Mayday

by Karen Harrington

  “Did you know that seventy-five percent of your brain is water?” I asked.

  “Inside, please,” Denny said.

  “Denny, did you know that a sneeze exceeds one hundred miles per hour? It does. A cough clocks in at about sixty miles per hour. How about your nose? Want to know something about your nose? It can remember fifty thousand scents, so you’re filling it up with cologne. Feet? Feet have five hundred thousand sweat glands. Your facial hair grows faster than any other hair on the body, so you’d better invest in a good razor, Denny. Your fingernails? They grow four times faster than toenails. The fastest-growing nail is on the middle finger. And—”

  “Wayne!” He had to scream.

  “Yeah?”

  And he returned to his whisper-voice that kept the stutters away. “What’s wrong, Wayne on a plane?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So, what? Sandy?”

  “No, it’s not Sandy.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t want to look at pretty girls in the mall anymore, okay?” My words came out quick and angry. It showed on Denny’s face. “Look, I don’t want to be mean, but I didn’t like Sandy because she was nice to look at. I liked her because she was Sandy. I liked her because when we did the Alamo project together, she was smart and creative and remembered to put a few girl action figures next to the Alamo. And also, that story I told about the ketchup.”

  “Not every girl would rescue a ketchup-faced nerd. I’m a dope.”

  “You’re not a dope.”

  “Agreed. Something else bothers Wayne on a plane, yes?”

  “It’s just…”

  “You love him.”

  “Shut up.”

  I was glad I was out in the rain.

  “You. Love. Him!”

  “Shut up! Let’s both shut up, all right?”

  “Sometimes that’s impossible. For you. The awkward silences are the blanks. Wayne Kovok fills in the blanks of life. Leave no fact unturned, Wayne on a plane!”

  “When are you going to stop calling me that?”

  “When I stop stuttering.”

  Denny Rosenblatt was right more than he was wrong. My discomfort with the blank spaces made me aware of how much I didn’t know. How much I couldn’t control or change. “Okay, the brain,” I said.

  “Yeah, the brain?”

  “It consumes more oxygen than any other organ in the human body,” I said to him. “Deep breaths keep your brain happy and alert.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Did you know that Jeopardy! first aired in 1964?

  “Did you know that the author of The Wizard of Oz got the name of the magical land in his books by looking at the drawers of a filing cabinet? He scanned A–G, H–N, and then O–Z, and chose it.”

  I filled in the blanks until Mrs. Rosenblatt closed up the Elegant Engravings kiosk and splashed up to the curb at the mall and honked.

  “Oh, honey, you look hungry to me,” she said. “I will make you a sandwich.”

  I finally got to eat one of Mrs. Rosenblatt’s ambitious sandwiches.

  And I told her that it banished my craving for Beatty Middle School cafeteria pizza sticks forever. That was the biggest compliment a sandwich ever got.

  CHAPTER 34

  I still hadn’t seen the Flee. In fact, I didn’t think about him until he’d text me about coming over. I always said I was busy. Then I got the scowl from Mom.

  “He’s trying, honey,” she’d say. “I sent him that Lizz Delaney story. He’s proud of you.”

  Yeah, I’d like to hear that.

  Well, I had school. Going to the mall after school with Denny. Watching TV with Grandpa at night. My schedule had no room for anything else. His doctor had told us that Grandpa would have good days and bad days. And then it would change to good hours and bad hours. I didn’t want to miss anything.

  I preferred sitting in front of the TV with Grandpa. Mr. Darcy, sitting on the floor underneath the giant bed.

  We watched shows about D-Day. About Vietnam.

  We watched cooking shows. We even watched a Jane Austen film with Mom.

  Grandpa rearranged himself on the bed and ordered me to reheat his water bottle.

  His back hurt. He lost weight. He drank hot water or this gross herbal tea Mom read about that was supposed to help.

  Know what the tea looked like? Like the same going into the body as it did coming out.

  Know what it smelled like? It’s that same rotten smell that punches you in the face when you’ve left a salad in your fridge too long.

  Still, he drank the putrid concoction. A lot of days, he ordered me to go jog around the block; no grandson of his was going to be soft. Then he would wink at me.

  “Unless it’s your decision to be soft,” he said.

  I wasn’t going to be soft.

  After dinner, I usually ran down Cedar Drive. Past the hulking water tower. Past the forest of trees and into the Estates.

  When I got back home, I’d shower and then we’d watch a TV marathon, but I couldn’t tell you what was on. We always talked over the sound.

  That was how most days went as we headed toward summer.

  On the first Tuesday of June, Mom made a cake.

  Did you know that Mom hadn’t made a cake in a year? When she made cake, it was a celebration.

  “Are we celebrating?” Grandpa asked.

  “The premiere of Tim’s new commercial is going to air tonight,” she said.

  “Well, hot diggity,” Grandpa said.

  Tim LeMoot came over and we all ate spaghetti around Grandpa, which I thought was a little mean, but he said he didn’t mind. Then the commercial came on and there was Tim LeMoot, on the screen, in the middle of a giant field.

  You need an attorney who is outstanding in his field. Call me, TIM LEMOOT, THE TEXAS BOOT. I’M OUT STANDING IN MY FIELD!

  It was hilarious. Everyone said so.

  “Wasn’t that hilarious?” Mom asked. Tim and Mom went to the kitchen and cleaned up.

  That night, I would have sworn Grandpa looked a shade of yellow. Not one of the good days. He was in pain and he took his medications. I had a knowing feeling that night. Something pushed at me. Something told me we were down to the good hours.

  Say it. Say it. Say it!

  “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, son.”

  Silence. Not awkward, but the relieving kind. Like when you’ve been holding your breath and you let out a sigh.

  “So, you gonna rat-trap some birds tomorrow?” His voice was low and ragged.

  “You gonna eat my sandwich and then stink up the place?”

  “Darn Kovok.”

  “Old fart.”

  He fell asleep. But I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. What if it was the last good hour?

  Before Grandpa drifted off to sleep, he whispered, “Hank Williams needs a girlfriend.”

  “How about Dolly Parton?”

  “Son, I was thinking the exact same thing.” He closed his eyes and fell asleep. The forever kind. I don’t know how I knew it, but I did. For so long, things had been awkward and annoying between us. But do you know what? Right before he died, I was the happiest I’d ever been in my life. I was grateful I’d been in a plane crash. I got to see my grandfather every single day for months. If that plane hadn’t plummeted, we would have stalled at spaghetti Tuesdays.

  And that’s the truth.

  Later the next morning, people from the funeral home came into our house and rolled out a stretcher holding the best man I ever knew.

  The house felt huge and empty without him. He’d filled it.

  I went to my room and played video games so that I wouldn’t have to think about anything.

  Later, Mom and I watched a movie and Tim LeMoot came over with pizza and flowers, and Mrs. Rosenblatt and Denny came over with brisket and bread, and Mom cried more.

  And I cried more, too. I admit it.

  And when I went into the kitchen and saw Mom’s
blue glass birds on the counter, I almost lost it. I lined them up like soldiers. I looked out the kitchen window to fill up my eyes with blue sky so that they wouldn’t fill up with anything else.

  And I didn’t ask God why I was in the random plane crash that caused Grandpa to come and live with us.

  I just bit my lip and said, Thank you.

  True story.

  CHAPTER 35

  I couldn’t be in our living room. It was still too full of an empty bed. People were eating casseroles or brisket sandwiches made by Mrs. Rosenblatt.

  So I sat on our couch in the garage staring at a pristine 1967 Mustang in case the tears came. Because they were trying hard to make an appearance.

  We’d buried Grandpa hours earlier.

  He’d wanted a standard military graveside service.

  Right next to the love of his life, a girl he’d met at the hardware store.

  A soldier played taps. Grandpa’s coffin was draped in a five-by-nine-and-a-half-feet, four-pound cotton American flag, precisely refolded by soldiers wearing white gloves.

  They presented it to my mother. And me.

  She wept.

  Tim LeMoot, the Texas Boot, held her up.

  And Denny sang, but not because I asked him to. Because he remembered Grandpa telling him he could sing at the funeral if he sang a song Grandpa liked called “Tell My Father,” which I thought had been a joke, but which Denny took as an order. He sang it so well that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. I swear to you that the planes stopped flying overhead and the world paused and saluted a great patriot.

  It was beautiful and incredible. Like chill-bumps-on-a-hot-day incredible.

  Man, Denny Rosenblatt was born to sing. Grandpa would have liked it.

  I don’t know when the service was officially over. I’d trained my eyes to stay focused on the fake green carpet they put on the ground near Grandpa’s burial site. I had to let my eyes fill up with green.

  Green. Green. Green.

  I guess I stared at the ground for a long time.

  Denny had to nudge me out of my fog.

  Denny whispered, “Out with it.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I know you. You have that classic Wayne-needs-to-unload-a-fact look.”

  “I have a look?”

  “More of an odor, really. Like I can smell it coming.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Come on,” Denny whispered. “You’ll be factually constipated if you don’t get it out!”

  It wasn’t a fact that weighed on my mind. Nothing like that.

  I said to Denny, “I was just thinking I’m glad you didn’t wear too much cologne today.”

  Denny and I walked to the car and rode back to Cedar Drive.

  And I lined up the series of events in my life that had led me here.

  Maybe if Reed hadn’t been raised to be a soldier, he wouldn’t have joined the army.

  And he wouldn’t have protected his unit in battle and died for them.

  We wouldn’t have gone to his funeral.

  And returned on a plane that crashed.

  And lost my voice and a flag.

  And found a friend with a unique voice.

  And been taken care of by a patriot.

  Who was getting sick.

  And needed his daughter and grandson.

  And one last mission and a good death.

  I got Denny. A chance to really know Grandpa. Even photographic evidence of Wayne Kovok running on autopilot, being fearless and brave.

  Mom hung my photo on the wall across from the Wall of Honor.

  “I’m starting a new wall!” she said.

  “What are you going to call it?”

  “The Wall of Honor, Part Two. How’s that?”

  Now Grandpa’s picture would stare at me forever. His picture on the Wall of Honor was next to Uncle Reed’s. But Mom? She was crazy happy about a wall. Again. I liked her crazy happy.

  “It’s perfect, Mom,” I told her.

  So after the funeral, I hid out in the garage and let my eyes fill up with the Car.

  The perfect car.

  I stared and stared until the red gleam was impossibly shiny. Until I saw a letter on the dashboard. A letter addressed to me.

  Dear Wayne,

  We said most things in life. There’s not much left to say, but I want you to have it in pen and ink that I think you are a straight arrow. Did you know I’m proud of you, Wayne? So proud. Proud of the way you respond to the world when she hits you upside the head. She’s going to do that to you, you know. There’s no getting around it. But as I’ve told you in different ways, it’s the way a man responds that is the true measure of his worth. You tell your own sons and daughters that, Wayne. Names don’t mean anything. You taught me that. So you tell them my stories and the stories of our family. We need more Wayne Kovoks in the world. You look after your mother. Take care of Hank Williams, too. Remember me when you eat a cheeseburger. Especially one with heavy pickle.

  The Car is yours.

  At ease, son,

  Grandpa

  There may have been waterworks.

  There may have been a waterfall of waterworks.

  Okay, there was an unstoppable force of tears.

  They leaked even though I was smiling at the same time.

  How did he make me do that? Smile and cry.

  “Hey, are you okay?” It was Mom.

  I stood up straight and rubbed the side of the Car with the hem of my shirt. “Yeah. Yeah.”

  “Nice car you got there, huh?” she said.

  “You knew?”

  “I knew.”

  “Hey, did you know that the thing you have to remember with old cars is that they don’t just start up cold as soon as you turn the key? You have to pump the gas twice and then hold down the pedal.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Now it was July and school was out. Denny hung out with me on Cedar Drive. Sandy and I texted en español. And I sat in the Car a lot. Sometimes I’d sit there reading and when I’d find an interesting fact, I’d read it aloud. Or sometimes I’d text a fact to Sandy, Mysti, and Rama. I couldn’t help it. I have the blood of nerds and Revolutionary War heroes running through my veins. I figure I’m a Revolutionary Nerd.

  And I was fine with that. But something was still missing, and it had nothing to do with the flag. I had traveled so far. Gone to another country. Finally earned my citizenship. I guess I wanted to keep moving forward. Keep using my new voice.

  So on the first Saturday of July, I called the Flee.

  Mom and Tim LeMoot were in the kitchen getting ready to grill cheeseburgers for lunch, and I started to feel feelings.

  About a cheeseburger.

  New topic.

  Did you know Debra LeMoot, daughter of the Texas Boot, was in my kitchen, too?

  “Debra, this is Wayne,” Tim LeMoot said. “Wayne’s hobbies include fact-finding, skateboarding, and redesigning inflatable snowmen.”

  Tim LeMoot smiled at me and winked.

  Debra LeMoot had hair the color of a shiny penny and wanted to work at her dad’s law practice.

  She did not recoil when she met seventh graders with scarred faces.

  She was also a nice distraction from the sadness of cheeseburgers.

  I was supposed to help her with the salad, but then I remembered I needed to feed Hank Williams. That was when I saw the Flee get out of his car.

  He was about two hours earlier than I’d told him to arrive, which was strange for the Flee. I’m sure he thought it was about the money. I don’t know how the Flee thought he was entitled to any portion of the airline settlement all that time. His brain just worked that way. I knew his brain also worked in other odd ways. Maybe he had the kind of brain that liked messing with people he thought were weak and scared and wimpy.

  So I finished feeding Hank Williams and then I fed Dolly Parton.

  And then, because I’m an action-oriented person like my grandfather,
I got ready for a mission. I just had to get past Mom and the Texas Boot. They were deep into a conversation about movies.

  As it turned out, Tim LeMoot was also a Jane Austen fan and has watched many movies with Mom. (How do you say ugh with a British accent?)

  Or maybe he just knew how to be a good boyfriend and be interested in what his girlfriend liked. Anyway, he made Mom happy and he showed up when he said he was going to show up.

  Those were two things I liked in a person.

  Do you know when it’s fun to watch TV with Mom and Tim LeMoot? It’s when the Tim LeMoot commercial appears. I challenged him to a dare the other night.

  I dare you to mute the TV and perform the commercial with a British accent, I said.

  And he did. Tim LeMoot stood up and said, I would very much like to kick the money into your pocket, if you please, and I’m terribly, terribly sorry that you’ve been in a serious auto accident.

  It was the funniest thing I’d seen in weeks. That was, until I saw the Flee coming up the walk wearing a T-shirt that said WINNER in bright, bold blue letters. As far as I knew, he hadn’t won anything for years.

  True story.

  The doorbell rang before I could reach the door.

  “Doug, I already told you to please call before you come by,” Mom said.

  “For your information, Wayne called me. Told me to bring my running shoes so we could jog or something.”

  “Is that a fact?” Mom asked.

  “That’s a fact,” I said, pushing through Mom and Tim LeMoot.

  “Wayne, what’s going on?” Mom asked.

  “Mom, did you know that before you take the bull by the horns, you should make sure it’s your bull?”

  I made her smile. A good fact will do that to a person. And my mom had a great smile.

  “Yes, I think someone once told me that, Wayne.”

  “This is my bull now.” I kissed her head and opened the door. My bull was in the front yard doing stretches that could’ve frightened squirrels and small children.

  “So, you wanted to talk to me? Run or something?”

  I nodded.

  “Wayne, don’t waste my stupid—”

  “I have something to say to you!” I interrupted.

  “Well, say it.”