got to be no fun standing there with no one looking at me, so then I tried to get their attention.

  I leaned way forward and stuck out my tongue until my mouth started to ache. People just walked by as if it was nothing. I crossed my eyes and drooled so much it dripped off my chin. Nothing. I did fake hiccups. Nothing. Nobody seemed to notice, because no matter how weird I was, they were just as weird. People argued and picked their noses and swatted their kids and talked to themselves and pulled at their tight underwear and spit chewing gum out in the corners and wiped their dirty hands on the clothes and sang off key and did all kinds of strange things that I did too, which made me feel like I was normal like they were and not perfect like my mannequin buddy.

  Finally, a lady who looked like any kid’s mom checked the price on my shorts and I began to laugh because it tickled and the woman nearly fainted and then started laughing because what I was doing was funny and she knew it, and I figured she must be nice because most people would pitch a fit.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “Spying for shoplifters?”

  “No, I’m just being a mannequin.”

  “I’ve always wanted to do something like that,” she said. “I just didn’t have the nerve.”

  “The only thing you have to worry about,” I whispered, “is that someone will yell at you. But if you are somebody like me, then having someone yell at you is no big deal.”

  “Well, you better take your place again,” she said. “You don’t want the clerk to spot you.”

  “I’m finished,” I said, stepping down. “Time to move on. Today is my day to see if I can be normal and have fun all at the same time.”

  She gave me a strange look when I said “normal,” like the last thing in the world I was was “normal.” Oh well, I thought, maybe it’s not a good idea to be too normal. It didn’t sound like much fun if it only made you afraid to do the stuff you really wanted to do.

  After I got dressed I went out to the sidewalk, pointed my finger straight out, and spun around with my eyes closed while I sang, “Round and round and round I go, where I stop nobody knows.” When I did stop I was pointing at an ice cream parlor across the street. “My lucky day,” I said to no one in particular.

  While I crossed the street I figured out a little experiment to try. In my mind I picked out the two flavors I would most want on my ice cream cone—chocolate mint and Oreo. But when I went to order I said to the girl, “Give me two scoops of your two most normal flavors.”

  “What if you don’t like them?” she asked.

  “I’ll spit them out,” I replied. “I’m not really hungry for ice cream, this is just a test.”

  She made me pay in advance. Then she gave me a scoop of vanilla and a scoop of chocolate. “These are our two best-selling flavors,” she said, handing the cone to me.

  “Are you kidding?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, “the plain flavors are the most popular.”

  Well, I thought as I left, I’m not plain either.

  When I finished my ice cream I closed my eyes and spun around and around and wondered where I’d land next.

  When I stopped and opened my eyes I was pointing at a church with bright red doors. I hadn’t been in a church since Grandma took me when I was little. I had filled my pockets with marbles and during the sermon they got loose under the pews. They made a loud racket, but nobody laughed like I did. After that, Grandma made me stay home with her to watch church on TV.

  I opened the huge red door and quietly tiptoed up the aisle. The chapel walls were glowing with
tall blue-and-red glass windows, and as I walked down the aisle I imagined the dusty shafts of red air and blue air and purple air filling me up inside. And when I breathed out, the same colors swirled around my head. A choir was practicing in the balcony and I took a seat and listened.

  “No, no, no!” the conductor shouted. “Tenors, follow the organ. You’re flat. Now, again.”

  The organ started up so loudly I could feel it buzzing in my feet. The tenors sang and the conductor pointed to another group of singers and they came in. “Stop!” he shouted. “You’re late, altos. Come in crisply after the first measure. Now, again.”

  The organ started, the tenors began, and the altos came in on the correct beat, then a third group, which sang even higher, joined in.

  “Stop!” shouted the conductor. “Sopranos, take the gum balls out of your mouths. Enunciate! Again.”

  They started up, but soon the conductor lowered his arms. “Stop. Basses, you’ve got to hold the bottom. Don’t let the tenors pull you into their octave. Again!”

  The conductor continued to start and stop and start and stop the singers and it made me nervous and I began to get a funny idea running through me. I wanted to play my trumpet. I reached down into my backpack and slowly pulled it out and set it on my lap. I looked at it. I touched it. I licked my lips. I listened to the choir music which was smooth and creamy as yellow icing on a cake and I was aching to stand up and blow the opening notes to “A Taste of Honey.”

  Finally the conductor started them from the beginning. It was amazing to listen to them sing one perfect wave of notes on top of another. The more perfectly they sang the more I wanted to join in. I felt as if I were being tickled all over but wasn’t allowed to laugh. All I wanted to do was hold the trumpet to my lips and wail. Suddenly, the choir stopped and the conductor lowered his arms.

  “Perfect,” he said. “You should be proud of yourselves. Not a note out of place.” And the look on everyone’s face was beautiful. They were filled with their perfection.

  I was so excited I just wanted to go somewhere and practice my trumpet. I wanted to be as perfect as they were and not have a note out of place. I went outside and began to spin around and around and when I stopped I was facing a tall building. It looked like the bell-tower part of an old cathedral. I ran over and it was full of people reading books. I knew I couldn’t cut loose there so I took the elevator to the top and when I got out I snooped down the hall and found a small balcony, so I went out on it and looked across the city and saw all the places I had been walking.

  The whole day I had been playing a big Pittsburgh board game called Are You Normal, Joey Pigza, or Are You Wired? I was just about to declare myself the winner when I realized there was one more place I had’t pointed my finger. At me. The real test was inside me. I leaned back against the balcony wall, closed my eyes, and turned my head upside down. I took a deep breath and when I opened my eyes the whole city had flipped over and it reminded me that so far nothing on my trip had turned out as I had expected.

  I had thought Dad would tell me all about his past. But he didn’t want to talk about it, so I was wrong about that. I had thought there was some chance Mom and Dad might get back together, but Mom really didn’t want to and Dad had a new girlfriend. So I was wrong about that. I had thought Grandma would be creepy, but she was only sad and sick now. So I was wrong about that too. And now I wasn’t even wearing a patch, which was the scariest thing of all, but all day long I wasn’t goofing up. I was totally in control of every second. Every thought. Every action. Every word. As Dad would say, “Today, I was on top of my game.” I just smiled to myself, and thought all my troubles had vanished.

  This is what it is like to be normal, I guessed. You don’t have problems. Only messed-up people have problems, and since I wasn’t messed up anymore I was free as a bird. I could just leap off the balcony, spread my arms, and soar through the Chicken Little sky which was not falling.

  “I’m normal. I’m normal. I’m really normal. Joey Pigza is normal.” I could stop thinking that bad things were always coming my way. I switched on my Herb Alpert tape. I slipped my speakers into my ears and pulled my trumpet out of my backpack. I stood up and started to play as loud as I could. And I kept playing until I looked at my watch and saw that it was time to meet Dad. I put my trumpet away and got going.

  I had a huge smile on my face all the way down the elevator and across the street and all the way up the steps to the War Memorial building where Dad worked. Just when I reached the top Dad stepped out the door.

  “Hey, buddy,” he yelled out. “How was your big day?”

  “It was perfect!” I shouted. “Awesome. The best day I ever had. I felt like the most normal kid in the world. Now I just want more and more of these days. A year of them. A lifetime of them.”

  “See,” he said. “I told you that patch was bogus.”

  “You were right,” I said. “You made me better.”

  He got tears in his eyes and had to wipe them away with his long fingers.

  “That’s the greatest thing anyone ever said to me,” he said. “Give me five.”

  I held out my hand and grinned at him.

  “No way,” he said, “I’m not falling for that again.”

  “I won’t pull my hand back,” I said. “Promise.”

  He tried to get the jump on me and took a big quick swing, but I still pulled my hand away in time and he lurched forward all over again. “You promised,” he said.

  I turned and jumped down the steps two at a time and laughed bent over until I thought I was going to cry too. When I looked up he was still standing at the top.

  “I’ll get you back,” he said, in a voice that I wasn’t sure was joking or serious. Either way, it made me feel nervous all over, which kind of put a tiny dent in my perfect day.

  10

  SECRET

  “Mexico?” Mom repeated. “Ha! Who told you I was in Mexico?”

  “Tiffany,” I replied.

  “I’m sure she was just trying to be helpful,” Mom said. “But it’s my guess that she couldn’t find Mexico with a map.” Then she lowered her voice. “I was doing something private. I was in traffic court. I didn’t tell you but I got a ticket on my way back from Pittsburgh. Can you believe I was pulled over for driving erratically? I was dodging the holes and the cop thought I was drunk. Then he saw that my license was expired. So yesterday I had to go to court and pay a fine and now I have to wait thirty days for a new license.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Sorry.” I was the one had who told her to dodge the holes.

  “Well, that’s enough about me,” she said. “What did you do this last while? Have you made lots of new friends on the team?”

  “No,” I said. “I just pitch. I don’t have to go to practice. They field and do all the hitting.”

  “Don’t they let you hit?” she asked.

  “They let me try,” I replied. “I just haven’t hit the ball yet. I swing, but so far I’ve whiffed every time.”

  “What about after the game?” Mom asked. “Do you go out and eat pizza?”

  “No. Dad’s the coach and so I just hang out with him and we eat pizza together.”

  “Well, I wish you’d make some friends,” she said.

  “I have Pablo,” I replied.

  “But you need to hang around kids your own age,” she said.

  “I’m different than they are,” I said. “You always said so. You always said I was special.”

  “And you are,” she said as if she had her arms around me. “But you can be my special Joey and have friends.”

  I knew what she was getting at. But it was hard making friends on a team when Dad was the coach. He yelled at everyone and when the games were over they took off. They didn’t want to hang around and get yelled at anymore. But I knew Mom wanted to feel better so I said, “I’m working on it. There are a few nice kids I’m getting to know.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that, honey,” she said. “You just
be yourself and they’ll like you even better.”

  Suddenly I remembered something good I wanted to say. “I pitched a whole game and won,” I blurted out. “Now we’re trying to win the championship. And yesterday I spent the whole day in Pittsburgh. It was the best day of my life. I love the city. There is so much to do and I had a blast.”

  “Was your dad with you?”

  “No. He was working, but I was fine. I didn’t go far and I didn’t talk to strangers or do anything they tell you not to do on Sesame Street.”

  “Are you changing your medication?” she asked.

  That was the question I didn’t want her to ask and I got that spastic feeling all over my skin like when you slowly walk into an ice-cold swimming pool and your gooseflesh skin just wants to climb up your bones and hunch up on your shoulders.

  “I played like I was a mannequin at a store,” I said. “I put on some new clothes and sunglasses and stood next to a real mannequin till a lady noticed.”