You May Already Be a Winner

by Ann Dee Ellis

  And I said yes way.

  And he said he ate tons of stuff that had been on the floor for hours.

  I said gross.

  “And besides,” he said, “you could find that out by the internet, not TV.”

  “I found it out on TV.”

  “So.”

  “So, TV is good.”

  He sighed. Then he said he knew a guy who spent his entire life in front of the TV and his family was like, come to the park, and he was, like, no I have to watch a rerun of Lost. And they were, like, have Christmas with us, and he was, like, no, I have to see if blah blah does blah blah. He even had a toilet installed in the couch.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He had a couch where the middle cushion had a hole in it for the toilet.”

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  “I’m not,” he said.

  I said, “Oh.”

  Then he told me that it was a myth that people couldn’t drink a whole gallon of milk at one sitting. I said, “No one can do that.” And he said, “Someone could, if it was skim for sure.”

  He said next time he came over he’d show me.

  Next time is what he said.

  He smelled like bananas. And sweat. And his arm was touching mine. And he said next time he was going to drink a gallon of skim milk.

  My heart was pounding out of my chest. I had no idea what was happening but I hoped it was never going to stop.

  Next, he told a story about a creepy man who sat in his front window and waved at people all day.

  “That seems nice not creepy,” I said.

  “Really? You don’t think it’s weird to spend your whole day staring out the window watching people?”

  I felt a little stupid then because mostly all Berk and I did was watch people.

  At lunch we ate tuna fish sandwiches, which I made with Doritos sticking out which is my private recipe, and soft batch cookies that Mom bought at Big Lots and that we were supposed to save for Sunday dinner.

  I brought out a plate of everything and was going to ask if he wanted some but he grabbed a sandwich before I could get a word out. He even said it was delicious, which it was.

  After lunch he gave Berkeley a Jolly Rancher and she said, “What’s this?” and he said, “It’s for you,” and she said, “I can’t have hard candy,” and he said, “Sure you can.”

  Berkeley looked at me. My mom tried to be strict about suckers and things because we didn’t have a dentist.

  Normally I would’ve said don’t eat it. I might’ve even taken it from her and thrown it away, but for some reason I felt a little different.

  So I said, “It’s up to you.”

  And she said, “Really?”

  And I said, “Yep.”

  And so she ate it.

  From then on, Berkeley loved Bart.

  She kept asking him things like, “Do you like princesses?”

  And he kept saying things like, “No.”

  And she said, “What about mermaids?”

  And no. He did not like mermaids.

  Did he like hair?

  He did like hair but only certain types of hair.

  She asked what kind of hair.

  He said, “I like curly hair,” and I swear to you he glanced at my hair which is so curly you can’t even straighten it with an iron and I tried not to notice. “And long hair. And Mohawks.”

  I thought this was funny because his hair was straight and short.

  She said, “What’s a Mohawk?”

  And he said, “You know what a Mohawk is.”

  And she said, “No I don’t.”

  And he acted very upset and I tried not to laugh. He said, “Berkeley, right?”

  And she said, “Yes,” and he said, “A Mohawk is probably the best hairdo you can ever have.”

  She said, “It is?”

  And he said, “Yes.”

  And she said, “Do princesses have them?”

  And he said, “Cool ones do.”

  They talked like that for a long time, which I thought was weird but also nice. Sometimes we talked to a lot of people in the neighborhood. Other times, especially if Delilah was out of town, we could go days without anyone talking to us. Even Mom was too tired to talk.

  So he was nice.

  And weird.

  But nice.

  As the sun lowered in the sky and everyone was getting home and yelling and throwing footballs and softball practice plus more joggers, he said, “I better go.”

  He stood up, the tramp gently bouncing. And I realized I hadn’t asked him the two most important questions I’d been waiting to ask and soon he was going to be gone.

  “Wait,” I said as he jumped off the tramp.

  He turned and looked at me.

  I said my number one: “Why were you looking in that trailer?”

  He said, “What trailer?”

  I said, “That trailer,” and I pointed across the road.

  He acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about.

  “We saw you looking.”

  “Oh that,” he said. “I would tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “What?” I said.

  Then he said, “FBI stuff.”

  “Huh?”

  Then he said, “I have to go.”

  FBI stuff? What was he talking about? But he was getting ready to go so then I asked him the second question, which was much worse than the first. I said, “Are you coming back?” I felt dumb immediately.

  He smiled. “Yes. I’ll bring milk.”

  He had a lot of freckles and bright blue eyes and a dimple.

  He reminded me of a boy in a movie. I didn’t know what movie or anything, but just someone who would be in a movie. Someone interesting. Someone different.

  He said, “See ya.” And I said, “See ya.” And Berk said, “See ya.”

  And he was gone.

  ............

  Dear Dad,

  I have a new friend. His name is Bart and he’s going to run a hundred miles in a race. He also knows a lot about a lot of different things. I think you’d like him. Also, he makes my heart hurt. Please disregard that I just said that unless you have something you could tell me that would be advice.

  How are the hoodoo rock formations? I put up a map and some pictures of Bryce Canyon on my wall.

  Maybe I could come visit this summer. Maybe I could bring Bart. I think you’d like him.

  Love,

  Olivia

  P.S. Did you know you can drink a gallon of milk in an hour? Especially if it’s skim.

  ............

  Why would he spy on Grant and Bob?

  Grant and Bob are twins.

  Bob got married and then got divorced and his ex-wife is named Heaven and sometimes she comes over and brings him meat loaf which I know because one time she left it on the porch when he wasn’t home and Delilah’s poodle got into it and Bob happened to pull up in his truck right when the dog was wolfing it down and he started yelling, “You stupid dog. Get away from my meat loaf.”

  I was watching from my window and I saw the whole thing. He yelled that and then he kicked the dog so hard it made my stomach turn.

  And that was right when Delilah came out looking for the dog and so there was a huge fight and Delilah was crying and Chip came out and was getting Bob to calm down and once he did calm down he said he was sorry.

  “I’m sorry,” he was telling Chip. He looked over at Delilah, who was sobbing on a bench holding the dog. “I am sorry. But I hardly ever get my meat loaf.”

  And Delilah yelled, her face a red balloon. “YOU CAN GET MEAT LOAF ANY OLD TIME BUT CAN YOU GET A PRECIOUS RUTHANNE? CAN YOU REPLACE A RUTHANNE?”

  Ruthanne is Delilah’
s poodle, which she loves very much. I had never in my life ever heard Delilah yell at anyone.

  And Bob said, “You can’t get this meat loaf any old place. This is the best meat loaf in the state.”

  And I knew it was the one from his ex, Heaven.

  So Bob lived there, and he was the mean one, and so did Grant who was his brother who never got married and was more of the dopey one. Both of them own three electronics shops and are super rich.

  Dad told us so. “Those two are filthy rich,” he said once.

  But I didn’t think they’d be rich because Grant wore horrible stretched-out T-shirts with big old sweat rings and jeans with holes all the time, and Bob wore these tight golf shirts that showed his fat rolls and sometimes he wore a tie with the shirt which looked really weird.

  And one time Grant fell asleep while he was under his truck trying to fix it and Bob thought he’d been murdered so he called the cops and there was a search party organized because everyone in the park, even if they hate each other sometimes, they also love each other.

  And me and Mom, we put Berkeley to bed and Dad stayed home, and then the two of us walked along the river trail with a flashlight looking for dead bodies.

  Grant’s dead body.

  We held hands and she said, “If you see anything, squeeze my hand.”

  “Why can’t I just tell you?” I asked.

  “Nah,” she said. “I’ve heard sometimes when you see a dead body it takes your breath away. You can’t say a word.”

  I smiled. I liked that my mom would tell me things like that. That she treated me like an adult. She used to say all the time that I was her best friend.

  I was glad she let me go look for dead bodies with her.

  We didn’t find a thing.

  Nobody did.

  And it was very sad.

  Then the next day, when people were all out eating bagels provided by Bob as a thank-you for searching for his dead brother and saying how tragic it was; Sydney Gunnerson said he probably got drunk and fell into the river; and Randy, who was very close friends with Bob and Grant because they played poker sometimes, he was crying and saying he should have watched out for him better; and then Delilah said he probably was floating around all puffy in the lake right now. When everyone was out talking like that, Grant just rolled out from under the truck and walked right into his trailer and drank a beer.

  We all watched him through the window.

  Inside their house are posters of girls and lots of antlers and a life-size statue of Princess Leia.

  That was Bob and Grant’s trailer and that’s who Bart was trying to see, which made no sense.

  The next day the sun came up just like normal except not like normal, because maybe Bart would be back.

  One bad thing: The computer wouldn’t work.

  The night before I wanted to find out who Steve Fossett was and the screen kept freezing. Mom and I got in a fight because she didn’t think it needed to be fixed.

  “It does need to be fixed,” I said, and I almost told her that four of my contests ended soon and we could win so much money and a trip to Cabo San Lucas and possibly a year’s supply of L’Oréal LOCK IT Bold Control hairspray.

  But I didn’t.

  Because she was not in the mood. I could tell.

  She took off her work shirt, walking around in just her bra, banging cupboards and slamming plates on the table. I had forgotten to make dinner.

  “The car needs to be fixed. The swamp cooler is broken still. It’s going to get hotter than Hades here in a couple of months. We have holes in the screen door and I haven’t paid the HOA fees for five months.”

  She pulled out old ham.

  And a bowl of Cheerios.

  “Eat,” she said. Then she went back into her room.

  So no internet.

  But today was a new day.

  Berk and I ate our breakfast. We said bye to Mom. I didn’t get to enter any contests but I made a goal to walk to the library right when school got out if Bart wasn’t here. Or maybe he could come with us.

  I did my exercises as fast as I could and then we hurried outside.

  And sat.

  And sat.

  And sat.

  Delilah stopped by with some cinnamon rolls.

  She asked us what we were up to this weekend and I said not much and she said we could come over and watch TV later because she got off early, and I said thanks but really I was wanting her to leave so we could wait for Bart.

  “You okay?” she asked me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  And she gave me a look like she thought something was wrong but nothing was wrong. “Come get me if you need me, you hear?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay,” Berk said.

  And then she left.

  We sat.

  And ate the cinnamon rolls.

  I saved one for him.

  And sat.

  And sat.

  And sat.

  Berk said, “Do you think he’ll come?”

  I said, “I hope.”

  She said, “Me too.”

  We waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  After a while, Berkeley said she was hungry and picked up the cinnamon roll.

  “Hey,” I said. “That’s for him.”

  “But I’m hungry,” she said again.

  “It’s for him,” I said again, and she put it back down.

  I looked at my watch. Noon already. And we hadn’t done any of our books.

  Or art.

  I made more tuna fish with Doritos sandwiches again, cut up some apples.

  We ate but made sure to leave a little, just in case, to go along with his cinnamon roll.

  And we both watched the trail.

  There were a lot of moms with strollers that day.

  And one man with a big old mustache who said, “What you looking at?”

  I whispered to Berkeley to ignore him and look away. But he kept staring at us and this was one reason I thought I should take martial arts but Mom said I couldn’t, but I was maybe going to ask Paul from down the street to give me some tips one day.

  Then the man went away.

  And then there were more moms, which I preferred.

  After a long time, Berkeley said, “Is he coming?”

  “I don’t know. I think so.”

  We sat.

  And sat. She got out her dolls.

  She played.

  I sat.

  After another hour or so she said, “I wish he’d come.”

  I said, “Me too.”

  And she said, “Maybe he’s running.”

  I said, “He’s probably running.”

  She said, “Could you run a hundred miles?”

  I wasn’t good at running.

  “I don’t think so,” I told her.

  She stared at me and said, “Maybe you could.”

  I smiled. Berkeley always thought I was better than I was.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “You should try,” she said.

  “I should,” I said.

  And then we sat.

  She said, “You do push-ups.”

  I said, “I do.”

  “Real ones,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said, “real ones.”

  Then we sat some more.

  Finally, Delilah came out of her trailer and yelled over to us. “You girls want to come over? Cupcake Wars is on.”

  Berkeley stood up. “Come on,” she said. We love Cupcake Wars. And so does Delilah.

  I looked at the path. Where was he?

  “You go ahead,” I said to Berk. “I’ll come later.”

 
“Are you sure?”

  I nodded and she said, “Come get me if he comes?”

  “Okay.”

  She skipped off down to Delilah’s and I kept sitting.

  I waited for Bart to come all day long.

  He didn’t come.

  We waited the next day. He still didn’t come.

  I ran around the trailer park just to see if Berkeley was right and maybe I could run a hundred miles. Maybe me and Bart could run together. I was going to do it ten times but then after six I got a side ache.

  ~

  We waited more days.

  A whole week went like that and I thought maybe Bart wasn’t running a one-hundred-mile race.

  I thought maybe we’d never see him again.

  Even though he said he’d be back.

  Because that’s what people say.

  You can win a cottage on Papua New Guinea.

  I once read a romance novel about a girl named Gretchen who ate cheese, and her father was a pirate captain, and one day when they were sailing through the Magellan Strait, there was a squall and her ship wrecked on Micronesia, which is practically Papua New Guinea, and she met a man named Juan.

  And Juan loved her.

  And she loved Juan.

  But her father said, “NO! NO, Gretchen! He’s a heathen!” (I looked up heathen on Wikipedia once. It means: a person who does not belong to a widely held religion, which I don’t get why it’s so bad but that’s what it means.) But Gretchen didn’t listen to her father. She listened to her heart. And she and Juan ran away together on a sailboat and then they sunk and died.

  Dead.

  I cried and cried and cried when they held hands and slowly submerged into the sea. I want to die like that.

  I entered the Papua New Guinea contest twenty-four times.

  I wondered if Bart knew about Papua New Guinea.

  Sometimes at night, my mom cries.

  Sounds that make my whole body sad.

  Mostly I lie in bed and try to go back to sleep.

  Other times, I crawl in with her and she says, “Livy,” and I say, “Mommy,” and she curls me up next to her. She smells always like Curve perfume she gets from Walgreens and also like garlic if she’s been cleaning at the Nelsons’ house.

  She curls me up tight, right up to her chest and she says things.