Bombshells (12 page)

Mama pushes away from the table. “And don’t forget your flip-flops, Birdie. You’re not going to ruin your new school shoes with paint.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Birdie walks to the bedroom like a normal person. That tells me she’s really upset about this whole thing. While she digs through the closet, looking for her flip-flops, she doesn’t make a sound. She’s really, really feeling bad. I’m not sure what to say to make her feel better.

Mama’s waiting for us outside on the carport with a mayonnaise jar full of green paint. The dots and footprints are going to match the wood on our house. I wonder how many other houses have that color? Right now, I can’t think of any. But
somebody
has to have a green house besides us. If ours is the only one, this is just too embarrassing.

Mama pushes the jar at me, along with a paint-stained rag. “Just mark the roads like the marks on the map, and come straight home. I don’t want y’all stopping to play or anything.”

There’s no way I’d stop to talk to anyone while I’m painting circles on the street for my baby sister. In fact, I’ve got my fingers crossed that everybody is inside their houses watching
The Skipper Ed Show
and laughing at
Popeye
cartoons while they have after school cookies and milk. But then I hear all the yelling and laughing and the dogs barking, and know they aren’t. “Don’t worry, Mama. We’ll come home as soon as we finish.”

Birdie slips her sweaty little hand in mine and we head down the sidewalk. The map doesn’t have any markings for our street, but there’s a circle at the corner where our street ends and we have to turn right onto March Street. I pour out a blob of paint on March Street and the fumes rise quickly in the hot air.

“Okay, Birdie. Here’s the first one.”

“I don’t want to walk in it.”

“But Mama said that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

Birdie puts her fists on her hips, and I see a tantrum building up in her face. “I don’t want to.”

“Why are you mad at me? I’m just trying to help you.”

“But what if we
do
get in trouble for painting on the road?” Birdie asks. “How does Mama know we won’t get arrested or something?”

“So many kids will be walking on those dots, they’ll be worn off before too long. Besides, we won’t get in trouble at all. If the police come, we’ll tell them Mama told us to do it. Then they can go talk to her, like she said. C’mon, Birdie. Let’s get this over with.”

“No. I’m not a baby, and I’m not making footprints to follow.”

“You’ll have to tell Mama you wouldn’t do it.”

“Maybe she won’t find out. You won’t tell her will you?”

I shrug. “Depends.”

Birdie grabs my hand again and we start walking. A yellow cat slinks across the road in front us.

“Depends on what?”

“Depends on if you make me mad or something.”

Birdie stops walking for a minute and looks up at me. “Do I make you mad all the time, Mellie?”

Damn. She looks like she’s going to cry, and I know if she starts, then I’ll cry, too. Then we’ll be walking through our neighborhood, pouring green circles of paint on the road and bawling our stupid eyes out.

So, she can’t cry. That means I can’t tell her how often she makes me angry. “No. You don’t make me mad all the time. Like right now, I’m not mad at you.” And I’m not, now that I think about it. Birdie had a much worse first day of school than I had. How can I be upset with her?

“Well, I’m mad at someone. Debbie Robison.”

“Is her brother Jimmy? He’s a safety patrol this year, isn’t he?” I remember him from the ceremony at the end of school last year.

Birdie nods, still looking angry. We stop at the next corner: March and Champion. I spill some more paint and look at Birdie. She shakes her head. “I’m not making footprints.”

“Okay. It’s your map we’re making.”

After a few minutes Birdie says, “I’m mad at every kid who was at that corner.”

“I can understand that.” Some boys are throwing a ball around in front of Mark Mitchell’s house. I make sure the jar is hidden between me and Birdie. But they ignore us. After all, Mark Mitchell is still in sixth grade.

Birdie sighs. “But really and truly, I’m mad at Mama.”

I look down and see that Birdie’s face is getting red like she just ran around the house five times. I don’t know what to say. I get angry with Mama, too, but I’ve never said it out loud. In fact, I was upset all day because of Mama insisting on giving me that stupid home permanent. Still, I can’t tell Birdie it’s okay to be mad at Mama, because it isn’t.

Is it?

“I keep thinking that if she wasn’t going to have that stupid baby…” Birdie stops walking and looks up at the sky. “I’m sorry, God. I know the baby isn’t stupid, at least not yet.” She skips to catch up with me and says, “Then Mama would’ve come to school on time. And none of this would’ve happened.”

“I guess so.” I’m surprised at how much sense Birdie’s making. And I sure understand what she feels about the baby, though I don’t think I’ve ever even admitted to myself that I think the baby’s stupid.

Gee, we’re terrible sisters, aren’t we?

A car full of laughing teen-aged girls drives past us. They have their elbows sticking out of the open windows and the radio is playing. I wonder if I’ll ride in a car and laugh like that with Steph one day? The thing is, I’m not sure if Steph will still be friends with me if I don’t start wearing make-up and kissing boys.

Birdie and I don’t talk for a while. There’s nothing left for us to say. We keep walking and pour circles at Champion, then at Triumph and Ally Boulevard, where the school is. Thankfully, we don’t see any more kids around here. It’s like they’re staying as far away from school as they can.

At the intersection of Ally and Triumph, Birdie stops and looks around. “This is where I got mixed up.” She points to her left. “Debbie crossed that way instead of this way, and before I knew it, I was far away.”

“So we need to make sure you remember to turn this way when you leave school, right?”

We cross to the other side of Ally Boulevard and I pour out three circles this time. “With three circles you’ll know this is the important corner.”

“Yes.” Birdie points to the wide drainage ditch that runs beside Ally Boulevard. “I need to remember that deep ditch over there and then the yellow house with the fence and the big dog.”

“Yep.”

The German shepherd barrels toward the fence, barking his head off. He runs back and forth on the dirt path he’s worn next to the fence.

I take Birdie’s hand and we walk toward the fence. “Hello, Heinzie.” Heinzie sits and waits for me to come pet him through the fence. I put the mayonnaise jar and the rag on the ground. “He’s always lived here. He won’t bite or anything, he just likes to run and bark at people. I think he wants to play with us, but he never gets out of the fence. His owner said we could pet him, but not to let him out.”

Birdie puts her hands behind her back and watches while I rub Heinzie’s head through the fence. His tongue is flopping around and he looks like he’s got a silly grin on his face. “Heinzie, this is Birdie. She’s my sister. You take good care of her and make sure she comes by to pet you every day, okay?”

Heinzie lowers his head and sniffs at the ground like he’s trying to smell Birdie’s flip-flops. She takes a step closer, right up to the fence, and Heinzie licks her toes. She giggles and smiles for the first time all afternoon.

“Hi.” She puts the tips of her fingers through the fence and touches the dog’s nose, before snatching her hand back. “Ew! His nose is wet.” Heinzie barks, and Birdie jumps away.

“It’s okay, boy. It’s okay,” I say, and the dog calms down. “You have to move slow and certain around him, or he’ll think you’re going to hurt him.” I put my hand out in front of me and hold it still for a second, then slowly reach through the fence. “Like this.” Heinzie puts his ear right under my fingers for a good scratch. “See?”

Birdie looks up at me. “He likes brave girls, doesn’t he?”

I look back to see Birdie watching me with her big blue eyes full of wonder. She thinks I’m brave? I guess that shows what a six-year-old knows, huh? “He’s just old and fidgety. See how his eyes are cloudy? I don’t think he can see very well, so he likes things slow. You try again.”

Birdie does exactly what I did: holds her hand out in front of her, really still for a few seconds, and then puts her fingers through the fence. Heinzie dips his head under her fingers and moves it back and forth, like he’s helping her give him a rub. Birdie giggles and says, “I’m a brave girl, too, Heinzie.”

“Hi, girls.”

I recognize that voice, that smooth, melting chocolate voice.

Robert.

BIRDIE

I skip over to meet Robert as he walks toward us. Heinzie starts barking and running all over again. “Hi, Robert. Do you know Heinzie?”

“Yep.” Robert smiles and puts his hand on my head. His palm is hot. “Old Heinzie’s been running behind that fence for a long time. Did you pet him?”

“Of course. I’m a brave girl.”

“Sure you are. How’s the arm?”

“Got some new names today.” I wave my cast around. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it itches like crazy.” Just saying that makes me itch, so I rub it against my belly, but that doesn’t do much good. I look over to see where Melanie is. She’s still standing beside the fence, with the jar of paint by her feet. “C’mon, Robert. Say hi to Heinzie.” When Robert and me get to the fence, the dog stops running and waits for Robert to give him a pat.

“Hi, Melanie.”

For just a second everything is quiet. Heinzie isn’t barking. No cars are driving past. I can’t even hear any birds singing. I watch Mellie, waiting for her to answer Robert. She’s taking her sweet time.

“Hi, Robert.”

Finally. I was beginning to think she didn’t want to talk to Robert.

“How was the first day of school?” Robert is still looking at Melanie, not me, so I don’t have to answer. I’m so glad.

I hear the rumble of a jet that sounds far away, and look up. The plane is so high, it’s just a speck of shining silver in the sky. The long white cloud behind it is puffing up, changing from a straight line to a dotted one. When I look back at Melanie, her face is kind of pink. She shrugs and says, “Okay, I guess. I have Mrs. Marchman for math. Did you have her?”

Robert nods and grins. “Sorry ’bout that.”

“Sure you are.” Melanie picks up the paint jar and rag. “Come on, Birdie. Let’s go home.”

“Mind if I walk with you? I’m headed home, too.”

Melanie looks at him like she’s surprised, but she never answers. So I decide to take charge. I grab Melanie’s hand with one hand and bump Robert’s leg with my cast. “Let’s go.”

After we walk across the newly painted dots on the street, Melanie starts to talk. “What are you doing over this way, Robert?”

“Just checking on a few yards to mow. I need some work until I leave in a few weeks. By the way, my folks are giving me a going away party next Saturday. Will you be able to come?”

I look up at Melanie and she’s quiet, her lips closed like she’s never going to talk again. I have to take charge once more. “Sure, Robert. We’ll come. Are you going to have ice cream and cake?”

He laughs. “I’ll make sure we do.”

“Oh, goodie. Where are you going, anyway?”

He looks over my head at Melanie. “I’m going into the Navy. I have to go to Michigan for basic training.”

“You’re really going?” Mellie says.

“Yes. I’m really going.”

This is a grown-up conversation we’re having, so I stop swinging my arms and just hold hands with them both, all connected together. We stop at the corner and wait for a car to go by. Robert looks down at the green dot on the road and then at the jar of green paint Mellie is holding. He says, “Are you two painting graffiti on the road?”

Mellie smiles, and I think for a minute I’m looking at someone else, a girl much older and a lot prettier than my sister.

But I’m holding my breath, because I don’t want her to tell Robert what we’re really doing. She might tell him I wet my pants. I don’t want anyone else to know. So I have to take charge one more time. In a rush, I say, “Mama told us to come paint some graf-a-tee-tee on the road. She said it needed some.”

Robert and Mellie laugh really hard, and sound kind of like Mama and Daddy laughing at one of my circus tricks, except I don’t remember doing a trick.

Robert leaves us when we get to his driveway. As soon as he is in his house, I ask Mellie, “What is graf-a-tee-tee, anyway? Just dots on the road?”

“Graffiti is when kids go paint things in places where they aren’t supposed to. You know those words painted on the trains? And the black paint on the highway bridges? That’s graffiti.”

“Uh-oh. Robert knows that, doesn’t he?”

Mellie laughs again. “Yep.”

Hmm. I don’t know what kind of trouble I’m in now. Is it worse to tell a lie, or worse to do something bad, like painting graf-a-tee-tee? I’m not sure, but I think Mama will think telling a lie is the worst. But maybe she won’t find out.