The McGillicuddy Book of Personal Records

by Colleen Sydor

  “Hey! What’s going on up there, ya big idiot?!”

  “Sorry ’bout that,” called Lee. “Thought I was Superman for a second there.”

  Lee didn’t care if Rhonda was crabby as a hungry dung beetle without a cow paddy in sight. He felt he could put up with even that now.

  “Ron? You’re not going to sleep, are you?’

  “I’m so tired, Daddy.”

  “No, you’re not, Ron. You can’t go to sleep now.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me. I haven’t told you the end of the story yet.”

  Strength does not come from physical capacity.

  It comes from an indomitable will.

  – Mahatma Gandhi

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CUT

  NEXT UP, A MONTAGE OF SHORT SCENES BACK TO BACK

  START WITH EXTERIOR SHOT OF COP CAR

  ZOOM IN ON THE MESS OF BUGS SQUISHED INTO THE FRONT GRILL. ROLL FILM!

  Charlotte Bailey sat in the back seat of the cop car, scowling her gorgeous little face off. She had her arms crossed rigidly over her chest (at least he didn’t slap the handcuffs on me), and looked out the window to avoid the eyes of the cop looking back at her in the driver’s mirror.

  “Taking me straight to jail?” she snarled.

  The policeman just gave his head a shake and sighed. Charlotte rolled her eyeballs until they nearly disappeared, and chewed on her fingernails as she glared out the window. The cop finally spoke up.

  “I’m sorry. I really am,” he said, “but no daughter of mine is going to hang out on the streets at this time of night. Your mother and I have told you over and over that we expect you home before dark.”

  “‘Hanging out on the streets,’” sneered Charlotte. “You’d think I was a gang member or something. I was just walking around with a few of my friends.” She spat a moon-shaped fingernail at the back of the seat in front of her. “Aren’t you always telling me to ‘get some exercise’?”

  “Charlotte,” sighed Mr. Bailey, “you’re trying my patience.”

  “How do you think I feel, being dragged off by the cops in front of all my friends?”

  “I’m not ‘the cops,’ Charl,” said Mr. Bailey, “I’m your father, and …”

  Charlotte mumbled under her breath. “It’s just so embarrassing having a cop for a dad.” She looked out the window. “And it isn’t even dark out!”

  Mr. Bailey would have disagreed with that. He clicked on the headlights and looked past the tracks at the darkening fields bordering Wilkes Avenue. He imagined the clouds of mosquitoes swarming in the open grass at this time of night and rolled up the car window. A surprisingly chilly evening for July, he thought. Mr. Bailey looked in the mirror at his daughter. “You didn’t bring a cardigan with you?”

  “Cardigan!” choked Charlotte. “Dad, how old are you? Haven’t you ever heard of the word hoodie?”

  “And I suppose you’re too cool to wear a swe …” Mr. Bailey stopped talking and squinted at the road ahead. “Hello,” he said, slowing down, “what have we here?”

  “Dad, you’re not even on duty!”

  Mr. Bailey slowed to a stop. He got out of the car, and instantly started slapping himself silly. Charlotte stayed put, watching her father do the mosquito dance with some satisfaction. Mr. Bailey looked across the empty fields and back at the bikes. “Must be stolen,” he said to Charlotte’s closed window. He exaggerated the words so she could read his lips. “I’ll just put them in the car and make a report tomorrow.” Charlotte looked away. Her father opened the door a crack. “You’ll have to get in the front with your old fuddy-duddy dad, I’m afraid.”

  Ugh, Charlotte hated it when he said lame things like that. She got out of the car, threw herself in the front seat, and slammed the door shut. Then she went to work killing the twenty thousand or so mosquitoes she’d let in. Mr. Bailey loaded one bike in the trunk, the other in the back seat, and got back in the car, scratching his arms and neck until he left marks. “Lord!” he said. “Those devils could eat a man alive!”

  As they drove off, Charlotte turned on the radio to a station that was sure to annoy her dad. She gave a disgusted look at the bike in the back seat, then did a double-take. “Hey.”

  “What?”

  “That ribbon!” Charlotte was hanging over the back seat now, inspecting something tied to the handlebar of the bike. “It’s mine!” she said.

  Mr. Bailey looked over his shoulder. “A purple ribbon? It could be anyone’s.”

  Charlotte untied the ribbon and sat back down in her seat. “These beads are the ones I sewed on the ends with my own hands, Dad. I oughta know.”

  “Well?” said her father. “Do you recognize the bike?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Wait a minute,” she said, taking another look. “It might be Einstein’s.”

  “That some kind of joke?” asked her father.

  “Einstein,” repeated Charlotte. “A.k.a., Lee McGillicuddy.” She looked out the back window. “That’s weird,” she said. She watched the telephone poles fly by, one by one, until they each became tiny specks in the night.

  TO LEE

  KEEP THE SHOTS TIGHT. ROLL!

  Dear Lord, be good to me … The sea is so wide and my boat is so small.

  – Irish Fisherman’s Prayer

  Lee thought of the Old Man and wondered if mosquitoes existed in Cuba. Lee didn’t even have the satisfaction of whacking the bloodthirsty little suckers as they attacked in swarms. He was sure the hateful, stinging bites and burning itchiness pulsating in every part of his body would send him mental. Still, he thought, you could be attacked by worse things than mosquitoes. Try sharks, for example.

  “So, Ron,” he called, “the Old Man ended up harpooning the fish when it finally came to the surface to jump.”

  “Killed it dead?” she asked.

  “Yeah. And, of course, it was so huge, he couldn’t pull it into the boat. He lashed it to the side of the boat with his rope, and he started his long journey home.”

  “Please tell me he got there,” said Rhonda. Lee could hear her teeth chattering. It was starting to get cold.

  “Yeah, he got home all right, Ron, but not in the way he’d wanted.”

  “What happened?” asked Rhonda.

  “Sharks,” said Lee. “They could smell the fish’s blood in the water.”

  Lee was shivering now, as well.

  CUT TO LEE’S HOUSE

  LET’S CATCH THIS SHOT BEFORE THE SUN SETS

  ROLL!

  The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing.

  – Walt Disney

  Agnes, Gertrude, and Slang stood in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at one another. Then they all started talking at once:

  “Do you think there could be anything wron—”

  “What do you suppose we should—”

  “When was the last time anyone heard from—”

  “I knew there was something wron—”

  Slang put his hand in the air to stop the jumble of words. “I’m going looking for him.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Gertrude. “Just hang on.” She ran to her front door, let Santiago out, and led her to the car. “Lord knows where we’ll find him,” said Gertrude, stuffing herself and Santiago into the car. “We’ll try the park first.”

  Agnes wrapped her cardigan close and hugged herself. She called to Gertrude. “I’ll go inside and wait,” she said. “There should be someone here when he gets home.”

  To keep herself busy, Agnes went about making six loaves of banana bread. She looked at the small jade Buddha on her kitchen windowsill as she mashed the bananas in a large bowl. “He’ll be back soon,” she whispered to her fat-bellied friend. “He will.”

  AND...BACK TO LEE

  What you’ve got here is a perfect eating machine.

  It’s a miracle of evolution. It does nothing but swim, eat, and make little sharks.

  – From the movie Jaws


  “So the sharks came in droves and started taking bites the size of Mr. Woodtick’s butt out of the old man’s fish.”

  “That is pretty friggin’ big,” mumbled Rhonda. “And the poor old guy just had to sit there and watch?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Lee. “He clubbed those bloodthirsty thieves with everything he had. He fought so hard, he nearly ended up killing himself in the process. But the sharks outnumbered him and, in the end, the Old Man sailed home with nothing more than a huge skeleton lashed to his boat, instead of a beautiful great fish.”

  Rhonda was silent for a second. “Why are you telling me this, Daddy? Why are you telling me such a sad story?”

  “That’s just it, Ron. Sure, it was a sad thing that happened to the old man, but here’s the bright part: He went home and fell asleep on his newspaper-covered bedsprings, and then the next morning he … well, he got up. He got up, Ron, like he did every day. He rose up out of his bed, all achy and sore, and guess what he did?”

  “Do I want to know?” asked Rhonda.

  “Yeah, you want to know, Ron,” said Lee, and he shifted the rope to a new part of his raw shoulder and began to tell her.

  The great majority of men are bundles of beginnings.

  – Ralph Waldo Emerson

  When the world says, “Give up,” Hope whispers, “Try it one more time.”

  – Author Unknown

  CUT!

  DARKNESS QUICKLY DESCENDING

  ZOOM IN ON BAILEY

  Mr. Bailey parked the police vehicle at the station for the night and unloaded the bikes. Then he and the still-peeved Charlotte got into his van and headed home. Mr. Bailey turned to the country radio station and sang along with gusto …

  “… But don’t tell my heart / My achy breaky heart / I just don’t think it’d understand / And if you tell my heart / My achy breaky …”

  Normally this would have been enough to make Charlotte jump out of the moving vehicle and take her chances, but tonight she was preoccupied.

  “Wonder what kind of icing your mom’s gonna make for the cake she promised,” said Mr. Bailey. Charlotte didn’t answer. “I’m awful partial to good old-fashioned butter icing, but you know your mother—she does like to change things up every now ’n’ then.” He looked over at his silent daughter.

  Charlotte’s mind was far from frosting. She looked dreamily at the purple ribbon in her hand and found herself thinking about none other than Einstein McGillicuddy.

  Mr. Bailey smiled. “A penny for your thoughts?” he said. Charlotte blushed, turned her face to the side window, and looked out into the starry night … Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might …

  CUT

  AND OVER TO AGNES

  Operator … Give me the number for 911 …

  – Homer Simpson

  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again … aye carumba!

  – Bart Simpson

  Agnes just about jumped out of her wrinkly skin when the phone rang, sending mashed bananas flying across the kitchen. She lunged for the telephone. “Lee?”

  “Just me, Ag,” said Gertrude. “He’s still not home, eh?”

  “No,” said Agnes. “I was hoping you’d say he was with you. Oh dear.”

  “Now calm down, Agnes,” said Gertrude. “There’s no reason to panic. You know as well as I do that he’s likely off setting some fool record somewhere and lost track of time. Wouldn’t be the first time. Now, do me a favor, Ag, and go over to my house and do your waiting there. I want someone around in case he phones. Oh, and Ag? Grab a pencil and take down Slang’s cell number.”

  Agnes scribbled down the number and forgot to say goodbye before hanging up. She threw on her cardigan and hustled over to Gertrude’s house in the dark. She found the key in its usual hiding place under an old cowboy boot with flowers growing out the top. She had a heck of a time keeping her hand steady as she tried to get the key in the lock. She didn’t even notice the mosquitoes feasting on her bare ankles.

  When she was finally inside, Agnes didn’t like the empty feel of Gertrude’s house. The heavy, in-your-face silence made her uneasy. When the phone suddenly knifed the air with its unexpected ring, Agnes just about knocked her head on the ceiling. With a hand over her beating heart, she picked up the telephone. “Yes?!!” she screeched.

  “Mrs. Gertrude McGillicuddy? This is Police Constable Charlie Bailey speaking.” Agnes’s knees gave way and she sank onto the couch. “Yeah, I picked up a couple of abandoned bikes on Wilkes Avenue this evening, and I have reason to believe that one of them may be your son’s. Has his bike been stolen recently?”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” shrieked Agnes into the police constable’s ear and promptly hung up on him. She reached into her pocket for Slang’s cell number, grabbed for the phone, and just as she touched it, it began to ring. “Mary, and all the angels in heaven!!” Again, she clutched her heart as she spoke into the receiver. “Lee?! Is that you, Sonny?”

  “Gertrude?” came a voice at the other end.

  “No, it’s Agnes, and I have to hang up now, so …”

  “Agnes,” said Mr. Ronaldson, “it’s Reg, from across the street. I was just wondering if either you or Gert have seen Rhonda around lately. She’s been gone all day and she missed her music lesson which is very unusual for—”

  “Reginald,” cut in Agnes, “you’d best get over here right now.” Slam.

  Agnes flubbed the phone number twice before finally getting through to Slang’s cell. Gertrude answered.

  “Gert,” said Agnes with a shaky voice, “Lee’s bike … the police found it abandoned on Wilkes Avenue … and Rhonda is missing, too … Gertrude, I’m worried …” She heard Gertrude telling Slang to put his foot on the gas and get them over to Wilkes Avenue. This time it was Gertrude’s turn to hang up without saying goodbye.

  “Gertrude!” shouted Agnes into the receiver. “I want to come with you!” The only answer was a dismal dial tone.

  CUT

  PAN THE DARKENING FIELD AND ZOOM IN ON THE ROPE BURNS ON LEE’S SHOULDER

  “The old man slept hard,” said Lee, “and then he got up out of bed, Ron, and what does the old guy do?”

  “Skip the guessing games, Lee.”

  “He started making plans for the next day’s fishing, that’s what he did,” said Lee. “He didn’t stay down, Ron. He got back up.”

  “Was he nuts?”

  “No, he was a hero.” Lee looked up at the stars and the moon. “Don’t you see, Ron? He took all his crappy disappointment and pain and recycled it.”

  “Into what?”

  “Into fuel … to keep on … well, you know …”—Lee was about to use the word “loving,” but remembered who he was talking to—“to keep on living. To keep his flame burning.”

  Rhonda was silent for a time. “I can see the moon, Lee,” she said finally. “Where’s Santiago?”

  Lee didn’t answer. He was looking at the moon as well, thinking of … gorgeous Charlotte Bailey, of all people. It had suddenly slipped into his mind that he’d give his right arm to one day sit beneath this very same moon with her and talk about the books they’d read.

  Fat chance. He had a strong suspicion he’d be forced to keep both his arms. Sigh.

  Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

  – William Shakespeare

  Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.

  – Charlie Brown

  CUT!

  LONG SHOT OF SLANG’S VEHICLE KICKING UP DUST ON THE DIRT ROAD

  ZOOM IN ON PASSENGER SIDE AND SECURE A GOOD SHOT OF DOG’S CLAWS SCRATCHING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF WINDOW

  ROLL!

  When Slang turned onto Wilkes Avenue, Santiago, who’d been whimpering in the back seat, sat up and started yelping. Her nose was telling her something. It was hot. And getting hotter every second. She was getting closer and closer … to what? And then it all came flooding back: Lee, his sweet and s
alty freckles, Rhonda’s voice down a deep hole, the baseball cap, bring Mom back, bring Mom back.

  Santiago leapt to the front seat, onto Gertrude’s lap, and started barking out the window.

  “What is it, girl?” said Gertrude.

  Santiago’s nose continued to get hotter until she felt like she might explode if she didn’t get out of the car right now. Right this very minute! She started pawing wildly at the window and barking in Gertrude’s face.

  “Stop the car, Slang,” said Gertrude. “Santiago’s trying to tell us something.”

  CUT TO INTERIOR OF BAILEY HOME

  The only real valuable thing is intuition.

  – Albert Einstein

  “Charlotte, honey,” said Mr. Bailey, “it’s pitch black out, and swarming with monster mosquitoes. What good could it possibly do to go out there now?”

  “It’s just that it doesn’t make any sense,” said Charlotte. “Lee’s bike is too crappy for anyone to bother stealing.”

  “And you think he’s in some kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling,” said Charlotte. “I just think we should take a look around, is all.”

  Mr. Bailey put down his untouched slice of chocolate cake with vanilla butter icing, sighed, and looked at Mrs. Bailey. His wife shrugged. “Might be best to listen to Charlotte’s intuition, love,” she said. “It won’t take long to have a look around. Bring your high-powered flashlight along.”