Bingo Brown's Guide to Romance (9 page)

They crossed the living room and sat together on the sofa. The sofa wasn't used to being sat on by two people at the exact same time and gave a surprised
whoosh.

Bingo pressed the mute button on the TV remote control, and a silence filled living room.

Melissa reached out and took Jamie's hand. She held it absently. Then she looked directly into Bingo's eyes.

She sighed.

And there was something about that sigh that let Bingo know Melissa was getting ready to say something that would change his life forever.

B
INGO WAITED, HIS HEART
pumping anxiously against his brother's jumpsuit.

“I came to say good-bye,” Melissa said.

These were the last words Bingo wanted to hear. He asked, “Good-bye?” and then gave his own answer. “You're saying good-bye.”

She glanced down and nodded. When she looked up, her eyelashes were wet.

Bingo had never looked into eyes framed in wet eyelashes, and he was deeply affected. He blinked to keep his own eyelashes dry.

“Then you aren't back to stay?”

“No.”

“I didn't know. Nobody told me. I just hoped.”

“I did, too. We were going to stay with my cousin Weezie while Dad looked for a job. I was really looking forward to it—being back here, seeing all my friends … seeing you.”

She shook her head and her hair fanned out about her face. “But it wouldn't have worked anyway.”

“Why, Melissa? Why?”

“Oh, at first it was fun. It was like being in a dormitory. And then little things started happening, like Shirl used Brenda's fingernail polish and didn't put the top back on. And Libby used up all the hot water and Bettie had to shampoo with cold. And Weezie claimed I ruined her hair. I didn't ruin it. Half of it was perfect. You saw it!”

Bingo nodded.

“Anyway, it was just one thing after another, Bingo.”

Bingo nodded sympathetically. “Life's like that sometimes.”

“Anyway, my dad's found a job—of sorts—in a muffler shop in Pickens, South Carolina. He doesn't want to go to Pickens, and I don't either. Neither does my mom—she calls it Slim Pickens—but we're going.”

“Pickens will be better with you in it.”

“Oh, thank you.” She swallowed. Even her gulp had a beautiful sound.

“I hope you can forgive me, Bingo.”

“Of course,” he said quickly. As usual, he had spoken too quickly. “For what?”

“For acting so funny.”

“I act funny myself at times,” Bingo admitted. He continued in a rush. “Like, I write a letter and mail the Xerox of the letter, and nobody—least of all somebody in love—would do that except out of stupidity.”

“Or out of too much emotion.”

Bingo felt a flush of gratitude. “I certainly have that.”

“And when I get emotional—I can't explain it, but that's the way I was in the grocery store, and I don't know, I mean, well, you didn't look like I remembered. You looked older.”

“Older?” This was one of the best mixed-sex conversations in the history of the world. There was not a word in it that wasn't perfect. Bingo would have liked to have a tape of it, even though it would play in his memory forever.

“And, I don't know, I just couldn't speak. I'm not explaining this very well.”

“You are. You are! I couldn't speak either.”

“Really, Bingo?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, and he thought of an old-timey phrase he had read in a book once: “She smiled through her tears.” His heart ached.

Bingo held his brother tighter when he saw her small, pointed teeth. “You always say the right thing to me.”

“I try.”

“Bingo, can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Would you keep on writing me letters?”

“I wasn't sure you liked them.”

“I do. I love them. I don't even care if they're Xeroxes!”

“They won't be.”

“And I don't know, I just feel like if I thought, well, I was never going to get another one of your letters, it would make me even sadder than I am.”

“I wouldn't want that to happen.”

“Then you will write?”

“Yes.”

“But just … just … friendly stuff.”

Bingo understood that there would be no more talk of the hunger of love, no matter how loudly his stomach rumbled.

“I'll try to write about what I'm doing and what's going on around here, things like that,” he said manfully.

“Thank you, Bingo.”

“You're welcome.”

She stood up. “I have to go.”

“Already?”

She was still holding Jamie's hand. It was awkward to stand without breaking the connection, but Bingo managed it.

She didn't seem to want to let go. Bingo didn't want her to let go either. He didn't want her to go—period. It was as if she was taking something of great value with her, something that might never come again.

She sighed.

Bingo resorted to a desperate half-truth. He said, “Jamie can say bye-bye.” It wasn't what he wanted to say, but he had to keep her from leaving. Her face brightened, which made the half-truth worthwhile.

“Really?”

“Well, he can say it, but he doesn't know when to say it.”

She leaned forward over Jamie's small hand. “Bye-bye, Jamie, bye-bye,” she said, looking into his round eyes. “Will you tell me good-bye? Next time I see you, you might be a great big boy. Bye-bye.”

Bingo didn't dare to hope. “Sometimes he won't say it—and then sometimes he says it when it's not appropriate—like in the bathtub and—”

Jamie came through. “Bye-bye-bye-bye-bye,” he said. Five of them! Well, two and a half.

Bingo thought he would burst with emotion—with pride and sorrow and loss.

“Good-bye, Jamie,” Melissa said in the kindest voice Bingo had ever heard. Then she looked at him, and in the same kind way she said, “Good-bye, Bingo.”

She took one step forward and pressed her lips to his. It was so unexpected that Bingo didn't have time to get his lips ready.

She pulled back and eyed him. “Bingo Brown, have you been kissing other girls?”

“No. No!” He was pleased he did not blurt out that he hadn't even been trying. “Why?”

“Because you kiss better.”

“Better?”

Bingo wanted to ask her to repeat that, but instead he smiled and said coolly, “Well, you know, when you've got it …”

Melissa grinned. Then she swirled. Her hair fanned out, leaving the faint scent of gingersnaps in the room. Then she went out the door.

Bingo continued to stand in the open door with Jamie in his arms, watching until she was out of sight. He felt both better and worse than he had ever felt in his life.

B
INGO STARTED BACK TO
the sofa. “That was Melissa—the girl you've heard so much about,” he told the back of Jamie's neck.

Somewhere a phone rang.

“And you don't know this, but you have just heard a mixed-sex conversation so great it could go down in the history of mixed-sex conversations.”

The phone rang again. Bingo looked up, surprised. “Oh, that's our phone.” He shifted Jamie to his hip and picked up the phone.

“Bingo, hi, it's me—Mom.”

“Hi.”

“You getting along all right?”

“Fine.”

“Did Melissa come?”

“She came … and went.”

“I hope Jamie didn't, well, inhibit you.”

“Not at all.”

“Good. I tell you why I called. You're going to think this is silly, but I made Jamie some Jell-O.”

“What?”

“I made Jell-O, and I want to see Jamie get his first bite, because I remember how cute you were. You got this little expression—well, I couldn't even describe it—it was hopeful and puzzled and—it was like you'd just gotten proof that the world was going to be full of good little surprises.”

“Actually, it is.”

“Anyway, I was afraid you'd see the Jell-O and give it to him for lunch.”

“I probably would have.”

“So you'll wait?”

“Yes.” He hung up the phone and carried Jamie back to the sofa.

He picked up the TV remote control, but he didn't turn on the sound. He began to speak to his brother.

“You know how Mom's always writing in your baby book? First word, first tooth, first Jell-O. Well, Jamie, that was my first love.”

The thought made Bingo draw a deep, trembling breath.

“As first loves go,” he continued when he could speak, “I would have to give it a ten. It was a love for all time, for eternity, maybe even infinity, and I guess it doesn't get any better than that.”

“Bye-bye,” Jamie said. Bingo wondered if he would ever hear a baby's bye-bye without remembering this moment.

Bingo sighed.

“Oh, this is the last cartoon. It's Porky Pig and, Jamie, when he says, ‘Th-that's all, folks,' we'll go in the kitchen and I'll fix your bottle. It's time for your nap.”

Bingo turned on the sound. He sat without speaking during the cartoon.

He was filled with memories. He thought of the day in English class when he had fallen in love with Melissa. He thought of their many mixed-sex conversations, of their kiss that day on her front porch in the rain. He thought of their exchange of gifts—he still had his notebook holder, and she—He broke off to think. Had she had on the gypsy earrings he had given her? He thought so. In his memory she had. Then, of course, he thought of their parting.

He took a deep breath. He remembered a line from
The Red Badge of Courage.

“He felt a quiet manhood, not assertive, but of sturdy and strong blood.”

He exhaled, breathed in again. He remembered another line.

“He turned with a lover's thirst to images of tranquil skies, fresh meadows, cool brooks—an existence of soft and eternal peace.”

And as he took one more of these deep breaths, Bingo found he was filled not only with air and quiet manhood, but a firm resolve.

He had thought to discontinue his
Guide to Romance
because of a lack of knowledge of the subject. He would not let that deter him now. He saw how words—even words written over a hundred years ago—could bring comfort. And how much more comfort would there be in words written by a brother?

Problem #9. Maintaining a Quiet Manhood.

The TV intruded into these pleasant thoughts. Bingo heard, “Th-that's all, folks.”

He got up at once. He always kept his word to his baby brother. “I can't give you any Jell-O—I promised—but there's this noise that Jell-O makes when you dig out the first spoonful—and I can go ahead and show you the sound …”

And Bingo Brown and his baby brother disappeared into the kitchen.

Betsy Byars (b. 1928) is an award-winning author of more than sixty books for children and young adults, including
The Summer of the Swans
(1970), which earned the prestigious Newbery Medal. Byars also received the National Book Award for
The Night Swimmers
(1980) and an Edgar Award for
Wanted . . . Mud Blossom
(1991), among many other accolades. Her books have been translated into nineteen languages and she has fans all over the world.

Byars was born Betsy Cromer in Charlotte, North Carolina. Her father, George, was a manager at a cotton mill and her mother, Nan, was a homemaker. As a child, Betsy showed no strong interest in writing but had a deep love of animals and sense of adventure. She and her friends ran a backyard zoo that starred “trained cicadas,” box turtles, leeches, and other animals they found in nearby woods. She also claims to have ridden the world's first skateboard, after neighborhood kids took the wheels off a roller skate and nailed them to a plank of wood.

After high school, Byars began studying mathematics at Furman University, but she soon switched to English and transferred to Queens College in Charlotte, where she began writing. She also met Edward Ford Byars, an engineering graduate student from Clemson University, whom she would marry after she graduated in 1950.

Between 1951 and 1956 Byars had three daughters—Laurie, Betsy, and Nan. While raising her family, Byars began submitting stories to magazines, including the
Saturday Evening Post
and
Look
. Her success in publishing warm, funny stories in national magazines led her to consider writing a book. Her son, Guy, was born in 1959, the same year she finished her first manuscript. After several rejections,
Clementine
(1962), a children's story about a dragon made out of a sock, was published.

Following
Clementine
, Byars released a string of popular children's and young adult titles including
The Summer of the Swans
, which earned her the Newbery Medal. She continued to build on her early success through the following decades with award-winning titles such as
The Eighteenth Emergency
(1973),
The Night Swimmers
, the popular Bingo Brown series, and the Blossom Family series. Many of Byars's stories describe children and young adults with quirky families who are trying to find their own way in the world. Others address problems young people have with school, bullies, romance, or the loss of close family members. Byars has also collaborated with daughters Betsy and Laurie on children's titles such as
My Dog, My Hero
(2000).

Aside from writing, Byars continues to live adventurously. Her husband, Ed, has been a pilot since his student days, and Byars obtained her own pilot's license in 1983. The couple lives on an airstrip in Seneca, South Carolina. Their home is built over a hangar and the two pilots can taxi out and take off almost from their front yard.