Then Lou says, “Well, better early than never.”
I smile.
“Let’s cut the cake,” says my brother.
“After he opens his presents,” says Thelma.
I turn and see, beside the table, three boxes on top of one large box. I open the gift from Thelma. A pair of silk pajamas. I thank her and kiss her. I open the present from David. An electric razor.
“Thanks, David.”
“Don’t cut your throat with it,” David says.
I open the present from Martin. It is a Water Pik. “Thanks, Martin.”
“Open mine,” says Lou.
“Sure is big,” I says.
“Just open it,” Lou says.
I rip through the paper and open the box and I’m looking down at a stuffed dog. It’s one of the dogs we picked up on the road. I am speechless.
“Pretty good, huh?” says Lou.
“Yeah, great,” I says and I look at Thelma and she’s frowning and I look at David and he’s doing all he can not to laugh out loud.
We sit around eating cake and all the while that dead dog is staring right at me. The dog’s mouth is sewed shut but his tongue is poking out the side and I really want to put him back in the box.
“Pretty good job, huh?” Lou says.
“Yeah,” I says.
“Look here.” Lou puts down his cake and walks over to the dog and turns it over. He’s showing me the belly and he says, “Look at that stitching. That’s a job, huh?”
“Sure is,” I says.
“What do you think of it, Nicks?” Lou turns the dog’s belly to David. “I should be a goddamn tailor. Look at that needlework.”
“That’s something else,” David says softly.
Martin moves to the dog and pulls up on the dog’s lips as Lou is holding him and looks at the teeth, revealing the long, jagged sutures keeping the animal’s mouth shut.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” says Lou. “I got a letter from Roy Rogers.” He puts the dog down.
“Oh, yeah?” I says.
“He sent me an autographed picture. I don’t know what it means. I’m gonna write him again.” Lou looked at the dog. “I wonder how tall he is.”
“That’s great, Lou,” I says. “Ain’t that great, David?”
“Yeah, great,” says David.
We sit in silence for a little while. Then I get to thinking about the song and I get up and start toward the stereo.
“I want you all to listen to something,” I says. I drop the needle down on the record. “Listen to this. You’re going to love it.” I listen for a second. “Ain’t that something?” I close my eyes and listen to the saxophone solo.
One by one, Lou, David, and Martin excuse themselves. And so, I’m all alone with Thelma and the stuffed dog.
Thelma starts clearing things off the table.
“I suppose Peter’s at your mother’s,” I says.
“Yes.” She takes the dishes into the kitchen and comes out pulling her sweater on.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“For a walk,” she says.
“This time of night?”
“It’s not late.”
“Where are you going?” I step in front of the door.
“Craig,” she whines.
“I want to know where you’re going.”
She starts taking off her sweater. “Noplace.”
“Who are you going to meet?”
“I’m not going anyplace.” She sits.
“Who have you been seeing?”
She picks up a magazine. “You’re being ridiculous.” She gets up and shuts off the music. “You’re not well, Craig.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This music, this paranoia. You’re like your mother.”
I open the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“For a walk.” I leave.
Chapter 9
Ma draped the wool blanket all over me. This was after she made me curl up on the floor in the back of Daddy’s Mercury.
“Stay down,” Ma said.
“Ma, it’s hot.” I was already sweating profusely. I started to rise.
She pushed me down. “Stay. Craigie, I’m depending on you. When your daddy stops at the drugstore, you get out and sneak in and then you’ll see. You’ll see them in the act.”
I could taste the salt of my perspiration in my mouth and all I could see were a couple of stripes of light crawling under one edge of the blanket. “But—”
“I’m depending on you. You’ll see. That Lou Ann Narramore.” She closed the door.
All the windows of the car were rolled up tight and I was good and soaked. Then the driver’s-side door opened and Daddy got in. I wanted to get up and tell him of my presence, but Ma’s words echoed in my head: “in the act.” It was a short, uncomfortable ride to the drugstore. After Daddy got out I waited a few seconds and then I tiptoed from the car to the drugstore door. I opened the door slightly and pushed my hand inside, grabbing the bell which dangled from the inside door handle. I slid the rest of me inside. I crawled down the aisle of colognes and hair tonics to the end so I could see the prescription counter.
Daddy was standing there, waiting. Then a pretty young woman with a bright smile came from the back room with a couple of bottles. Daddy looked at the bottles.
“Thank you, Miss Narramore,” Daddy said.
“By the way, Dr. Suder,” Lou Ann Narramore said, “Mrs. Jordan came in earlier today and she said—”
“She’s not to have that prescription refilled,” Daddy said.
I retreated into the aisle. They hardly knew each other. I was relieved, and shocked that Ma could be so wrong. Then I heard the bell on the door and I looked back at the counter to find Daddy gone. I knocked something off a shelf and became afraid. I ran for the door, threw it open, and plowed right into someone.
It was Virgil Wallace. He fell back and hit his enormous head on the sidewalk. His hands moved quickly up, grabbing his skull. I was on top of him. I stood to find the lower front of my shirt and the front of my pants covered with a milky substance. I rubbed the stuff between my fingers and screamed. I felt sick. Virgil Wallace was rolling all over the ground now, still holding his head. I could see a little blood creeping out from between his fingers.
I ran all the way home, through the front door, and up to my bedroom. I sat on my bed, out of breath and scared.
“Well?” Ma asked, bursting into the room.
“Nothing,” I panted.
“What do you mean?”
“They hardly even know each other.”
Her eyes caught the front of my clothes.
I glanced down at the mess and began to shake with fear.
Ma walked to me and stroked the front of my pants and then rubbed the thick substance between her fingers. For the most part it had dried. She looked at me through narrow, angry slits. “Craigie!” she screamed. “I thought you were a good boy!”
“I am a good boy.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been pulling on yourself.”
“No, I haven’t. Really, I haven’t,” I cried. “I ran into Virgil Wallace, the waterhead boy.”
She didn’t hear my words. She looked at my clothes again. “Come, you have to take a bath.”
I agreed.
“If we don’t hurry, you’ll go blind.” She looked at me, shaking her head. “Undress.”
I pulled my clothes off and then she led me by the hand into the bathroom.
“Sit!” she screamed, pointing at the tub.
I sat in the dry tub. Then Ma turned the cold water on full through the shower. I yelled and tried to crawl out, but she pushed me back.
“You must learn to be good!’’, she screamed. Then she made the shower very hot. “Promise me you won’t do it again!”
“I promise! I promise!”