Little Chicago

by Adam Rapp

  I don’t know.

  If you’re broke I’ll give you half my sandwich.

  I want to tell her what I’ve spent my Anna Beth Coles Kissing Lesson money on, but it won’t come out.

  She looks at me for a long moment and gets this smile on her face.

  I say, What?

  I wanna kiss you, she says.

  I say, Right here?

  Yeah, she says. Right here.

  I say, In the caf?

  In the caf, she says.

  I say, Are you sure?

  I’m positive, she says, and then she takes her glasses off.

  Her eyes are odd and yellow. Even yellower than before.

  She leans toward me.

  I lean toward her.

  The table cuts into my ribs.

  We kiss and my stomach feels like there’s a balloon in it.

  When she pulls away she makes this face like she’s got a secret.

  What? I say.

  I like you a lot, she says. I’ve never liked anyone a lot before.

  Then we kiss again.

  This time longer.

  When we are finished she scrapes something off my face with her thumbnail.

  What was that? I say.

  She says, Eyelash.

  Then she shows it to me. It looks like a spider leg.

  I’m keeping it, she says.

  Then she folds it carefully into her napkin and puts it in her pocket.

  Do you like me a lot too? she asks.

  Yes, I say.

  Say it.

  I say it. I say, I like you a lot too.

  Say it with my name.

  Okay.

  Do it, she says.

  I do it. I say, I like you a lot too, Mary Jane.

  Then she says, Say Paddington too.

  And I say that too. I say, I like you a lot too, Mary Jane Paddington.

  Her eyes get huge.

  Just then Bert Underwood, a fifth grader with a lump in his lip, walks up to us. He’s so small and skinny it’s like he got shrunk at the laundromat.

  He says, Greg and Andy Bauer wanted me to tell you two that you’re dirty fuckface skanks …

  He has to stop.

  He takes a piece of paper out of his pocket.

  He reads it for a second and says, And that if you’re going to make out you should wait till you get back to your slush hole rat’s nest called home.

  Mary Jane Paddington says, I think you mean slut hole.

  Bert Underwood says, What?

  Slut hole. You said slush hole.

  He says, Oh. Right.

  Then he looks back down at the piece of paper and says one more thing.

  He says, And if you don’t take those shirts off you’re both going to be sorry.

  Mary Jane Paddington says, Thanks, Bert.

  I say, Yeah, thanks, Bert.

  He picks at the lump on his lip and says, You’re welcome.

  Mary Jane Paddington says, Is your mom picking you up today or are you taking the bus?

  He says, I’m taking the bus. Our car’s at the mechanic’s again.

  Okay, Mary Jane Paddington says. See you later in bus lines.

  Yeah, see you later, Bert Underwood says. I gotta go.

  I say, Bye.

  After he leaves we just sit there for a minute.

  I say, So what do we do?

  Mary Jane Paddington says, We don’t have to do anything. Just keep wearing the shirt.

  Okay, I say.

  I want to tell her about my new gun but it still won’t come out.

  I’ll protect us, I tell Mary Jane Paddington with my mind. Don’t worry, I’ll protect us.

  20

  At home Cheedle’s on the couch reading a book.

  Hey, I say.

  He says, Hey.

  What are you reading? I ask.

  He says, Webster’s New Riverside University Dictionary.

  You’re reading the whole thing?

  It’s a new project. I’m only through the B’s. I’d like to complete one letter a week. The word babirusa is interesting.

  What is it? I ask.

  He says, It’s a wild pig of the East Indies, the male of which has long, upward-curving tusks. I think this would make a good character name. Babirusa.

  I say, Huh, and go into the kitchen to make Velveeta Shells & Cheese.

  While I’m boiling water Cheedle says, By the way, when Mother picked me up from school today she asked me what I thought of you.

  I say, She did?

  Yes, he says. I told her that as far as individuals go I thought you were interesting but slightly disturbed.

  Oh, I say, thanks.

  He says, We discussed the possibility of having you spend a few weeks at the Holy Family Home for Troubled Youths. She indicated that she had already spoken to someone in their offices and that there might be an opening as early as next week. I just thought I should let you know.

  I can hear Cheedle turning a page.

  I imagine his brain getting bigger by the minute. A week from now his head will be as big as a beach ball.

  The water boils over and I watch it sizzle on the burner.

  When I go into Shay’s room there is a fly buzzing on her mirror.

  Her laundry is piled higher than ever. It is my guess that she left behind several loads.

  I feel like something is shrinking in me.

  I wonder if it’s Jesus.

  I remember a priest talking about how he gets inside you. His name was Father Dolan and it was the subject of his sermon at St. Ray’s Cathedral. Ma took us there with Al Johnson a couple of times.

  Father Dolan talked like a woman and every time he sang the hymns he made a face like he had to urinate.

  Father Dolan said we all have the room inside us for Jesus.

  But you have to let him in, he explained.

  Like Jesus is standing outside your house looking in the window.

  Come in, Jesus, I’d say to him. Can you get our phone turned back on?

  I crawl into Shay’s bed and stay there.

  I wake up in the middle of the night.

  It’s so late the light in Shay’s window is almost purple.

  Her covers are bunched around my chest.

  My feet are so cold my toes are numb.

  I rub them thoroughly and then I get out of Shay’s bed and go into my room and climb the ladder to the top bunk.

  I watch Cheedle sleep for a minute and then I shake his shoulder.

  He wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands and says, What now.

  I say, If you follow a deer long enough something amazing happens.

  He says, If you follow a what?

  A deer, I say. If you follow it through the woods. Something happens. Something amazing.

  What happens? he says.

  I say, It’ll take you to paradise.

  Oh, he says.

  Do you think it’s true? I ask.

  I don’t know, he says. I might not be the right person to ask.

  How come?

  Because you’re talking about metaphysics. I have a more practical, scientific mindset.

  I imagine Cheedle’s scientific mindset. I see him with headgear and one of Mr. Prisby’s Bunsen burners.

  I say, What if I followed a Wisconsin grizzly?

  Cheedle says, I don’t think you could follow a Wisconsin grizzly.

  Why not?

  Because it’s a predator. It would follow you.

  But just pretend speaking, I say. What if I followed it?

  Cheedle says, I don’t understand what you’re asking.

  I say, Would it lead me to paradise?

  I imagine if you were lucky enough it would take you to its cave.

  And then what?

  Then perhaps you would become its slave. It would teach you how to pick berries and catch fish. You might even learn the secrets of hibernation.

  Does Glen the Bear Boy become a slave?

  Cheedle says, I’m stil
l trying to figure that out. He’s either going to become the grizzly’s slave or his son.

  I say, So the grizzly might be a father.

  Cheedle says, I suppose so. But that would be the sentimental version, he adds, yawning.

  I can see deep into his mouth. His tonsils and throat tissues.

  Then he swallows and Cheedle is sleeping again.

  I watch him for a moment and then I climb back down the ladder.

  I go into the living room and study the woods through the patio doors.

  I press my face to the glass.

  It’s freezing on the other side and I can feel the cold trying to creep into the house.

  The sky over the trees is just starting to go a little blue.

  Where are you? I say.

  Where are you, anyway?

  21

  In the cafeteria someone has painted the Paddington Pit red.

  News of this fact has spread through school so fast it’s like there was an announcement in homeroom.

  Everyone knows about it by second period.

  It’s red! Jane Cook tells Mary Lee Broom.

  The Paddington Pit is fucking red, yo! Connor Connelly shouts from the drinking fountain.

  In Art Charles Wilke is painting with exceptional glee.

  There is red paint all over his smock.

  What is that? Miss Haze asks Charles Wilke.

  It’s the Paddington Pit, he replies.

  There is mucus clogged in his nose.

  Miss Haze says, That’s not very nice, Charles.

  Some kids laugh.

  I imagine him alone in the boys’ bathroom. I enter wearing a pair of blond construction boots and my black hardhat.

  In his mentally challenged voice, Charles Wilke says, Hey, Blacky.

  I say, Hey.

  And then I kick him in the testicles and he falls face first in the urinal.

  Before Math Skills there is a ruckus by the cafeteria. Several kids are running through the halls to see what it is.

  When I get there two men in white uniforms are standing over Mary Jane Paddington. She is sprawled in the Paddington Pit. Her eyes are closed and her body is so relaxed she looks dead.

  Underneath her the Paddington Pit is painted bright red. There is bright red paint all over her clothes, too. It’s like someone sprayed her with high-octane machine gun fire.

  The two men in white uniforms count to three and lift Mary Jane Paddington onto a stretcher.

  Mr. Prisby and Principal Jeffries are asking George Lake what happened.

  Mr. Prisby says, What happened, George?

  She slipped, George Lake says.

  Principal Jeffries says, She slipped?

  Yeah, she slipped, he says again.

  George Lake is a sixth grader with a very skinny neck. According to Coach Corcoran he is even weaker than me. This was brought to everyone’s attention during the pullups phase of the Presidential Physical Fitness Test.

  He couldn’t even do one pullup.

  I did one and a half.

  Everyone saw it, George Lake tells Mr. Prisby and Principal Jeffries. She slipped and landed on her butt.

  Greg and Andy Bauer are standing off to the side. Greg’s forearm is smeared with red paint and he is trying to hide behind his brother.

  I walk over to the Paddington Pit and press my hand into the paint.

  It comes up wet and red.

  After they get Mary Jane Paddington on the stretcher one of the men in white speaks into his walkie-talkie. He says something about her pelvis.

  I think it’s her pelvis, he says. We’re looking at a possible fracture. She banged her head pretty bad, too. She’s currently unconscious. Early signs suggest a minor concussion.

  When they roll her through the front doors an ambulance yelps like a dog.

  Everyone watches them slide her into the back of the ambulance.

  Except for Greg and Andy Bauer.

  They are staring directly at me.

  In Math Skills Mr. Stone is talking about converting fractions into percentages.

  Four tenths is forty percent, he says. Percent means per one hundred. What’s six tenths, Larry?

  Larry Gregg says, Sixty percent.

  Very good, Larry, he says. You get a doggie snack.

  Then Mr. Stone reaches into his pocket and hands Larry Gregg a Tootsie Roll.

  Everyone laughs.

  What about thirty two-hundredths, Mary?

  Mary Berger says, Fifteen percent.

  Mr. Stone says, Very good, Mary. You get a doggie snack, too, and hands her a Tootsie Roll.

  Then Mr. Stone says, What about eight tenths, Brown?

  I say, No comment.

  No comment?

  I say, I choose not to comment.

  He says, Huh, and just stares at me.

  It suddenly strikes me that knowing these kinds of things is useless, so I get up from my desk.

  Mr. Stone says, Where do you think you’re going, Brown?

  My brain hurts, I say. I need to see the nurse.

  He shakes his head a few times and then I walk out of class.

  For the rest of the day I hide with my gun behind the high-jump mats in the gymnasium.

  I can hear Coach Corcoran blowing his whistle to start the Shuttle Run.

  He yells, Move those sticks, Garner! Move those sticks!

  I see Graham Garner’s face.

  It’s red and he’s scared.

  I think about being physically fit and how my legs feel like dead rubber most of the time.

  There is no one around and I just sit with my back against the wall.

  I imagine Mary Jane Paddington and her broken pelvis. She’s in the hospital and her legs are slung to the ceiling. They got her upside down with her arms spread wide.

  But she’s still wearing the shirt.

  I wish I could talk to her.

  The wish gets real strong, so I just start doing it.

  Hey, Mary Jane, I say.

  She says, Hey.

  Don’t worry, I say. Everything’s gonna be okay, okay?

  Thanks, Blacky, she says. I’m not worried.

  Then she tells me she’s going to kiss me.

  I’m going to kiss you, she says. Are you ready?

  I say, I’m ready.

  So here I come.

  Then she dips her face into mine and we are kissing.

  Her mouth tastes like wintergreen Dentyne Ice.

  It’s the best thing I have ever tasted.

  I’m really kissing my fist, but this doesn’t bother me much.

  After a minute I have to stop cause I feel like I am going to vomit.

  I think it has something to do with the fact that the high-jump mats smell like body odor.

  I think it also has something to do with those cats in New York City.

  For some reason I start seeing them falling many stories and splatting.

  I see a hundred million cats and a hundred million splats.

  I think about how lions are cats.

  I see a lion splatting on the streets of New York City.

  It has a huge mane and Al Johnson’s face.

  This is very disturbing so I have to shake the image out of my head.

  Then I get tired and just go blank.

  A few minutes later I hear my name announced over the loudspeakers:

  BLACKY BROWN, PLEASE REPORT TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.

  The woman in the office says it twice and it echoes in the gymnasium.

  They won’t find me here cause it’s dark. That’s why the eighth graders always come here to make out.

  I imagine I could just stay behind the high-jump mats for a long time and it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

  Every time Coach Corcoran blows his whistle it makes me jerk funny.

  A gun can be a friend, I think, so I talk to it.

  Hey, I say. Just hang in there, okay?

  Okay, it says back to me.

  I can hear the lig
hts buzzing on the other side of the bleachers. I imagine all the bugs roasting.

  I wait for Steve Degerald and Evan Keefler to come out of the locker room. The passing tone sounds and several boys walk through the gym and out into the hall.

  I hear Eric Duggan say something about Beck and his infinite songwriting genius.

  Devil’s Haircut all the way he says. Devil’s Haircut.

  Eventually Steve Degerald and Evan Keefler come out of the locker room. They are always last cause they’re so proud of their bodies.

  They are strutting gangsta style and singing a rap song about naked bitches and thongs.

  Just before they reach the high-jump mats I come out with my gun and force them into the corner.

  Whoa, Evan Keefler says.

  Steve Degerald says, What the fuck, worm?

  They put their hands over their heads like criminals on TV.

  I find this so thrilling I almost get a boner.

  For a second they are crumpled in the corner.

  Baa like a sheep, I order Evan Keefler.

  He says, What?

  Baa like a sheep, I say.

  Then he does it. Baa, he says. Baa.

  You too, I order Steve Degerald.

  And he does it too. Baa, he says. Baa, baa.

  I back away, the gun still on them.

  Evan Keefler’s nose is bleeding.

  And I will never forget this.

  After the second passing tone for final period goes off I wait ten minutes and sneak through the halls while everything is quiet.

  I see the old janitor taking a drink at the water fountain.

  When he looks up he stares at me like I am an animal.

  I want to point my gun at him.

  I imagine doing it gangsta style with an evil sneer on my face.

  He covers his ears like there’s a scream in his brain.

  But I don’t pull it out. Instead I walk backwards through the front doors.

  The sky is clogged and swollen.

  I cut across the parking lot past the buses.

  Not one bus driver looks up.

  I walk home on Caton Farm Road.

  It starts to rain and the street is shiny and dim at the same time.

  It’s so cold it’s like nobody cares.

  Just before I reach the yellow bulldozer, the Crewcut Brothers come out of the unfinished house. They are both wearing black baseball hats and snow parkas.

  They walk at a funny angle so they can cut me off with hard-core bully tactics.

  They are successful in doing so.

  They must practice this kind of thing a lot, I think. It makes me wonder if they have a little brother or sister.