Later, when she puts us to bed, I lay awake, rubbing the fur of the seat cover, thinking about my father in a tent, maybe surrounded by real monkeys. When the house is dark and quiet, I jump out of bed, grab the video camera, and head to the living room. Mrs. Hannah is asleep on my mother’s bed.
I rewind the footage I taped and play it. The camera work is bumpy and off-center, but it complements the mood of the game. Eddie runs around the house screaming and Mrs. Hannah looks like a large animal let loose in the kitchen. Suddenly, the real Mrs. Hannah is standing behind me.
“Trudy, what are you doing?” Her hair is set in pink rubber curlers.
“Mrs. Hannah, will you do something for me?”
She nods and yawns at the same time.
“Will you sign a release form saying I can use this tape of you?”
She nods yes without asking why and heads back to bed.
Sometimes the best ideas are the ones you don’t plan and make lists about. Here was my show, right in front of me. I could give out information about Eddie without a long and boring lecture. I would show his daily life like that Real World show on MTV. I pop out the tape and go back to bed. But I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about all the things I could tape Eddie doing. Plus, I can edit in some of the home movies I already have.
The next morning, I am so excited, Eddie and I take turns jumping from the couch to the chair, pretending the rug between them is full of alligators.
“I don’t think you should jump on the furniture,” Mrs. Hannah says, still in her robe and matching slippers.
“We do this all the time,” I lie. “It’s good for Eddie’s coordination.”
“Coach Ford says I’m a natural,” Eddie boasts.
We tell Mrs. Hannah that my mother stops at the bakery on the way to school every Friday to buy us warm brownies for our lunches. She doesn’t believe us, but lets us take five Oreos apiece instead. I hide the video camera in my backpack so I can film Eddie on the bus.
“Tru’s going to make me a star,” he tells Jerry, who is sitting next to him. Who knows, maybe he’s right.
“You’re a better Monkey Man than Mrs. Hannah,” Eddie tells me in the schoolyard later.
“I know. She’s too fat to really chase us.” I pack the camera back in my bag.
He shakes his head. “You make better monkey noises.”
I give him a big “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarggggggh,” then head to class.
Things I Am Almost Too Embarrassed—or Feel Too Guilty About—to Enter in My Journal
1. The time after my last Girl Scout meeting when I was talking to two girls in front of Mrs. Jameson’s house and Eddie walked by with Jerry. Marlene didn’t know he was my brother and she started making fun of him. Eddie was at the bottom of the street and didn’t see us. I laughed with her and even imitated him myself. Everyone laughed and Marlene even touched my arm, telling me to stop or she was going to have a heart attack from laughing so hard. That night I told Mom that Girl Scouts was silly and that Mrs. Jameson made us do stupid things like make wreaths out of dry macaroni. Mom said I could quit if I wanted to and I did. When I saw Marlene at school the next day, she imitated Eddie again. I pretended to smile, then hurried into science class.
2. The time last year when I really, really wanted a new CD and I didn’t have any money, so I took Eddie to the record store and showed him the one I wanted and then walked away. He picked it right off the shelf and followed me outside. I tried the plan another time with a pair of earrings, but the manager came out behind Eddie. I ran over and started yelling at Eddie that Mom was going to kill him. The man started sweating and stuttering, took the earrings back, and told us to forget about it. I felt bad that Eddie was nervous on the way home, so I played invisible Monkey Man with him to calm him down.
3. How sometimes I wish I was an only child with no twin and no “special” brother. Then I could walk to Friendly’s for an ice cream and not worry about leaving Eddie behind. And how I wonder what’s going to happen when we grow up, if I’ll end up going to the prom with Eddie because I’ll feel so bad going without him (or if I’ll go with him because no one asks me).
4. How I walk down Corey Street even though it’s a dead end just to see if I can spot Billy Meier in his yard.
5. The fact that underneath all my showbiz talk, I really would be petrified to stand in front of a studio audience.
A Natural Quality
Now that I know what I’m doing for my demo tape, I carry the video camera with me everywhere, careful not to miss a shot. With any other person, it would be difficult to be spontaneous with someone videotaping your every move, but not with Eddie. We directors call that a “natural quality.” Sure, he hams it up every once in a while, but most of the time he’s in that private world of his, oblivious to the camera.
I put the camera on the tripod to tape us at dinner, and stand outside the bathroom while Eddie brushes his teeth. (The station will be getting lots of mail for showing a horror film during prime time.) Mom tapes us while we play soccer and Mr. Taylor lets me leave science a few minutes early to tape Eddie and his class during recess. The tape has a kind of raw quality that I like. Denise says even if she didn’t know us, she’d watch the whole show without flipping channels.
I try to call up any undiscovered twin superpowers to see if Eddie has a clue as to what I’m doing. Again I draw a blank. The only comment he makes is when I play the tape and he watches himself as if he were on a real TV show. “Home Improvement!” he says, and then he sits down to watch himself on screen peeling an orange. I film him watching himself on TV, watching himself on TV, watching himself on TV …
What Eddie Is Thinking—Maybe
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why are all these people moving so fast? What’s the hurry?
Get that camera out of my face!
!!!!!!!!!FIRE!!!!!!!
GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLL!
When will my mother buy me shoes that tie?
Why is my sister wearing that old seat cover and chasing me?
How old am I?
Why does everyone call me Eddie?
Words I Hate
toast
hanky-panky (one word or two?)
aluminum
pessimism
salve
camouflage
puncture
retard
A Little-Known Fact
Did you know that sometimes baby sharks will devour one another while they’re still in the womb? Fighting to their death before they’re even born? Mr. Taylor told us this in class today. Half the class was saying cool, the other half was saying gross, but I was silent. Maybe that’s what I did to Eddie. Maybe I’m some kind of mutant shark person who thrashed and fought in the womb, trying to kill my twin, but instead just ended up handicapping him.
After class, I hang around Mr. Taylor’s desk to ask him about this possibility, but I quickly feel ridiculous and leave. The theme from Jaws echoes in my mind. I shove my head inside my locker to make it go away. Mr. Manning, the principal, asks me why I’m still in the hall. I try to explain, but he makes me sit on the bench outside his office until I calm down. Which will probably be never.
Message on the Net for Me
deedee: Keep those messages coming, trued. You always brighten my day.
(The smiley face is totally goofy, but it is nice to be liked by someone who has never even met you.)
Geography Night
Sometimes my mother gets these ideas that she wants to try out on us. The backgammon tournament ended with Eddie flushing five of his pieces down the toilet—an unsuccessful event even by Walker family standards. But Geography Night has lasted for almost two months, a lifetime around here.
At the beginning of each week, the three of us choose a country as a theme. We read up on the culture, make props, then on Friday night we cook an authentic meal. Last week was Brazil, so Eddie and I wore our soccer uniforms and ate linguica sandwiches. Eddie’s shirt is permanently stained orange from
the sausages.
Since this week’s topic is Australia, I interview Mr. Marshall, the pharmacist, who used to live there. Eddie cuts out pictures from the old encyclopedia Mom got at a yard sale for three dollars. He makes a collage with an emu, a shark, and the real Tasmanian Devil. (Maybe this will get Mom thinking about cartoon characters and she’ll remember that we still want to go to Disney World.) We cook shrimp on the barbie—outside on the grill—and talk in these weird accents that sound British. I film everything for the demo tape.
“Since Australia is surrounded by water, shall we go to the beach?” Mom asks.
I figure this means sitting in the old sandbox again with the sprinkler on. I appreciate her sense of adventure, but sometimes the end result is a little embarrassing. “Nah, we don’t have to,” I answer.
“Yes!” Eddie says. “The beach, the beach.”
“Let’s go, mates,” she says. “For real this time.”
Mom pulls out her straw bag, already packed with towels, a bottle of juice, and a stack of cups. Before I can say “Great Barrier Reef,” we are in the car and heading south.
Because it’s forty-five minutes away, we hardly ever go to the beach in the evening. When we get there, the waves are howling. We spread out the blanket Mom keeps in her trunk, holding down the edges with our sneakers. She has even packed a kite, so we run up and down the shore, screaming in our crazy Australian voices, trying to keep it in flight. I give the video camera to a man walking his dog and he films us running in the sand.
On the way home, we sing the Kookaburra Song, because the kookaburra is a bird from the Australian bush. Eddie falls asleep before we get home and I cover him up with my towel.
When we get back, my mother carries Eddie inside as if he’s a baby. Her strength surprises me. She was quiet on the drive home and as I brush my teeth I figure out why. April 19, today, is the anniversary of my grandmother’s death. I guess spending time at the beach with people you love is as good a way as any to remember her spirit. I’m not sure if bringing it up will make my mother feel worse, so I don’t. Instead, I climb into bed and put my arm around her. The smell of the salt makes me sad, a combination of the sea and her tears.
Grandma; I miss you
—Eddie Walker
Whew!
Finished! I’m still kind of superstitious with this tape, especially now that it’s new and improved. I haven’t shown it to Denise, my mom, or even Eddie. Straight to the judges at the cable company. (It’s hard to use the keyboard with your fingers crossed.)
You know how when you mail a letter, you open the lid a few times afterward, just to make sure the letter goes down into the mailbox? Well, since I have to take the demo tape (references, outline, and essay included) to the post office, I don’t have the opportunity to check and recheck the way I like. The guy behind the counter weighs it, sticks on the postage, and tosses it into a huge basket of mail. That’s my brother’s life on that tape, and hours of my hard work. The woman behind me nudges me to get out of the way; she’s breathing down my neck like some kind of dragon in a sweatsuit, but I stay firmly in place. The postman smiles and tells me my package is safe and to run along. Run along? I’m not some five-year-old who’s going to skip out of the post office singing tra-la-tra-la-la. I ask him for a receipt just so the monster woman behind me has to wait even longer. I know it sounds like I’m being obnoxious, but mailing the tape released a lot of bottled-up energy.
For the rest of the afternoon, I feel like Wendy from Peter Pan, flying around the sky in her nightgown. I beat Miggs to the ball in soccer practice, which I usually can’t do, and finish my algebra without wincing once. (Say that three times fast.) Eddie must notice that I’m in a good mood because he asks to borrow my bike. Not only do I say yes, I volunteer to help him clean his pit of a room. When my mother tells me not to count my chickens before they hatch, I don’t even yell at her for using another cliché. I just shove my hands into my armpits and flap around the kitchen like a chicken, clucking as loud as can be. I wouldn’t even care if Billy Meier saw me.
I’m done!
Love Stinks
(Get ready for this one)
It’s a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, so Mom, Eddie, and I go to the Charles River Festival in Cambridge. There are booths of fried dough, pottery, jewelry, even a puppet show and bands. My mother is talking to some friends and Eddie and I are wandering around the food stalls when suddenly I notice he is wearing a New York Yankees hat.
“Did Mom just buy that for you?” I ask.
He shakes his head, back and forth, back and forth.
“Well, where did you get it?”
He points to the benches near the Charles. “Some guy, Tru. Some guy.”
Not again. I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve had to apologize for something Eddie has taken. I grab his hand and drag him toward the river.
I expect some poor six-year-old to be crying about his missing hat like the last time we were at Faneuil Hall. Or some mother telling me to just go ahead and keep the hat, her son really didn’t want it, as if Eddie were going to contaminate her precious kid’s hat. But what I find is a million times worse.
Billy Meier.
He is facing the water with two of his friends, Joey and Umberto. I take a deep breath and approach them, pretending Billy really knows who I am.
“Uhm, hi,” I say. “Did one of you guys lose this?” I snatch the hat from Eddie’s head and hand it to Billy.
He throws the hat on the ground. “I told him he could have it,” Billy says. “It’s Be-Kind-to-Retards Week, isn’t it?” His two friends laugh. “Besides,” Billy continues, “who wants a hat the three of us peed on, anyway?”
“What?! And Eddie was wearing it? You make me sick. All of you.”
“What are you, baby-sitting or something? Why do you care?”
“He’s my brother,” I say, annoyed that Eddie chooses this exact moment to start drooling on his Celtics jacket. “My twin.”
“Well, that explains it,” Billy says.
“Explains what?”
“I always knew there was something special about you,” he says.
“You did?” My mother would kill me with her bare hands for answering such a lamebrain, but maybe deep down Billy was interested in me.
“Something really special.” He leans forward and touches my chin. “If you’re twins, then you’re probably retarded, too.”
Roaring with laughter, his two friends raise their hands, high fives all around. I want to jump into the Charles, die from hepatitis and have my body wash up onshore so Billy gets blamed for the murder. The worst part is, Eddie is laughing, too. I grab Eddie by the arm and walk away.
“My brother may have special needs,” I call over my shoulder, “but at least he’s not ignorant, rude, or cruel.”
“Have you checked out the booths at the fair? One of them has a great selection of rattles and baby toys.” While he’s talking, Billy walks across the top of the bench as if it’s a balance beam.
I know it’s wrong, but I run to the bench and push him with all my might. He falls to the ground and I turn around and run.
My mother has been looking for us and is annoyed when we finally find her. But as soon as she sees my face, she stops being mad and starts being worried. “What happened?”
“Trudy pushed a guy off the bench,” Eddie laughs. “Wham? Right over.”
I want to kill Eddie for putting me in this situation to begin with. I tell him to shut up and then I tell my mother what happened.
Her forehead is as pleated as the living room drapes. “First, let’s go find out if that boy is okay,” she says.
“If he’s okay?” I scream. “I hope he split his head open!”
“We’ll make sure he’s not hurt, then you can apologize.”
“Me apologize?”
“Just because he was a jerk doesn’t mean you can be one, too.”
“No! He peed in Eddie’s hat, he told me I was retarded.” I can�
��t stop crying. Why did we have to come to this stupid festival, anyway?
She puts down her tote bag and kneels. She rocks back and forth on her knees, stroking my hair, telling me everything will be okay. When I finally stop crying and she gets up, the knees of her jeans are splattered with mud.
“Do you feel well enough to go over there?” she asks. “Or do you want me to go?”
“That would be even worse!” Of course she’s not letting me off the hook. She walks the two of us toward the road.
“Remember those exercises we did?” she asks as we walk. “I want you to take some deep breaths and picture yourself strong and powerful at the top of that mountain.”
Eddie begins taking deep breaths and coughing.
“She’s talking to me,” I tell him. I picture myself in New Hampshire, my feet firmly planted on the nose of the Old Man in the Mountain.
Billy, Joey, and Umberto are sitting on the bench, throwing rocks into the river. “He’s fine,” I tell my mother. “We can go now.”
My mother shooes me toward the bench.
“I’m sorry I pushed you,” I whisper into the collar of my jacket.
“Excuse me?” Billy cups his hand to his ear.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But you asked for it.” My mother won’t be happy with this part of the apology, but too bad.
“I missed the cement base by a few inches,” he says. “Lucky for you I have perfect athletic reflexes.”
Tru Confessions Page 4