Spitting Image
Page 17
But I have to wash mine out good first. I was trying to teach Mr. Perkins to do somersaults and the bra made a good trampoline. Only he didn’t feel like jumping. He just sat on it and peed.
Some things are still the same. I still get mad. But now I stop and remember Mr. Whitten all red in the face when he saw that Ol’ One Eye was dead, or Doyle, mad and just kind of flinging that gun around. When I think of those things, I can usually simmer right down. If not, I still count—sometimes. Or I think about Robert and how calm he stays, and I try to do the same. I’ve even got something helpful to say if DeeDee or Lorelei ever makes me mad again. I’ll say, “You’d look better without cotton balls stuffed in your bras.”
Last night while Mama was doing supper dishes, there was a knock on the kitchen door. Mr. Perkins and I were in the hallway. I picked him up and we peeked around the corner to see who had come.
Adam was there with his cap in his hand. He kept turning it around and around, like he couldn’t decide which was the right way to hold it. Every so often he’d glance down and act surprised that he had it in his hands instead of on his head. It was funny to see him so nervous.
Adam asked Mama to go out to the Roadside Grill! I sucked in my cheeks and slid down to sit on the floor. Say yes . . . say yes . . . say yes . . . say yes, I started repeating to myself. Please, please, Mama, say yes!
It seemed to take her forever to answer him. Mr. Perkins and I were very still, waiting to hear her answer. We had almost given up on her, when Mama said, “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
When I walked into the kitchen a little later, Mama was sitting at the table with a kind of dazed and happy look on her face. I sat down and tapped my fingernails on the tabletop. I figured now was a pretty good time to ask Mama’s permission for something I wanted to do.
I cleared my throat and said, “Grandma asked me if I wanted to go to Nashville with her over Christmas break.”
“She did?” Mama asked. “What are you going to do there?”
“Grandma said it was a scouting trip.”
“Oh, Lord,” Mama sighed.
About the Author
SHUTTA CRUM, formerly a librarian, is still an author and storyteller. She was born in Paintsville, Kentucky, and now lives with her husband in Michigan. Her website is www.shutta.com.