You Will Call Me Drog (19 page)

I had forgotten what Dr. Mann looked like, exactly. It was as though he could look different at different times. I concentrated on memorizing him, drawing him in my mind, and then I said something I didn’t mean to say.

“Do you have any kids, Dr. Mann?”

He looked at me. “No, Parker, I don’t.”

“How come?”

He blinked in surprise. “I—”

My face got hot.
Stupid
. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that—”

He rested his hand on my arm. “Yes, Parker. Yes, you should. I told you you could say anything you want here. It’s just ... I wanted children very much, but it didn’t work out that way. My patients are my only children.”

Then I told him about the picture of Dad and me sledding. I asked him if he thought I was right about that.

“Parker, I’m sure he loved you once. But unless I miss my guess, he never stopped.”

“But if he loves me, wouldn’t he want to be with me? Why would he want to send me away to military school where I could only come home once in a while? What kind of love is that?”

Dr. Mann nodded. “Complicated, I’m sure,” he said. “Let me guess some more. He probably thinks the school would give you male examples you don’t have with him away, and help you grow up strong. He is probably hoping you’ll understand when you’re older and thank him.”

“He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t understand how I feel.”

“I’m sure that’s true. Have you told him?”

Suddenly I felt so heavy I wanted to fall asleep right there in the chair.

“I’m really tired,” I said.

“I’ll bet you are, Parker. You accomplished something important today.”

“I did? What?”

“You asked me a direct question that I had to answer.”

“About kids, you mean?”

“Yes. Questions like that can be a good way to clear things up, even if they make people uncomfortable at first. Just put your thoughts or questions out there, tell or ask for the truth, and see what happens.”

“Even with my dad?”

“Perhaps especially with your dad.”

“Hmmm,” Drog said. “Did hell just freeze over?”

All I could think about at school was that I needed to figure out something about Drog. Okay, what
doesn’t
he want? I asked myself. What’s he afraid of? Trash cans. Being thrown away, forgotten. Drog is afraid of being... nobody.

So what does he do about that? Whoa, wait a minute! Drog can’t
do
anything. He has hands, but he can’t operate them himself. I’d hate that. Worse even than not being able to walk. The only thing Drog can do is talk. So he bosses and insults people all day long. In a weird way, that makes him somebody, because you can’t ignore him. As long as Drog can stay on my hand, give me a hard time, and get me to answer, he won’t be nobody.

Math quiz. I completely forgot. I let Drog figure out how to do the problems while I went on working on the problem of him. Okay. I knew what he didn’t want. But what if I could think of something he did want? Something he wanted so bad he’d be willing to leave my hand for it? Wouldn’t that be amazing? What if I didn’t need to do something
about
Drog? What if I needed to do something
for
him?

“Parker, are you still with us?”

“Uh, no, Mrs. Belcher. Sorry.”

“Well, are you planning to join us soon?”

I got out of my seat and walked up to her desk. “I’m thinking about something really important,” I said, so only she could hear me. “Could I please just think for a while?”

She sighed. “Parker, I don’t think anyone ever asked me that before. And if they did, I don’t believe they asked me so nicely.”

“Does that mean yes?”

“Yes, Parker. You may go on thinking. As long as you turn in that math quiz first.”

I didn’t even realize I had it in my hand.

I decided right then that Mrs. Belcher was the best teacher I’d ever had. I went back to my seat and thought.

What did Drog like most? Excitement, but more than that. He liked to stir things up. When had I seen him the happiest? The night he took over the puppet play and turned it upside down. Was it attention he wanted? Applause?

By art period I had it figured out. Drog didn’t just need to be a troublemaker, he wanted to be admired for it!

How could I help Drog be good at being bad?

For the first time in a long time, I drew a picture of him. He turned out more like a mischief-maker than a demon.

Wren wasn’t around after school, so I walked home by myself, still working out what I was going to do for Drog. What if he could be in another play? One where he was actually supposed to make trouble?

I threw my book bag on my bed, turned on the computer, and googled “puppets.” A couple hundred sites came up. Sites for buying puppets and puppet theaters. Sites for Punch-and-Judy puppet makers, mostly in England.

I tried “puppet productions” and found hundreds more sites under that. Most of the puppet troupes put on fairy tales or health-and-safety plays for elementary schools. On the third page of entries I found a site called Preposterous Puppets. I clicked on the contact-us link and typed a message in the box:

I did some homework, then I turned on the computer again and found a return message from a guy named Sergio at Preposterous Puppets.

I answered, “Okay. I’ll ask my mom.”

“Your mom? How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

“Oh. Hmmmmmm. Well come anyway, if you can. Here’s the address.”

“Guess what, Drog?” I said. “You and I are going to Peoria on Saturday for a tryout! There’s a puppet troupe there that thinks you sound really interesting.”

“You don’t say!”

“I do say, Drog. So we’re going. If Mom will let us, I mean.”

“If Mom will let us? You are hopeless, Boy.”

It did take some convincing to get Mom to drive me to Peoria, so soon after the Titanium Club thing, to get together with a puppeteer I just met on the Internet. Especially since I didn’t want her to be there for the audition. But we worked it out: she would drive me there, go in and meet Sergio, then go do some shopping and come back. And we would both have our cell phones.

“But let’s not tell your father about this, okay?”

Who, me?

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. He called again to apologize, and he really did sound sorry. We talked a little about Christmas. He told me he’s sending you something. An early present. Something special.”

“He is?” Why didn’t he tell
me
?

“Just think, Boy, thanks to me, you’re going to Peoria,” Drog said.

I laughed. “You’re right, Drog. I definitely couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Saturday Peoria, next week the world!”

“Um. Could be.”

What I didn’t say to him or even to Mom was that I wasn’t trying out for both of us, just Drog. If things went like I planned, I’d come home on Saturday with my hand free, leaving Drog with the troupe. If not ... well, I was pretty sure it would work. It had to.

For the rest of the week I dreamed about how great it would be to have my hand back. I spent a lot of time in the spare room, running my free hand over the stuff in there and thinking what I might make with it.

Mom and I would get home from Peoria in plenty of time for me to go to the aikido retreat and celebrate. For the first time I let myself imagine the trip to Japan with Sensei and Wren and Big Boy. After Drog was gone, I’d have to talk to Mom about that.

On Wednesday, the package came from Dad. The words on the box read, “The Way Things Work Kit.” I couldn’t believe it. It was just like
The Way Things Work
book we had in our room at school, except this had all the stuff you needed—dowels, gears—to make everything the book talked about. It was fantastic.

It made me mad. How could Dad know there was such a thing? How could he know I would like it?

It was a lot easier to think of Dad as clueless. Easier than being confused. It was a perfect present. But it would take two hands, and Dad knew that. I still had only one, and for all he knew, I didn’t have any plan to get the other one back, so what was he trying to do? I went back to my room, closed the box, and put it up on the shelf over my bed.

Friday morning. With any luck, it would be the last day Drog would be with me at school, so as soon as I got to the playground, I took him out of my pocket.

“Drog, I want you to do me a big favor,” I said. “I want you to talk for Wren today. Show her I’ve been telling the truth.”

“Sorry, Boy, no can do. Matter of self-respect.”

“Come on, Drog. You have to.”

“Nokey-dokey. Talk to her yourself.”

What could I say to Wren that I hadn’t said a dozen times already?

“Parker? ... Parker?”

I turned around. It was Wren.

“I heard.”

“Heard what?”

“Him. Drog. Talking to you.”

The last time she had looked at me so wide-eyed was the day two years ago when I told her Dad was getting married again.

“You didn’t know I was behind you, did you?” she said.

I shook my head. “Looks like Drog didn’t either.”

“So you couldn’t have ... Parker, I am so sorry.”

She stared at Drog then like he was a hand-eating monster she was seeing for the first time.

“He’s so ... You must hate me. For thinking you made all this up.”

The pain on her face made my throat hurt, and I had to look down for a minute.

“No Wren. I don’t hate you.”

“But you kept saying believe me, and I didn’t. I wish I’d believed you.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I should have tried to help you instead of just getting worried and mad. But I was afraid you—”

“What?”

“That you were going loco or something. Or ... trying to get rid of me. Or both.”

“Get rid of you? That
would
be crazy.”

She started a smile, then erased it.

“I just didn’t think any of it could be true. About Drog. It still can’t. But it is, right?”

“Right.”

“You know, it’s kind of your fault too, Parker. You didn’t believe me either.”

“I didn’t? About what?”

“The bad feeling I had about the puppet. Right away. I wanted you listen to me, even if you didn’t agree. I wanted you to say, ‘Okay, if you feel that way, let’s leave it.’”

I could see what she meant. “Yeah, I guess I should have. But I didn’t, and then everything got —”

Wren pointed at Drog, who was keeping up a steady blank act, and shivered.

“What is he then? How does he talk?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure even he knows. He just ... is.”

“And you really can’t get him off?”

“Nope.”

“Well, what are we going to do about him? Have you tried ... ?”

We? What are
we
going to do about him? I wanted to fly.

“Wren, I’ve tried a lot of things, but it’s not just Drog now. It’s Dad. Dad and Mom. I can’t explain it all.”

She took hold of my hand. “Don’t then, Parker. It’s okay. Just let me help.”

“You are, Wren. You’re on my side now!”

That was really all I needed right then, but Wren always needs something to do.

“Maybe you could tell Mom that you heard Drog,” I said, “and that you know it was him, not me? She might believe you.”

“I will!”

Say it quick
. “Wren, I might go to Bradley Military next year.”

She jumped back and dropped my hand. “What? No! Parker you can’t!”

“I know. But I might. Would you still be on my side, then?”

She took a big breath and let it out. “I would, I promise, but ... Do you have to go? Is your dad making you?”

“Not exactly. I might have to anyway though, unless—”

“Unless what?”

“Well, I could get real lucky soon.” I held my finger to my lips behind Drog’s back. “Tomorrow. I’ll know tomorrow. Cross your fingers for me?”

She crossed fingers on both of her hands, and then added the ring fingers and pinkies to the crosses until they looked like big triple knots. We both laughed, and before I realized what I was doing, I hugged her. Partly because my eyes were starting to water up and didn’t want her to see.

“You idiot!” Drog yelled.

Wren pulled back and looked at me.

“That was Drog,” I said. “That was you, wasn’t it, Drog?”

He went back to his empty stare thing.

“Wren, he’s probably just mad that you found him out.”

She laughed, a bubbly kind of laugh I’d never heard from her.

“Uh oh. He’ll probably really let me have it now,” I said. But I let myself laugh, too, and kept it up no matter how hard Drog squeezed. Pretty soon laughing and crying got all mixed up.

After a while, with just a few more giggly hiccups from Wren, we went up to Mrs. Belcher’s room. Wren reached into her jeans pocket pulled out her stone, her maybe-agate, and handed it to me.

“Wren?”

“You need this more than I do,” she said. “Keep it for now, okay?”

The rest of the morning we grinned at each other from behind our notebooks, and just before lunch she sent me a note:

I gave her a thumbs-up with my free hand, then took her stone out of my pocket. It was a little bumpier than I remembered, but creamy-feeling. I set it down on my desk, turned over my social studies worksheet, and sketched Wren holding out the stone out to me. It had a little crack in it. Like her smile. For the background, I drew a kind of agate-pattern archway. It was the best Wren drawing I had ever done.

My left hand was pretty sore from all Drog’s squeezing, and I couldn’t let him stay mad for the audition, so I took him out after school and tried to get him going again.

“Drog?” I said.

Silence.

“Oh, so now you’re not talking to
me.”

More silence.

I had to get him talking before Peoria. “How come you called me an idiot this morning?”

He couldn’t resist that one.

“If you don’t know the answer, that just shows what an idiot you are.”

“No, really. Why?”

“Ha! You are an idiot because you don’t even know survival rule number two: NEVER TRUST GIRLS!”

Blend with him.
“You’re right, Drog, I don’t know that rule. What’s rule number one?”

“What else? TRUST ONLY DROG!”

The rest of that day and evening crawled, so I got down the Way Things Work Kit, took all the pieces out, and read the instructions. It even had directions for making a sail-powered land yacht! Maybe if I got Drog to stay in Peoria, I could make that one and paint it ruby red in memory of him. Maybe, maybe.

The drawings kept giving me more and more ideas of my own. By the time I put the kit back on the shelf, I could see myself building hundreds of things, starting with some hideouts and tunnels and skywalks for Wren’s mouse that would turn her whole room into one big mouse playground.
If
I got my hand back.

I lay in bed a long time before falling asleep that night, and it wasn’t because of Drog’s snoring. I was thinking too much to sleep. Now that I had a pretty good idea what Drog needed, and at least a long-shot plan for what to do about him, what about me? I never did answer Sensei’s question. What did I want more than anything? I started this sentence in my mind,
Most of all, I want
... I was about to say...
my hand to be free ...
but that didn’t sound right. It was really important, but it wasn’t enough.

“Not just for now, but always,” Sensei had said.

I tried again.
What I want most is...

“What I want most,” I said out loud, “is just to be who I am and—”

That woke Drog up.

“Who are you talking to, Boy?” he grumbled. “What time is it, anyway?”