Joey and the Magic Map

by Tory Anderson

  “It was so amazing that I didn’t think soon enough,” Joey said. Another thought occurred to him. “So, you believe me?” he asked.

  It hadn’t occurred to Glory not to believe him until he suggested it. She stood, her skinny form silhouetted in the dim moonlight, and thought. “Maybe,” she said. She crawled back in bed, pulled a doll to her chest, and said “Now leave or I’ll tell Mom.”

  Joey’s excitement changed to frustration. Seeing something wonderful was no good unless someone else saw it too, or at least believed that you saw it. He stopped in Story’s room on the way to the attic stairs, but no one was there. This worried Joey for a moment. He wondered if he should go look for him. He decided Story was probably with Mrs. Johanaby since Glory wouldn’t let him sleep in her bed. Story didn’t like to sleep alone.

  Joey ran into Story in the near blackness of the attic stairway. They both screamed like girls.

  “You two better be quiet,” yelled Glory.

  “What are you doing?” exclaimed Joey, angry at the fright.

  “Can I sleep with you?” asked Story, near tears.

  “With me?” Joey said. Story never slept with him. He thought a moment. “Have you been drinking water?”

  “No,” said Story.

  “You don’t have to pee?”

  “No,” Story said, becoming more hopeful.

  “Okay, then” Joey said. “Come on.”

  They went up to Joey’s room where Story climbed into bed. Joey went to the window and looked out at the garage and then the woods. All was dark and quiet now. Disappointed he climbed into bed making Story move over.

  “You know what I saw tonight?” he asked.

  “What?” Story answered sleepily.

  Not missing any details Joey described the lights and how Beezer flickered and glowed as he walked back to the woods. When he finished the story he stared into the darkness toward the ceiling seeing it all again. Joey desperately wanted to hear Story’s opinion of the account. Story didn’t respond. He had fallen asleep soon after the story began. He slept on his side facing Joey. His breath smelled of toothpaste. Joey found comfort in the sound of his little brother’s breathing. He drifted off to sleep to its gentle rhythm.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning Joey woke up late. The sun was already high in the sky. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He felt groggy, like he had gotten too much sleep. Over on the desk he saw the pieces of his broken rocket.

  “Oh no,” he said.

  He slid out of bed and stepped unsteadily to the desk. He picked up the rocket and one of the fins. One had broken off cleanly and would be easy to glue back on. The other fin was ragged at the edge, but if he could get another piece of balsa wood he could make another fin that would work just as well. He was good with his hands. That’s what his dad said. For his twelfth birthday his father was going to get him the three stage Saturn V, but his father had gotten cancer and died too soon. Joey’s birthday was in two weeks.

  Outside two quarreling robins zipped by, dodging through the limbs of the tree. Beyond them Joey saw that the day was clear and still. It was going to be hot.

  He looked down at the garage. Last night . . . Beezer! He remembered now. The colored bubbles. The way Beezer sparked and glowed. He had seen it, hadn’t he? It wasn’t just a dream? He turned around and looked for Story. He was already gone.

  Joey looked at the clock on his dresser—8:30.

  “Oh no!” he said. “Breakfast.”

  He was late getting the twins down to breakfast. His mother would be even angrier than she was last night. Joey quickly pulled on a T-shirt and his dusty pair of jeans. Not bothering with socks he shoved his feet into his shoes and started for the stairs. He thought of something and stopped. Returning to his bed he felt the sheets with his hand. Finding them dry he smiled.

  He ran down the stairs two at a time. Neither Glory nor Story were in their bedrooms. Joey continued down to the kitchen. He was coming through the kitchen door when he tripped over his untied shoestrings. Mouth open and arms outstretched he fell onto his stomach. It would have been enough to fall, but it didn’t end there. His momentum carried him under the table and into a chair which fell on top of him.

  There was a surprised silence for a moment before the twins burst out laughing. Mrs. Johanaby ran around the table and helped Joey up.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, kneeling in front of him with both hands on his shoulders.

  Joey nodded. “I tripped,” he said.

  “Well you sure know how to make an entrance,” she responded, beginning to laugh. “You’d better tie up those shoes before you break your neck.”

  Joey tied his shoes then poured himself a bowl of Corn Flakes. He was relieved to find his mom in a better mood this morning.

  After Glory and Story finished their breakfast they rinsed their bowls without being told too.

  “What should we play today?” asked Glory. She stood on her tip toes to put her bowl on the shelf. “Steal the Flag?”

  “No,” answered Story. He stood next to Glory drying his bowl. “I feel like having an adventure today.” In a moment he ran through the back door with Glory and her doll right behind him.

  “Keep your adventure out of the woods!” Mrs. Johanaby yelled after them.

  “Mom did hear me last night,” Joey thought with satisfaction.

  Joey scooped up the last soggy flakes of cereal from his bowl while his mom filled the sink with hot soapy water. She began washing last night’s dishes.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked, without turning around.

  “I feel good. But I slept a little late.”

  “You must be tired,” she said. “Baby sitting is hard work, especially for a twelve-year-old boy who would rather be doing other things.”

  Mrs. Johanaby was trying to make up for yelling at him last night. It was working. Joey felt better. But the tiredness he felt this morning wasn’t from the baby sitting.

  “I’m tired too,” his mother mumbled to herself. Joey didn’t hear.

  “Do you believe in magic?” Joey asked. He wondered if Glory had said anything about last night.

  “Magic?” she said. She stopped washing the dishes and looked out the window above the sink. “I used to believe in magic,” she said. “Your father knew a few card tricks you know.”

  She didn’t know what he was talking about. Glory had apparently said nothing. Joey knew what his mom was talking about. His father could always tell you which card was on top even though he hadn’t looked at it.

  “But he had other tricks that I think were even better,” Mrs. Johanaby went on. “He had magical ways of making me feel good. It was the way he knew when to bring me flowers, the way he made me feel when he played with you kids, the way he made me feel when he kissed me.”

  Joey saw the red creeping up his mom’s neck. She glanced at Joey, embarrassed. Her face was the same color as her neck. “Well, anyway,” she said, “I still miss him.”

  Joey remembered his father brought his mother flowers a lot. Sometimes it was because he forgot their wedding anniversary or Mrs. Johanaby’s birthday. Joey didn’t remind his mom about that.

  “I want you to know that I think you are doing a terrific job with the twins.” Mrs. Johanaby’s voice was extra sweet. Joey knew she was trying to make up for last night. That was okay with him.

  Mrs. Johanaby went on. “Glory and Story came down on time all by themselves today, and did you see the way they washed their bowls?” She turned around so she could look at him while she talked. “It’s because of your good example. You’ll never know how much influence you have on their lives. That’s why—” She paused here.

  Joey knew what was coming. He struggled against the anger he felt rising. He could still see the determined look on Glory’s face as she tried to climb over that fence even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to.

  “That’s why I’m so concerned about your fight yesterday,” she continued. �
�First of all you disobeyed me. Then you teach Glory and Story that it’s okay to use violence to solve problems. Do you understand?”

  Joey’s hope for a happy morning was gone. He wanted to tell his mom that she was the one who didn’t understand. She didn’t know what it was like to keep the twins—especially Glory—out of trouble. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t fair how he always got in trouble for what Glory did. He was ready to tell her the whole story again and make her understand. When she turned around she wore her ‘forced’ happy look. This was her ‘I’m not happy, but I’m going to pretend I am’ face.

  “You understand, right?” she repeated.

  Joey swallowed his pride with his cereal and nodded.

  “Good,” she said. Her relief at getting this talk over with was clear. With a happy sigh she turned around to finish the dishes.

  Joey took his bowl to her and watched as she sunk it in the sudsy water.

  “So how’s the class going?” he asked.

  His mother took a deep breath “Oh, okay,” she said.

  He could feel her force the optimism in her voice.

  “Actually, I’ve been writing a little on the side. I have something I want you to read for me.”

  She said this sheepishly, but there was hope, too. Joey knew why. She wasn’t supposed to be writing. She was supposed to be studying. But she had always wanted to be a writer. She had gotten an English degree about the time she had married his dad. She dabbled in writing ever since Joey could remember.

  Joey was pleased his mom wanted him to read what she had written. It made him feel grown-up. He had learned to read when he was five. Mrs. Johanaby complained proudly that he read too much. This had changed since his dad died. He could no longer lose himself in a book.

  Joey followed his mother down the hall to the library. The computer was on, but the screen was blank. Mrs. Johanaby grabbed some papers off the printer. She sorted them into order and then handed them to Joey.

  Joey sat on the couch and began reading. Their printer was running out of ink and the lines of print faded in and out down the page making it hard to read. What made it even harder for Joey was that his mother sat down on the couch next to him and watched him read. Doing his best to ignore her he read about how families should prepare long before a death in the family for funerals. She had written about how after a death there was so much trauma that the decisions of a funeral were very difficult to make.

  It was four pages long. Joey read it very slowly. He glanced at his mother twice to see her watching him read. She watched his eyes move from line to line. He had to read some paragraphs twice because he was more conscious of her watching him than the words he was reading.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked, when she saw him finish the last line.

  His mother had taught him to be honest, but he knew that to be too honest at the wrong times does more harm than good. The article seemed boring to him. He didn’t understand it. “It’s good, Mom,” Joey said, without looking up. He felt his mother staring at him.

  “You don’t like it, do you?” she said.

  “It’s a little boring to me,” Joey said slowly. “But that’s probably because it’s not written for kids.” He looked up at his mother anxiously hoping that she thought he was right. He was met by a blank look of someone who’s trying not to cry.

  “No, it’s not written for kids, but you’re right—it’s boring.” Mrs. Johanaby’s shoulder’s drooped, and she toyed with the wedding ring on her finger.

  Joey felt terrible. “Mom, what do I know about writing? You need to have a grown-up read it. Maybe Beezer could read it. Do you want me to go get him? I bet he’ll like it.” Joey stood up to go.

  Mrs. Johanaby let out a long, shuddering sigh as she held the tears in. “No,” she said. “It’s boring. I knew it even before you read it. I was just hoping that by magic it had become good all by itself.” She smiled at Joey. “I just don’t know what to write about, Joey. I can’t think of anything interesting. What do we know or what have we done that’s interesting?”

  Joey wondered why she was trying to find something to write about when she was supposed to be studying to be a medical transcriptionist. Her question made him think. He wished his mother had heard what he had heard and seen what he had seen. Joey thought of Beezer and the colored lights; he thought of Beezer’s story of Henrietta and her haunting the mansion. “Moving into an old haunted mansion is interesting,” Joey said.

  “Haunted?” asked his mother.

  “You know—Henrietta?” Joey said. The kids had repeated Beezer’s stories to Mrs. Johanaby and she had listened with interest and a little alarm. She had worried that Beezer would frighten the kids with such stories.

  “Yes, maybe so,” Mrs. Johanaby said absentmindedly. She stared out the window for a moment. “I need to stick with the program and let writing go,” she said. She looked at Joey and attempted a little smile. Looking back out the window she became lost in her own thoughts again. Joey waited for a few minutes. When it became clear that she had forgotten him he got up and left the room. Looking over his shoulder he saw unshed tears glistening in his mother’s eyes.

  It was quiet outside. The morning breeze was gone. Nothing moved. The branches on the weeping willow hung limp and lifeless. The long grass in the field stood motionless as if painted on a canvas. He didn’t even see the usual flocks of starlings flying about. Out on the highway he heard the whine of truck tires. They sounded far away, in a different world. Where were the twins?

  Joey walked over to the fence and searched the field. There was no sign of them moving in the grass. Joey walked under the tree and stared up into the maze of branches. The rocket was still there, hanging motionless. There was no sign of the twins up there. He didn’t think there would be. Climbing trees wasn’t all that important to them. He wondered why.

  There was nothing he wanted to do more than climb the tree as high as he could. The idea of looking out from among the leaves high above the ground excited him. The tree stood there morning, afternoon, and night. It stood unmoved by the blazing sun or the pouring rain. It showed no fear of the world around it. If he climbed the tree maybe he could be strong, too. At the least he could escape his life for a while. No one would know he was up there. He would just disappear. He liked that idea.

  He put his hands on the bottom limb to begin his climb when he heard Story call his name. It sounded like Story was on the other side of the house. Leaving the tree Joey followed Story’s voice. There was an old, garden patch on this side of the mansion. Skeletons of squash vines lay tangled in the dirt. Unpicked cabbages sat deflated in a row as they decomposed.

  “Ugh,” Joey said. Glory thought the old garden especially gross. Joey thought it odd that the twins might be over here. He didn’t see them.

  Annoyed, he continued his circle of the mansion. When he reached the patchy grass in the front yard he heard a loud bang. It sounded like the cellar doors. Breaking into a trot Joey hurried to see what the twins were up to.

  The cellar door was open. There was no sign of the twins.

  “Glory! Story!” he called looking around. Joey had no doubt it was them who opened the door. The door was heavy. After lifting it up they would have dropped it open. He turned slowly and looked carefully for anything the twins might be hiding behind. There was the tree and the garage. He was sure they were stifling giggles watching him now. He wasn’t in the mood to be the butt of a joke today. Joey knew they wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to poke their heads out to see the results of their joke. After a minute passed there was still no sign of them.

  Annoyed, Joey turned back to the cellar. A frightening idea sent tingles down his spine. Had the twins actually gone down into the cellar? The darkness stared up at him from its lair. In silence it taunted him to come down.

  “Glory?” he called into the darkness. He heard the fear in his voice. If Glory was down there she heard it too.

  “Story!” he yelled, with a litt
le more conviction. Silence, loud as noise, met his ears.

  Glory was stubborn and headstrong. She had a habit of doing exactly what she knew people didn’t want her to do. Would her orneriness give her the courage to go down into the darkness? Joey wasn’t so sure. All he knew was that if Glory were down there he would have to go down there too. The darkness stared, daring him to come.

  Joey reached for the door to close it.

  “They can’t be down there,” he mumbled.

  As he lifted the door he heard something. A noise drifted up out of the cellar like a dandelion seed in a soft breeze. Joey froze still bent over with the door in his hands. He couldn’t tell what made the noise. Had it been a rustle of movement? A whisper?

  Setting the door down he called, “Glory! Don’t make me come down there!” Anger and fear mixed in his voice. Glory knew how to prey on his weaknesses. She had gone too far this time.

  Joey held back the tears of fear that were ready to fall. Glory was going to force him to go down there. Joey shook his head and said, “No!” He wasn’t going down there. It didn’t matter if they were lost, or hurt, or starving. They had gone down there willingly. They would have to suffer the consequences.

  Joey tried to walk away. He circled around the weeping willow. The thought of them down there in blackness, even if they were playing a joke, was too much for him. If they weren’t afraid, they should be. He went back to the cellar doors.

  “Glory! Story! Are you all right?” No answer. He was feeling panicked. Someone had to go down there. He couldn’t do it. It would have to be his mom.

  Joey started for the back door and then stopped. He didn’t want to admit his fear to his mother. He didn’t want her to see once again that he couldn’t handle Glory. Joey changed his course from the back door to the library window.

  He approached the window quietly and peered in. Mrs. Johanaby was at her computer. She sat with her head in her hands. Her long fingers passed through her brown hair and curled around the back of her head. She looked lonely and—was it scared? Joey recognized scared when he saw it.