Little Chicago Page 6

  Keep him on his toes, she says. Teachers gotta learn stuff, too.

  Huh, I say.

  I wonder if she and Cheedle have been spending time together.

  We eat our lunch and we are quiet.

  I look over at Eric Duggan again. He’s got his arm around Jonas Kelser like there’s valuable information to know about his side of the cafeteria.

  When Mary Jane Paddington is finished eating her lunch she opens her backpack and removes the essay about capital punishment. She slides it across the table to me.

  Make sure to copy it over, she says. Miss Cosgrove knows my handwriting.

  Thanks, I say. Can I fold it up?

  She says, You can do whatever you want with it. Just don’t put it in a Ziploc bag and send it to me in the mail.

  I know this is supposed to be a joke but I don’t get it.

  Cheedle would get it.

  Shay would probably get it, too.

  I smile anyway. My face feels heavy and tired.

  It’s raining so hard it looks like the window is melting.

  I am in Social Studies for sixth period. They give you four extra passing minutes between fifth and sixth period so you can exchange books at your locker. According to the Student Handbook this is the first year they’ve instituted this rule.

  I usually walk around with Eric Duggan and discuss pertinent subjects that he’s read about or seen on various cable television shows.

  Like the effects of overpopulation in the ghettos.

  Or blind kids in Malaysia who get paid ten cents an hour to make expensive American basketball shoes.

  But he has Jonas Kelser now.

  So I didn’t go to my locker and came straight to Social Studies instead.

  Miss Cosgrove is organizing her desk. She likes things nice and neat. Her hair is pulled back and twisted into a bun. She often wears clothes that look like they’ve been ordered out of a catalog. I enjoy smelling her cause she always wears a particular perfume.

  Hello, Blacky, she says.

  Hello, I say.

  You’re a bit early, aren’t you?

  Yes, I say.

  No locker time?

  Didn’t need it, I say.

  We missed you yesterday, she says, smoothing the front of her shirt. I can see her nipples and this makes my face hotter than usual.

  Is everything okay? she asks.

  Yes, I say. My voice cracks a little. This must have something to do with her nipples.

  You sure?

  Yes.

  Are you feeling all right?

  I’m not falling, I say.

  She says, I didn’t say you were.

  We don’t talk for a second. For some reason I imagine the kinds of things she keeps in the drawers of her desk.

  Stuff like aspirin and little tissues. A secret bottle of perfume. A tube of lipstick.

  Miss Cosgrove leans forward and says, I asked if you’re feeling all right, Blacky. Feeling.

  Oh, I say.

  It’s just that you seem so far away.

  But I’m not.

  She stops leaning so much and paperclips some forms. She says, How’s your mom doing these days?

  I say, She’s okay.

  Is she still working at St. Joe’s?

  Yes.

  Well, please tell her I say hello and give her my regards.

  Okay.

  Miss Cosgrove always wants to give her regards to people.

  Like regards are little chocolates wrapped in foil.

  She says, I look forward to seeing her at parent-teacher conferences.

  I don’t reply cause I know there will be lots of concern at this particular conference. Miss Cosgrove is always trying to recommend adjustments to my study habits. For state capitals she suggested that I use flash cards. I got only thirty-five of the state capitals correct, so she let me retake the test. I used the flash cards to study with, but I got only thirty-two correct the second time.

  I worked hard on it, too.

  The problem was I kept imagining myself getting lost in all those cities.

  Like Montpelier, Vermont.

  And Tallahassee, Florida.

  Albany was a tough one, too. I couldn’t ever seem to get out of Albany.

  Miss Cosgrove has gone back to arranging her desk.

  There are three polished stones on three stacks of papers.

  I imagine her house. I see things stacked everywhere. Plates and mail and stuff like that. Neat stacks with little polished stones on top. I picture her married to a mailman. He never takes off his uniform and when they have sex he just undoes his fly and they moan at each other like they’re sad.

  I take out Mary Jane Paddington’s homework assignment about capital punishment. I begin copying it into my own notebook.

  It reads:

  Capital punishment is horrendous. People make mistakes and they should be punished, but putting others to death is animalistic behavior. Another’s death is not for us to decide. It’s up to God to settle such matters of the mortal soul.

  I don’t believe capital punishment solves anything. There’s a guy named Mumia who is on Death Row in Philadelphia for killing a policeman in a race-related shootout. There is fishy evidence regarding this case. I wish they would free Mumia and go after the real evidence.

  As I am copying Mary Jane Paddington’s assignment, Evan Keefler and Steve Degerald pass by the doorway.

  They see me and stop.

  Steve Degerald points at me and gives me a thumbs-up.

  Then Evan Keefler does the same.

  They are grinning so hard it’s like their teeth hurt.

  I look away.

  In the window the rain is coming harder. It’s like someone is controlling it with a dial.

  When I look back to the doorway Steve Degerald and Evan Keefler are gone.

  In the bus line Jared Collins points at me and shoots me a thumbs-up.

  Then Kevin Buhle and Richard Falcon do it too.

  Richard Falcon’s thumb has a black nail. In Language Arts I’ve seen him color it with a permanent marker. He calls it his Evil Thumb. He tells people he has tattoos but it’s a lie. I know this cause I saw him in the Student Council room with all of his clothes off. I don’t know why he was naked. He was all alone and sitting really still in one of the homeroom delegate chairs. I had missed my bus cause of a bathroom emergency. I walked into the Student Council room and there he was.

  He didn’t have a single tattoo.

  It’s funny how we create stories about our bodies.

  For instance, the other day I heard Sean Maloney tell Coach Corcoran that he can’t wear a jock cause he’s got three testicles. In a few weeks the old woman with the lunchmeat face who works in the Health Office is going to come into the locker room and check all the sixth-grade boys for hernias. Rumor has it that she fondles you and makes you turn your head and cough. I’ll be sure to listen for how many times Sean Maloney coughs.

  When the bus leaders come around everyone files out to the parking lot and starts boarding their buses. The rain is coming down in a way that makes you want to ball up and get muscular.

  The windshield wipers sound like dogs crying.

  When it’s my turn to board I hesitate.

  Let’s go, Blacky! the bus driver says.

  Her eyes are small like a lizard’s.

  You’re holding up the line, she yells. Let’s go!

  My tongue feels like it’s shrinking.

  I forgot something, I say.

  Then I turn around and walk away from the line.

  Janice Caulkoven and Ben Jansen are sharing an umbrella. It’s so big it’s even stopping the rain that’s going sideways.

  It’s funny how never having an umbrella can make you feel left out.

  I stop at the school doors and turn.

  When buses start to move it’s like they got their own imaginations.

  For some reason I feel the need to wave goodbye to my bus, so I do.

  I wave so ha
rd my hand goes floppy.

  As it pulls away I can see four thumbs framed in four different windows.

  I walk home on Caton Farm Road cause the buses don’t use it. There’s a new subdivision going up and the rain makes the houses look like they were dropped out of the sky.

  Nobody lives here yet. It’s all piles of bricks and skeleton wood.

  There is a yellow bulldozer parked in mud. The door is open so I go inside. This feels highly illegal but it is thrilling to be a smalltime criminal.

  I imagine it takes special skill to operate a bulldozer cause the controls are all sticks and levers.

  There is a black hardhat on the seat. I put it on and imagine myself playing dodgeball. I break all the rules and charge Steve Degerald and Evan Keefler with my head. They slam up against the bleachers and I can hear their ribs crack. I can almost feel their bones breaking in my teeth.

  From the cab of the bulldozer I can see into the half-made house. It’s all skinny wood and chicken wire. I think about how houses have bones too.

  I wonder when they put the walls in cause the walls are skin.

  I wonder how electricity works cause electricity’s like veins. Trying to figure this out makes me sleepy.

  My hair is soaked and so are the bottoms of my jeans.

  I can smell my body. It’s like meat with spices.

  I doubt that this is a pleasant experience to inhale.

  Ma says I don’t need to start using deodorant yet but I think I do.

  The bulldozer windshield is getting all steamy and I write a letter with my finger.

  Boy,

  Where are you? I miss you.

  Girl

  I see Al Johnson in jail.

  They shave his head and beat him with sticks.

  He falls to his knees and begs for mercy.

  And then a guard with a gold tooth urinates on his skull.

  My breath steams over the words on the windshield and my letter is gone.

  I walk the rest of the way home.

  You always hear about gang activity on this side of town. The Vicelords and the Latin Kings.

  Watch out for the gangs, Blacky, Ma says sometimes. I guess Chicago isn’t big enough for them.

  You can tell who they are cause they cock their hats funny.

  Eric Duggan said that once he was at Aladdin’s Castle in the mall and a Vicelord walked up to him and made him remove his Cubs hat.

  If they come after me I will hide in a dumpster.

  I realize that I am still wearing the hardhat but I don’t feel guilty and I keep it on.

  The rain dies a little but not much.

  I think about cutting through Hamil Woods. I could rest in the dugout at the baseball field.

  But you never know when the Smudge Man will come out of his hole.

  I imagine meeting him.

  Hello, Smudge Man, I say, nice to finally meet you.

  He is gentle and scary at the same time.

  He plays his violin and I get hypnotized.

  Then he takes me down into his hole and eats my brain with a spoon.

  7

  By the time I get home, the rain has stopped and the backyard looks like rubber.

  Cheedle is under the swing set with his typewriter. He’s sitting on newspapers and wearing a red football helmet. The helmet makes his head look huge.

  Hey, I say.

  He says, Hey.

  What are you doing out here?

  Ma’s talking to someone in the kitchen.

  Who is it? I ask.

  Some woman with frizzy hair.

  What’s with the football helmet? I ask.

  He says, It’s for concentration. Distracting forces see it and it renders them useless.

  I have no idea what he just said.

  I say, Where’d you get it?

  I found it in the basement, he says. I would hypothesize that it belonged to our dad.

  Oh, I say.

  The chin strap makes his face look smashed.

  It’s a day for interesting headgear, he says, pointing to my hardhat.

  I found it, I say.

  He doesn’t ask where.

  I don’t think he’s at all interested in my life.

  Sometimes I feel like I’m his little brother and I should be following him around.

  We are quiet and he types for a minute.

  Did you see the rainbow? Cheedle asks.

  No, I say, I missed it.

  It was strange, he says, still typing. The rain was coming down in a veritable deluge and then it suddenly stopped and there was a full rainbow.

  Huh, I say. What’s a reversible luge?

  Veritable deluge. An authentic downpour.

  Oh, I say.

  Cheedle says, The Indians believed rainbows meant good things to come.

  Then he picks at his ear through a hole in the football helmet.

  How’s the novel coming? I ask.

  I’m having a good session, he says. Glen the Bear Boy is leading me on an interesting journey. As we’ve learned in Techniques in Fiction Writing, keeping your protagonist active is perhaps the novelist’s greatest challenge.

  He stops typing.

  By the way, Cheedle says, thanks for the kissing lesson. I told Anna Beth Coles about it today in Chaos and Creativity and she expressed interest in having a lesson as well. She’s eleven like you and she’s already well into puberty. I think she would benefit from your wisdom on such matters. She said she’d be happy to provide remuneration.

  What’s remuneration? I ask.

  Remuneration, he says. A fee for your services.

  Oh, I say.

  I think about getting a fee for my services and it strikes me that this would be a form of prostitution.

  Eric Duggan told me that prostitutes don’t wear any underwear and make a thousand dollars an hour. He got this information from a late-night HBO special.

  What did you think of Anna Karenina? Cheedle asks.

  I couldn’t read it, I say. I kept getting stuck on the names.

  He says, Tolstoy takes some getting used to.

  He adjusts the chin strap and cleans his thumbnail.

  Anna Karenina winds up jumping in front of a train, he adds. One of the most tragic moments in Russian literature.

  Why does she do that? I say.

  I don’t know, Cheedle says. I guess she’d had enough.

  I see myself jumping in front of one of the Metra Rock Island trains. I can hear the whistle screaming as it pulls into Union Station. But instead of jumping I get scared and sit down on the platform.

  I say, The Sherpas believed that the Indominable Snowman was a time traveler.

  Cheedle watches me for a moment and says, It’s abominable.

  Oh, I say. Isn’t that what I said?

  You said indominable. Indominable’s not a word. But that’s a valuable piece of information. Thank you.

  You’re welcome, I say, and I just stay there. I put my hand on the swing set. The rust feels cold and prickly.

  Do you think he has anything to do with the Smudge Man? I ask.

  Cheedle says, Perhaps, and starts typing again.

  When I walk into the house Ma and the Ham Lady are talking to each other at the kitchen table.

  When they see me nobody says anything for a moment.

  You can hear the lights humming over the table.

  After a minute Ma says, Why are you so wet, Blacky? Didn’t you get the bus home?

  I missed it, I say.

  You missed it.

  Bathroom emergency.

  Oh, she says. Well, walking is good exercise.

  I look out the window toward the woods. Someone has spray-painted FUCK on the dead Ford Taurus.

  Ma fidgets a little and says, Do you remember Ms. Wolf, Blacky?

  The Ham Lady says, Hello, Blacky.

  Hello, I say.

  Ma is so tired she can hardly keep her body up. Her hair is stringy and matted. It stops looking red when it gets like that
. I almost want to put a napkin over it.

  Busy day at school? the Ham Lady asks.

  Yes, I say. Pretty busy.

  How are your feet doing? she asks.

  Better, I say.

  They’re stinging even as I’m standing there.

  The Ham Lady is playing with that blue squeeze ball again. I imagine that she takes this item everywhere. I see her fiddling with it on a plane. I see her on a horse with it, too. The horse bucks her into a lake with sharks and piranhas but she hangs on to the ball.

  I want them to ask me about my hardhat but they won’t. I’m holding it out in front of me and trying to be obvious.

  Ma looks at the Ham Lady with a very pained expression on her face. For a second it gets so quiet you can hear the refrigerator and the lights humming. It’s like they’re doing a duet.

  Ma says, Did you get your makeup assignments?

  Yes, I say.

  She’s doing this thing where she’s not looking at me. It’s like she’s been replaced by a machine person. If I opened her up I’d probably find vacuum cleaner parts.

  The Ham Lady turns to me and then she glances at Ma and smiles. Her teeth seem too small for her mouth.

  Is Shay home? I ask.

  She’s in her room, Ma says.

  Okay, I say.

  We’ll just be a few more minutes, Blacky, the Ham Lady says, still smiling.

  Go dry your head, Ma says, but she’s still not looking at me.

  She’s making a guess.

  She’s looking at the toaster like it’s going to say something back.

  I put my hardhat under my bed and go into Shay’s room.

  Shay is listening to music that sounds like cars on a speedway.

  Her headphones make her look like she’s part UFO. Her hair is so red you can close your eyes and still see it.

  The thing about Shay is that she disappears a lot.

  It’s like living with an escape artist.

  She sneaks in and out of her window like a jewel thief. If you look behind her blue curtains you can see how the screen’s bent. You can also see many cigarette butts.

  A lot of her clothes are ripped cause of all the criminal activity. Once I saw her nipple poking through a hole in her shirt.

  Sometimes Ma pleads with Shay to wear a bra. She’ll say, C’mon, Shay, wear a bra. What kind of image are you trying to project?

  Shay’s seventeen and last year she had a baby that came out dead. She got sick shortly after this and it was discovered that she had hepatitis.