It's a Little Haywire (7 page)

“Crickets. Mason’s such an idiot.”

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“I was, but then Mason...”

“Mason what?”

“He was bragging how he started it.
Anyway, I hope you’re okay.”

“I am. I don’t even think about it.”
Much.

We stand awkwardly like neither of us
wants to leave, but we can’t just stand in front of Don Chan’s.
“I’m going to get a soda. Want one?”

“Okay.”

We go in and I grab two sodas. Then I
act on a whim and take two more. I pay Mr. Chan, whose wide smile
tells me he’s happy to take my money.

I hand Mikala one and pop the lid off
another for me.

“Who are those for?” she asks.

Instead of answering I head straight for
the alley. I’m glad to see the guy in the box and Mr. Red sitting
in the shade. I offer them each a soda. They look surprised and for
a moment I’m afraid they won’t take them, but then they do, giving
me a nod.

“This is my friend, Mikala,” I say.
“Mikala, this is....

And then I realize I don’t know their
real names.

Mr. Red says, “I’m Mr. O’Keely. This
here’s Mr. Joseph.”

The guy in the box has a name.

“And you’re Charlie True’s grandson?”
Mr. Red asks. I realise I haven’t told them my name yet either.

“Yeah. I’m Owen.”

Mikala eyes Mr. Joseph’s box and Mr.
Red’s tent warily, but follows suit when I sit down on the
grass.

“Nice day,” I say.

“We saw your fight, yesterday,” Mr. Red
says. (In my head, he’s still Mr. Red.) Then he laughs. “You got
done in good.”

“It’s just a black eye,” I say again for
the hundredth time.

“It was like watching a dog fight. Only
with little puppies.” Mr. Red guffaws, and surprisingly, Mr. Joseph
joins him.

Mikala chuckles too. I feel stupid but
laugh along. We probably did look silly. The conversation drops off
dramatically and I worry about what to say next. We spend half a
day staring at the ground or down the alley, working hard not to
stare at the homeless people directly.

It felt like a good idea at the time,
but now that we were just sitting here, sipping soda, saying
nothing, I got all squirmy, like I just wanted to run away.

Mikala rescues me.

“Owen True, my groceries need to get
into the fridge.”

That’s my cue to spring up and say good
bye. As we are leaving I wonder what Mr. Joseph and Mr.Red plan to
do for the rest of the day.

Mikala and I head back to her house.

“Here, give me one of your bags.”

She hands it to me. “They’re really
homeless?”

“Yup.”

“How’d you meet them?”

“Uh, kinda by accident.” I don’t get
into how I stalked Mr. Joseph or how he used to scare the daylights
out of me.

“They’re nice.”

Mikala puts her groceries away and I
wait for her in the tree house. When she climbs in, she reaches for
a book. We both wanted to read the same book, so to compromise we’d
decided to take turns reading aloud.

“You reading or am I?”

I point to my eye. “Maybe you
should.”

Mikala gets that worried look again,
where all her freckles look like they’re joined together.

“He’s jealous of you.”

“Who?”

“Mason.”

“Mason? Why would he be jealous of
me?”

“Because you saved Ruby when he
couldn’t. He knows she would’ve died if you hadn’t been there.”

“I don’t get it. Isn’t that reason for
him to like me?”

“You’ve got to understand Mason. You
make him feel inferior. You have nice clothes, your dad drives a
fancy car. You live in a big city and get to do big city stuff,
when he’s never been anywhere. And when you saved Ruby, you made
him feel weak. I know it’s not fair. It’s just how it is.”

“But you don’t hold that against me, do
you?”

Mikala reaches for my hand. They are
sandpaper rough and her nails are chewed to the quick, but for some
reason it’s like lightning strikes. A crazy jolt of electricity
shoots through me.

“Of course not,” she says. “I mean, I
did at first, and then you saved Ruby. I could never hate you after
that.”

Something really weird happens. Her eyes
get that soft/smiley look and I feel like I’m going to explode. She
leans toward me. At least I think she’s leaning, but with my
one-eye depth perception problem, I’m not totally sure.

I don’t know what to do with this new
situation and my body reacts all crazy.

“Um, can I use your bathroom?”

Mikala pulls away, her freckles spread
wide. “Now?”

“Yeah, I really have to go.”

She waves toward the house with an
irritated flick. I shimmy down the treehouse ladder and jog to the
house.

I know where the bathroom is because
I’ve been in the Sweets’ house lots of times over the years.

Good thing it’s on the main floor and
not in a dungeon.

When I’ve done my business, I wash my
hands. I see my reflection in the mirror, my black eye swollen and
blue, like I took a permanent marker to it. I try to see my face
from Mikala’s point of view. Am I good looking apart from the black
eye? I’m glad she seems to like me but I’ve never had girls like me
before, so I’m really confused.

I hear noise just as I crack the
bathroom door open. It’s bad timing.

From my vantage point I see Mason about
to leave the house through the front door just as his dad walks in.
I haven't seen Mr. Sweet all summer, and I’m shocked by his
appearance. His hair is tousled, he looks like he hasn't changed
his clothes or had a shower in a week. Trickles of fear creep up my
back. I don’t want him to catch me spying. I narrow the crack and
hold my breath.

"Where y'going, boy?" he slurs.

"Nowhere," Mason says, taking a step
back.

“Where’s your mother?”

“You stay away from her.”

“What’d you say, boy?”

“I said, stay away from Mom!”

Mason looks like a wild animal backed
into a corner, his eyes all crazy-like. I don’t know where Mrs.
Sweet and the little girls are, but I’m glad they’re not here.

“Don’t you talk to me like that you
little twerp!” Mr. Sweet shoves Mason against the wall, and I hear
the clunk of Mason’s head smacking against it. Then Mr. Sweet loses
his footing and falls, landing awkwardly on the sofa.

He starts to cry. First a slow rumbling
like a brewing volcano, his face growing a purple-y red until he
heaves a big sob.

I’m embarrassed for Mason, even if he is
my nemesis. I stay stiff as a statue. I sure don’t want him to
catch me watching.

Mason’s face is screwed up tight with
emotion shooting off like fire crackers. Anger, disgust. He rubs
his head where it hit the wall, then shoots out the door.

Mr. Sweet doesn’t move. I wait until I
hear quiet snoring before tip-toeing toward the back door. I get to
the kitchen when I see Mikala hidden in the shadows, her eyes
glassy with emotion. She saw everything. And now she knows that I
saw it too.

CHAPTER TEN

Owen
True – The Prophet

MY LEGS ARE SHAKING. Haywire is more
haywire than I thought! I’m not sure what to do now, but I’m
heading home. I should tell Gramps.

I hear voices coming from the open
windows.

Dang, Mrs. Pershishnick’s tinkerbell
laughter pierces through loud and clear.

“Hey, Owen,” Gramps says. They’re
sitting at the table, cards fanned in their hands, a cribbage board
between them.

Mrs. Pershishnick chips in, “I’m
skunking your grandfather.”

“I’m afraid it’s true. Do you want to
join us, Owen? There’s always room for one more.”

I go to the fridge and pour myself a
glass of juice. “It’s okay.”

“Your grandfather wasn’t kidding about
the eye. What did Master Sweet have to say for himself?”

“Well, actually, I did see him, but we
didn’t talk.” I gulp back the juice until I see the bottom of the
glass. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Gramps, do you know Mr. Sweet very
well?” In a town this small I figure everyone knows everybody
well.

“Not really well. I know he has a temper
and favors a drink now and again.”

I’d say more than now and again.

“Why do you ask?”

I’d don’t want to blab about Mikala’s
family’s secrets, but Mason could be in trouble, not to mention his
mom. Or Mikala.

“I kind of saw Mr. Sweet yell at Mason.
Push him around. I think he was drunk.”

Gramps puts his cards down on the table
and swivels to look at me.

“I’m sorry to hear that. This darn
re-cess-ion is bringing the worst out of people.”

“What should we do?”

“Do? It’s none of our business, Owen. We
leave them in peace.”

Gramps is definitely old school. Mom
would be all over this with social services in a heartbeat.

“Do you think the mill will ever open
again?”

Gramps shrugs. “I s’pose there’s always
a chance.”

Suddenly I’m exhausted. I tromp upstairs
and flop on my bed. I stare at the ceiling. It’s cracked and
yellowed. Wall paper peels away from the corners. This house needs
an extreme makeover. This town needs an extreme make over.

I’m overwhelmed with other people’s
problems. I’ve spent so much of my time in Seattle consumed with my
own problems that I didn’t notice that maybe other people had
problems.

Real problems. Like Mr. Joseph and Mr.
Red. Like the Sweet family.

And what can I do about it?
Really, what can
I
do? I’m
just a kid.

It’s stuffy, so I lug myself to the
window. It’s got an old twisty wood frame that’s stiff at some
points and slippery at others. There’s a block of wood with notches
at different heights to prop the window open. I put my weight under
the window to shimmy it up as far as it can go, then slip the block
in, making sure it’s good and secure.

I can see the creek from my window.

Maybe
they
know.

Maybe they’re trying to tell me
something and that’s why I keep seeing them. But testing this idea
means heading out to the log. My skin gets all crawly at the
thought. Still, I’m drawn back. There’s gotta be a reason for the
visions. I just need to be brave enough to find out why. I rush
down the stairs and out the door before I lose courage.

I’m on the log waiting. This time I’m
looking for them, expecting them. The creek is drying up as the
summer nears its end, hardly high enough to pitch rocks into. I’m
antsy and nervous. My leg bounces like that will make things happen
faster.

What if they don’t come?

What if they do?

I’m almost fit to go back into the
house, eat some of Gramps cooking, when I get the first
glimpse.

Fog swirling along the tracks.

The whistle.

I’m not even that scared this time. I
don’t believe the beings (angels?) will hurt me. They had plenty
opportunities to wreak havoc before and didn’t.

Still, as it draws closer the hairs on
my neck spring to attention.

The fog has formed into the image of a
train once again. Every time I see it, the sight is clearer, the
lines more distinct.

The beings form like before, dozens this
time, popping their heads out the windows. Their long arms reach
toward me.

They are holding something in their
hands but I can’t tell what they are. Disks of some kind.
Frisbees?

Then they fling them. At me.

“Whoa!” I duck.

The objects evaporate before they hit
me, but I yell out all the same. “Hey, what the heck?”

They keep flinging these things at me as
each train car goes by. Disk by disk. Only I notice that they’re
not flat like plates, but curved slightly, like bowls.

The caboose disappears into the
distance.

My breath slows back to normal and I sit
there, on the log by the drying up creek, pondering the message the
beings have for me.

I think I know what they are trying to
say.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Owen True – The Idea Guy

IT ACTUALLY RAINS IN HAYWIRE sometimes.
The rat-tat-tat on the roof overnight and the cool fresh air knock
me out, and I sleep as soundly as Daisy.

By morning, the sky is bright blue again
and the only signs of the downpour are the puddles in the potholes
on the road and a rise in the creek level.

I find Mikala sitting with her feet in
the creek behind her house. From Gramps’ house the creek takes a
sharp turn to the south, past the Sweets’ back yard, where it heads
down hill into a ravine. The floor of the creek is deeper there,
and the water forms a pool deep enough to swim in, even in August.
We don’t go there much because Mikala doesn’t know how to swim.
It’s also the place where a skinny steel bridge joins Haywire to
the outside world and it’s kind of scary to be under there when a
car or truck drives over it.

Mikala narrows her eyes. A warning not
to speak of what I saw at her house the day before. I’m no
dummy.

“I saw them again last night. I think I
know what it means. What the beings are trying to say.”

Mikala tightens her pony tail. “What
then? Spit it out.”

I tell her what happened, how the image
was the clearest it’s been, how the beings were huge and how they
threw disk-like objects at me. “They weren’t Frisbee s, Mikala.
They were soup bowls.”

“Soup bowls?”

“Yeah, I think we’re supposed to make
soup with the vegetables from Gramps’, garden and feed the
people.”

“Like a soup line?”

“Exactly.”

Mikala pulls her feet out of the water
and sets them on a sunny rock to dry. “That’s a lot of work.”

“We got time.”

“I suppose.”

“Let’s go tell Gramps, see what he
says.”