Paint Me a Monster (3 page)

“Seemed like an extra-long walk from the bus stop today. The temperature dropped! Hello, Mrs. Samuels,” she looks at Gaga. “Are you stayin’ for dinner? I can always find something to add.”

“No, Emmy, whatever you’re cooking for the family tonight will be just for them. Is it four o’clock already? I’ve got to be scooting.” Gaga looks outside. “The leaves are blowing inside out. That means more rain tomorrow. Maybe Verna needs a ride to the bus. . . .”

“I hear you, Mrs. S. I can be ready in two shakes. I appreciate the ride.”

Daddy calls four o’clock the “Changing of the Guard.” The bus drops Emmy off and picks up Verna. After dinner, when the dishes are washed and put away, the bus comes back for Emmy, and tomorrow the bus will return Verna. It’s like Verna says, “Good things always comin’ and goin’.”

The kindergarten room is big. It has tables and chairs, a rug, and a huge wooden jungle gym. Along the walls are pictures of balloons with signs that say things like RED, BLUE, GREEN. I can read them. A brown paper tree with cut-out orange and red leaves stuck to it is glued to the window. “Fall” is written in yellow letters under the tree. A calendar almost as big as me leans on the wall under “Fall.” In the corner is a fuzzy rug jumbled with dolls. Two girls and a boy play house and laugh.

Mrs. Grayson is my teacher. She is tall. Her voice is tall also, and her face is pretty. I like her very much. She pats my head, smiles, and tells me to come inside the room. I play with everyone and climb on the jungle gym. It is my favorite thing to do. One day, Mrs. Grayson tells us to sit in a big circle so we can play a game. I sit with my back to the door. When I look up, I see Mrs. Grayson’s happy face across from me. It has a big smile that makes little holes in her cheeks.

“Someone is going to hide a toy in their lap. We will guess who it is. Cover your eyes with your hands,” she says.

While our eyes are closed, she hands a plastic doll to someone in the circle. I spread my fingers the tiniest bit so I can see what is going on.

“Rinnie, you’re peeking,” Mrs. Grayson says. “That’s not how we play. You are cheating.”

I don’t know what cheating is, but I can tell it is bad. Mrs. Grayson’s happy face isn’t in her tall voice anymore. I am ashamed of cheating. I scrunch the shame into a little ball and stuff it way down inside me, so no one will ever know I am a cheater—maybe not even me.

“Mrs. Grayson tells me you need a little encouragement following directions,” Mommy says, knocking ashes from her cigarette into a tiny china bowl. “It’s important to do what you’re told in school. No one likes a troublemaker.”

“OK, Mommy.”

Mommy yells, “OK, kids, get in the car. We’re going to Gaga’s. Emmy, plan to serve dinner about thirty minutes later than usual. Mr. Gardener is working late.”

The butterscotch candy in my mouth lasts all the way to Gaga’s house. When we arrive, Lizzie and I peel out of the car and race to ring the doorbell. Evan’s chubby legs totter side to side as he tries to keep up with us. Gaga smears our cheeks with red lipstick.

“I put fresh nuts in the candy dish in the living room,” she says and heads toward the reading room with Mommy.

We push each other out of the way to get to the nuts. Gaga hates that we pick out the cashews and salty walnuts. She hates that we leave the long nuts that look like cocoons and the little round ones that taste like they’re rotten in the crystal dish.

“Next stop, the basement.” I dash to the door near the front entrance. Lizzie takes a shortcut to a second set of stairs that leads to the basement and beats Evan and me.

“I got here first. I’m the soda man,” Lizzie says. She lifts a piece of the bar top and ducks under it. Behind the bar are glasses and clear bottles filled with stuff the color of maple syrup. We aren’t allowed to touch them. The stools in front of the bar are too high for Evan to crawl on, so the two of us stand next to each other on wood crates that Gaga brought home from the grocery store.

“I’d like a soda, please,” I say.

“What kind?” Lizzie asks.

“A big one please.”

“How about you?” Lizzie looks at Evan.

“I want one with a straw,” he says.

We drink our pretend sodas and jump on the sofa with the hole that Pop Pop swears “those rambunctious children made.” Because the paint on the legs of the sofa is scratched up and the seats fall in when we sit, I think the sofa is just old.

“I wish Pop Pop would let us turn the light on. It’s too shady in here,” I say.

“I wish he believed that we’d remember to turn it off,” Lizzie says.

Except for the bar, it’s kind of an unfriendly place. Before we give up making the basement fun, we turn all the knobs as far as they’ll go on the unplugged television and on the big radio next to the sofa. We talk into the drain on the floor and listen to how loud our voices sound.

Evan tugs the handle to the door under the stairs.

“Noooo, Evan!” Lizzie and I yell. “No!”

“That’s the stink room.” We hold our noses. “Get away. That’s where the suitcases are, and they’re stuffed with moth balls.”

“What’s a moth ball?” Evan asks.

“It’s white and you need a nose clip to get near it and gloves to touch it. Let’s get out of here,” Lizzie and I say.

“Next time, Evan,” I say. “We’ll explore where you can open all the doors.”

Gaga doesn’t have to tell us going to Wood Chuck Hollow is “another something special for her darlings.” We already know it.

“There used to be hundreds, maybe thousands of wood-chucks living here, but now there is only one family left, and it’s good luck if you see one,” Gaga says.

I don’t think we’ll see one today because the snow is too deep.

“Why are we here in winter?” Evan says. “There aren’t any animals in the cages. I want to see the skunks, garter snakes, rabbits, and foxes.”

“Me too. I want to walk on the trails and look for turtles and frogs in the pond,” I say.

Liz is rubbing her hands together. She left her gloves at home.

“Here, Lizzie, you can wrap my scarf around your hands and pretend they’re gloves.” I unwrap the scarf tied around my hood. It’s my favorite scarf. Mommy knit it, and it’s fuzzy and squishy.

“Thank you, Rinnie,” Lizzie says. “You’re a good sister.”

“Yes you are,” Gaga says, patting my purple hood. “Winter is a special time. Most people stay inside and miss the wonders of the cold. You can still find animal tracks—more easily, in fact. The tracks tell the story of where the animals live and how far they travel. Today, Evan, we will follow a trail. You can lead us. We’re going to the picnic tables under the big trees.”

Evan stomps ahead of us to the splintery post that marks the trail we’ve taken so many times and starts making footprints in the snow.

“We’re on a treasure hunt,” Gaga says. “Before we go home, let’s see if we can find a bird’s nest, rabbit tracks, deer tracks, and a hole an animal might have used for a home.”

“Look!” I say, holding out a pointy stick.

“Look at what?” Liz asks.

“My wand. Can’t you see? It’s part of my treasure collection. Abracadabra.” I circle the wand above my head and hit myself in the hood. “It’s not tamed,” I laugh. “I have to train it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Liz says, giggling.

“Tracks!” Evan says. “They’re little so they must be rabbit tracks.”

“Aha. Have you ever seen a rabbit with little feet?” Gaga asks. “Whose tracks could these be?”

“Deer tracks,” Liz says. “Deer are big but have small feet, like Bambi.”

Gaga pats her head with a gloved hand. “Good observation, Lizzie. That means you used your eyes and your memory well.”

“It’s easy to spot bird nests in winter,” I say, pointing to two nests on one tree.

“There’s another!” Evan shouts. “Across from the log with the big hole.”

“You found another part of the treasure,” Gaga says.

“Maybe a raccoon lives in the hole,” I say.

“Or a bear,” Evan says.

“We’ve found everything except rabbit tracks. Let’s stop at the picnic tables and measure how deep the snow is,” Gaga says. “Follow the wall of evergreens, Evan.”

“Can we dance on the tables like we do in the summer?” Lizzie asks when we get there. She sweeps snow from the table with my scarf and climbs onto its top.

Evan finds a snow bank and steps in it. “It’s up to my knees,” he grins and splashes snow into the air and into his eyes.

Gaga sits on the bench, her arms out ready to catch Lizzie if she falls.

“Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day,” Lizzie shouts in her best singing voice. Her arms look like angel wings.

Gaga claps and stands up and claps some more.

“Lovely, Lizzie, just lovely.”

Liz hops a little and curtsies.

For my turn, I crawl on the table and say, “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?” Gaga says.

“Ach,” I say.

“Ach who?”

“God Bless you!” I say, standing while Gaga claps for me.

“You three are the best treasure of all.”

The light turns green. “Hold hands, girls. It’s a busy street.” Mommy puts my gloved hand in hers, and I take Liz’s. It takes 37 steps to cross the street. The red fish on the bottom of my dress swim between my legs as the wind hurries them like a wave.

“F-R-A-N-C-H-O-N-S,” I spell.

Liz reads the black letters on the window, nods and adds, “Fine Clothing for Young Girls and Boys.” We open the door and shiny silver bells jingle above our heads.

“Good to see you again, girls. March is coming in like a lion,” the saleslady says. “Time to buy spring clothes, Mrs. Gardener?”

Mommy picks out what she likes. I hold a dress up to my chin.

“Oh look at the layers of gold and silver net. This is a queen’s dress! I love this dress!”

“It is a beautiful dress,” the saleslady says, “and the net is called Royal Woven Mesh. It’s from France. There have been many queens from France.”

A little skip happens in my chest. “Mommy, can I try on the Royal dress? Mommy, please can I try on this dress? It’s every good thing I can think of.”

Mommy touches her lips with her finger, hands clothes to the lady, and points Lizzie and me to a padded sign with the letters F-i-t-t-i-n-g R-o-o-m sewn in gold thread.

“Mommy, did you remember the Royal dress?” The silent swing of a curtain is my answer. In the corner, the huge pile of clothes reminds me of a fairy tale Daddy tells. “Look Lizzie, I’m the princess from the
Princess and the Pea
, except instead of mattresses, there are layers of puffy dresses.” I smoosh my body into the fluffy layers of clothes.

“Rinnie, you’re crushing the dresses. You’re going to get into trouble.”

I float my head up like a balloon filled with the smell of new clothes.

“Stop goofing around,” Liz says.

We model everything for Mommy and she says, “We’ll take the blue, green, and yellow cotton print dresses in both sizes, the dresses with the rhinestone belts, the blouses embroidered with parrots, and the polka-dot skirts I called about. Oh, and will you add six pairs of white socks for each of the girls.”

“You’ve selected lovely merchandise,” the saleslady says.

I watch as she folds our new span. Dress by dress is fed into a shopping bag. Dress by dress, the bags get fatter.

“What about the Royal dress?” I ask. “Please, Mommy. It’s so beautiful.”

“Not today, Rinnie. You have other pretty things.”

“But it’s the prettiest.”

“Not today.”

“Here you go,” says the saleslady. She hands each of us bags. Her smile is so big I can count the teeth in her mouth. She opens the door, and out we go. I don’t care about the other pretty new things. I want the Royal dress.

“Today is once in a while,” Mommy says after we put our new clothes in the car. “Let’s go across the street and have lunch at the Windsor. Let’s make this a real day downtown.”

We wait for the light to change, and I watch a man talk on the phone in a telephone booth. The seat is too little for him, and he looks like he’s going to fall off.

The light changes and we hold hands to cross the street again. I
love
the Windsor, and the tall skinny windows with squares of colored glass, the dark high-backed booths with seats so slippery we have to sit on our knees to keep us from sliding onto the floor. Gaga calls it “an experience.” The best part of lunch is when we finish. On the counter next to the cash register is a silver tree. Instead of leaves, little see-through boxes hang from the branches. They’re filled with tiny treasures, no bigger than my fingernail. Across each box in curly letters are the words “World of Miniatures.” I reach for one that has a hammer, nails, wrench, and tape measure inside, like the ones on Daddy’s workbench. Then I take one filled with mommies, daddies, children, and a perfect doggie. They are so perfect I can hardly breathe.

“Don’t touch anything,” Mommy says. “I mean it!”

Does she know how hard it is just to look?

We pay for lunch, cross the street, and walk to the car. I reach to pull myself in when a thing in my armpit drops. Mommy stoops to pick it up.

“What is this? Where did it come from?”

“It’s from the silver tree,” I say.

“In-the-restaurant?” she says in one long word as she shoves the box in front of my face.

I watch Mommy’s hands. One speeds toward my leg where there is no dress and bites me above my sock. Mommy’s other hand drops the box of treasures and tugs my coat collar. I hear the cry of material coming apart as it scratches across my throat. Then I am outside the car.

“I’m sorry Mommy, I’m sorry,” I say, covering my bottom with my hands.

“Rinnie, you march yourself right into the Windsor and tell the clerk you took the box! What you did was terrible.”

Mommy and Lizzie walk me to the Windsor and make me go inside by myself. The inside of my mouth feels full of spiky bubbles.

“I took this,” I say and hand the family in the plastic box back to the lady behind the counter. The bubbles burst in my mouth and the spikes sew my lips together.