Horse Camp (14 page)

Stretch:
(Taking a drink of coffee.) The ambulance had to come all the way from the other side of the county and took near an hour. Before it got here, your mom had showered off and come out in a green sweat suit. She said she was glad that was over and asked what we thought of
Penelope
and
Perseus
for names. Ma said she'd prefer regular old
Michael
or
Jacob
for the boy. She also said that
Perseus
was the ugliest name she'd ever heard. Danielle told her that was just another uneducated judgment and to be quiet if she didn't know a good name that came from the cradle of civilization when she heard it.

Stretch:
Ma went to bleach the tub, and the ambulance came to pick you three up. Then Ma came out and said the name wasn't too bad after all. Well, Perseus and Penelope you became. You all got checked out at the hospital and sent back here. You were here for a good couple of weeks before Allen showed up and packed you all up. Nearly broke Roland's little heart seein' you babies leave. He was a good one for keepin' you quiet by letting you suck on his pinky. After that, Danielle made phone calls home sometimes but mostly sent letters and postcards from wherever Allen was settin' up a church.

Stretch:
(Scratching the side of his head.) Let's see now, you two were born the year before we had that big rain and flood. Roland had his accident five years after the flood. Ma died the spring after Roland, and Pops 'bout six months later. I nearly lost my mind with grief and loneliness the next handful of years till Sheryl and June Bug here saved me from drinkin' myself to death. And now that you all showed up and saved me from dyin' of a broken heart, I feel like things have been practically just right.

With that, Stretch's eyes got all glassy, and he picked himself up and said he needed to go to the bathroom. We all just sat there quiet (even Percy) until he came out again, and then he started to eat his dessert like nothing had happened, so we ate ours, too, and eventually, Percy and Pauly and June Bug started jabbering like usual.

I didn't want to move a muscle the whole time Stretch was talking for fear he'd stop. I've gotten pretty used to sitting still and pretending to be listening intently to preaching and praying and such, but I was really, sincerely listening to Stretch.

Here are the most interesting parts of that story: For one, Percy and I were born right here in this house, in the downstairs bathroom! I'll never look at that tub the same again. For two, sometimes I forget that Percy and I are twins and that we're connected to each other in a way most people can't possibly understand. He really drives me crazy, but I have to admit that he seems to be maturing just a tiny, little bit. For three, Grandma sounds a lot like me in that she liked to keep things spic-and-span clean. For four, this isn't the first time Daddy abandoned us. He abandoned us before we were even born! For five, my life was in Stretch's hands almost immediately after I came out, and I survived! For six, Stretch has been through some really, really hard times, and I'm going to do my best to be a good niece to him now so he never feels like his family is going to abandon him again. I know what it's like to be abandoned, and it is not a good feeling.

J
IMMY 'S twenty minutes late to pick me up for our drive to the state fair so I can show Hercules II. I'm looking out the window, waiting like crazy while Uncle Stretch keeps giving me all these annoying extra instructions.
Make sure to feed and water your chicken extra if it's hot. Be polite to all the people you meet. Don't be messing around at the fair. Keep your nose clean. No swearing. No fighting. Did you pack your chicken-grooming tools? You bring along a belt for those jeans? Now, where's that money I gave you—you put it in your wallet? You got a wallet, right?
He paces back and forth, then he stops and acts like he just remembered something real important. “No smoking or drinking,” he says.

“Gimme a break,” I say. “I'm only thirteen.”

“There's kids younger'n you that could've used that advice,” he says.

I wonder who he's thinking about, but I don't want to encourage him.

Uncle Stretch has already given me two hundred and fifty bucks to pay for hotel, food, gas, and any emergencies. He said he expects a return of at least a hundred bucks if no emergencies arise. He called around to find a cheap hotel for us to stay at, and he wrote out some directions to get there. His handwriting is very small and messy. It's written in cursive that doesn't even look like real letters—it's more like tiny tumbleweeds with smoke coming off them—but if I complain I can't read it, he might bother me with some more dumb stuff.

Finally, at 7:55 a.m., Jimmy drives up in his car. I load Hercules II, who's in a cage, and put my other stuff in, too, including the new football I got for my birthday. Uncle Stretch goes over to Jimmy, puts his hand on his shoulder, and tells him some stuff in a voice too low for me to hear. Within a few minutes, we're out of the driveway and off to the Twin Cities. It'll be about a two-hour trip.

Jimmy's car is a little white beater that smells like dust. There are lots of empty Gatorade bottles on the floor and other trash. I'd been imagining he'd have a sweet black car with leather seats or something. But it's okay. I've been awaiting this day for quite a while, hoping Jimmy and I will have some great conversations on the way up, but Jimmy doesn't look much like talking.

I decide that if there's going to be any great conversation, I may have to ask the first question. “Stretch called you a punk the other day at the dinner table,” I say. “Does that make you mad?”

“Most sixteen-year-olds are punks,” says Jimmy.

“Even you?”

“Probably.”

“He says you smoke and drink.”

“I don't drink anymore.

It's what killed my brother. And it gets in the way of basketball.”

“What are you playing for? Stretch says you're not even on the high school team.”

“The coach is an idiot. I'm aiming for college ball.”

“How are people going to see you? Like, college coaches?”

“YouTube.”

“Huh.”

It's quiet awhile except for the rattle of Jimmy's car.

“What else do you do for fun?” I ask.

“I have this girlfriend I hang out with some. And I listen to music and paint and read books.”

“I draw a lot,” I say. “Check this out.” I reach over the seat into my duffel bag and pull out my sketchbook and flip it to the page where I drew Elle with her arm down and her breast showing.

“Wow,” says Jimmy. “Nice nudie.”

I turn red and smile.

“No,” says Jimmy. “That's a really good picture, Pers. Can tell you've got some talent.”

We drive for about a minute without speaking. My whole body feels warm, and it's not just the sun coming through the window that's making me feel that way.

“What's your girlfriend's name?” I ask.

“Riley.”

“Is she hot?”

“What would you know about hot?”

“I don't know,” I say, getting embarrassed. “Elle—I mean, the lady in the picture I drew—she's hot.”

Jimmy grins. “Riley's all right. Fairly hot. When she's older, she'll be really hot.”

“What do you paint?” I ask.

“Dark stuff.”

“What kind of books do you read?”

“Mostly short stories. Poe, O. Henry, Hemingway. The masters. Poe's the best.”

“Who's Poe?”

“Poe's the best,” repeats Jimmy. “Edgar Allan Poe. Wrote this story called ‘The Black Cat' that'll make you shudder, you're so scared, if you think deep about it. Messes with your mind.”

“What happens?”

“This animal lover guy who just got married gets a black cat but then starts to hate it because the cat follows him everywhere and annoys him, so he kills it. But the cat comes back—like a ghost—so he tries killing it again but ends up killing his wife—chops her in the head with an axe.”

“Whoa.”

“He buries her inside his basement wall so nobody will find out, but when the police come to investigate, they hear something crying from behind the wall, rip it open, and there's the cat, still alive, and the dead, head-axed body of the guy's dead wife.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah, whoa. But the part that messes with you is why did the guy change from fun-loving animal guy to dark-minded axe murderer? Like, how do people go from good to bad so easily? It can't just be because of some stupid cat. Something in his soul wanted to be a killer, wanted to be bad. It happens all the time if you watch people.”

“Did you turn into a punk when your brother died?”

“No.”

“I thought I might turn evil when my mom and dad abandoned me.”

Jimmy doesn't say anything.

“Uncle Stretch says you're a punk but you've got a good heart,” I say. “But maybe your heart will turn bad.”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I care about everyone and couldn't stand it if I was a jerk.”

“How do you know it'll always be that way?”

“Just do,” says Jimmy. “Hey, dig up that CD case under the seat.”

I do. He takes it from my hand and flips through it with one hand while steering the car with the other. He puts a CD into the player and cranks the volume. The guitars and drums are sort of slow, and the guy singing has a sad, gravelly voice. I've heard people with better voices than his.

“What's this music?” I yell over to Jimmy.

“This is the blues, boy,” shouts Jimmy.

He puts on a cool-looking pair of sunglasses and reaches past me to pop open the glove box. He grabs an old-fashioned pair of sunglasses and drops them in my lap, and then he digs out a plastic bag of sunflower seeds. He loads up a bunch into his cheek and says I can have some if I want. He spits the shells into an empty bottle he finds at his feet. I take a few seeds and grab an empty Gatorade bottle for myself. It's a sunny day out, and we're whizzing by lots of cars. Huge clouds look like giant football players, some smashing into each other, some running away. The music feels like it's inside of my brain and vibrating in my heart. The gravel-voiced guy is saying some pretty cool lines, and I decide I like his style. I check the backseat and see Hercules II bobbing his head in his cage, and it looks like he's grooving to the music.

After about an hour, Jimmy turns down the music and says, “You bring your swimsuit?”

“Yeah,” I say, “but I don't think there's a pool at the hotel Stretch picked out for us.”

Jimmy makes a couple of turns, and I see a sign that says,
WISCONSIN AND THE APPLE RIVER WELCOME YOU
.

“Wisconsin?” I say.

“Ever been tubing?” says Jimmy.

“No.”

“You're about to.”

“I think we're supposed to check into the hotel at, um …,” I say, checking my notes from Stretch.

“Don't worry about that,” says Jimmy. He parks the car and says, “Here's where you hurry up and change into your swimsuit.”

“In the car?”

“Yeah,” he says, “hurry up. No one's looking.”

“Are you going to change?”

“Already wearing mine,” he says.

“What about that van over there?” I say. “I think I can see some people looking over here.”

“No one wants to see your little pocket trout,” Jimmy says. “Now hurry up.”

I try to hurry, but I keep getting my toes caught in that netting underwear in my suit. I look at Jimmy a couple of times to make sure he's not spying on me. He isn't. Finally, my suit's on, and I tie up the string.

Jimmy goes around to the trunk. “Take your bag and stuff and bring it over here,” he says. I do, and he throws it in the trunk along with his stuff. He rolls down a window and says, “This bird'll be okay if we give him a little air, won't he?”

“I suppose,” I say. “Is there a bathroom around here?”

Jimmy points. “Use that big tree over there.”

I run over and water the big tree. I look around to make sure nobody saw anything.

We walk a ways to this shack, and Jimmy pays a fat lady some money for two big, black, rubber inner tubes. I follow Jimmy down to the river's edge, and he flops his tube out in the water, jumps on it, and begins to slowly float away.

“Come on, kid!” he says.

I get nervous trying to jump in the water and sort of fall in. My sunglasses slip off, and while I look for them, my tube gets away from me and begins drifting away, toward Jimmy.

“Swim after it!” says Jimmy.

I forget the glasses and take a little dive into the water. It's cold! I come up for air and start swimming. The river pushes me along, and it seems like I'm swimming really fast. I catch up to my tube and hold on to the edge.

“You gotta sit in the middle,” says Jimmy.

He's floating so far on up ahead that I can barely hear him. I wrestle my tube a little and finally get seated. I paddle my hands on the sides to try and catch up. Finally, I do, only because Jimmy grabs on to a tree branch sticking out over the water. When I get even, Jimmy paddles himself right up next to me and hooks his arm in my tube.

“Now what happens?” I say.

“We float,” he says.

It seems kind of boring at first, but soon I get used to it. We pass big groups of people who float slower because they're all linked up, and we pass people who've stopped to swim. Some of the swimmers are girls, or women. When Jimmy and I go by, I can see Jimmy pretending not to look, but I know he really is. You can pretend good when you're wearing sunglasses like Jimmy's. Some people say hi to us, and we wave back. A lot of the older people we see are drinking beer. One guy floats by us wearing a helmet with two cans of beer attached to the sides and straws bending down into his mouth. He's got his tube roped to another tube that holds a mangy red dog and a little cooler with beer. He digs out a can and throws it to Jimmy. “Cheers, young gun,” he says.

“Thanks,” says Jimmy. He hides the can of beer under the water as we cruise along.

“You're not gonna drink that, are you?” I say.

“Maybe,” he says.

“You're not old enough,” I say. “Isn't it illegal?”

Jimmy doesn't say anything.

I look at his hand holding the beer trailing under the surface of the water. The sun gleams off the silver can, and I can read the words OLD MILWAUKEE
.

“Wish I had those glasses,” I say, after a while.

“Wanna stop and swim?”

We stop at a low place in the river and put our tubes up on the bank. I see Jimmy looking at the beer and looking at me. I know he wants to drink it. Some girls float by in pink bikinis. “Hey, sexy!” one of them says to Jimmy. “Wanna come party?”

Jimmy just waves. Some older guys float by and wave, and Jimmy throws them the can of Old Milwaukee. “Thanks, buddy!” one of them yells.

We get back to floating again, and it's really nice, but hot. Then some big clouds make it shadier, and it feels perfect. I'm trailing my hand in the water, feeling the river bottom when it gets low, sometimes picking up rocks. All of a sudden, I feel something. I jerk my hand out of the water, thinking it's a fish, but it's a pair of sunglasses.

“Hey, Jimmy!” I say. “Look!”

I hand him the glasses and he inspects them. “Ray-Bans,” he says. “Nice.”

“Maybe there's a lost and found somewhere,” I say.

Jimmy looks at me. “Didn't you lose your glasses in the river?” he says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Well, now the river gave 'em back again.”

It takes me a second to get what he's saying. I put the Ray-Bans on and relax in the river. What a beautiful day.

After a while, Jimmy says, “All right, out here,” and he stands up. He catches me by surprise, and I have to scramble to get out. There's a big pile of tubes sitting at the river's edge, and Jimmy tosses his on top, so I do, too. I follow him to a little road where there's a bus waiting. We get on, and it takes us back to Jimmy's car.

When we get to the car, Jimmy takes out the keys and pops the trunk. He reaches in his bag and fishes out a pair of shorts and a shirt. Before I know what's going on, he whips off his trunks, and I'm left staring at his privates.

“Jeez!” I say, looking quickly away. “I saw everything, Jimmy.”

“Grow up,” he says.

I take out the outfit I was wearing earlier in the day and hurry to put it on.

“Uh-oh,” Jimmy says.

I struggle with my zipper. “What?” I say.

“Your bird's vacated the premises.”

“Huh?” I run over to where Jimmy's standing, staring at the backseat. The window's open wider than I remember, and Hercules II is definitely
not
in his cage. We search the car. No bird.

I look up into the surrounding trees before realizing that I've never seen a chicken in a tree.

“He's gone,” Jimmy says. “Long gone.”