by Jack Gantos
He stood up, and I went around to meet him at the front door.
“What’s up?” he asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
“Grandma died today,” I said.
He looked down at the ground and slowly rubbed the dirt with the sole of his shoe as if she were buried under his feet.
“I hate it when someone older than me dies,” he said. “It just makes me next in line.”
“Dad, this is about Grandma,” I said. “She died. You’re okay.”
“No,” he said. “She’s better off where she is now. I’m just stuck being death on wheels down here.”
“The viewing is on Sunday,” I said. “At Galt’s Funeral Parlor. You should stop by there. I think you need to sign some papers and find out what time to show up and stuff.”
“Well, I’ve got to say,” he said, looking up at the sky, then out across the maze of pens, looking around at everything through his wet eyes except at me, “this town has been nothing but a crock of bad luck. Your mom nearly killed me. Then she broke my heart a few times. All the help you gave me seems to have backfired. And after the Thanksgiving Day massacre, I think I’ve worn out my welcome around here,” he concluded. “I’ll bury my mom and beat it, before your mom’s aim improves and the police put me in a beggar’s grave.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said. “You know I’ve been trying my best to help.”
“I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” he replied, “not intentionally. You just got to realize that a guy like me only gets a hurtin’ put on him when he tries to get better. I’m really much happier when I’m not trying to improve myself. You know what I mean?”
I’m not sure I did. And I wasn’t sure what to say. I stood there wondering if he could explain himself more clearly or if he would confuse me even more because I just couldn’t believe that everyone didn’t want to get better. That’s all I ever had wanted to do—get better.
“Do you have any money?” he asked. “I need to take a bath, and the YMCA charges five bucks, and I’m flat broke, and I’m out of smokes too.”
I had Grandma’s money in my pocket, but I had her words with me too. Nothing for them.
“Dad, go by the house and take a bath,” I said. “The door’s wide open, and Grandma had a few cigarettes left over.”
“Fran really hates me,” he said, starting up again. “I didn’t touch her.”
“You scare her, Dad,” I said. “She wants a normal life, and you are about the last thing in the world I’d call normal.”
“Guess I’m more like a comet,” he said. “I’ll leave town after the funeral, but I’ll circle back someday. Maybe next time I’ll be on top of the world. Maybe I’ll have won the lottery and be so rich you all will be begging to spend some time with me.”
“Dad, why don’t you go get that bath now? Mom’s working a wedding, and I’m going over to a friend’s house, so you can be alone there.”
“Can I give you a lift?” he asked, rubbing his side.
That reminded me. “Did you ever stop by the hospital and get your medicine?” I asked.
“Haven’t had a chance,” he said. “I’ve been pretty busy.”
“Well, remember to go by the funeral parlor,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I think I can remember that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Come on,” he said, pointing to his motorcycle. “I’ll give you a ride.”
As soon as I rang the doorbell, Mrs. Lapp answered as if she was expecting me.
“Why, Joey,” she said cheerfully, “I’m so happy to see you again. I was a little too worked up the last time we spoke. I haven’t changed my mind about the schooling, but I said some personal things about you and your family I regret. I owe you an apology. Forgive me?”
“W.W.J.D.?” I asked.
“I hope he’d forgive me,” she said.
“Sure he will,” I said. “And I do too. A few grumpy words can’t rattle me forever.”
“You’ve been very kind,” she said. “I’ll miss you around here. How about one last W.W.J.D.? to you. Make it a good one.”
I did. “Well, my grandmother just died this morning, and I’m hoping that he’ll let her into heaven despite her smoking, drinking, cursing, and sometimes mean-as-a-snake behavior.”
Mrs. Lapp looked up into the air, held her hands together in prayer, and closed her eyes. “I’m quite sure she is looking down on us right now,” she said softly.
I looked up at the sky and waved my big wild happy wave like I’m lost on a desert island and I’m waving to an airplane passing overhead.
“You can pray,” Mrs. Lapp suggested.
“I like to wave,” I said. “When I think of God, I always think of a great big yellow smiley face—the kind with the winking eyes and happy smile. Sometimes I just wink up at God and say, ‘Hi—have a good day.’”
After a moment I heard Olivia tapping my way. “Hi,” she said to me. Then she turned to her mom. “Can we have some privacy, please?”
“Five minutes,” Mrs. Lapp replied. “Then we’re off to our mother-daughter fellowship meeting.”
As soon as Mrs. Lapp was out of earshot, Olivia whispered, “Hey, did you come up with a way for us to see Godspell?”
“No,” I said. “I came by to let you know my grandma died but that you didn’t kill her. She was dying long before you told her I was your new friend.”
“Are you sure she didn’t die from a delayed reaction?”
“I’m sure,” I replied.
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said.
Suddenly Mrs. Lapp hollered to me from the kitchen. “Joey, do you want to take one of these Key lime pies home with you?”
“No, thank you,” I answered. “There’s nobody at home to eat it.”
Olivia pulled me closer. “That blowout your family had yesterday scared some sense into my mom. She called Dad on the road and they are already talking about boarding school. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“That’s great for you,” I said.
“Sorry I used you as the sacrificial lamb,” she said. “As you can see, my mom can’t stay mad for long. But I can. If you don’t get me to Godspell, you’ll be joining your grandma.”
“You are so mean,” I said.
“Not really,” she replied. “Now, what’s your plan? Just because your grandma died doesn’t mean you get to wiggle out of your half of the deal.”
“Still thinkin’,” I said.
“You better be thinking,” she said. “Or I’ll track you down and make your life even more miserable.”
“Okay,” I said. “Give me a little time. I’ll come up with a plan.” And I walked away thinking, but I had no idea what to do, so I just kept walking and making the rounds of all my JOEY WAS HERE labels because I didn’t want to go home and bump into the funeral parlor people taking Grandma away, and I didn’t want to be there if Dad decided to take a bath. I just kept walking. People were already putting up Christmas lights, and I hadn’t gotten over Thanksgiving yet. I’m just stuck in a rut, I said to myself, and I don’t like it.
12
SOCKS AND SHOES
I really didn’t look forward to waking up in the morning, because it was going to be the beginning of another day I didn’t understand. I usually love Saturdays. But not this one. I could only think of Grandma, and now she would only be part of my past.
Then suddenly my present was calling me—Pablo and Pablita were licking my face as if my head were a bowl of dog food. They were hungry now.
I jumped up. “I am so sorry,” I said to them. “Soooooo sorry.” The last time I fed them was when I gave them the turkey jerky. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
I pulled on the play clothes I had been wearing and put the dogs in my backpack. It was easier to carry them than to put them on a leash and poke along behind them. When I left my bedroom, I noticed Mom’s door was closed. I looked away and tried not to stare at Grandma’s empty couch. But I couldn’t
help it. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, and jerked my head away.
“Let’s go,” I whispered to Pablita as I opened the front door and we ran down the steps. “You can ask Pablo, but I am usually much more responsible than this. I mean, once I locked him in the glove compartment and forgot him for a while, and once I threw a dart and it pierced his ear by mistake, but otherwise he has had a very good life with me. Honest.” And as we headed for the All-American Discount Grocery Store, I pointed out the little gnomes that someone had stacked up one on top of the other like a gnome totem pole. I pointed out the coldest spot on the ice factory wall. We ran under the railroad bridge where the homeless man was asking for money. We ran away but turned around and ran back and gave him five dollars from Grandma’s money because even dogs don’t like anyone to go hungry, and then we ran away again. We ran over to the Goodwill box, and I tucked each dog under an arm, and we all peeked our heads into the bin. There was a nice pair of ladies’ shoes in there, and I grabbed them just in case I saw the woman who only wore socks.
There were also some boys’ clothes that somebody must have kept in their attic for a lifetime. I had seen pictures of kids from about a hundred years ago, and they were all dressed like small adults in nice pants and dress shoes with shirts and ties and suit jackets. They looked ready to do something important with themselves, as if they could walk into a business and be the boss. They looked smart and serious, like they had something more on their minds than video games and sports and all kinds of kid stuff that really didn’t matter all that much when you thought about it. Mom dressed me in jeans and T-shirts and sneakers, and I walked around as if all I was prepared to do was play in a sandbox. Adults are always trying to keep their kids from growing up too fast, but most of the kids I know want to grow up fast so they can get away from their nutty parents who wear jeans and T-shirts all day and look like big scary kids who have refused to grow up. Then it occurred to me that I needed to buy some nice-looking serious clothes so other people would take me as seriously as I wanted to take myself. Maybe that was my big Saturday thought—to look as grown-up as I had become.
Pablo and Pablita started barking again, and so we ran straight for the discount grocery store. I got a shopping cart by the front door and set my backpack in it. “Now be quiet,” I said, “or we’ll get kicked out.” First I bought a box of dog biscuits and a box of dried dog food. Then I poured it all into the backpack and mostly zipped it up. Right away they sounded as if they were eating each other. “Be nice,” I said into the opening, “there’s enough for everyone.” They didn’t quiet down, so I parked them next to the stale bread section and ran back over to the store manager’s office.
I knocked on his open door. “It’s me, Mr. Helpful,” I sang. “I’m here to clean up the store.”
“Hey, Mr. Helpful,” the manager said. “Where’ve you been? We missed you around here. The place is a mess without you.”
“Well, have no fear,” I said. “I’m back on the job.”
“What’s that stuck to your forehead?” he asked.
I reached up and peeled the I’M THE LEFTOVERS label off my head. “Just a joke,” I explained.
And so I began to go up and down the aisles and rearrange the cans and put all the things that ended up in the wrong places into the right places. I rotated the bottles and jars so they all faced out, built castle walls out of the toilet paper rolls, organized the razor blades by brand and style, and restacked the little pyramids of oranges and apples. And doing all this work was a good thing because I didn’t think of Mom or Dad or Booth or Grandma or anyone. I didn’t even think of me. All I did was keep my fingers moving as quickly as possible and work at putting all the misplaced things back in their proper places. I even bumped into the lady with socks and gave her the shoes. She didn’t say a word to me but slipped them onto her feet and kept right on walking down the two-for-one aisle until I noticed they were on the wrong feet. I wanted to creep up behind her and quickly switch them around, but I didn’t. You just can’t help everyone. But it made me feel so much better to see shoes go over socks and cans all in a row with their puffed-out chests and red-cheeked labels, and suddenly I felt as though I lived in a world that I ruled and I knew exactly where I fit in. At least for a little while.
I took a victory lap around the store, and when I finished, I stood in front of the manager’s open door and looked up into the security camera TVs. I saw a pretty shabby-looking boy staring up into the air. I looked like I was on the shelf with all the dented-up cans that were sold at half price, and when people get you for half price, they treat you like you’re half as good, and I didn’t want any part of that.
I knocked on the manager’s door.
“Are you finished, Mr. Helpful?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think I’m finished for good. I’m tired of cleaning up after other people.”
“Well, I’ll miss you,” he said. “But I understand how it is. You fix things up, and as soon as you turn your back, people make a mess of everything you’ve done.”
“At my house you don’t even have to turn your back,” I said. “My family likes to make a mess right in front of your face.”
He nodded.
“See you around,” I said. I hooked my wiggling backpack over my shoulder and walked out the sliding doors and on up to the top of Queen Street, where I caught the bus to the Fruitville Mall. I hadn’t ever been shopping for clothes by myself before, so I just strolled through the stores looking at the mannequins until I found one I liked. He was dressed in khaki pants with a light blue shirt and navy blue blazer with a striped tie. He had on paisley socks and brown penny loafers and a brown belt, and I thought if he had something to say, people would listen. If he said, “Put down that knife,” Mom would put it down. If he said, “Straighten up and get a job,” Dad would pull himself together, get a job, and start acting his age and not his shoe size. And if he had told Grandma to stop smoking cigarettes and breathe some fresh air once in a while, she’d still be alive.
I got a man to help me, and I told him I wanted that exact outfit plus underwear, and he took me and the dogs back to a fitting room and kept bringing me different sizes until we got them right. I kept on my new outfit and threw my old clothes into the trash. I stood on the fitting platform and looked into the three-way mirror and rotated my head back and forth and thought I looked smart from every angle. If the mirror was a door that someone opened, they would see a very handsome, very serious, very thoughtful young man. And they would say, “May I help you?” And I would say, “Yes, you may help me.”
Sometimes Grandma and I would go to a toy store downtown and play with all the toys, and Grandma didn’t care if I opened the boxes and took the stuff out and played with it even though she knew we’d never buy it. Once we sat down at a table for tiny kids and opened the Dating Game board game, and I remembered not dressing my guy character too well, and Grandma always had really stylish-looking girls who were waiting for a date, but when my guy showed up at their front door, Grandma had the girl slam the door in my face and in a huffy voice said, “I ordered a hunk not a chump!” Even then Grandma told me I was going to have to start looking like the great kid I wanted to be instead of the ratty kid I was. She may have hurt my feelings, but it turns out she was right. I wanted to look like I ruled the whole world. And if nothing else, I wanted to look like I ruled Joey’s world.
When I paid the clerk in cash, he said, “You look like you’re getting ready to do something important.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I am.”
As we left the store, I said to Pablo and Pablita, “It’s time to take the bull by the horns, as Grandma would say.” We caught the bus downtown to the Central Market and walked up to the ticket window at the Fulton Opera House. “Two of your best seats, please,” I said. I gave him ninety dollars, and the man put the tickets in an envelope and slipped them to me through the glass slot. I opened my jacket and slipped the envelope into the inside pocket, then
marched up the street.
“Olivia gave Grandma a feel-good send-off,” I said to myself. “Now it’s our turn to give Olivia a feel-good send-off.”
Only I wasn’t sure yet how I’d get around Mrs. Lapp. But Saturday wasn’t over. I still had some more thinking to do, and I was feeling very sharp, very confident, very powerful, and I strutted down the street looking as if I owned the entire town, except that I had two yapping Chihuahuas sticking out of my backpack barking at everyone and everything we passed. They kept me humble.
13
TUG-OF-WAR
“I did something I think I’m going to regret,” Mom said.
I didn’t have time to imagine what she might regret. We were in the funeral parlor, and I had been by myself alone in a room with Grandma for about an hour. I had rearranged her hair about a dozen times, and then I’d put some lipstick on her, then some more and more, until I thought it was too wide, or too shiny, and then I’d take a tissue and rub it around and lick the tissue and rub some more and start all over again. I was a nervous wreck, and I was waiting for Dad because he had left a message at the funeral parlor telling me to be a little early because he wanted to meet me here before Mom arrived, but he hadn’t shown up. Even though it was cold outside, I had opened a window because I thought I could at least hear his motorcycle from far away and I would know he was coming. I looked at the reflection of myself in the mirror above a little table where there was a vase of lilies and a small book where anybody who came to the viewing could write their name. I wrote mine, Mister Joey P. Pigza, and then I wrote Mrs. Frances Pigza and below it Mr. Carter Pigza because I knew it was just going to be the three of us. Pablo and Pablita were not allowed to attend. I had asked, but pets at funeral parlors were against regulations because they might “upset the grieving,” Mr. Galt explained. He had never met my parents.
I fussed with trying to straighten out my necktie because I wasn’t sure how to tie one, and when I took it off to go to bed, I made the mistake of untying it, and now it came out looking more like a knot you hang someone with. Standing in front of the open window had made me cold on the inside, even though I had on my new shirt and jacket and matching pants, new underwear, new socks, and shoes. I kept walking circles around the coffin, and once I went into the bathroom and found a book left in the toilet stall called The Final Days. I took it with me back to where Grandma was laid out and read a few pages and the jacket. It was a story with young people worrying about what will happen to them when they die because they know they will be judged by God and either get blasted up to heaven or sent straight down to hell. All they think about is death all day long instead of thinking about all the good things that could happen here on earth right now. They have a lot to worry about, and they seem afraid that if they don’t do enough good deeds, they are cooked. It was hard enough for me worrying about Santa Claus and wondering if I was on his naughty or nice list that he was always checking twice. If I had to worry every minute of each day over whether I was going to die and burn in hell for all eternity or go to heaven and be happy forever, I would be a nervous wreck. I had to put down the book because the more I read, the jumpier I became and the more I wanted to run home and hide under the bed with Pablo and Pablita.