Allergic to Dead Bodies, Funerals, and Other Fatal Circumstances

by Lenore Look

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  I love it when she calls me that. Darling. I love it more than my own name. I felt like giving her one hundred and thirty-two kisses. But I didn’t. It would have messed up my plans to go to my grandparents’ house.

  “School?” I said. “What school?”

  Silence.

  Oops.

  My mom moved from upward dog into watchdog, which is a special bonus feature not on the video.

  “Is everything okay at school?”

  I didn’t breathe in.

  I didn’t breathe out.

  I couldn’t lie. It isn’t my thing. But I couldn’t tell her the truth either.

  So Anibelly did. She always tells it like it is.

  “You don’t look okay to me,” said Anibelly. She twisted sideways like a rubber band. “You look like you’ve seen a scary movie or something.”

  Then my mom looked at me in that way that sees down to the very bottom of me. She looked and looked. Then she wrapped her yoga arms around me and gave me a hug.

  “Scary movie, indeed,” said my mom. “I guess some days school can be the scariest movie of all.”

  I melted. I love it whenever she puts her arms around me. I love it more than candy.

  My mom smiled. “Well, I’m sure your grandparents will be very happy to see you,” she said.

  “Yup,” I said. “And I’ll be very happy to see them!”

  I turned and dashed up the stairs.

  “Remember your manners,” my mom yelled after me. “Call ahead to let them know you’re coming.”

  “Okay, Mom!” I yelled back.

  But I was not okay. I hopped into my superhero Firecracker Man outfit, the one that GungGung himself had sewn for me. It was good for saving the world, and now it was coming in handy to save GungGung! And maybe … GungGung might even let me wear it to Charlie’s funeral so that I could save myself from all the bad spirits.

  “Bakba​kbakb​akbak​bakba​kbakb​akbak​bakba​kbak!” I screamed, tearing around my room like a string of firecrackers.

  Then I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Normally when I’m in a panic, I ask Calvin what to do.

  But Calvin wasn’t home. He had stayed behind at school for the philistine society, whatever that is. All I know is that it had something to do with soaking some envelopes in water to get the stamps off.

  I ran to the window.

  I looked down the driveway.

  There was no Calvin anywhere.

  So I thought and thought and thought, until my brain was nearly dead.

  Then I made an emergency plan for helping GungGung:

  It was super-duper!

  Then I added:

  Just in case.

  It sure was a LOT of work! But after a while I tucked the emergency plan and emergency supplies into my PDK and hurried downstairs. There was no time to waste. GungGung’s life was passing by the minute!

  In the kitchen, my mom was talking on her cell phone and typing on her laptop and I could hear Anibelly’s singing coming from the bathroom. “Lalalalalalalalalalala,” she sang.

  They were finished with Yoga Without Pain, so I popped out the DVD and slipped it into my PDK. Normally, I don’t take my PDK to GungGung and PohPoh’s house. But this was not normal. This was a matter of life and death!

  “HEYMO​MDOYO​UMIND​IFITA​KESOM​EVEGG​IESTO​GUNGG​UNG? HESUR​ECOUL​DUSES​OMEVE​GGIES!” I said.

  “TAKE THEM,” said my mom. I had to read her lips. She was on the phone with her boss and she wasn’t supposed to be talking to her kids, she was supposed to be concentrating on her work or else!

  I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the vegetable drawer and dumped it into my PDK—tomatoes, onions, carrots. But the lettuce wouldn’t fit.

  “LalaLaLaLALALALALA.” Anibelly’s singing suddenly grew louder. She was coming out of the bathroom.

  If she saw me, I would get stuck taking her along. I had to get away fast!

  But oh no! My PDK was too heavy to carry!

  Quick, I dropped everything, including the lettuce head, into Anibelly’s baby pram, the one she uses to push her dolls around in, and slipped out the kitchen door faster than a chipmunk with a nut.

  I don’t know if Anibelly saw me or not.

  I didn’t look back. I didn’t dare.

  I just kept going, full speed ahead, smokin’ the tires on that baby carriage.

  If I could travel to anyplace in the world, it would be to my gunggung and pohpoh’s house.

  It’s not too far away. (But I can still hear a foreign language.)

  I don’t have to go through airport security. (But I do have to take off my shoes.)

  I don’t have to watch the scary emergency mask thing. (But I can watch one hundred and fifteen channels on command.)

  I don’t have to eat a dry little sandwich from a dry little box. (I get first-class service.)

  Their toilet doesn’t do that sucking thing that you know is meant to vacuum you into outer space without anyone knowing so that the plane can lighten its load.

  Best of all, PohPoh and GungGung’s living room is Red Sox heaven. One wall is covered with Red Sox pennants, framed newspaper clippings of famous Red Sox games, autographed photos and an autographed Red Sox jersey. Another wall is painted like the Green Monster, complete with a scoreboard: NYY 0, Boston 6. The sofas and chairs are covered with Red Sox blankets and Fenway Green slipcovers and Red Sox pillows. Red Sox coasters and paperweights are on the tables. On the floor is a Red Sox rug that GungGung made from a kit. On the ceiling is a painting of Fenway Park that GungGung did all by himself, not from a kit. And when you’re lying on the sofa looking up, it looks like you’re right there in the stands!

  All this I could see through the window on their front porch, where I was pounding on their door and ringing their bell like crazy.

  “HEY, GUNGGUNG AND POHPOH, IT’S ME, ALVIN!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “LEMME IN!”

  It’s normal for me to scream like this on account of it’s polite to let people know you’re coming. My mom would be proud that I remembered.

  But it wasn’t normal for me to not burst right in. One of them is always home, and their door is never locked.

  “LEMME IN!” I tried again.

  Silence.

  I rattled their door.

  It was locked.

  And it was very, very quiet.

  “PohPoh?” I whispered. “GungGung?”

  I peeked in their window.

  Nothing moved.

  No one answered.

  It was very strange. I’d never seen PohPoh and GungGung’s house like this.

  My chest tightened.

  My liver flipped.

  I blinked, hard. A tear fell on the front step as I sat down to think. The wooden step groaned. Urrrrrrrrrrgh.

  Was this another omen? Flea’s voice swirled in my ears. “It’s like the entire universe knows something and is shouting it to you.”

  Raindrops began to stain the step where the paint had worn away. It had been raining off and on all day. And it was cold. I shivered in my Firecracker Man outfit, which is good for all seasons, but not particularly good for rain or swimming. And Anibelly’s baby stroller looked slightly puzzled on the lawn with its vegetable passengers. I was puzzled too.

  Where were PohPoh and GungGung?

  Did one of them get sick?

  If one of them was sick, why were they both gone?

  Were they both sick?

  Were they at the hospital?

  Did an ambulance come for them?

  Did the ambulance get here in time?

  Was I too late with my emergency diet and exercise plan?

  My heart jackhammered.

  Raindrops ran down my face like tears.

  Tears ran down my face like raindrops.

  “Waaaa​aaaaa​aaaaa​aaaah!” I wailed. “Waaaa​aaaaa​aaaaa​ah!”

  I hugged my knees and cried my eyes
out.

  Then suddenly the rain called out to me. “Alvin,” it said in a soft, old voice.

  I covered my ears. I didn’t want to hear the universe telling me anything anymore. It was too creepy!

  But I looked up.

  It was GungGung! He was hurrying through the rain toward me, and PohPoh was with him.

  “Aiyaaah, you look like a wet rat!” said PohPoh. Then she said some fast Chinese words to GungGung that sounded like he’d better pick up the wet rat quick and take it inside, or else!

  “Where were you?” I cried as soon as we came into their warm kitchen.

  “We went to pay our respects to Charlie’s widow,” said GungGung.

  “What’s the widow?” I asked.

  “You poor thing,” said PohPoh. “Change now, talk later.”

  Off went my shoes.

  Off went my socks.

  Off went my cold, wet Firecracker Man outfit.

  On went a warm towel.

  On went the teakettle.

  On went a completely different outfit.

  It was a jogging suit.

  It’s what PohPoh wears when she goes to the Y. I’ve seen her in it. It makes her look very sporty.

  But it only made me look like PohPoh.

  “Do I have to wear this?” I whined.

  “Only until your outfit is dried,” said GungGung, throwing Firecracker Man into the dryer.

  PohPoh was looking at me all funny and beaming. “You’ve grown, Alvin,” she said. “You’re almost my size now.”

  I looked in the mirror.

  I’d never seen how clothes can change a person, but I saw it now. There we were—me and PohPoh—like a pair of exercise ladies at the Y, side by side.

  “The jogging suit doesn’t look bad on you,” said GungGung. “Looks like you’re ready for armchair aerobics.”

  The suit didn’t look bad on me, but it didn’t look good either. It was pink, with green palm trees all over it. And when I pulled the hood over my head, I really looked like an old granny. Yikes! I’d die if anyone saw me in it. But GungGung was right. I looked ready for a workout, which made me suddenly remember …

  “Let’s go hit your treadmill, GungGung!” I said.

  “Wearing the suit makes you want to exercise?” asked GungGung, looking at me. He knew that I knew that he knew that I was mostly allergic to exercise, just like he was. It makes us short of breath, turns our skin pink and gives us the sweats. Worse, it makes us tired.

  I nodded.

  “That’s some suit,” said GungGung.

  “Wearing the right outfit is half the battle,” said PohPoh, pouring tea and setting out her black sesame pudding on the kitchen table. “Snack first, exercise later.”

  TGFPP. Thank God for PohPoh. She always knows when I’m hungry even before I know I’m hungry. And I was starved!

  “Charlie’s widow was very sad,” said GungGung, digging into the sweet pudding.

  “Charlie’s black widow spider?” I asked.

  “The wife of a man who died is called a widow,” said GungGung. “And it’s customary to pay your respects.”

  “How do you do that?” I asked, blowing on my favorite hot oolong tea.

  “You go to her home and sit with her for a while,” said GungGung.

  “Is that all?”

  “You could bring her food,” said PohPoh. “People who are in mourning are often too sad to cook for themselves. Food is always appreciated.”

  “We brought her lasagna,” said GungGung. “In China, we might have brought her a Chinese dish.”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “Then you just sit,” said GungGung. “Depends on the widow’s mood. She might cry. You might cry. Or you might have a memory to share with her. Mostly you just need to be sympathetic.”

  “Oh,” I said. It didn’t sound too creepy. But I had a feeling it was creepier than they were letting on.

  So I asked, “Was the dead body there?”

  GungGung’s and PohPoh’s teacups stopped in midair.

  They looked at each other.

  Neither of them said a word. PohPoh didn’t even say any fast Chinese words that sounded like anything.

  So that’s how I knew that the dead body was there.

  “Well, in China, the body is dressed in its finest and laid out in the home for visitors until the funer—” GungGung began.

  But PohPoh cut him off with some super-duper fast Chinese words that sounded like GungGung had better not frighten me, or else! But I was already freaked out.

  “PohPoh’s old-fashioned Chinese,” said GungGung. “She doesn’t want me to talk about death. She thinks that it’ll invite bad luck.”

  So GungGung didn’t say any more.

  Then PohPoh said some regular fast Chinese words that sounded like she was going to the grocery store so that she could make me a special dinner and that GungGung had better do something fun with me like exercising.

  So after we watched PohPoh’s car pull out of the driveway, GungGung said we could go to the “dungeon” to walk on the treadmill or play Ping-Pong.

  “Yippeee!” I cried.

  But on the way to the dungeon was a sofa.

  The big Red Sox sofa.

  GungGung’s favorite.

  For an afternoon nap.

  “All that talk about exercise has tired me out,” said GungGung, pulling on a Red Sox cap. Then he put his feet up and lowered his head onto a Red Sox pillow, and pulled a Red Sox blanket over himself.

  “GungGung!” I cried. “You’re supposed to be hitting the treadmill, not the sofa!”

  “But it’s raining out,” he said sleepily. “Such a perfect, soporific afternoon. Why don’t you take the other sofa?”

  “You can’t nap now!” I cried.

  “Nap first,” said GungGung, closing his eyes. “Exercise later.”

  ZZZZZZzzzzzzzz.

  “But there’s something I wanted to ask you,” I wailed. “Will there be ghosts and creepy Chinese stuff at Charlie’s funeral???”

  ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz.

  The problem with GungGung is that when he falls asleep, it’s as quick as turning the page.

  “Tell me now!” I cried. “Nap later!”

  ZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz.

  It was too late. I slumped into the other sofa and pulled the hood over my head.

  GungGung loves to nap. He normally naps at our house when he’s supposed to be watching us. The good thing about his naps is that they’re short. The bad thing is that there’s nothing you can do to wake him. He’s as dead as an old car battery.

  Ding-dong!

  I jumped. It was their front-door bell.

  I ran to see who it was. I peered through the lace curtain and spied some familiar figures standing on the front porch.

  So I cracked open the door just a little.

  “Hello, ma’am,” said a voice I knew.

  I gasped. It was Pinky! And behind him was the gang!

  “We heard the bad news,” Pinky continued politely, his eyes wandering along the floor. He didn’t look normal. Normally, he’s not polite and his eyes watch you like a king cobra watching a mongoose. “Our librarian sent us to invite you to a special memorial service.”

  Silence.

  “And our parents said it would be good manners for us to pay our last respects to you while we’re at it,” said Eli.

  “We know Alvin from school,” said Sam. “And we know GungGung from the library.”

  “He was a gunggung to everyone,” added Nhia.

  I froze.

  I could hardly believe my ears.

  Or my eyes.

  There was the gang with their heads hanging down, looking as sad as a bunch of broken toys.

  And there I was, standing on the other side of the door, in granny clothes.

  Oops.

  If I let them in, there was going to be trouble.

  If I turned them away, word would get out that my pohpoh was unfriendly, which she is not. She’s a very ni
ce lady.

  “Did you bring food?” I asked in my best granny voice.

  Silence.

  Then there were whispers.

  Then silence again.

  “No, ma’am.” Sam spoke up this time, his voice shaking a little. “None of us has ever done this b-b-before and we didn’t know we were s-s-supposed to bring anything.”

  “But we have some pieces of c-c-candy between us,” said Eli, who always has candy in his pockets.

  “Fine,” I said, putting a granny cackle into my voice. “I’ll take the candy.”

  I opened the door wider.

  The gang stepped in. Their mouths opened and their eyes fell out.

  “Wow,” said Hobson.

  “It’s better than the gift shop,” said Nhia.

  “It’s not Fenway Park,” whispered Scooter. “It’s Fenway Paradise.”

  “When I die,” whispered Sam, “this is where I want to go.”

  “Dude,” said Eli, nodding. “Me too.”

  Then they stopped dead in their tracks.

  They didn’t see him at first on account of it’s hard to notice someone tucked in among all the razzle-dazzle. But they saw him now.

  Straight in front of them on the sofa was GungGung, laid out in his finest Red Sox gear. He not only looked dead, he looked much more than that.

  “You can leave your candies on the table there,” I croaked from behind the door. “It’s very kind of you boys to come.”

  “Is th-th-that his actual real d-d-dead body?” asked Nhia.

  I kept my head down. I made no eye contact.

  “My m-m-mom says we should s-s-sit quietly,” stuttered Pinky, pressing himself against the wall as far away from GungGung as possible. “And that we sh-sh-shouldn’t stay long.”

  “No, n-n-not long at all,” said Scooter.

  “And if you’re not in the m-m-mood to talk to us, we won’t s-s-say anything at all,” said Eli.

  “We’re supposed to be simply p-p-pathetic,” said Sam.

  Silence.

  “Sure is n-n-nice he died with his Red Sox c-c-cap on,” said Hobson.