What's eating Gilbert Grape?

by Hedges, Peter

  "Great," 1 say.

  There's a glorious silence while he struggles to think of a new topic of conversation. He checks one of the boards. "This is warped."

  "It doesn't matter."

  "It matters to me."

  "No one is going to come down here. This is not for show-and-tell. This is purely a functional project we're engaged in here."

  "I know this. Don't you think 1 know this?"

  I rub my nose with the palm of my hand because hearing this guy talk makes me want to sneeze him into oblivion.

  "I'm a believer in the very best for the very best people. Your mother is one of the best people. "

  I want to say that my mother is a cow. But instead I say, "We should finish, because 1 work at noon."

  "Oh. Are you rubbing that in?"

  "Rubbing what in?"

  "That you have a job and 1 don't."

  "No. Not rubbing in anything. Merely saying that I have to work today. So let's hurry."

  "I'm planning to get a reaZ job."

  "Yeah, 1 know you are."

  "The Burger Barn could benefit from people like me. I'd like to be an assistant manager. Give me a title, give me power."

  I say, "Let's get going," when Amy flicks the basement light off and on fast.

  Tucker gets twitchy. "What's going on up there? What's going on?"

  The basement goes from light to dark to light.

  "She's awake."

  "Who is?"

  What's Eating Gilbert Grape

  "The beached whale."

  "Gilbert."

  "We've got to wait."

  I lie down and close my eyes. "Hopefully, Momma won't look outside and see all the wood left in your truck."

  Tucker paces about. "If you'd just tell her—if you'd just be honest with her ..."

  "No."

  "But isn't honesty the best ..."

  "Sorry, Tucker."

  "But ..."

  "This is the way it's got to be."

  The only sounds upstairs are that of the TV changing channels and Amy's muffled voice.

  "Oh, Gilbert, man oh man. Have I got some news or what? I was going to call you."

  "Yeah?"

  He kneels beside me. "I drove out this morning to the Future Site of the Burger Barn, you know?"

  "Don't tell me they've already started building it."

  "Yes! But there is something else that I saw. ..."

  1 say to Tucker that I don't care about the Burger Barn. "I will never eat there," 1 say.

  "This isn't about the Burger. ..."

  "Tucker, just thinking about this gives me reason to die. So will you please shut up!"

  At this point, a creaking and cracking noise starts moving our way. Tucker stands, he's suddenly nervous. "Holy Jesus. Holy God. What is going on up there?"

  I explain that Momma's heading for the bathroom.

  "No way." He looks up and starts to hyperventilate. We stare at the basement ceiling. Each step Momma takes makes cracks in the paint. "It's like she's drawing a road map."

  "Jesus," Tucker says, holding his arms above his head to protect himself from the falling plaster.

  It takes Momma many minutes to get to the bathroom. The creaking stops as she gets situated. Amy turns on Ellen's stereo

  PETER HEDGES

  with Elvis s Aloha from Hawaii album and his version of "Suspicious Minds."

  "That's our signal," I say. We sprint up the stairs and grab all the remaining wood.

  It takes three more trips to get all of it downstairs. As Tucker and 1 shoot out of the house, Amy turns off Elvis. We get in our respective trucks. Standing in the doorway. Amy starts to give us the thumbs up but turns away suddenly. Momma must have flushed.

  Our trucks race up the street. We turn left on Vine and pass the Methodist church. I slow down when I see Ellen dragging Arnie by the ankles. The retard is on the ground, clawing at clumps of dry grass, effectively slowing Ellen down. She grabs his hair and pulls up hard. 1 hit my brakes, jump out of my truck. "Stop it! Stop it!" She lets go of his hair, brushes her bangs out of her face, and smiles in her this-didn't-just-happen way.

  "You little bitch," I shout, crossing the street.

  Arnie curls up into a little ball. Ellen starts to cry. "What am I supposed to do? He won't come home! I've tried everything! Candy! Bribery! Sexual favors! Nothing will get him home and I've uhm I've uhm ..."

  "You've uhm what?"

  "You know—things to do."

  "You hit him again ..."

  "He's been eating the leftover bits of popcorn. It's all muddy and dirty. ..."

  "You hit him again and I'll ..."

  Ellen holds her face in such a way as to make certain I see her tears.

  As a brother and as a Grape, I put up with a lot. My sisters, my mother, this town. I will endure anything. But one thing I will not allow. No one hurts Arnie.

  I will kill for that kid.

  "I wasn't hitting him exactly. ..."

  "You pull his hair or touch him even. I swear I'll kick your ass."

  "Aren't you the tough one?"

  What's Eating Gilbert Grape

  The retard is crawling back across the field like an army man. I walk over, lie down next to him, and say, "I've gotta go to work. Somebody has got to be at home protecting Momma and Amy. Even Ellen. Will you be their protector? Will you be their guard? I'm counting on you, buddy."

  He lies there motionless as he thinks hard; then he nods without looking at me. He stands, gives me a salute, and starts toward our house. Ellen says nothing and follows. Hold his hand or give him a squeeze or something, I want to say. I'm tempted to throw a rock, when she turns and mouths, "Thank you."

  They walk home, never touching.

  As I go to my truck, I call over to Tucker who has been a spectator to all of this. "And you want to date that monster?"

  "I did want to. Not anymore."

  Happy days are here. "How great. You've finally seen the light. You finally got my point." Suddenly this is shaping up to be a breakthrough day for Tucker.

  "Let me clarify," he says.

  I walk right up to his truck. I've been waiting years for some clarity from this guy.

  "Your sister is a kind of Miss Iowa material. Sexy, appealing, corn-fed look. Okay? She's still incredible by every uhm stretch of uhm whatever it is that stretches."

  "Your imagination."

  "Yeah, right."

  "For the record—1 don't agree."

  "I know. Hey, do we uhm have to discuss this in the middle of the road?"

  "Think so. This could be the happiest day of my life."

  "Okay. You see, I was trying to tell you this earlier. This morning, when I was at the Future Site of . . ."

  "Yeah, I know where you were. "

  "I saw this girl. On a bike. Jesus, Gilbert. It was religious."

  "What?"

  "Well, you've never seen a girl like the one I saw this morning."

  "You saw a girl?"

  "Not 'a' girl, Gilbert. The' girl. The 'ultimate' girl."

  PETER HEDGES

  "Does she have black hair?"

  "That's all I'm gonna say."

  "Is she about this tall?"

  He shrugs.

  "Do you know her name?" In desperation I add, "She's a friend of mine."

  Tucker throws back his head and laughs like some sea creature. "Yeah, right—a friend of yours?" He cackles and giggles and rips out of there.

  I jump for my truck. It takes a few tries before starting. He is long gone. I accelerate fast, chasing after him.

  16

  X acker's truck is at the Ramp Cafe. I pull in and park between it and the McBurney's Funeral Home hearse. Beverly, the waitress, is taking Tucker's order when I get inside. She sees me, fakes a smile, and goes back to the chef, who also happens to be her father. Earl Ramp. Beverly never writes down her orders; she has this incredible memory. She can't seem to forget the numerous cruel things 1 did to her in grade school. She was one o
f those tall, bony girls that made a guy feel like a nothing. She also has a cherry-red birthmark on her neck the size of a small Frisbee. One day, when I was in fourth grade and she was in sixth, I wet a paper towel and gave it to her to wash it off. Everybody found it pretty funny except Beverly. She's never had a sense of humor. Tucker is sitting with Robert McBurney, Jr., son of Robert Sr., and heir to the finest mortuary in the county. McBurney's Funeral Home is located in Motley. They do all the major burials in these parts. They do cremations, too. Bobby, as his intimate friends call him, has been away guest teaching at funeral school and has recently come back and is working hard. He is dressed in a funeral-

  What's Eating Gilbert Grape

  black suit with a white handkerchief sticking up, his red hair immaculate, his face dotted with pink freckles.

  "Bobby—welcome back."

  He looks up. "Oh, thanks, Gilbert. How've you been?"

  We talk small for a while. Tucker's pancakes come, Bobby is eating eggs, and Beverly forgets to take my order. "Beverly?" 1 ask.

  "What?"

  "I'm feeling a little famished. Could I get a slice of toast? Butter, grape jelly. The works." Beverly walks by without acknowledging my order and under her breath says, "Get it yourself, you fruit." I want to say, "Fruit is what is on your neck," but what would be the point?

  Tucker pours his syrup and says, "So you saw her, too, Bobby?"

  "Why do you think I'm over here?"

  "I was wondering ..."

  "The talk in Motley is only about this girl."

  Tucker says, "Not only is she gorgeous and beautiful, she's not bad-looking either." Tucker was born backward.

  Bobby says, "1 haven't seen her yet. But I've heard plenty."

  "So," Tucker continues, "you drove over here to find her?"

  "No, not exactly." Bobby licks the leftover egg off his fork. "Nobody's dying these days, and when it's slow Dad sends me into other towns to drive the hearse around—get some free publicity. Remind people of the McBurney option."

  I say, "You're the only funeral home we got around here."

  "True, Gilbert, but even then you have to remind people that you exist. People forget McBurney's Funeral Home. They begin to take us for granted."

  "I know what you mean, Bobby," I say.

  "Well," Tucker starts to say. He's about to put an entire pancake into his mouth. "We're preventing you from some business, I'm afraid." Bobby looks confused. Tucker stuffs his face but somehow manages to keep talking. "Gilbert's momma. We're fixing the floor so she ..." Under the table my shoe finds his shin. He stops.

  Bobby's interest is piqued. He says, "Go on."

  "No," Tucker says. "It's rude." He tries to swallow. "You know, talking with my mouth open?"

  PETER HEDGES

  Bobby is adamant. "Please don't go preventing my family from doing business. You know, as Americans we have a duty to die."

  Thinking quickly, I say, "You guys buried Mrs. Brainer, didn't you?"

  "Oh yes. We do pretty much all the schoolteachers."

  Tucker stops. "Mrs. Brainer? She . . . ?"

  1 say, "Come on, you knew that she died."

  "No, I didn't!"

  "Well, she's very dead. Tucker, and the McBurney Funeral Home planted her deep, didn't you?" Bobby nods. "Tucker and me had Mrs. Brainer in the second grade. "

  "She must have been a great teacher," Bobby surmises.

  "Why's that?"

  "Big funeral. Many of her former students were there."

  Tucker, starting to choke up, says, "I would've been there. I didn't know she died. Damn. "

  "Lots of people, huh?"

  "More flowers, too, than 1 remember in a long time. Apparently she was a real happy lady. "

  Tucker says, "She had a smile for every student, every day."

  I change the subject by asking Bobby what the procedure is when a person dies. He explains that he and his dad will drive to get the body. They bring it back to the funeral home. And while the family picks out a casket from their "impressive" selection room, the body is taken downstairs and embalmed. A process that sounds a lot like pickling to me. The dead person is stripped. I ask him what it is like to see someone he might have known, naked.

  "Seeing them, you know, one day walking the streets—waving to their friends—and then, the next day, lying on the slab. It's harsh. It's fun, too. You live life differently when your primary contact is with the dead."

  "You ever, you know . . . ?" Tucker is trying to articulate one of his obscure thoughts. "You ever uhm . . . ?"

  "What?" Bobby is patient.

  "You know, fool around with one of the bodies?"

  What's Eating Gilbert Grape

  "No!"

  "You ever think about fooling around?"

  I go, "Tucker, please."

  "The worst we do—and I tell you guys this in confidence—the worst we do is take the ugly people—^you know, the grotesque ones, and make jokes about them. Harmless jokes, though. I mean, after all, the people are dead. They don't hear us. My dad and me—we make some great jokes. We'll just look at their naked bodies and laugh and laugh. But it doesn't hurt anyone. No one even knows we do it."

  "Now me and Gilbert know."

  "Yeah, but who are you guys?" Bobby sets down his fork, having cleaned his plate. He wipes his mouth with his silk handkerchief.

  Tucker says, "You ever worry that the dead are watching, though? You know, from up above somewhere."

  "No."

  Tucker says, "Oh." There's a lull while he ponders this. Maybe he'll be quiet for a while.

  I ask, "What jokes did you make about Mrs. Brainer?"

  "None. She had this smile on her face that made her so endearing. The most endearing dead person 1 ever remember. My dad thought so, too."

  "She was a great teacher," Tucker pipes up.

  "I guess so, because you hardly ever see flowers like the ones she got. Students from Chicago and Minneapolis even. Most impressive was a Dick and Jane reader series arrangement sent from Des Moines. Lance Dodge the newscaster sent them. "

  "NO WAY!" Tucker is in shock.

  "I'm not lying. The arrangement must have cost three hundred dollars."

  "Lance Dodge was in Gilbert's and my class," Tucker says in hopes that this will impress.

  "Really?"

  I nod.

  "Gilbert and me have known him since like we were two. "

  "He moved here when we were seven," I say.

  PETER HEDGES

  "Lance is you guys' age?"

  I nod.

  "I thought he was older. He's done so much for a young guy."

  I don't nod. "We all had Mrs. Brainer."

  "Well, people were mighty impressed with the floral display he sent. He must be quite a guy."

  Finally my toast arrives, cold and with no jelly on the side. Beverly continues to seek her revenge.

  Out of nowhere Tucker begins this giggling/laughing/hacking attack that he can't stop. "Oh God. Remember. Oh my God. No wonder he sent those flowers."

  Bobby is turning pale. Apparently he's never suffered through a Tucker laughing spell.

  "Second grade—Jesus!"

  "Breathe, Tucker, " I say, imploring him to slow down.

  "How could I have forgotten?"

  Bobby encourages Tucker by saying repeatedly, "What happened? What happened?"

  "It was before afternoon recess. 1 look over and Lance Dodge is sitting in a puddle of his own piss. It had run out his pants, down his chair. Remember how she made him clean it up in front of everybody and he started crying? He was such a pussy. Lance was. Gilbert—remember that?"

  1 shove the small plate of toast crusts at Tucker. Then I slide out of the booth and stand.

  "Gilbert? Hey! Where you going?"

  I leave the Ramp Cafe and drive home.

  Ellen is sunbathing on the front lawn on the nicest towel we own. She says nothing to me and I'm in the house fast. I run the water faucet in the kitchen sink and fill a half-g
allon jug and proceed to chug every drop of water. The phone rings. Amy Ccdls to me. "It's Tucker!"

  "Tell him I'm not here."

  1 put my mouth up to the faucet and gulp down as much as I can. My stomach is stretched full with water. Amy comes into the kitchen as I turn the faucet off.

  What's Eating Gilbert Grape

  "He was calling about toast. Apparently you forgot to pay for some toast."

  I take a paper towel and dry my mouth.

  "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

  "At twelve."

  "Oh."

  1 ask what time it is while I'm heading for the front door.

  "Eleven thirty-fiveish."

  "Great! Bye, Amy."

  Ellen is rubbing lotion on her stomach as I shift my truck into reverse. Arnie has climbed the willow tree out back and is shaking a branch as if to wave. 1 wave back and drive away.

  I pull into the parking lot of my old school. It is red brick, and the windows have been boarded up since it closed seven years ago. I went there for thirteen years. The summer after 1 graduated they closed it down due to declining enrollment. There are those who think the building should be torn down—as it has no apparent use. They'll never do it, though. Too many memories for too many people.

  I sit in my truck and remember going there. 1 look at the rusty playground equipment. The slides and swings are smaller now. I listen for the sounds of kids playing at recess, but there is only quiet. I lift my T-shirt and wipe the sweat off my face. Minutes pass.

  When I spin out of the parking lot, my truck kicks up gravel. I hit Highway 2, the curvy, twisting highway, going twenty-two miles over the speed limit. I'm at the county cemetery in no time. I park to the far side. 1 walk to a certain grave where the dirt is brown and freshly dug. There is no tombstone yet—just a slip of paper, a tag, that identifies the deceased. My father had the same type of tag seventeen years ago. 1 guess dying never changes. An old woman is over near where Dad is buried, so I face away from her. My desire is not to offend the innocent. 1 am ready. I unzip my pants and proceed to pee all over Mrs. Brainer's grave.

  PETER HEDGES

  I speed back to town with my radio blaring. I sing along to a song by one of those whatever-happened-to-them? groups—Bach-man-Turner Overdrive.