Parts & Labor (21 page)

"Is
he hurt? I didn't see him. I was texting my girlfriend …"

Floyd
T. stood and grabbed the driver's cell phone and flung it as far as he could
down Congress Avenue. Then he grabbed the man's shirt, but Andy and Ramon
jumped in and stopped him from doing something he'd regret.

"Here
comes the ambulance," Andy said.

A
crowd had gathered by the time the ambulance arrived with sirens blaring. Two
EMTs jumped out and ran over.

"Oh,
no! It's Max Dugan!"

They
put an oxygen mask on Max and started an IV. They wrapped a brace around his
neck and slid a back splint under him. Then they put him on a stretcher and
carried him to the ambulance.

"Who's
with him?" one EMT shouted.

"I
am," Floyd T. said.

Floyd
T. turned to Andy and Ramon. "Stay here with the driver till the cops
come." He then turned to Norbert. The small boy was pale from head to
foot.

"Come
with me, son."

They
followed Max to the ambulance and climbed in the back with him. They sat on
the side bench for the short drive downtown to the hospital.

"His
mother works at the hospital," Floyd T. said to the EMTs.

Kate
Dugan was standing at the Labor & Delivery desk when she got the call. She
dropped the phone and ran the length of the hospital to the ER. She opened the
back doors to the ambulance before it had come to a complete stop.

"Max!"
she screamed.

The
EMTs lifted her unconscious son out. Kate stood on the gurney's foot rail and stuck
her stethoscope on Max's chest and listened to his heart as they rolled him
into the ER and back into an examining room.

Double
doors shut on Floyd T. and Norbert.

"We
gotta wait out here, son."

Norbert
stood motionless with his eyes closed. Floyd T. tugged on his arm, but the
pale boy didn't budge. Instead, he touched his forehead and said softly,
"Father, I am at the emergency room of the Austin General Hospital in downtown. Max has been hurt. Please come." Then he turned, walked to the
chairs along the wall, and sat. He did not say a word until a small pale man
entered the ER.

"Father,"
Norbert said.

The
man came over. Norbert told his father what had happened.

"Max
risked his existence to preserve mine."

The
boy had an odd way of expressing himself.

I
didn't die or nothing. The car had swerved just enough to avoid a direct hit,
but the glancing blow had knocked me to the ground. I hit my head on the
concrete and was knocked unconscious. I suffered a concussion, but not a
closed-head injury. I did have to stay the night in the hospital for
observation.

"I'm
staying with you, Max," Mom said.

Two
hours later, we were in my room: Mom, Norbert, Mr. Nordstrom, and Floyd T.
Wires ran from me to machines that beeped. Mom checked them every few
minutes. I had a TV on the wall—with cable. The local channels ran stories
about the accident. The police arrested the texting driver and charged him with
felony stupidity.

"Who's
gonna stay with Scarlett and Maddy?" I asked.

Mom turned to Floyd T. "Would you mind?"

"Oh,
Kate, I …"

"Please,
Floyd T."

Floyd
T. nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I'll watch over them."

"Thank
you. I'll call Scarlett and let her know." She turned to Norbert's
father. "Nils, can Floyd T. ride home with you?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Thank
you." She turned back to me. "Okay, Max, say good-night to
everyone. You need to rest."

"Good-night,
Floyd T., Mr. Nordstrom."

Floyd
T. came over and patted my head. "You're a hero, Max. Just like your
dad."

I
held my fist out to Norbert. He gave me a fist-bump. I could tell he wanted
to talk privately.

"Mom, can Norbert and I be alone, just for a minute."

"Sure,
honey."

They
stepped outside, and Norbert said, "Max, you saved my existence."

"But
you're not human."

"That
large vehicle would have terminated my existence just the same." Norbert
touched my forehead. "Thank you, Max."

"You're
a hero!"

When
Mom and I walked in the back door the next morning, Scarlett greeted us with
the newspaper. The big headline read "Hero!" Scarlett hugged me
tightly and whispered in my ear, "Just like Dad." When she released
me, she said, "Max, I love you."

Like
I said, she's perfect.

We
all went into the kitchen where we found Floyd T. cooking breakfast. He was
wearing his red reading glasses, Mom's red apron, and yellow elbow-length
cleaning gloves. He was holding a big spatula.

"I
found a box of these gloves under the sink," he said. "I scrubbed my
hands, but after forty years on the streets, I figured better safe than
sorry."

"Smells
good," I said.

"Omelets
and banana nut muffins," Floyd T. said. "I used to cook in Nam."

Floyd
T. said he and Rex had slept on the kitchen floor—"The concrete made us
feel right at home"—and had awakened at dawn. They had sat on the front
porch until the girls woke up because he liked to see the sunrise, then Scarlett
had gathered the ingredients for omelets and muffins. When he finished
cooking, he served four plates then removed the apron and gloves and whistled
for Rex.

"Where
are you going?" Mom asked.

"Rex
and me, we're too dirty to eat at a table. We'll eat outside."

"No,
you will not. Sit."

Mom got up and served a plate for Floyd T. and one for Rex. She put one plate on the table and
the other on the floor. Floyd T. seemed embarrassed, but he sat. When Mom issued orders, it was best to obey.

It
was good to be home.

 

 

By
the next week, everything had returned to normal—well, if you call normal
waiting for the Earth to be taken over by aliens and for you and your mother
and sisters to be turned into their slaves.

But
I did play baseball.

Norbert
came over at seven that Saturday morning. We ate breakfast then piled into the
Suburban and drove to the ball park. I had missed the last game. My team had
lost. When I took the field, everyone applauded, I guess because I was still
alive after getting creamed by a car. Or maybe because I had become the star
of the team. But the fun of being the star had worn off … because I wasn't
the star. Norbert was.

Only
nobody knew it.

I
made a running catch of a fly ball in the first inning with two outs and the
bases loaded. Coach said I saved at least three runs from scoring. In the
third inning I hit a double and drove in two runs. We won 5-2.

"Great
game, Max," Mom said.

"You
da man," Scarlett said. "You and Norbert."

Maddy
gave me a sticky hug. She had doused herself with a snow cone.

"Excellent
catch and hit," Norbert said.

"Thanks,"
I said without smiling.

"Let
us have hot dogs."

"Sure."

My
mom was talking to another mother—

"I
don't know what got into him, he started hitting the ball one game and …"

—so
Norbert and I walked ahead to the concession stand.

"Max,
are you not happy? You cannot hit a home run every game."

"It's
not that. A double's great. It's just that … I didn't do it. You
did."

"No,
Max. I did not do anything."

"What
do you mean?"

"I
mean, I did not help you."

"You
didn't?"

"No."

"I
made that catch and got that hit on my own?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Because
you now believe in yourself."

After
the game, Norbert and I sat on the deck of the playscape. We were quiet
today. So was Butch behind us—he didn't want Norbert's finger pointed his
way. Mom came outside and went into the garage and pulled the big mower out.
She pulled the cord twenty times before the engine started. She pushed the
mower through the thick grass twice before the engine suddenly stopped. She
was red in the face and sweating. She checked the gas then called over to me:
"Max, I've got to get some more gas. Scarlett and Maddy are inside."

"Okay."

She
put the gas can in the back of the Suburban and drove off. I wish she would
let me mow the grass. I mean, the world's going to end soon anyway. But, if I
couldn't mow, the next best thing would be … I turned to Norbert.

"Can
you move anything with your finger?"

Fifteen
minutes later, Kate Dugan turned the big Suburban into the driveway. She heard
the sound of the mower in the backyard.

Max
was mowing!

She
cut the engine and got out. She ran down the driveway to the backyard and—

She
froze.

Max
wasn't mowing. The mower was mowing. By itself.

The
big red mower rolled from one end of the yard to the other, turned, then rolled
back. Without anyone pushing it.

She
now saw Max standing atop the playscape deck. He waved to her. Next to him
stood little Norbert. His finger was pointing down at the mower. He was
moving the mower with his finger.

"Oh,
my gosh."

Max
slid down the slide and jogged over to her. He gestured at the mower.

"Pretty
cool, huh?"

"How
… how is he doing that?"

"Alien."

"Is
it fun?" I asked.

The
grass was mowed, Mom had taken two ibuprofens, and Norbert and I were lying on
the playscape deck and gazing into the sky.

"Is
what fun?"

"Traveling
through space?"

"It
used to be, but now there is so much traffic."

"Really?
There's traffic in space?"

"Oh,
yes. There are many life forms in the universe."

"Cool."

"Max,
we will be leaving soon."

"Leaving?
When?"

"Tonight."

"Norbert
…" I didn't know what to say. He was my best friend. "So your
father's made his decision?"

"Yes.
He will inform our government upon our return."

"Dang—I
didn't get to see your spaceship."

"It's
smaller than I thought it'd be."

"We
are smaller than you think."

Norbert's
spaceship did not look like Han Solo's Millenium Falcon. It looked like the
neighbor's mini-Cooper. It was almost dark, and we were standing at the door
of the mini-storage unit on South Congress. I expected something bigger for getting
around galaxies.

"Shall
we take a spin around the neighborhood?" Norbert said.

He
used a remote to open the doors. We climbed in and sat side by side. It was
tight but comfortable. I felt the ship rise off the ground. There were no
controls.

"How
do you steer this thing?"

"With
my thoughts."

"Think
fast."

Norbert
smiled. "I enjoy going fast, too, but my father would not be pleased if I
wrecked our spaceship. Our insurance premiums would skyrocket."

We
floated out of the storage unit and suddenly shot into the blue sky and hovered
above Austin.

"Wow.
So where have you taken this baby?"

"Many
galaxies. All of your planets, from Mars to Pluto."

"We
took the Suburban to Lubbock one summer."

Everything
suddenly became a blur and then we were hovering again. I could see land and a
beach and an ocean. It was still sunny there.

"Where
are we?"

"California. That is the Pacific Ocean."

We
flew up the coast real fast—

"Canada."

—then
turned right. The stars seemed so close. And the moon.

"Next
stop, the East Coast," Norbert said. "There is not much to look at in
between."

"You
sound like the lady across the street who moved from New York."

"Okay,
there are the faces in the mountain."

I
pointed. "That's Mount Rushmore! We read about that in school."

"And
Chicago."

"That's
the Cubs Stadium!"

And
suddenly we were over the Statue of Liberty. It was night now. I noticed many
flashing lights darting past like shooting stars.

"Other
visitors," Norbert said.

"They're
from outer space, too?"

"Oh,
yes, many life forms visit Earth. It is much like humans visiting your zoos."

"At
least I got to see New York before Earth is taken over."

Norbert
nodded. "I thought you might enjoy this."

"Can
we go to Boston?"

"We
are there."

We
hovered over Fenway Park, home of the Red Sox. They were playing a game under
the lights.

"My
dad used to go to baseball games here, with his dad. He said he would take me one day."

"I
know."

"Norbert,
can I ask you something? Personal."

"Of
course. You are my best bro."

"When
your mother's existence was … well, you know … did you get real
angry?"

"No.
Our species is not given to displays of emotion."

"But
inside—were you mad inside?"

"Yes.
My mind was in great turmoil."

"How
did you get over being mad?"

"Time.
It has been fifty years now, so the anger has passed."

"Do
you still miss her?"

"Every
day." He patted the side of his head. "But she is always with
me."

"Let's
go home."

Norbert
and his father came over that night for a last dinner. Mom made spaghetti and
bison meatballs, and we played Scrabble. I had a hard time concentrating knowing
that A, I would never see Norbert again, and two, in a few months we would all be
slaves. But I still ate dessert—pecan pie and vanilla ice cream. I mean,
you're never too depressed for dessert.