I didn’t want to move a muscle the whole time Stretch was talking for fear he’d stop. I’ve gotten pretty used to sitting still and pretending to be listening intently to preaching and praying and such, but I was really, sincerely listening to Stretch.
Here are the most interesting parts of that story: For one, Percy and I were born right here in this house, in the downstairs bathroom! I’ll never look at that tub the same again. For two, sometimes I forget that Percy and I are twins and that we’re connected to each other in a way most people can’t possibly understand. He really drives me crazy, but I have to admit that he seems to be maturing just a tiny, little bit. For three, Grandma sounds a lot like me in that she liked to keep things spic-and-span clean. For four, this isn’t the first time Daddy abandoned us. He abandoned us before we were even born! For five, my life was in Stretch’s hands almost immediately after I came out, and I survived! For six, Stretch has been through some really, really hard times, and I’m going to do my best to be a good niece to him now so he never feels like his family is going to abandon him again. I know what it’s like to be abandoned, and it is not a good feeling.
Chapter 21
Percy at the State Fair
JIMMY ’S twenty minutes late to pick me up for our drive to the state fair so I can show Hercules II. I’m looking out the window, waiting like crazy while Uncle Stretch keeps giving me all these annoying extra instructions. Make sure to feed and water your chicken extra if it’s hot. Be polite to all the people you meet. Don’t be messing around at the fair. Keep your nose clean. No swearing. No fighting. Did you pack your chicken-grooming tools? You bring along a belt for those jeans? Now, where’s that money I gave you—you put it in your wallet? You got a wallet, right? He paces back and forth, then he stops and acts like he just remembered something real important. “No smoking or drinking,” he says.
“Gimme a break,” I say. “I’m only thirteen.”
“There’s kids younger’n you that could’ve used that advice,” he says.
I wonder who he’s thinking about, but I don’t want to encourage him.
Uncle Stretch has already given me two hundred and fifty bucks to pay for hotel, food, gas, and any emergencies. He said he expects a return of at least a hundred bucks if no emergencies arise. He called around to find a cheap hotel for us to stay at, and he wrote out some directions to get there. His handwriting is very small and messy. It’s written in cursive that doesn’t even look like real letters—it’s more like tiny tumbleweeds with smoke coming off them—but if I complain I can’t read it, he might bother me with some more dumb stuff.
Finally, at 7:55 a.m., Jimmy drives up in his car. I load Hercules II, who’s in a cage, and put my other stuff in, too, including the new football I got for my birthday. Uncle Stretch goes over to Jimmy, puts his hand on his shoulder, and tells him some stuff in a voice too low for me to hear. Within a few minutes, we’re out of the driveway and off to the Twin Cities. It’ll be about a two-hour trip.
Jimmy’s car is a little white beater that smells like dust. There are lots of empty Gatorade bottles on the floor and other trash. I’d been imagining he’d have a sweet black car with leather seats or something. But it’s okay. I’ve been awaiting this day for quite a while, hoping Jimmy and I will have some great conversations on the way up, but Jimmy doesn’t look much like talking.
I decide that if there’s going to be any great conversation, I may have to ask the first question. “Stretch called you a punk the other day at the dinner table,” I say. “Does that make you mad?”
“Most sixteen-year-olds are punks,” says Jimmy.
“Even you?”
“Probably.”
“He says you smoke and drink.”
“I don’t drink anymore.
It’s what killed my brother. And it gets in the way of basketball.”
“What are you playing for? Stretch says you’re not even on the high school team.”
“The coach is an idiot. I’m aiming for college ball.”
“How are people going to see you? Like, college coaches?”
“YouTube.”
“Huh.”
It’s quiet awhile except for the rattle of Jimmy’s car.
“What else do you do for fun?” I ask.
“I have this girlfriend I hang out with some. And I listen to music and paint and read books.”
“I draw a lot,” I say. “Check this out.” I reach over the seat into my duffel bag and pull out my sketchbook and flip it to the page where I drew Elle with her arm down and her breast showing.
“Wow,” says Jimmy. “Nice nudie.”
I turn red and smile.
“No,” says Jimmy. “That’s a really good picture, Pers. Can tell you’ve got some talent.”
We drive for about a minute without speaking. My whole body feels warm, and it’s not just the sun coming through the window that’s making me feel that way.
“What’s your girlfriend’s name?” I ask.
“Riley.”
“Is she hot?”
“What would you know about hot?”
“I don’t know,” I say, getting embarrassed. “Elle—I mean, the lady in the picture I drew—she’s hot.”
Jimmy grins. “Riley’s all right. Fairly hot. When she’s older, she’ll be really hot.”
“What do you paint?” I ask.
“Dark stuff.”
“What kind of books do you read?”
“Mostly short stories. Poe, O. Henry, Hemingway. The masters. Poe’s the best.”
“Who’s Poe?”
“Poe’s the best,” repeats Jimmy. “Edgar Allan Poe. Wrote this story called ‘The Black Cat’ that’ll make you shudder, you’re so scared, if you think deep about it. Messes with your mind.”
“What happens?”
“This animal lover guy who just got married gets a black cat but then starts to hate it because the cat follows him everywhere and annoys him, so he kills it. But the cat comes back—like a ghost—so he tries killing it again but ends up killing his wife—chops her in the head with an axe.”
“Whoa.”
“He buries her inside his basement wall so nobody will find out, but when the police come to investigate, they hear something crying from behind the wall, rip it open, and there’s the cat, still alive, and the dead, head-axed body of the guy’s dead wife.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, whoa. But the part that messes with you is why did the guy change from fun-loving animal guy to dark-minded axe murderer? Like, how do people go from good to bad so easily? It can’t just be because of some stupid cat. Something in his soul wanted to be a killer, wanted to be bad. It happens all the time if you watch people.”
“Did you turn into a punk when your brother died?”
“No.”
“I thought I might turn evil when my mom and dad abandoned me.”
Jimmy doesn’t say anything.
“Uncle Stretch says you’re a punk but you’ve got a good heart,” I say. “But maybe your heart will turn bad.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I care about everyone and couldn’t stand it if I was a jerk.”
“How do you know it’ll always be that way?”
“Just do,” says Jimmy. “Hey, dig up that CD case under the seat.”
I do. He takes it from my hand and flips through it with one hand while steering the car with the other. He puts a CD into the player and cranks the volume. The guitars and drums are sort of slow, and the guy singing has a sad, gravelly voice. I’ve heard people with better voices than his.
“What’s this music?” I yell over to Jimmy.
“This is the blues, boy,” shouts Jimmy.
He puts on a cool-looking pair of sunglasses and reaches past me to pop open the glove box. He grabs an old-fashioned pair of sunglasses and drops them in my lap, and then he digs out a plastic bag of sunflower seeds. He loads up a bunch into his cheek and says I can ha
ve some if I want. He spits the shells into an empty bottle he finds at his feet. I take a few seeds and grab an empty Gatorade bottle for myself. It’s a sunny day out, and we’re whizzing by lots of cars. Huge clouds look like giant football players, some smashing into each other, some running away. The music feels like it’s inside of my brain and vibrating in my heart. The gravel-voiced guy is saying some pretty cool lines, and I decide I like his style. I check the backseat and see Hercules II bobbing his head in his cage, and it looks like he’s grooving to the music.
After about an hour, Jimmy turns down the music and says, “You bring your swimsuit?”
“Yeah,” I say, “but I don’t think there’s a pool at the hotel Stretch picked out for us.”
Jimmy makes a couple of turns, and I see a sign that says, WISCONSIN AND THE APPLE RIVER WELCOME YOU.
“Wisconsin?” I say.
“Ever been tubing?” says Jimmy.
“No.”
“You’re about to.”
“I think we’re supposed to check into the hotel at, um …,” I say, checking my notes from Stretch.
“Don’t worry about that,” says Jimmy. He parks the car and says, “Here’s where you hurry up and change into your swimsuit.”
“In the car?”
“Yeah,” he says, “hurry up. No one’s looking.”
“Are you going to change?”
“Already wearing mine,” he says.
“What about that van over there?” I say. “I think I can see some people looking over here.”
“No one wants to see your little pocket trout,” Jimmy says. “Now hurry up.”
I try to hurry, but I keep getting my toes caught in that netting underwear in my suit. I look at Jimmy a couple of times to make sure he’s not spying on me. He isn’t. Finally, my suit’s on, and I tie up the string.
Jimmy goes around to the trunk. “Take your bag and stuff and bring it over here,” he says. I do, and he throws it in the trunk along with his stuff. He rolls down a window and says, “This bird’ll be okay if we give him a little air, won’t he?”
“I suppose,” I say. “Is there a bathroom around here?”
Jimmy points. “Use that big tree over there.”
I run over and water the big tree. I look around to make sure nobody saw anything.
We walk a ways to this shack, and Jimmy pays a fat lady some money for two big, black, rubber inner tubes. I follow Jimmy down to the river’s edge, and he flops his tube out in the water, jumps on it, and begins to slowly float away.
“Come on, kid!” he says.
I get nervous trying to jump in the water and sort of fall in. My sunglasses slip off, and while I look for them, my tube gets away from me and begins drifting away, toward Jimmy.
“Swim after it!” says Jimmy.
I forget the glasses and take a little dive into the water. It’s cold! I come up for air and start swimming. The river pushes me along, and it seems like I’m swimming really fast. I catch up to my tube and hold on to the edge.
“You gotta sit in the middle,” says Jimmy.
He’s floating so far on up ahead that I can barely hear him. I wrestle my tube a little and finally get seated. I paddle my hands on the sides to try and catch up. Finally, I do, only because Jimmy grabs on to a tree branch sticking out over the water. When I get even, Jimmy paddles himself right up next to me and hooks his arm in my tube.
“Now what happens?” I say.
“We float,” he says.
It seems kind of boring at first, but soon I get used to it. We pass big groups of people who float slower because they’re all linked up, and we pass people who’ve stopped to swim. Some of the swimmers are girls, or women. When Jimmy and I go by, I can see Jimmy pretending not to look, but I know he really is. You can pretend good when you’re wearing sunglasses like Jimmy’s. Some people say hi to us, and we wave back. A lot of the older people we see are drinking beer. One guy floats by us wearing a helmet with two cans of beer attached to the sides and straws bending down into his mouth. He’s got his tube roped to another tube that holds a mangy red dog and a little cooler with beer. He digs out a can and throws it to Jimmy. “Cheers, young gun,” he says.
“Thanks,” says Jimmy. He hides the can of beer under the water as we cruise along.
“You’re not gonna drink that, are you?” I say.
“Maybe,” he says.
“You’re not old enough,” I say. “Isn’t it illegal?”
Jimmy doesn’t say anything.
I look at his hand holding the beer trailing under the surface of the water. The sun gleams off the silver can, and I can read the words OLD MILWAUKEE.
“Wish I had those glasses,” I say, after a while.
“Wanna stop and swim?”
We stop at a low place in the river and put our tubes up on the bank. I see Jimmy looking at the beer and looking at me. I know he wants to drink it. Some girls float by in pink bikinis. “Hey, sexy!” one of them says to Jimmy. “Wanna come party?”
Jimmy just waves. Some older guys float by and wave, and Jimmy throws them the can of Old Milwaukee. “Thanks, buddy!” one of them yells.
We get back to floating again, and it’s really nice, but hot. Then some big clouds make it shadier, and it feels perfect. I’m trailing my hand in the water, feeling the river bottom when it gets low, sometimes picking up rocks. All of a sudden, I feel something. I jerk my hand out of the water, thinking it’s a fish, but it’s a pair of sunglasses.
“Hey, Jimmy!” I say. “Look!”
I hand him the glasses and he inspects them. “Ray-Bans,” he says. “Nice.”
“Maybe there’s a lost and found somewhere,” I say.
Jimmy looks at me. “Didn’t you lose your glasses in the river?” he says.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Well, now the river gave ’em back again.”
It takes me a second to get what he’s saying. I put the Ray-Bans on and relax in the river. What a beautiful day.
After a while, Jimmy says, “All right, out here,” and he stands up. He catches me by surprise, and I have to scramble to get out. There’s a big pile of tubes sitting at the river’s edge, and Jimmy tosses his on top, so I do, too. I follow him to a little road where there’s a bus waiting. We get on, and it takes us back to Jimmy’s car.
When we get to the car, Jimmy takes out the keys and pops the trunk. He reaches in his bag and fishes out a pair of shorts and a shirt. Before I know what’s going on, he whips off his trunks, and I’m left staring at his privates.
“Jeez!” I say, looking quickly away. “I saw everything, Jimmy.”
“Grow up,” he says.
I take out the outfit I was wearing earlier in the day and hurry to put it on.
“Uh-oh,” Jimmy says.
I struggle with my zipper. “What?” I say.
“Your bird’s vacated the premises.”
“Huh?” I run over to where Jimmy’s standing, staring at the backseat. The window’s open wider than I remember, and Hercules II is definitely not in his cage. We search the car. No bird.
I look up into the surrounding trees before realizing that I’ve never seen a chicken in a tree.
“He’s gone,” Jimmy says. “Long gone.”
Chapter 22
Penny and the Whirlwind
Dear Diary,
I know staring is rude, but I can’t stop looking at Uncle Stretch and thinking about that year when basically his whole family died. I must have been bugging him because he told me that if I didn’t knock it off, he was going to knock me alongside the head, which he might do but not in a mean way. One thing I’ve learned about Uncle Stretch is that his bark is worse than his bite.
I keep thinking about Kim and wondering what got into her that would make her leave her husband and child. I know prying is rude, but I asked Sheryl about it, and she said that Kim was real pretty and always wanted to be an actress or bikini model. Sheryl said that Stretch only heard from her a handful o
f times after she left in the first year and then not at all after that. Kim didn’t tell anyone, not even her parents, where she was.
After Roland’s death, some of her relatives went out to California to track her down. When they found her, she was waitressing at a seafood café and living with a guy she called her agent. She took Roland’s death real hard and said to tell Stretch she just couldn’t do it. “Couldn’t do what?” I asked Sheryl. But Sheryl said she didn’t know. So then I asked her how Stretch could stand it, the not knowing. Then Sheryl called me honey and said that sometimes people can’t or won’t give you the answers that you want. Sheryl said that sometimes the only thing you can do is keep going forward and living your life the best that you can.
You wouldn’t ever know it by looking at her, but sometimes Sheryl’s good to talk to and pretty smart.
Then something even more interesting happened. Since Percy had gone to the fair with Jimmy, I thought I’d do a good deed and clean out his room in the granary, not because I wanted to snoop but because he never cleans it, and it’s probably just boiling over with germs and diseases. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Percy hasn’t come down with mad cow disease or mastitis. I made a nice hot bucket of soapy water and told Pauly to come and help me because Sheryl looked like she was at her wit’s end. Pauly’s always in her hair when she’s trying to get some cooking or cleaning done.
We went into the granary, and I was right. Percy’s room was a total disaster area. So first, Pauly and I picked up his clothes off the floor and put them in a hamper to be washed (Sheryl does all the clothes washing, but June Bug and I hang them on the line and fold them up). Then we opened up the closet and found more clothes all over the floor. Way in the back of the closet, I saw a little box against the wall. I thought it probably held Percy’s drawings of football guys or soldiers, but on the top it said, ROLAND.
Well, obviously, I couldn’t help but look inside. I mean, who could blame me, right? But when I opened the box, it was empty except for an old, creased photograph. It was of Stretch and a woman I assume to be Kim, and Roland, who looked around seven or eight, maybe. He was wearing a big Native American headdress, and on the back of the picture, it said Rolly, Indian Chief. Stretch was wearing jeans and a western shirt, and Kim was wearing a cute purple dress and a necklace with a shiny silver cross pendant. All three of them were smiling really big, like someone just told them a hilarious joke.
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