My Life as a Joke

by Janet Tashjian

  It takes every bit of willpower not to race down the stairs, screaming at the top of my lungs. I’ll be with TONY HAWK? If Matt has to invent a secret shrinking potion so he can fit in my pocket, he’ll find a way to come too.

  I don’t need my mom to translate this into a teaching moment: If this is what happens when you help people out, count me in.

  Matt Goes Crazy

  As expected, Matt insists on coming with me Friday afternoon. “I can sweep up, pass out flyers—I’ll even hold Tony’s gum while he talks if you want me to.”

  Then I tell Matt the best part of the news—that Debbie already told me it was okay for him to come.

  Matt literally starts screaming. When he finally winds down, he unzips his pack and hands me a package. I don’t need to ask what it is as I unwrap it.

  “I want to run this doll over with my bike,” I say.

  “Stupid doll—losing her purse. How were we supposed to know?”

  It’s hard to blame a lump of plastic for losing one of her accessories when it was probably some little kid like Olivia who misplaced it years ago, the same way I’ve misplaced toys a million times. I take a minute to finally look at the doll. She’s got long black hair and thick eyelashes; she looks old-fashioned but well cared for. Her little red coat and dress look handmade. I guess if you were a girl who had to play with a doll, you could make a worse choice than Baby Karen.

  “You should resell her,” Matt says. “Just tell people she doesn’t have the purse.”

  “As if Jamie’s ever going to let us use his account again.”

  “You’re right. Jamie is never helping us do ANYTHING again.”

  Matt wants us to practice some of our skateboard moves to show Tony tomorrow but I tell him the day’s going to be all work.

  “Yeah, but the GOOD kind of work.” Matt is kicking the grass with nervous excitement when Mrs. Mitchell’s daughter comes over and asks if she can talk to me.

  “I’m wondering if I might bother you to babysit for a few hours today,” Mandy asks.

  The spirit of meeting Tony Hawk must still be hovering over me because I tell her okay.

  She looks down to where Matt has made a mess of the lawn. “Babysitting is the wrong word,” Mandy says. “It’s my mother I want you to stay with, not Olivia.”

  I ask if Mrs. Mitchell is sick. The question seems to make Mandy sad.

  “She’s been wandering around the neighborhood lately,” Mandy says. “Yesterday she ended up at the pharmacy and didn’t remember how she got there. I’ll worry about her much less when she comes to live with me.”

  I’ve got some homework for history class due tomorrow—maybe Mrs. Mitchell can help me with it while I’m there. I tell Mandy I’ll be right over.

  “You’re going to babysit an eighty-year-old?” Matt asks. “I’d rather stick toothpicks in my eyes.”

  I tell him there are worse things than hanging out with Mrs. Mitchell, not to mention the fact that she’s the best baker I know.

  Unfortunately, when I get to her house, there are no warm goodies from the oven, just Mrs. Mitchell sitting in her chair gazing out the window. “Everything’s getting ready to bloom,” she says. “You can see the buds on the cherry tree. Any day now the sky will be full of blossoms.”

  Admiring trees is definitely less fun than eating warm cupcakes but I settle into the chair next to Mrs. Mitchell. We play cards until Mandy gets back from her errands. It’s a slow way to spend an afternoon but two words make me not even THINK about complaining.

  TONY HAWK!

  The Big Event

  Matt and I arrive at the Central Library half an hour early—a first for us. As someone who’s been pretty much allergic to books my whole life, I have to admit that the library building is impressive—it’s gigantic and old with a huge mural depicting the history of California. Matt and I ride the escalators up and down, trying to ease our nerves.

  “Suppose he doesn’t show up?” Matt asks.

  I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about; Tony Hawk is all we’ve discussed for days. “He’s on all the advertising,” I reassure him. “He’ll be here.”

  Matt’s usually so easygoing that it’s funny to see him this anxious. I introduce him to Debbie, who puts the two of us to work, helping out two grown-up volunteers. It’s our job to make sure each table has information packets for the people attending the fund-raiser to take home.

  I reach into my pack and hand Baby Karen to Debbie.

  “Is this what started your whole mess?” she asks.

  When I tell her I think the doll might be cursed, Debbie laughs. “If that’s the case, you can’t give her back to the children’s shelter. The kids there don’t need an evil doll—they have enough problems.”

  I try to decide if she’s pulling my leg.

  “The shelter project is done,” Debbie says. “And we have our hands full today. The doll’s all yours.” She barks out an order to open the doors, and people start filing in.

  I shove the doll back into my pack and get to work. After a while, the news spreads upstairs that Tony Hawk has arrived. Matt looks like he might collapse with the prospect of meeting him.

  But before our skateboard idol comes upstairs, I spot Steve from next door in the crowd. He seems as shocked to see me as I am to see him. He’s accompanied by several of his friends from the infamous party.

  “What are YOU doing here?” I realize after I ask him that my question probably sounds rude.

  But Steve answers anyway. “My mom’s a big believer in helmet safety, so she got tickets. And when I found out that Tony Hawk was going to be here, I begged her to let me come instead.” He gestures to his friends. “Turns out everyone wanted to see him, so my mom’s company bought a whole table.” He looks at the name tag I’m wearing. “What are YOU doing here?”

  I shrug as if it’s no big deal, which of course is a giant lie. “I’m Tony’s escort. It’s my job to make sure he knows where he’s supposed to be while he’s here.” I gesture over to Matt now standing protectively behind me. “OUR job.”

  Steve can’t hide the fact that he’s awestruck by this news. “You’re in charge of TONY HAWK?”

  What I want to say is “Yes, maybe you shouldn’t have treated me like such a loser that night.” Instead I just shrug. Matt smiles as if hanging out with a skateboard god is a normal event for us.

  I don’t have time to bask in the envy of Steve and his friends—we have work to do. Matt and I usher people to their tables, hand out information, and wait for Mike, the head volunteer, to text us when it’s time to take Tony to the press room. When I look over at Steve, he still looks stunned.

  My phone buzzes and I tell Matt we’re on. But the text isn’t from Mike downstairs; it’s an emergency text from my mother. I hide myself in a corner of the room and call her back.

  She can’t disguise the panic in her voice. “Mrs. Mitchell’s gone. Mandy’s distraught. We’ve looked all over the neighborhood but can’t find her.” She lowers her voice. “I know you’ve got a big day there. I just wanted to see if you had any ideas where she might be.”

  I ask my mother if they checked the pharmacy where Mandy found her a few weeks ago. “She’s not in the village,” my mom says. “I just wanted to check in. You have fun and we’ll see you when you get home.”

  The flash of cameras and din of reporters make their way upstairs and I tell my mom to hold on. Matt holds his phone up with the text from Mike: It’s time for us to get Tony Hawk.

  “Is Dad still downtown?” I ask my mom. “I know he was going to the art supply store after he dropped us off.”

  She tells me my father is downtown now but getting on the highway to come home and look for Mrs. Mitchell.

  “Tell him to pick me up.”

  My mother’s voice is calm and caring. “You stay there and enjoy your time with Tony Hawk. We’ve got this covered.”

  “Tell Dad I’ll be waiting outside the library.” When I end the call, Matt looks like
he’s about to go into shock.

  “You can’t leave!” Matt says. “We’re in charge of Tony Hawk!”

  I tell my best friend I have to go and hurry through the room to find Debbie. She must be able to tell from the look on my face that what I have to say is important.

  “Is everything okay?” She greets people at the door as she talks to me.

  “No,” I answer. “My neighbor’s missing.”

  She turns away from a woman in a giant feathered hat and bends down to my height. “Do you need someone to drive you?”

  I tell her my father’s on his way.

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” I want to thank her but she’s back at work, greeting the next attendee.

  I race down the escalator and out into the street—just in time to see the top of Tony Hawk’s head.

  A-HA!

  Outside the library, they’re filming something that looks like a car commercial because about twenty sedans of the same make and model keep driving by, then backing up again down the street. I watch the policemen direct traffic around the truck with the cameras, but as energizing as it always is to see things filmed on the streets of L.A., all I can think about now is Mrs. Mitchell.

  I’ve been complaining about Mrs. Mitchell moving to Calabasas with her daughter but now I understand why Mandy wants to have her close by. There’s nothing funny about being lost in a city this size.

  I stand on my toes to see if I can spot my dad’s car coming down the street.

  All year I’ve been trying to act older than I am, pretending I’m grown-up instead of the goofy twelve-year-old I really am. Mrs. Mitchell has the opposite problem—fighting age from the other side. I bet she’d give anything to be younger, even if it meant being immature again.

  I sneak back inside the library to get a glimpse of Matt and our hero but can’t see past the crowd looking for their name tags on the reception table. By now, Matt’s probably walking down those long hallways talking secret skateboard techniques with Tony Hawk. I’m jealous but not enough to change where I’m headed.

  I stand on the top library step and watch the truck with the cameras take yet another pass down the street. The sedans drive toward the intersection, then slowly back up the hill for the next take. It reminds me of when I was a stuntboy in a teen movie, doing take after take on my board until I got it right. This director certainly has a great day for filming; the sky is a perfect blue and the pink blossoms are falling from the trees like bits of cotton candy.

  In an instant, my mind snaps into focus and I know exactly where to find Mrs. Mitchell. I text my father the address, then break into a run.

  Hope and Flower

  This time of year, the city explodes with pink bursts from all the jacaranda trees but some streets are more colorful than others. As I hurry down Flower Street from the library, I see what Mrs. Mitchell was talking about. Where the street turns into Hope, the canopy of color is inescapable. I stop running to catch my breath and soak in all that pink.

  As I look down the aisles of trees, I’m happy to see my hunch was correct. Mrs. Mitchell is sitting on one of the benches, staring up at the sky. I slide beside her without saying a word.

  A huge smile crosses her face when she sees me. “I told you this was the best spot in the city.”

  I tell her she was right, then ask her how she got here.

  “The bus,” she answers, not knowing there’s a posse back home looking for her. “I always take the bus.” After a moment she looks over at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You seem like a nice young man.”

  I quickly realize Mrs. Mitchell doesn’t know who I am. A wave of panic rushes over me—not because Mrs. Mitchell doesn’t recognize me but because I’m the only one in charge of her safety right now. The panic turns to terror. What if something happens and I don’t know what to do?

  She looks down the street at the rows of trees. “I like that one best.” Mrs. Mitchell points to the tree closest to us. I tell her I like that one too.

  I’ve never been so relieved to see my dad as he approaches from the other side of the street.

  Mrs. Mitchell watches my dad come toward us. “Walter! The trees are amazing this year, aren’t they?”

  My father’s name is Jeremy; Walter was Mr. Mitchell, who died last year. But my dad doesn’t correct her, just takes a seat. “I think it’s the best year for jacarandas I’ve ever seen.”

  I wait for him to lead her to the car but he doesn’t. He quietly sends a text—probably to my mom telling her we found Mrs. Mitchell—then continues looking up at the trees.

  After a while, Mrs. Mitchell turns to my father with a start. “Jeremy! What a surprise!” She tousles my hair. “You’ve got quite a kid here—a boy who appreciates nature.”

  “He IS quite a kid,” Dad agrees. “A kid whose quick thinking saved the day.”

  This is the first time in my life where my thinking’s been labeled “quick,” so I let the word sink in. QUICK THINKING—me!

  Dad extends his arm for Mrs. Mitchell to hold on to and we head toward the car. “Derek, aren’t you due back at the library?” he asks.

  My parents have been trying to get me to libraries my entire life. I guess the missing ingredient was that Tony Hawk was never there.

  “You’re a hero,” Dad whispers to me as we walk. “I’ll take Mrs. Mitchell; you go home with Matt the way we planned.”

  The event’s probably half over by now but I don’t complain. Even escorting Tony Hawk around can’t compare with saving the day in your neighborhood. After helping Mrs. Mitchell into Dad’s car, I look down the street where Flower Street turns to Hope. It IS beautiful; I can understand why Mrs. Mitchell tried so hard to get here.

  But now it’s time to race back to the library.

  Did I just say that?

  Better Late Than Never

  Turns out that I only missed a boring lecture from a UCLA doctor and a slideshow on their new medical center. I sneak into the auditorium just as Tony Hawk’s about to take the stage.

  Tony talks about the importance of skateboard safety and states several statistics about how important it is to wear a properly fitted helmet. While all the attendees look on, he conducts a mini clinic, talking not only about helmets but elbow- and kneepads. Matt and I wear our helmets faithfully, but I have to admit, sometimes we do skate without our pads. Matt sidles over to me while Tony talks.

  “He shook my hand,” Matt whispers. “And signed my shirt!” He pulls out a blue T-shirt from one of the gift bags. Sure enough—Tony Hawk’s signature is scrawled underneath the logo.

  I tell Matt the gift bags aren’t for us, but he says Debbie told him it was okay to take one. He smiles and holds up another autographed shirt for me. Of COURSE my best friend didn’t forget about me.

  “Is everything okay?” Debbie whispers.

  I tell her about Mrs. Mitchell and explain that she’s on her way back home.

  Debbie looks at me a few moments before responding. “I was at the school committee meeting when your principal brought up mandatory community service. No matter what the committee decides, I think your school’s already found a great volunteer.”

  I must look unnerved because she laughs. “I’m not saying you should volunteer for everything that comes up. I just think you’re good at it, that’s all.”

  The room breaks into applause, not for me but for Tony Hawk. I’m glad Debbie appreciates how hard I’ve worked.

  “I’d love it if you’d continue volunteering,” Debbie says. “But as of today, consider your debt paid off.”

  I feel the curse of Baby Goldmine suddenly lift and thank Debbie again for helping me out.

  Matt says his mother’s at the gelato place down the street and can drive us home whenever we’re ready. Our last job is to hand out the gift bags and then we’re free to go.

  “Derek, one more thing.” Debbie leads me over to the front of the room. “You have to meet our guest of honor.”

  I ne
arly collapse with a weird combination of joy and fear when she introduces me to Tony Hawk, who shakes my hand and thanks me for helping out today. Debbie whispers into his ear while I stumble out a hello.

  “Hey, Derek, can I borrow your cell?” Tony asks.

  I look left; I look right. Is he talking to ME?

  I rummage through my pants pockets and hand him my cell.

  “This is the same one I have,” Tony says.

  Matt and I stare at each other with senseless grins. TONY HAWK IS HOLDING MY PHONE.

  Tony quickly hits the buttons for phone, voicemail, and record, then holds the phone up to his mouth. Is he changing my voicemail message?

  “Hey, this is Tony Hawk. I’m out boarding with my buddy Derek. Leave your name and number and he’ll get back to you as soon as he’s done leaving me in the dust. Ciao!” He fist-bumps me, then tosses back the phone, which I am eternally grateful that I catch. Matt looks like he’s about to pass out.

  Tony gives us both a wave and heads into the throng of people waiting for him outside the door. As she guides him through the crowd, Debbie looks back at me and smiles.

  “You can never, ever change that message—you know that, right?” Matt says as we leave.

  I stare at the phone in my hand as if it’s the Holy Grail. “Maybe we’ve been missing out on this whole volunteering thing.”

  “You’re just saying that ’cause Tony Hawk’s on your voicemail forever.” Matt dials my phone and leaves a message just to hear our idol’s voice one more time.

  I listen and laugh at Tony’s message too, but can’t stop thinking about what Debbie said. I know there’ll be other opportunities down the line where I WILL help her out, with or without the incentive of a skateboard god.