Little Chicago Read online

  Wow, I say.

  Eric Duggan lives on the other side of town where the houses have tree forts and swimming pools.

  Once when I was at his house he gave me one of his X-Games Big Air BMX bikes so we could ride through Hamil Woods together. It was black with yellow mags. We were going to set up a ramp and jump the creek but we couldn’t find the right size piece of plywood. Instead of jumping the creek he taught me how to do a bronco and a wheelie.

  When I went to give it back to him he said, Keep it.

  I said, Really?

  Yeah, he said. You can have it. I got three other ones.

  It was a world-class style bike but my Ma made me give it back cause she has a rule about charity.

  But Ma, I pleaded, he’s got four of em!

  She said, People just expect stuff from you when they start giving you things. We don’t accept charity, Blacky, and that’s that.

  Eric Duggan says, The Sherpas believed the Abominable Snowman was a time traveler. It was on the Discovery Channel last night. They did a segment on Bigfoot, too. Great Beast Myths. You gotta check that program out, Blacky. Fascinating stuff.

  We don’t get that channel, I explain.

  He says, I thought you had cable.

  We do, I say, but it’s only Basic.

  Eric Duggan says, Oh, and pulls his socks up. They have two green stripes each. He has many variations of gym socks and I admire this fact.

  So where were you yesterday? he asks, adjusting the band that keeps his glasses on his head.

  He’s standing next to me and touching the bleacher wall with his heel.

  I tell Eric Duggan that I was at the hospital.

  I had to go to the hospital, I say.

  Are you sick or something? Eric Duggan asks.

  I get that ache in my chest again, so I say, I got stabbed.

  You did?

  Yes.

  Cool, he says. Where?

  In the hip, I say. I was at the mall and this guy jumped me next to Caramel Corn Forever. It’s a very minor stab wound but he got my Nikes.

  It hurts me to lie to Eric Duggan. It feels like there’s a fist in my stomach.

  Who was the guy? he asks.

  I don’t know, I say. I think he was Native American, though.

  Eric Duggan says, Whoa.

  In Social Studies we’re taught to call Indians Native Americans. Miss Cosgrove is very stern about such matters.

  Asian, not Oriental, she says.

  African American, not black.

  Once Charles Vershaw stood up and screamed Nigger! I guess he couldn’t take it anymore.

  They put him in the Quiet Room and now he sees Dr. Lockwood on a weekly basis. Dr. Lockwood is the school guidance counselor and when you get called into his office it’s usually cause you’ve had a mental breakdown.

  Coach Corcoran blows his whistle and everyone sprints for the five dodgeballs. I run about ten feet and retreat back to the wall of bleachers. I have to slide and this will not be good for my dodging technique.

  There is some extreme pummeling at the midcourt line and then both sides prepare for the strategy and team play part.

  Bill Mann and Robert Kinsella hurl balls at us. They make hate faces and their eyes go small.

  This is what it’s like to be hunted by the enemy, I think.

  Bill Mann’s ball sails over my head and slams into the bleachers. Robert Kinsella’s ball hits Eric Duggan in the face and his glasses fly. Eric Duggan sits down like he’s tired. His left lens has popped out and that eye looks huge and glued on.

  Robert Kinsella makes a power fist like he won the Illinois Lotto.

  Eric Duggan stands up but he has to sit down again. And then he farts and makes a face.

  They’ll no doubt be talking about this in the cafeteria.

  When I go to help him Steve Degerald throws a ball and it hits me square in the chest. The sound is like meat falling on the kitchen floor. I slip a little but I keep from falling.

  It feels like I’ve walked into a mailbox.

  My breath goes away for a second and I cough.

  Sometimes I worry that my lungs are too small.

  I sit like Eric Duggan but I don’t get back up. Generally I do my best to not be stupid.

  I don’t want them talking about me in the cafeteria.

  Steve Degerald is holding two balls now. He’s looking at me and pretending they’re breasts. Evan Keefler can’t get enough of this and he laughs like a witch.

  Someday I will grow large and wield certain weapons. Like nunchucks or those swords from Blackbelt Theater.

  You’re out, Brown, Coach Corcoran says. And you too, Duggan.

  Eric Duggan finally finds his lens and we move off to the side. Half of his face is pink and he’s doing his best not to touch it.

  It takes Eric Duggan too long to make his way to the side and Coach Corcoran isn’t pleased about this fact.

  When you’re out you’re out! Coach Corcoran yells. If you can’t play by the rules then you won’t play at all! You two get a shower!

  We can’t do the Monkey Drill today cause the girls are on the other side of the gym playing badminton.

  Coach Corcoran is did and has a face that looks like it is made out of bread and everyone knows he fought in the Vietnam Conflict.

  In Social Studies Miss Cosgrove corrected Heidi Winch when she called Vietnam a war.

  It was a conflict, Heidi, Miss Cosgrove said. This country hasn’t fought in a war in a very long time.

  Coach Corcoran has tattoos and he tries to hide them by wearing long sleeves but they always creep up his forearms.

  One of the tattoos is a woman with large breasts and a snake.

  Next week we got the Presidential Physical Fitness Test, Coach Corcoran says. You better find those shoes, Brown, or I’d advise getting a new pair.

  At the end of the fifth grade I caught Coach Corcoran picking his nose. He rolled the snots between his fingers and stared at it. He saw me watching him and I’m convinced that this is why he takes a special interest in me.

  In the shower Eric Duggan is still trying not to touch his face. His body is thin and blank like mine. His penis looks like a mushroom.

  While showering I always worry that I will pop a boner, but the water is cold and this helps matters.

  Coach Corcoran has a three-minute rule and even though he’s not here to enforce it we play along cause everyone in the sixth grade believes that his experience in the Vietnam Conflict gave him special powers.

  So did you see the hail yesterday? Eric Duggan asks, putting his pits under the water.

  I saw it, I say.

  Pretty weird, huh? Hail in October?

  It is weird, I say.

  Eric Duggan says, Mr. Prisby said it’s the first hail he’s seen in over ten years.

  I have no idea why we’re talking about hail. The fact that everyone keeps bringing it up must mean something.

  I imagine spaceships coming down and taking people away.

  The cuts on my feet still sting. Ma left some Neosporin antibacterial ointment for me on the kitchen table but after I put it on most of it got smeared in my sock.

  Eric Duggan touches his face and then his lip starts to quiver. He’s been trying to make his lip stop quivering for several minutes now.

  His nipples are so small they’re like mosquito bites. You practically have to do detective work to find them.

  You okay? I ask Eric Duggan.

  Don’t touch me! he says.

  I don’t realize I’m touching him till I’m doing it. My hand is on his cheek where the ball hit him. He’s looking at me like I’m part werewolf.

  I don’t like to be touched, he says, and backs away from his water spray. He puts a fist in front of his testicles and looks at me all over.

  You didn’t get stabbed, he says, pointing at my hip with his free hand.

  I know, I say.

  You lied to me.

  His eyes go small and hard.

 
That ache in my chest is crawling up my throat. I swallow hard and say, I’m sorry.

  But he just keeps standing there so I say it again. I say, I’m sorry, Eric.

  And what’s wrong with your feet, anyway? he asks.

  I say, I lost my Nikes in the woods. They’re just irritated.

  What were you doing in the woods? he asks.

  Just running around, I say.

  By yourself?

  I was with my sister, I explain. We were looking for leaves to press. I’m sorry I lied, Eric.

  I realize that I am piling lies on top of lies. This fact makes my ears feel like they’re burning.

  When we are dressing Eric asks me if I’m a faggot.

  Are you a faggot or something? he asks.

  No, I say.

  Then stop staring at my dick, he says.

  We are quiet while we dress. You can hear dodgeballs slamming into the bleachers.

  By the way, Eric Duggan says suddenly, I hope you realize you’ve been wearing those pants for three days in a row.

  All my other ones are dirty, I explain.

  If you need extra pants just tell me, he says. I have several spare pairs.

  Okay.

  You have to minimize your skankiness, he tells me. There’s nothing worse than skank.

  I think about how on the average I don’t consider these things enough. Ma gets busy and forgets to do laundry. We have a washer and dryer in the basement but the washer started doing stuff to our clothes. Once they came out with big white spots all over them. Now Ma does the laundry at this place on Plainfield Road. It’s got candy machines and a thing that makes quarters.

  Eric Duggan says, Let’s go to lunch. They got pizza pockets today.

  On our way to the cafeteria Eric Duggan stops in the hall and shows me the new Beck CD. Beck looks bored and invincible. After he puts the jewel box back in his backpack I tell him about what happened with Al Johnson.

  I’m not sure why I choose this time to tell him.

  I think it’s cause of that ache in my throat. I made it go down to my chest but now it’s creeping back up.

  The incident comes out so fast it makes me feel like everything around us is moving backwards.

  When I get to the part about Al Johnson’s thumb in my butt it feels like my head might pop off again. There’s even a moment when I put my hand on the top of my skull to keep this from happening. I almost start to cry but I flex my arms as hard as I can and this helps.

  Jesus, Eric Duggan says. Holy shit, man.

  We are standing in front of the boys’ bathroom now and it makes me want to urinate.

  Eric Duggan won’t blink and I think this must be a positive thing. I notice that he’s fitted his lens back in his glasses but there is a thumbprint in the middle.

  I’m glad I’ve told Eric Duggan the truth. I am relieved.

  Ma always says, No matter how hard it is you gotta tell the truth, Blacky. No matter how hard.

  Some kids from Gym are coming down the hall.

  It’s Robert Kinsella and Bill Mann. Bill Mann’s hair is wet and combed to perfection.

  Eric Duggan just stands there like he doesn’t know what to do.

  I say, What?

  He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but nothing comes out.

  Sorry, I say. Sorry, Eric.

  When Robert Kinsella and Bill Mann walk by they are performing a rap song. Robert Kinsella rhymes and flails his arms. Bill Mann beatboxes into his fists. His shirt is so red it looks soaked in blood.

  Eric Duggan says, I gotta wash my hands.

  Okay, I say.

  See you, he says.

  I say, See you later.

  Then Eric Duggan walks into the boys’ bathroom.

  I want to follow him but I don’t.

  I can almost feel that ache in my mouth now.

  6

  At lunch I walk up to Eric Duggan at our table. He’s sitting with Jonas Kelser, this kid who doesn’t have a telephone in his house.

  I know this fact about Jonas Kelser cause on the first day of school, in Speech, Drama, and Journalism, Miss Williams made everyone stand up and talk for two minutes about a gift they wanted for Christmas and why.

  I said I wanted a pit bull for protection.

  Roger Rebillard said he wanted a Jet Ski for his daredevil lifestyle.

  Jonas Kelser said he wanted a telephone cause all he had was a pay phone on the corner.

  Hey, I say to Eric Duggan.

  What’s up? he says.

  Hey, Jonas, I say.

  Jonas says, Hey, Blacky, and looks down at his plate. He has a cowlick and big bulging eyes.

  Can I sit with you guys? I say.

  Eric Duggan says, We’re sort of having a meeting, right, Jonas?

  Yes, Jonas says, still looking down at his plate.

  A meeting about what? I say.

  Eric Duggan says, Just a meeting, and wipes his spork with a napkin.

  They are both eating pizza rolls with assorted vegetables.

  I want to ask Eric Duggan for money so I can get a pizza roll too, but there’s something about the way he’s not looking at me.

  What’s wrong? I say to Eric Duggan.

  What? he says. What?

  But he still won’t look at me, so I walk over to the other side of the cafeteria.

  The tables are all completely full except for Mary Jane Paddington’s, so I go over by her.

  Mary Jane Paddington is an unusual person who likes to eat alone. She hardly ever speaks and I don’t think she has a single friend.

  This might be cause she wears the same clothes a lot. Or cause she dyed her pants red after she ran out of Language Arts with her menstrual blood leaking through her crotch.

  Before that happened her pants were white and everyone knows they’re the same pants.

  Those are the same pants, I heard Tonya Ellis telling Lynnette Collins under her breath. They were in the hallway during a passing period.

  Mary Jane Paddington walked right by them and they watched her like she was part animal.

  Lynnette Collins said, Who’s she trying to fool?

  Mary Jane Paddington’s glasses are a little crooked sometimes. And she doesn’t comb her hair much either. Eric Duggan told me she has a pet rat and feeds it fingernails. Evan Keefler calls her Wolf Girl cause she’s got these eyes. They are so yellow they look like science fiction.

  Some people say she’s got scabies.

  Others say she’s got a nest of spiders in her hair.

  These are obviously false rumors spread by all those girls in the eighth grade who have identical haircuts. There’s about ten in this group and once they came to school wearing the exact same thing. Light blue shirts and black pants. Everyone said it was a miracle.

  They got so excited that they went into the Student Council room and had the photo editor of the yearbook take a picture.

  Some of those same girls refer to each other by their email addresses.

  Hey, Toasty Tina.

  Hey, Jenny two twenty-four.

  What’s up, T-Bone Salad?

  Blue Babe, where were you last night? We were chatting up a storm!

  It can go on and on.

  Across the cafeteria Eric Duggan is looking at me like I’m a shark or a monkey. He even points at me and says something to Jonas Kelser.

  Mary Jane Paddington is eating Fritos and a tuna sandwich. She eats so slow it’s like she’s got frostbite.

  Hey, I say.

  Hey, she says without looking up.

  I can tell she’s not impressed by much. Her hair is black with streaks of red. I imagine it’s this way on purpose.

  Can I sit here? I ask.

  Sure, she says, still looking down.

  I can see that one of her lenses is scratched. This is unfortunate and it makes her left eye look diseased.

  At the edge of the cafeteria there’s a rectangle of tiles that don’t match the rest of the floor. These tiles are gray and the
others are white with specks. Everyone calls this rectangle of gray tiles the Paddington Pit and when people leave the cafeteria they jump over it like it’s infested with AIDS.

  I must admit that I did this once.

  While in the air I didn’t feel any safer. I actually felt like I might get hurt.

  Why are you sitting here? Mary Jane Paddington asks, finally looking up.

  There’s nowhere else to sit, I say.

  You could sit over by Eric Duggan and Jonas Kelser, she says.

  No, I can’t, I say.

  She says, But you always sit with Eric Duggan.

  I say, I can’t today.

  How come?

  Cause he’s having an important meeting, I say.

  She is wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with a picture of a duck on it. The duck is saying QUACK OFF, MOTHERQUACKER!

  The noise in the cafeteria is like computers running. It’s funny how voices can sound like machines.

  I stare at her tuna sandwich. The crusts have been cut off and there are bits of celery mixed in with the tuna.

  So sit, Mary Jane Paddington says. You’re only making everyone look at you more.

  I stand there for another second. I can feel eyes on my neck like bugs.

  Sit, I command myself with the voice in my head. Sit, Blacky.

  I sit down across from her.

  Mary Jane Paddington is eating each Frito one corner at a time. I note that this is a very peculiar way to eat Fritos. Her mouth looks like it hurts when she chews.

  Did you do your Social Studies homework? she asks.

  No, I say. I wasn’t in school yesterday.

  I noticed, she says. Where were you?

  I was sick, I say. What was the assignment?

  We were supposed to write a one-page essay about our thoughts on capital punishment.

  Oh.

  I wrote two. You can have one of mine if you’d like.

  I say, Thanks. Why’d you write two?

  I had a lot to say about it, she says. Then she eats another Frito.

  Look, I say, and put the tongue on the table.

  What is that? she asks.

  It’s Dave the See-Through Fake Human’s tongue. I stole it from Life Science when Mr. Prisby wasn’t looking.

  What are you gonna do with it? she asks.

  I don’t know, I say. Carry it around, I guess.

  You should put it in a Ziploc bag and send it to him in the mail.

  Oh, I say. Why?