* * * *
"What's the matter, Billy?” Ma asked as I sat in front of my hamburger and stared out the window at Mister Jones in his backyard. “Didn't you have a good time helping out?"
"Oh, yeah. I had a great time."
"That's nice. Not everyone gets a chance to work with Mister Jones. You just might be the first.” She gave me a knowing look. “So keep your eyes open and maybe he'll let you help tomorrow, too,” she continued, spooning salad onto my plate.
"No, he won't.” I started pushing the salad into little piles.
"Why, honey,” she said, the salad spoon dangling in midair, “you didn't get in any trouble, did you?"
"No, Ma, it's just that it's.... Well, it's done,” I said, looking up.
"Done? That's funny,” she said, gazing out over the fence. “I kind of forgot about it ever getting done. Don't look like anything I've ever seen before,” she added with a dismissive wave of the spoon.
"It's not.” I looked back down at my plate.
"Why, Billy, sounds like you know what it is,” Ma said, looking at me quizzically.
"I do,” I replied sadly.
There was a slight pause, and then she beamed as if she had just deriddled the sphinx. “Well, then,” she said, “tell us what it is.” Bits of salad fell from the metronomic spoon as she fed each word to the air.
"Oh, Ma! I can't. He made me promise not to tell."
"He did?” She snorted, dropping the spoon back into the salad bowl. My father looked at his empty plate and sighed. “Harold, did you hear what your son just said? That Mister Jones won't let Billy tell his very own mother what that crazy-looking thing in his backyard is. I just might give that man a call and let him know what I think about that,” she said, craning her neck to get a better look out the window.
"What is it, son?” my father asked, lowering his paper.
"Dad! I just told you I can't tell!"
"All right. Now that that's settled, could we have a little food or must we all slowly starve to death?” he asked, staring at my mother.
"Harold! How can you just sit there when that man is torturing your own flesh and blood? Can't you see how upset he's got him? Baby,” she cooed, putting her hand on my arm, “I know you'll feel better if you tell Mommy all about it. I bet you'll be able to eat that nice, big hamburger I made just for you because I know it's your favorite."
"Oh, Ma, I'm sorry, but I really can't. You wouldn't believe me anyway."
"Not believe you! Of course I'd believe you! I know you wouldn't tell a fib to your very own mother! Now, tell Mommy what it is so we can all eat this nice big lunch I worked so hard on.” She peered out at Mister Jones again. “You're keeping Mommy waiting, dear.” I just sat there. “Billy! Tell me what it is!"
"Oh, for God's sake, Gladys,” my father said, smacking his paper on the table. “Leave the boy alone! He's already told you he promised not to tell."
"Harold!” she shot back, her eyes flashing. “We are his parents! We have a right to know what our son has been getting into! Not that I think you've been getting into anything, Billy,” she added, giving me a quick smile. “It's just, well, you've got us worried now, your father and me, and I can tell you're unhappy, too. It's nothing bad, is it? Is that why you're afraid to tell us? Is it something bad, darling?” She squeezed my arm so hard I couldn't pull away.
"No, Ma, it's not bad,” I answered.
She slowly released her grip. “Well, then, why can't you tell us what it is?” she asked, giving me a truly puzzled look. When I didn't say anything, she looked back out at Mister Jones. “I know,” she said, turning to me, “I'll guess and then you tell me when I'm right. Well, you won't even have to do that,” she added, looking out the window again. “Just tell me when I'm wrong. That way you won't really be breaking your promise."
"Oh, Ma—"
"You just be quiet, dear, and let me think. Hmm.... “She fingered the curtain and squinted out the window. I was beginning to think she had forgotten what she was doing when she suddenly spun around with a look of triumph in her eyes.
"I know what it is,” she declaimed in sing-song rhythm, lowering her finger straight at me and ending with a wink. “It's one of them giant plant holders like they had back in Babylon. He is reduplicating the Hanging Gardens of Babylon right in his own backyard! Well! I don't know why he has to make such a big secret out of that. It's probably a surprise for Mrs. Jones. That's just the kind of man he is,” she added, with a slight sniff in my father's direction.
"No, Ma, that's not it."
"No? What do you mean, no? Anyone with an ounce of brains can see that's what it is. Have you even looked out the window?” When I didn't say anything, she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well then, we're packing up and moving on."
"You amaze me, Gladys, you really do,” my father intoned from behind his paper. “Though sometimes I think that's not the word for it."
She waved him off with a flip of her fingers. “Shh. I'm thinking."
"I can't eat this right now, Ma,” I said. “I think I'll go up to my room."
"You sit right there, young man, until I figure this out! Now, let me see.... “A few seconds passed as she stared out the window and I pushed the food around on my plate. Then she swiveled back around, her eyes glowing. “Got it! Oh, I got it now!” She placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “I know why that wonderful man made you promise not to tell me!"
"Not just you, Ma."
"Because.... Oh, that nice, nice man!” she exclaimed, practically hopping up and down in her chair. “Harold, do you remember last winter when me and Mrs. Jones were talking across the fence and how I said I'd give anything in the world to have one of them mechanical bird feeders that moves up and down so you can change the food pans and clean them out but how you, of course, would never take the time to make me one because you're always so busy, dear, and work so hard at the office and need your rest? Well, he's gone and done it! He's gone and made me my mechanical bird feeder!” She stopped long enough to catch her breath and straighten her spine before plunging back in. “Oh, I've got to go over there and thank that man right now.” She got up from the table and started fussing with her hair. “Don't know how he's going to move it all the way over here to our place, let alone what that silly hole's for, but.... Oh, I'm so excited!"
"Sit down, Gladys,” my father said, helping himself to the salad.
"But Harold, my bird feeder!"
"Sit down, Gladys,” he repeated.
"Do you mean?” she asked, starting to sink.
"I mean."
"Oh. Oh, well."
* * * *
I took the opportunity to say, “Excuse me!” and run upstairs. I closed the door behind me and rushed to the window. There it was, no longer The Thing, unknown and mysterious, but The Rocket, exalted and proud, the very knowledge of its true nature too dangerous to share. I closed my eyes and imagined it taking off in the dead of night, flames shooting out from its base, and the deafening roar as it slowly moved upward, illuminating more and more of the neighborhood until the last tongue of fire was no longer licking the ground and it had disappeared into the heavens. The sudden roar of my mother's vacuum cleaner advancing down the hallway woke me from my reverie. By the way she lingered around my door, I knew she wasn't done with me yet. I grabbed my glove, put on my cap, and when I heard her pass my door just a little, I pushed it open and ran to the stairs.
"Billy! Where are you going!” I heard from behind me as she snapped off the vacuum at the sight of my escape.
"Big game, Ma. Gotta run!” I yelled back, taking the steps two at a time. I ran out the front door and then stopped and walked slowly around to the back of our house for another look at The Rocket. Mister Jones was still putting away his tools. I leaned against the fence and watched him until he looked up, then gave him a little wave and ran all the way to Joey's house. I knocked on his front door until he came out, a peanut-butter sandwich drooping in his hand.
"What is it?” he asked between bites, looking at me through his thick, lopsided glasses.
"Let's go!” I tossed the ball into my glove with such force that his mother called down for us to be quiet. “Let's get the guys and get a game up!"
"All right, all right. Relax, will you? What's the hurry, anyway?” he asked, slowly chewing his sandwich.
"I just wanna play. Come on!” I grabbed his glove off the step and shoved it under his arm.
* * * *
When the game was over and we were sitting around on the old wooden bleachers, the conversation took its usual turn toward The Thing.
"My mother said it's gonna be a big antenna,” Little Stevie said, pushing the hair out of his eyes.
"Antenna? That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!” Tony cried. “How's it gonna be an antenna when it ain't even got no ‘lectricity? And besides, it's made all outta wood and ever'body knows an antenna's got plenty of metal in it, tons of metal! How else is it gonna ‘tract them waves?"
"I don't know,” Little Stevie said, looking at the ground.
"Your mom must be stupit or something,” Tony shot back. “And besides,” he smirked, “she wears curlers on her head, so what's she know?"
"I don't know,” Little Stevie mumbled. “She just said—"
"Well it ain't, so you can forget what your mom said."
"What do you think it is, Tony?” I asked, trying to sound casual, what with all kinds of warning signals going off in my mind about how I should just keep quiet about the whole thing. But I hated Tony so much, I couldn't help myself. And even though he was older than us, and stronger, I was tired of how he always picked on Little Stevie.
"What do I think it is? I'll tell you what I know it is,” he answered as he looked us over real carefully. “The other day I was walking down Main Street and old Mister Jones come running up behind me, all excited-like. Says he wants to talk to me, says it's important. Says how he couldn't stand all the stupit things he was hearing about his work and how he had decided to tell me what it was so I could straighten all you jerks out so you'd quit being so stupit. So after I got him calmed down and promised I wouldn't tell no one but that I'd tell you guys you was stupit and wrong, he told me what it was."
Well, you wouldn't believe the ruckus that caused. Everyone was jumping all over the place and begging him to tell. But Tony just sat there until they had all settled down, more or less.
"So that's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna tell you. But only if each and every one of you promises on your mother's eyes not to tell no one else. ‘Cause if you do, he said he would just tear it all down and use the wood to make his fence so high that none of you could watch him no more. Understood?"
After everyone had promised not to tell, even me—partially because I was half afraid that Mister Jones had told him the truth, and partially just to see if it was going to be Tony's biggest lie ever—he said, “All right, then. When it's done, and it ain't done by a long shot, it's gonna be one of them roller coasters like they have at Coney Island, only better. It's gonna have tunnels and everything. It's gonna go up in the sky for half a mile and then all over the neighborhood and down by the school so low you can spit in Miss Thompson's eye. And he said he might even put in a couple of naked women on both sides of the tunnel and have them kiss you when you go by. But!” he added, raising his hand as if to quiet a protesting mob. “He's gonna put me in charge of selling tickets, and if I say you don't get on, you don't get on. Understood?"
I looked over at Joey, who was sitting there with his mouth open, looking off into the sky. I could see his head moving, slowly following the path of the invisible roller coaster as it headed off toward the school and Miss Thompson, an especially attractive target for him. Little Stevie was still looking at the ground. Sammy Tate was, as usual, busy glancing around to see what the others thought before saying anything himself. Then Little Stevie looked up and said, “Wow,” and I knew that Tony had at least one convert.
As for me, I didn't know what to think, especially about the naked women. I could not imagine Mister Jones saying either of those words, let alone one right after the other. But one thing I knew for sure was that Mister Jones would never run down Main Street. Tony was lying and that made me mad.
"That's not true and you know it,” I said.
He looked at me in surprise. “What do you mean, not true? You calling me a liar? Say it again and I'll bust you in the mouth is what I'll do."
No one had ever challenged Tony before, and believe me, I did not want to be the first, but I couldn't keep quiet, not with the others believing Mister Jones would run down Main Street to tell Tony, of all people, about naked women and roller coasters. And although I was afraid to look at him, and especially did not want to see that wispy beginning of a mustache, I felt myself growing taller.
"Ah, you're jealous ‘cause he told me instead of you,” he snarled.
"He did too tell me and it ain't what you said."
"How would you know, you little twerp?” His face began to tighten.
"Talk about stupid!” I yelled, gesturing to the skies. “You can't have a roller coaster going a mile up in the air!"
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah!” I threw back, almost enjoying myself. This was turning out to be easier than I thought, now that I was actually doing it. Like learning how to dive headfirst. Once you've done it, you forget how scared you were.
"Well, what did he tell you it was, then?” he asked with a pretend smile.
Now I remembered why I shouldn't have started this in the first place. “I.... I can't tell you,” I mumbled.
"Can't tell ‘cause you don't know!” he crowed, looking at the others before he turned back and pointed at me. “He wouldn't tell no little twerp like you nothing anyways. He almost didn't tell me ‘cause he especially didn't want you to know!"
That was too much.
"Did too!” I yelled, attempting to make up in volume for what my argument lacked in evidence.
"Well then, what is it?” he asked, feigning great patience and interest.
"It's a rocket and I helped build it—Look at my hands!—and he's gonna fly it at nighttime when no one's there and he's gonna bring me back some flowers from outer space and he wouldn't ever tell you nothing ‘cause you're fat and stupid and mean!” I screamed, my arms thrust in his face.
When the hot rush of words ended, I fully expected Tony to clobber me, now that I had told the truth and exposed him. But he only stood there, staring at me like I was crazy. Then he started laughing. “Rocket! Did you hear that? Says it can't be no roller coaster but it can be a rocket! And,” he sputtered, “Mister Jones is gonna fly out there and bring him back some space flowers! What's it gonna be,” he said, spinning around, mincing his words and trying to stand on his toes like a ballerina. “Red roses from Mars?"
A few of the others started laughing. Sammy Tate looked around nervously, then joined in once he saw it was the thing to do. Pretty soon half of them were up on their toes with their arms above their heads, trying to spin as they cried out, “Roses, red roses from Mars!"
As I stood there, feeling my face grow hot and watching Tony egg the others on, his fat gut swaying under his T-shirt, I got so mad that before I knew it I was flying through the air, fists swinging. I landed on top of Tony and knocked him to the ground, hitting and kicking as hard as I could. I even managed to get in a few punches before he recovered, punched me once real good in the eye, and pinned me to the ground. Suddenly no one was laughing.
"Get off me, you fat, stinking bastard,” I panted, not really knowing what the last word meant but sure that Tony was one. “Stupid, stinking bastard,” I said over and over.
"Take it back or I'll break your arm!” he yelled. I tried to squirm away but he leaned on me until I cried out in pain. “Say it!"
"Fat and stupid, fat and stupid, fat and stupid,” was all I said, as fast as I could. He squeezed my a
rms until tears came to my eyes, but I wouldn't stop saying it until he hit me again.
"Now say it ain't no rocket, neither!"
"Won't,” was all that came from between my clenched teeth.
"Say it ain't no rocket!” Tony hissed as the seconds passed and I did not move. “No rocket!” he yelled in my face.
"Aw, come on, Tony, he don't really think it's gonna be no rocket,” Joey said, breaking the silence. “He's just trying to make us laugh, that's all. Come on, now.” A few more members of the mumble choir joined in, quietly petitioning for my release.
"He's a liar is what he is, and now he ain't never gonna ride on my roller coaster, that's for sure!” Tony's voice went strangely high and broke up like he was going to cry or something. I didn't care. I just lay there, feeling my eye swell up, smelling his lousy breath and hating him.
"You little shit,” he finally said when he saw I wasn't going to say anything else or try to get away. “Don't know why I'm wasting my time on you.” He got up. “You neither!” he added, pointing at Joey, after he had brushed himself off. “You ain't getting on it neither. Now.” He turned around and surveyed the others. “Who else says it ain't no roller coaster?” No one made a sound. “That's right. That's right. ‘Cause if any of you had said so, I woulda gone and told Mister Jones just to go ‘head on and tear it down,” he said, with a dramatic wave of his arm over the heads of his chastened disciples.
"Tear it all down,” he repeated when a few of the guys started to move around a bit. “So watch yourselves.” He picked up his bat and pointed it at the offenders. “'Cause I'm watching you.” Then he turned and smacked our ball over the fence and walked away, whistling.
After Tony left, Little Stevie whispered, “Let's go,” to Sammy Tate, and they both slunk off. That gave the others a chance to do the same. Soon there was only me and Joey.
"Why would you go and do something like that?” Joey finally asked as he walked back and forth behind me. “You must be crazy or something. You know it ain't gonna be no rocket.” I slowly stood up and started walking home. “Hey! Where you going?” Joey called out.
GUD Magazine Issue 3 :: Autumn 2008 Page 15