Jelly Bean Summer

by Joyce Magnin

  • • •

  Just as Polly and I cross the street in front of my house, I see Dad drive past. He’s headed around the back to park in the driveway. He’s home early. Not that it’s out of the ordinary or anything. Sometimes, he finishes one job and doesn’t want to start another until the next day. I don’t know if he saw us or not—and, well, so what? I could just tell him I was down at the park or in the woods with Polly. No need to sweat it. It’s just nerves.

  I push open the front door and go straight to the kitchen for a glass of iced tea. Man, I’m thirsty. It’s so hot. Hotter than jumpin’ blue heck is what Dad always says.

  I hear his footsteps in the basement and think I might tell him about Brian and ask him to help get a carburetor since Brian’s dad is too busy. Maybe he’s too sad to help too. Maybe he’s even sadder than my dad. Sheesh. A dead wife and a dead son. That’s too much.

  “Hey,” Dad says when he gets to the top of the basement stairs. He can see me in the kitchen from there. Polly saunters over to greet him.

  “Hey, girl,” Dad says with a pat on her head.

  Polly barks and does a little welcome home dance.

  Dad nods at my iced tea. “Looks good. How ’bout getting a glass for your old man?” He sits at the kitchen table, looking hot and tired, even for coming home early.

  “Been crawling around in a crawl space all morning.” He downs his iced tea in one swig. I pour him another.

  “Guess that’s why they call them crawl spaces,” I say.

  “Mother home?”

  “Nah, she’s still at Mrs. Lynch’s, I guess.”

  He shakes his head. “Where’s your sister?”

  “She went to the mall with Sac and Mrs. Rolands.”

  I watch as Dad rubs Polly behind the ears. I’m trying to work up the courage to ask about the carburetor.

  Dad looks at the clock. “I’m gonna go shower and take a nap. Finished the job early.” A moldy smell wafts off him when he stands. His hands are nearly black—like Brian’s, only some of the black on my dad’s hands is permanent from all the years of crawling around dirty pipes.

  “OK, but I wanted to ask you something.”

  He moves near my mother’s African violets and lets out a big, deep sigh. “Mom and her flowers.” He stands near the window, looking out, and sighs again. Guess he didn’t hear me.

  He heads to the steps but stops and looks at the picture of Bud in his army uniform we have on the hi-fi. “Coulda used your help today, son.”

  I decide not to ask him about carburetors because I’d have to tell him about Brian. Then I’d probably have to tell about Brian’s brother, and I don’t think I want to tell Dad that news on top of telling him I made friends with a boy I met on the roof. That’s probably too much for one dad brain to take.

  • • •

  It’s hot outside. Too hot for the roof. Too hot to sit on the roof and think of ways to help Brian get a carburetor. I head for my room since Elaine is out with Sac and the coast is clear. I can rest in my bunk and think.

  Jelly Bean squeals like a banshee when I open the bedroom door.

  “Just me,” I say. “Your mommy is still shopping.”

  I put my fingers through the cage and give the pig a little tickle. She is kind of cute. I especially like the way her heinie wiggles when she runs. “You don’t have any money, do you?”

  The pig doesn’t answer. I lie on my bunk with my arms behind my head. How could I raise money? I could make a little money by doing errands in the neighborhood. Mrs. DiSipio is usually good for a quarter if I make a mailbox run for her. And Mrs. Burrell might give me fifty cents if I unload her groceries in this heat. But Brian needs more than that. He needs cold, hard cash. And lots of it.

  • • •

  After a little while, I hear a car door slam. Must be Elaine home from shopping.

  Yep, she bounds up the steps. Jelly Bean goes wild. Squealing and dancing and wagging her teeny, tiny tail. Like I say, the pig doesn’t know she’s a pig. Now she thinks she’s a dog.

  Elaine opens the cage and gives the pig a quick scratch. “How’s my little Jelly Bean. Miss me?”

  “Gag me.”

  “I thought you moved to the roof,” she says.

  “I did. It’s just too hot there right now. But I’ll go soon enough.”

  “Told you so.”

  “Told me what?”

  “That you couldn’t live on the roof. You’re so stupid.”

  “I can live on the roof. And I’m not stupid, which is exactly why I am not up there now. But I will be.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Elaine reaches into her bag and pulls out a silky, whitish blouse.

  She holds it up to herself and looks in the mirror over her dresser. “Pretty, huh?”

  “Pretty ugly.” I jump from my bunk.

  “What’s with you?” Elaine asks, still looking in the mirror.

  “Nothin’.”

  “Sac and I are going to Sproul Lanes tonight. It’s OK because her folks will be there.”

  “So what?”

  “So you can’t come. Not old enough. Only for teenagers.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She sets the blouse on her bed. “Well, it’s gonna be fun. Bowling, pizza, sodas.”

  I smile with gritted teeth. “See how much I care. I got my own thing to do.”

  “What? Sit on the roof and stare through the binoculars like some kind of Peeping Tom.”

  “No, better. But I ain’t telling you anything.”

  “Because you aren’t doing anything except looking through those stupid binoculars at nothing special.”

  It takes all my strength to keep from telling her about Brian. But I keep it to myself and smile on the inside.

  • • •

  Mom comes home a little while later, and I hope with all my heart that Dad won’t yell at her about helping Mrs. Lynch.

  “Think they’ll fight?” I ask Elaine. She’s on her bunk drawing as usual.

  “Who knows?”

  “Whatcha drawing?” I ask. I get out of bed and try to sneak a peek.

  She quickly pulls her sketchpad against her chest. “None of your business.”

  “UFOs? Spaceships? Little green men?”

  “What if I am?”

  “Let me see.”

  Elaine makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “Oh, all right.” She holds up her sketchpad. The ship is pretty amazing. I don’t see a driver or anything that looks liked a space alien. The saucer is oval but sleek with a rounded bubble top and lights all around and two long antennas with strange eyes. She colored in the yellow lights with her special crayons she claims were made in France.

  “Is that what you saw?” I ask.

  “Yep. But no one believes me.”

  • • •

  Things at the dinner table are pretty quiet. Maybe Dad is still mad at Mom for helping Mrs. Lynch, and Mom is still mad at Dad for not understanding that all she wants to do is help. Maybe that’s where I get it from—wanting to help Brian, I mean.

  Finally, it’s Mom who speaks first.

  “Anything happen at work today?” she asks Dad.

  Dad looks up from his plate. “I was just thinking about something I heard at the hot dog stand.” He pokes at his potatoes. “John told me his brother Hugh—you know, the brother who was in Nam?”

  Mom nods.

  “Seems he’s not doing so good since he’s been back. Real nervous and stuff.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mom says. “I guess it takes time to get used to being home again.”

  Dad swallows, and then he looks over at Bud’s usual place at the table. “Home. I say we make home a real special place for Bud. I say when Bud comes home we have a party. We’ll give him a real hero’s welcome.”
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  “Is that what he is?” I ask. “A hero?”

  “Yep,” Dad says. “We should treat him the way we got treated at the end of World War II. Like heroes, like actual heroes. I was even in a ticker-tape parade in New York City.”

  “For fighting in the war?” I ask.

  “Yep. For fighting in the war.”

  “Wow. I think a party is a great idea.” I meant it too.

  Elaine pushes her peas around on her plate. “If he comes home, you mean. He might never come home.”

  “You shut up,” I say. “He is coming home. You’ll see. Real soon. I just know it.”

  “Now, now,” Mom says. “Of course he’s coming home.” She looks at Dad and says, “So I let the hems out of three of Mrs. Lynch’s dresses today.”

  I guess Dad got over being mad at Mom. He doesn’t say a word.

  “Must be torture to walk through life with all those scars,” she says.

  “Nothing wrong with scars,” Dad says. “They prove something.”

  “Like what?” I ask. I want him to look at me and explain how scars prove anything—anything at all. I have a big scar on my knee from where I got cut on an old, rusty stove left out for trash. All it proved was that I got six stitches and a tetanus shot, which I ended up being allergic to. Then Dad rubs his shoulder. I knew it was where he took a bullet in World War II.

  “Scars prove you survived,” he says, still looking at his plate.

  We all got quiet again because I know every single one of us was thinking about Bud and if he’ll come home with scars. Maybe some pretty big ones.

  We can hardly have a single dinner without everyone’s thoughts going to Bud and wondering about him. Sometimes, I think we could start out talking about how much I hate fractions and somehow we’d end up talking about Bud. It all comes back to Bud.

  • • •

  After supper, Dad sneaks away to his garage as usual to work on whatever secret project he has down there. Elaine gets ready for her big bowling night, and Mom stays in the kitchen as usual, washing dishes and fussing with her plants. I head for the roof, even though it’s still warm and light enough to go play with Linda.

  Every so often, I peer through the glasses—but no Brian. I catch a game down on the field, and I even see Mr. Wilbur go into his bomb shelter. He is carrying a large brown bag. One of these days, I am gonna find a way inside.

  A little while later, Elaine brings Jelly Bean outside. Polly is right there with her, nosing the pig around and keeping her from escaping out of the yard. Elaine calls up to me. “Keep an eye on her, will ya? I’ll bring her back inside in a few minutes.”

  I call down. “Sure.” I really don’t need to keep that close of a watch as long as Polly is on the job. She makes a great shepherd, even though she’s a mutt.

  I see Brian. He waves. I wave. I write a note on the sketchbook: How much does a carb. cost?

  He writes back: $15 at junkyard.

  That doesn’t sound like that much money, but I guess for him, it is. And for me. No way I can come up with that much cash.

  Elaine returns and gathers up Jelly Bean. She’ll leave soon for the bowling party for teenagers. Dad will probably stay in his garage all night, and I’m pretty sure Mom will sit and crochet and watch TV.

  • • •

  The sun is finally down, and the day is starting to cool off, although the air still sticks to my skin. I see Venus come into view and then, blink by blink, a few more stars. I lean back in my beach chair and watch the sky for more stars and more planets and a UFO. One airplane with bright, white lights passes overhead. I think my sister is nuts. If Bud were here looking at the sky with me, he’d think she was nuts too.

  The ladder rattles against the side of the house. I jump up, scared at first—until I see the top of a crew-cut head.

  “Brian,” I say. “What are you doing?”

  “I came to visit.”

  “But you can’t. I mean…”

  “What? Why can’t I?”

  He climbs over the ridge, and there he is. On my roof. Plain as day. The skeleton inside my body rattles.

  “We can’t let my dad see you. He’ll get so mad if he finds out I had you up here.”

  “How come? What did I do?”

  “Nothing. It’s more because you’re a boy for one, a little older than me for two, and, the biggest number three of all, I met you on the roof. Dad will say I could have met any old ax murderer.”

  “I ain’t a murderer.” Brian scratches the back of his neck. “Heck, I can’t even kill spiders.”

  “I know, I know. But I gotta keep you secret.”

  “All right,” Brian says. “Your dad sounds strict.”

  “Kind of strict,” I say.

  Brian walks toward my little camp. “This is nice,” he says. “You got everything you need.”

  “Yeah. So how come you’re here?”

  “Just wanted to visit.”

  I sit on my beach chair. “Sorry. I should get another chair for guests.”

  “No problem.” Brian sits right on the roof. Guess boys don’t care so much about getting their pants dirty. Not that I do either, but Brian is already dirty and greasy from working on his truck.

  We are quiet for a few minutes, both of us looking up at the stars and the moon. There isn’t a cloud in sight.

  “Nice night,” Brian says.

  “Yeah. Pretty clear. Bud and I used to look at the stars a lot. He was really good at pointing out the constellations. I used to pretend I saw them, even though I didn’t.”

  Brian lets go of a soft chuckle. “Yeah. So many stars. Trillions of them. Trillions. Ever wonder what they were for?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I have, but I didn’t think anyone else did.”

  “I do. And all those planets too… What are they for?”

  “To give us something to look at,” I say. “Wonder about?”

  “Ever think there could be life on other planets?” Brian asks. “Like your sister thinks?”

  This time, it is my turn to laugh. Not because of Brian but because of Elaine. “Well, I think she’s nuts. She’s always seeing UFOs.”

  “Yeah, you told me. Ever see one?”

  “Me? Nah. Every time I get to the window or look in the right direction, it’s gone.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing one,” Brian says. “For real, I mean. But I guess there really ain’t no such thing.”

  “I doubt it. But boy, if Elaine was right and—” I stop talking because right at that moment the biggest, brightest idea lightbulb of all times lights up in my brain.

  Eight

  “And what?” Brian asks.

  “I just had a brainstorm. A huge brainstorm.”

  “What?”

  “I know how we can get you the money for your carburetor.”

  “How?”

  “Look, Elaine is a really great artist. She can draw or make anything. I mean it…anything.”

  “That’s great, but—”

  “I bet we can get her to make a UFO. My dad has all kinds of stuff around, metal and wood and junk, except we can’t get into the garage right now… But still, there’s stuff in the basement.”

  “Slow down,” Brian says. “What’s your idea?”

  “It’s simple. We build a spaceship and then sell tickets for people to come see it.”

  Brian really laughs now. He is laughing so hard that he even rocks back and forth. “You’re kidding me. That will never work. No one will believe it.”

  “Maybe not, but…but people are very curious, and if we talk it up, I bet you a million bucks we could raise fifteen dollars.”

  Brian shakes his head. “I don’t know…”

  We both look into the sky again.

  “My mom always loved the stars,” Brian says. “She used
to make wishes on them, and she had a knack for seeing shooting stars a lot.”

  “I bet she’d want us to try.”

  “Let’s do it.” Brian breaks into a smile so big, I think his face might crack.

  “You mean it?” I say. “I mean, of course. It’s a brilliant plan. How could it not work?”

  Brian takes a deep breath and continues to gaze at the stars. I liked to say gaze as in stargazing. It makes the whole thing sound poetic and like you’re waiting for something unexpected to happen while you’re doing it. And sometimes, it does, like when a star falls from its place and shoots through the sky on a whisper.

  We both look into the sky until we hear the garage door. You always know when a garage door is opening.

  “My father,” I say. “He never opens the garage door, not since he started his secret project.”

  I go to the edge of the roof and lean over to see if I can see anything.

  “Whoa,” Brian says. “Careful.”

  “Trash,” I say. “He’s just bringing the trash cans out. But it’s still weird because he always takes the cans out through the back door.”

  “Are you sure he’s doing something secret in there?” Brian asks, joining me at the edge.

  “Yep. It’s not the first time. Last year for Christmas, he made my mother two new lamps for the living room.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “My mother didn’t think so.”

  We go back to the rooftop camp area after the garage door closes.

  “He made them out of copper pipe,” I say.

  “Your mom doesn’t like copper pipe?”

  “The kind he puts in people’s houses. For water to flow through. Pretty weird, huh?”

  Brian shrugs. “Maybe he could make the UFO.”

  “Sure he could. He can make anything, but we can’t tell him because we’d have to tell him about you, and I don’t think he’d be too happy about it.”

  “OK, OK, but I’m telling you, I don’t know how to make a flying saucer—not a good enough one anyway.”

  “Look, how about I get you a drawing of one? Elaine’s always drawing them. You can start there.”

  Brian shakes his head. “I don’t know. I guess a picture will help. But it’s gotta be good.”