Downstairs the TV is going strong and dishes are being stacked in the sink. There is no sound of washing or rinsing or scrubbing, though, because Ellen now claims that, due to the emergence of a new, rare rash on her hands, she can no longer put her hands under water.
1 lie on Amy's bed, wondering what a guy like Elvis had over a guy like me.
I remember the day he died. Amy was asleep on the orange sofa in the family room. We woke her with the news. She sat there making Janice repeat it like ten times. She wouldn't believe us, so 1 got this pink transistor radio and spun through the channels. She thought it was a coincidence that three stations had Elvis songs playing. Then some DJ said that he'd had a heart attack. Amy made her way upstairs and closed her bedroom door.
That night we made Amy's favorite dinner. This was when
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
Momma still did the cooking, when she baked and fried and sau-teed, when she still appeared in public. Arnie helped me take up the food—fried chicken with cole slaw. We set it outside her door and knocked, but she wouldn't eat. Elvis was blaring on her record player; song after song could be heard through the cracks in the floor. You could hear it down the street.
This whole bit about Elvis is to tell you my big sister didn't bounce back that night. In some ways, you could say she's never recovered. One thing is certain—she hasn't forgotten him. One glance at these walls and you'll see what 1 mean.
The door to her room opens, the light flicks on and Amy says, "There you are. We've been looking for you."
"I'm where 1 said I'd be."
"Aren't you hungry?"
I say nothing.
"You all right, Gilbert?"
"I've been better. "
"We've all been better. What does that mean?"
1 go on to explain how, from my perspective, we're eating too much as a family. "There are starving people. Amy, and we're eating like ..."
Amy, not hearing me, calls, "Ellen!" and goes down the hall into the bathroom. Ellen appears with a pad of rainbow paper and a package of colored markers. She'll be taking notes, making lists, etc. She ran for Student Council secretary last year and won, of course. Her motto was "Ellen Grape—Food for Thought."
"Gilbert," Ellen says, "1 hope this is a productive meeting." She pulls a tube or whatever out of her pocket and begins to spread this oil or grease or goop on her lips.
"Jesus, what's with your mouth?" 1 say.
"Lip gloss."
I grunt my disgusted sound.
"What's wrong with lip gloss? Everybody's wearing it."
"Everybody?"
"Yes." Ellen presses her lips together.
"Arnie wears it? And Momma? And the Byers twins? And Lance Dodge? No, no, no. Don't think so."
PETER HEDGES
"You know what I mean."
"I know what you said. You said everybody. You said wrong."
"It's a figure of speech."
"Don't figure with speech. Speak with speech!"
"What's up your butt?" she asks.
She's just a braceless teenager, I remind myself, as Amy opens the door. "Stop it, you two."
I fake a smile as if to say "Whatever you say. Amy." Ellen says nothing, uncaps the lip-gloss tube thing and proceeds to paint a second coat.
"We haven't got much time," Amy says.
"Sure we do," 1 say. "His birthday isn't for a month."
"Twenty days," Ellen pipes up. "If you had bothered to look at the calendar I gave you, big brother, you'd know the time constraint we're operating under."
I can't look at her The glare is too great. "I don't have that calendar, little sister, anymore. ..."
"Well, your tough luck then."
"Arnie used it for toilet paper."
Amy knocks her knuckles like a gavel on her white dresser drawers. Ellen and I fall silent as the meeting has been called to order. "We don't have much time tonight," she says.
"This isn't due to a certain Elvis movie?" I ask.
Amy nods. "It's his best movie. If it wasn't his best ..."
Nobody objects. Amy is always putting others first and she deserves her Elvis fix.
So I sit back and listen to my sisters voice their ideas. Amy says, "Should we go with a lasagna-spaghetti-like dish, hot dogs and hamburgers, or simple sloppy joes?"
I shrug.
Ellen graces us with these words: "Arnie has always seemed like a hot-dog kind of kid. but he is turning eighteen. And as you know, eighteen is the year that signifies adulthood. A plate of pasta might give Arnie a bit more permission to act his age."
Amy listens like a good older sister. She nods and smiles, while I consider laughing out loud. I want to say, "Arnie is a retard, dummy. Feed him anything and he'll still have half of whatever
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
meal on his face, he'll still be climbing the water tower every other day. and he'll act like he's six till the day he dies. " But I say nothing.
Amy must sense that I'm about to rip into Ellen because her hand squeezes my knee.
I seek a constructive route. "Which food is easier?"
Ellen sighs as if my question were the rudest one imaginable.
"I'm only saying that we shouldn't kill ourselves over this. ..."
Ellen blurts out, "Easier is not the issue."
Sensing yet another argument. Amy raises both hands and whispers, "Please, you two. Stop it. We all want this day to be special. It is a kind of culmination of all that our family is."
If Amy only knew the truth of that statement.
As the drone of the plan-making continues, my mind drifts away to everything female. The women in Gilbert Grape's life are too bizarre to believe. His whalelike mother, his oldest sister the Elvis worshiper, his little toothpick sister with her tennis-ball breasts, and Mrs. Betty Carver, his teacher, his whore. And now, the creature from Michigan, a veritable cannibal with pillowlike lips, Becky and her watermelon—this girl might be the weirdest yet.
"We can serve the food outside. ..."
"But if it rains ..."
"We'll serve it inside. ..."
"Of course, sure. What was I thinking?"
"How long till Blue Hawaii?" I ask.
Amy brightens up, checks her digital clock, and says, "Twenty-four minutes."
"Good," Ellen says. "Then we'll have time to go over games and party activities."
"Whew," I sigh. "I was worried we wouldn't get to that." Amy and Ellen both nod and smile. They must think I meant that.
Ellen opens a small purple notepad. "Jeff Lammer's mother's uncle loves to give hay-rack rides on Halloween."
"We know," I say.
"But only on Halloween," Amy says.
PETER HEDGES
"I know. But. Jeff likes me. He wants me. Badly. And If you guys are In agreement, I'll get him to get his mother to get her uncle to do a hay-rack ride on Arnie's birthday. It's not a problem." Ellen smiles. Her eyes dart back and forth between Amy and me, looking for some sign that she has impressed us.
"What do you think about the hay-rack idea, Gilbert?" Amy asks.
"Not much."
Ellen pouts.
"Me either." Amy continues, "I'm leaning more to activities that take place around the house."
"Well, if you don't like that idea, if you can dismiss my well-thought-out plans so easily, I have no choice but to throw away my notes and sketches. Clearly the work I've done has not been appreciated. Clearly you both can plan a better party."
"Ellen, please," Amy says in a panic. "We love your ideas. We love the time and energy and care you're giving. We're grateful for all your work. Aren't we?"'
I just sit there.
"Aren't we happy with what Ellen has done, Gilbert? Gilbert?"
"He doesn't want to answer your question. Amy."
"Oh, I do. Very much I do, but . . ."I fall silent. Ellen starts to gather her things, when a meow sound pierces the air. "Did you hear that?" I ask. Another meow sounds. "Right there. Did anybo
dy hear that?" The noise comes from outside of Amy's bedroom door. "I heard a cat!" I practically shout. "Amy, did you . . . ?"
"Yes!" she says.
"I hope it's a friendly cat! Are you a friendly cat?"
During this exchange Ellen takes out her lip gloss and coats her mouth a third time.
"Hello, kitty! Are you friendly or are you mean?" The "cat" answers back with a meowlike "Yes."
Amy asks, "Yes, are you friendly or yes, are you mean?" No noise comes in response. The cat must be confused.
"I hope the cat is friendly, Amy! Don't you?"
The cat barks once, twice.
"The cat is being silly," I say.
"The cat is talented," Amy says.
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
"The cat is stupid!" Ellen screams. "The cat is retarded!"
I tackle Ellen on the bed, my hands cover her mouth. My palms get gooey from her greasy, oily lips. She claws me, her red nails scratch my neck and pinch my arms. Arnie pushes open the door and runs into the room. He leaps into Amy's arms. They watch as Ellen and 1 wrestle. He whoops and hollers. "I fooled you, didn't I? Didn't 1!"
"Yes, Arnie." Amy is looking at me like she wishes 1 were dead.
"No way is Ellen going to get away with calling him names," I want to say. 1 stop the attack and roll off. She slaps me twice, but I don't do anything except close my eyes with each impact. Arnie imitates Ellen by hitting Amy about the head until she stops him. Ellen covers up her notes and papers so Arnie can't see them, even though he can't read. "The party is supposed to be a surprise," she says.
The phone rings.
Ellen and 1 both say, "1 got it," and race to the phone, which sits on the bookcase full of Nancy Drews in the hall. Ellen beats me to the phone—1 don't know how—and when she answers she says, "It's me, hi!" as if she knows the phone is for her.
Who am I kidding though? The phone is always for Ellen.
But this time she listens for a second, drops the receiver, and walks away. She goes into her pink-and-white bedroom and closes her door.
I pick up the phone.
"Hello?" I say. "Who's this?" I hear this hiccup come from the other end. "Hey, Tucker."
"How'd you know it was me? I didn't say (hiccup) nothing yet."
"Somehow 1 just knew."
"Oh." (Hiccup.) "Gilbert, you need to know that a miracle has happened. In our town. In this state. Your buddy Tucker has had one hell of a day."
Amy must be tickling Arnie, because he's giggling loud. Ellen is in her room probably braiding her pubic hair, and downstairs, every five or so seconds, the channel changes as Momma looks for suitable family entertainment.
"You got a moment?"
PETER HEDGES
I don't answer. No answer to Tucker means "Yes."
"So Bobby McBurney had to go because somebody died in Motley. He drives out of ENDora OF THE LINE. I head back home thinking the day has been a total bust, when I see that girl, walking her bike, struggling with a watermelon. I pull up next to her and ask if she'd like a ride."
"Did you drop her oflF?"
"Yeah, but wait till you hear."
"Where does she live?"
"I'll get to it."
"Where does she live?"
"Let me finish!"
"Tell me!"
"I'll get to it!" He shouts this so loud that I hold the receiver a foot out from my ear. 1 wait until he's quiet. When I bring the phone back, a scream comes from downstairs. Momma's scream. "AMY! ELLEN! ARNIE! COME HERE! COME HERE!"
"Gotta go," I say to Tucker, slamming the phone down. Amy is out of her room fast; Arnie follows; Ellen, too. I would have been the first downstairs but I jam my big toe on Arnie's Tonka cement mixer. 1 hop down the stairs, holding my foot. When 1 get to the bottom. 1 find Momma pointing in silence at the TV. Amy and Ellen stand around her watching, and Arnie puts his face right up to the screen.
"Sit back, Arnie," Amy says. "Sitting so close is bad for your eye."
"What is it?" I ask.
Momma says, "SHHHHHH!"
Amy turns to me and whispers, "It's a special report, ..."
Momma again, like a sea wind, "SSSSSHHHHHH!"
Lance Dodge is on TV. He is in a light blue shirt and a red tie with white dots. He looks like a subtle flag. He is reporting live in front of a suburban house. A large crowd stands behind a yellow-taped line. Police are milling behind him.
"Thank you. Rick," Lance says. "A shocking, sordid tale. A family. Three daughters, two successful, hard-working parents, and a demented lonely son. Today, everything cracked for Timothy
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
Guinee. It appears that he came home after a week in Lincoln visiting some of his college friends. He bought a gun somewhere cdong the way. loaded it, and waited until dinnertime. While his family was eating dinner he proceeded to shoot them dead. Victims include his parents, Richard and Pam, his sisters, Brenda, Jennifer, and Tina, and their pet dog."
"Can you believe it?" Amy says.
"Lance is soooo cute," Ellen says.
"His head is soooo big," Arnie says, trying to touch him through the TV.
Lance interviews a few of the shocked neighbors. They express their dismay, their horror. "Such a lovely family, such good people."
Amy says, "Why does it always happen to the good people?"
Lance speaks with the police chief. Everyone is shaken. Lance turns to the camera and says, "Rick, it's impossible to describe the feeling here. The shock. I'm Lance Dodge in West Des Moines, reporting live." He shakes his head as the announcer says, "This has been a special report. More at ten. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming."
Momma turns the TV to mute. There's a short silence where none of us know what to say.
I look around the room at my sisters and mother and retard brother. I see the sagging floor, the wilting house. I smell the garbage in the kitchen, feel the dirt and dust in the carpet, the mildew of my clothes, and I understand wanting to erase this place, erase these people.
Momma's doughy head begins to shake, her fat hands make fists and she shouts, "Popcorn!"
"Yes, Momma."
Amy goes to the kitchen. She pours the kernels into a pan and it sounds like little bullets. Arnie tries to stand on his head, while Ellen goes off for some time about the beauty, the humanness of Lance Dodge. Only Momma senses whatever is going on in me. "Gilbert, why would he do that? Why would a boy kill his family?"
"Because. Because he . . ."
"Because he hated them?"
PETER HEDGES
"Not hate. Because he thought ..."
"He must have hated them. Didn't he know he had other options?"
"I don't know. Momma."
"He could have left by the same door your daddy did, couldn't he? Not that I advocate that option. God knows. He also could have just walked out the door, walked away from it."
"Yes, but ..."
"Yes but what?"
"Maybe he didn't feel that he could leave them."
"Well, he could've. "
"Maybe he felt that they couldn't manage without him. That he was integral to their uhm ..."
"To their what?" Momma lights a cigarette.
"To their survival."
Momma laughs like "how absurd." She hits the mute button and the sound returns to our TV. Ellen has gone upstairs to gab on the phone, Arnie waits with Amy for the popcorn to start popping. Momma changes channels, and I stand motionless.
21
G<
'ilbert, don't go."
"Who said 1 was going anywhere?"
"I can tell, Arnie can tell. You're gonna go." The bubbles from the bubble bath are in his hair and cover his face. "You're goin' down to Elvis. And just when we're starting to have fun. Just when." He holds his head under the water and stays down longer than ever before. When he pops up, his mouth sucks in air and he says, "This is better than Elvis."
"That's right."
"Yeah, the girls are wat
ching Elvis. Ugh."
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
I'm sitting on the linoleum floor outside the tub. Every few minutes Arnie turns on the hot water to warm it back up. Tonight his entire collection of bath toys are floating in the water—the plastic speedboat, the sponge basketball set, his water goggles, which he never wears.
"Gilbert."
"Yeah?"
"I hate Elvis. 1 hate him."
"You dont hate anybody. You don't like him is what you mean to say."
"Nope."
"You shouldn't hate anybody."
Arnie shakes his head in disagreement.
"What did Elvis ever do to you? Huh? You can't hate somebody who never hurt you."
Arnie points to where his left eye used to be.
"Wow, Arnie. You remember that?"
He nods.
The day Elvis died was the same day that Arnie lost his left eye. It wasn't like he misplaced it or anything. Momma was worried about Amy, who'd been locked for hours in her room, grieving and crying. So she sent my older brother. Larry, who was twenty, out for beer. Then, Janice, who was fifteen at the time, and Amy, who was twenty-two, and Larry spent the evening in the attic getting drunk. They played those annoying early Elvis songs and danced and made much too much noise. Meanwhile Ellen, Arnie, me, and Momma watched TV downstairs. Momma sent Arnie up to borrow some cigarettes. The dart board was on the back of the attic door. Arnie opened it just as my older brother was throwing, and the dart stuck in Arnie's eye, and Janice screamed out, "Bull's-eye!" They were so drunk they found it funny.
"It hit right here and it hurt. It hurrrrrtttt."
"I bet it did."
"Ow. Ow. "
"It doesn't hurt anymore, though, does it?"
PETER HEDGES
"No."
Arnie's eye was a goner and for a while he wore a patch that did not in any way make him look like a pirate.
"They flashed the light the whole way," he says.
Momma arranged for an ambulance to drive her and Arnie to Iowa City, where there are specialists in that kind of thing. His proudest moment is that the ambulance driver flashed the light the entire length of the trip. They didn't use the siren, Arnie told me once, not until he begged them. He said that people are nice to a one-eyed kid.
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