Harry Sue (14 page)

“Do you know why we're going to hit this smoochy girl with a hammer?” I asked the crew. “Because she took Granny's bingo money and she's not sorry.”

It was almost funny watching Granny's face work it out. She wanted me, all right. She wanted me
so bad.
The only thing standing in her way was the pretty little piece of china I held in my hand.

She cared more about this dead thing than the real live baby upstairs in the bathtub. Or the sniffling crumb snatchers frozen in place on the basement floor. I could maybe even hold Sink and Dip
hostage with a gun, and it wouldn't matter so much as long as I didn't start shooting in the vicinity of her curio cabinet.

And then a thought struck me out of the blue so hard I staggered around on the couch a minute.

If I got the heart I kept asking for, the one made out of riveted steel, the one that would help me survive the joint …

I would be just like Granny.

She was what you turned into when you had a heart that didn't feel.

The Wizard was wrong. Beau was wrong. The Tin Man was right.

“Once I had brains and a heart also,” he said. “Having tried them both, I should much rather have a heart.”

“Give it here,” she spat out, jabbing her broomstick at me.

I glanced over at the mostly terrified crumb snatchers.

I wouldn't be able to see their terror.

I wouldn't know when Homer was getting close to the hole.

My brain would magnify a little sliver of interest so that it consumed me. How could I win more at bingo and fill my cupboards with sparkly crap? How many winners over ten thousand in the Daily Double?

And then, once I made it to the joint, it would be
how to score personals off the fish and get a job in the prison canteen instead of washing blues.

Dios mio
, I thought, and I almost dropped the smoochy girl.

I don't want that.

I bounced around that couch, dodging Granny's broomstick and probably looking to all the world as if I'd gone nut up. But only I knew what was happening inside me. Things were breaking apart, Fish, they were shifting around. Something moved into my throat and tried to push its way out, but I swallowed it down. No way would I ever show it to Granny.

Even though I felt like crying, I felt good, too. Relieved. Like all I'd been getting all those years were down letters, and now I might just score parole. And it was all because I realized that maybe I wouldn't have to become a hard-core criminal to find my way home. Maybe there was another way for Mary Bell to come to me. I couldn't see it just yet, but neither could Dorothy and her crew when they were in the forest of fighting trees, and that didn't stop them from going forward.

I shook my head and eyeballed Granny. Seemed to me like she was the big obstacle here. But then, I'd never had any bargaining power before. Maybe we could deal.

I dropped smoochy girl back in my pocket and grabbed the end of Granny's broomstick.

“Granny, dear,” I said, speaking slow and looking her in the eye. “I'd be happy to exchange this little china girl for any letters you might be holding on to. Letters to do with me.”

There, I'd said it.

Granny was too far gone down the path of beating me senseless and hiding my body under the floorboards to mask the look on her face.

It was the look that said,
Bingo!

That look was all I needed. Far as I was concerned, I could throw my notepad away.

“How do you know about that letter?” Granny asked, still clenching the bat.

“Doesn't matter how I know. They're mine.”

“Is not!”

Suddenly, all eyes turned toward the ceiling as we heard the daily parade of tires on gravel. Granny swore under her breath and threw down the broom.

I looked around at the terrified faces of the crumb snatchers, knowing I had to bring them back to some safe place.

“Children!” I said in my falsy voice. “Where does the time go? We've been so busy viciously
assaulting this stuffed bear that we couldn't start our art project.”

I hopped off the couch and swooped up the button eye. I knew I should give Oswald back to Carly Mae just the way he was. What a seed for the garden of doubt I was planting about Granny's abilities. Yes, Granny would have some fancy explaining to do to Wanda.

But as I looked at Carly Mae's mouth full of fist and her wet blotchy cheeks, I just couldn't bring myself to hand over the bear.

“Oswald needs to go to the hospital tonight,” I told her. “But he's coming back tomorrow. And he'll be all better. I promise.”

I nodded to Wolf Man. “Clean her up, okay?” He put his arm protectively around Carly Mae and headed for the stairs.

I stood back and looked at the others. With the exception of Hammer Head, who had taken back the hammer and was smacking it against his palm, they still looked like they were playing a game of freeze tag.

“Well, c'mon,” I said. “Pull yourselves together. It's show time!”

I pointed upstairs to China Country. “Be sure to take inventory, dear Granny,” I said, “because this little peasant girl isn't the only one you're missing. I'll give you one day. Tomorrow. After Homer's, at the latest. I want those letters.”

∗   ∗   ∗

As soon as I was out of sight of Granny's kitchen window, I held up, right there at the edge of Mrs. Mead's garden. Granny does not encourage fraternizing with the neighbors, so I didn't spend much time talking with Mrs. Mead, but still I thought of her as my friend. She could make anything spring out of the hard clay soil we lived on. If she could coax life out of a brick, then odds were my smoochy girl would be safe on her property for just a day or two.

The spot where she rested her garbage can each week made a perfect nest of dried grass. Seeing as we had four more days to garbage day, I placed the figurine there as carefully as a mother bird places her egg. She was ransom for my own mother, after all, and I didn't want to take a chance on breaking her.

I stood there for a minute, looking down at the little porcelain doll. She was nothing. She didn't feel. She didn't care if I cracked her with a rock. The pieces would still be waiting for a kiss. How Granny could trade her for the kisses of a real child, I didn't know.

Still, the meanings of things can change. I cared a lot more for that piece of china now than I had yesterday. I pulled the roll of toilet paper I'd snagged from the bathroom out of my pack and wrapped her good and tight in it.

Stepping back, I pressed my hands against my hot face. My shoulder throbbed like it always did after a standoff with Granny. When I faced her, I forgot everything: my mind, my body, my arms, my legs. Now I didn't know what was happening. I felt dizzy.

On the one hand, there was this terrible pain shooting through my shoulder and across my back. On the other, there was incredible joy.

There were letters! She really was trying to write me!

I didn't have to end up like Granny. I could be like other kids. Maybe Mary Bell was coming back soon. Maybe she would get a job in another state and take me away from this place.

When Mary Bell showed up, she was going to fix all the things that were broken.

My feet started to find their way to Homer's house.

Of course, I couldn't leave Homer and the rest of my crew behind when I shook the spot. I'd have to take them with me. And we'd live in a big old house with a front porch, maybe near a park with a decent place to play for the little road dogs. And I'd even let old Violet hang around, as long as she was on the low and brought plenty of that chicken-fried steak.

Grabbing my shoulder, I squeezed, and little icicles of pain shot down my neck. I squeezed again. You probably won't understand this, Fish, but at that moment, it felt so good just to feel.

I tried not to let the sight of J-Cat's bruised and beat-up Volvo ruin the delicious pain I was feeling. I had information for Homer and I was gonna give it up. But not in front of her.

As I pulled myself up, the whole tree house shook with the sound of something very heavy rolling on the floor.

“Can't see it now, can you, Homer, my boy?” I heard her scratched voice even before I pushed open the hatch.

“Another customer!” she cried as I pulled myself up. “Come in, come in, and take a seat up front. You see, Homer, it's like those free vacations in Mexico. You can have a lovely conversation about
old times with your slab of rock here,
but
first you have to listen to the sales pitch.”

I stood up and saw that Homer was crying. The way his lips were pressed together and his breathing was heavy, I knew these weren't normal tears.

These tears burned his cheeks with frustration. They were furious tears. Homer wanted to kill her.

Suddenly, all the feelings that raged inside me earlier threatened to break free. I took Homer's cold hand and held on for dear life.

“All right, then,” she said, digging through her enormous pockets.

It was then I noticed the rock. A rock that must have weighed nearly what she did. I couldn't imagine how she'd hauled it up here.

It was still wet, this rock. I stared at the dark stain the water made as it seeped into the plywood floor.

“This is you,” J-Cat said, unfolding a picture she must have drawn herself of a stick figure, its little legs and arms bent into the shape of a person running.

She turned the paper over. “This is you with a C4 spinal injury.”

The new figure was sprawled on its back. Its little eyes were crosses, a loop of tongue hung down, the legs dangled in space.

“So, in conclusion,” she said, letting the drawing
flutter to the floor. “Homer is now—go on, you can guess—animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

Her crazy eyes zeroed in on us. She waited.

“Beep! Time's up,” she said. “The correct answer is vegetable! If we're ever going to turn this carrot back into a prince, we need some technology!

“Yes, the rehab doctors down at Ottawa County General use something called electronic nerve stimulation to restore function to previously lifeless digits.”

J-Cat gave us a broad smile and continued. “It's grueling, it's painful, and it doesn't always work, but it might just turn some of this lard into active flesh.

“Just think …,” she said, tapping the side of her face in an exaggerated way like I did when I was telling the crumb snatchers a story. “You could enter the gimp Olympics, maybe even push yourself across the United States with your tongue. Hey!” J-Cat jumped up and down. “It's a muscle, ain't it?”

“That's enough!” I let poor Homer's hand drop so that it hung like a rag doll's over the side of the bed. “Leave him alone!”

What was the matter with me? I wasn't paralyzed. J-Cat had invaded our turf. She'd mad-dogged me and Homer since the day we met. She didn't just lock eyes with you, she passed right through them to your
brain. J-Cat didn't do her own time, she fed off the time of others.

When she saw me coming, J-Cat started to jump around like she had to pee.

“Oh, goody, goody!” she said. “A dance partner.”

That day, I must have left my impulse control back at Granny's Lap. Beau always said if you think first, you lose your nerve. Whether it was smart or not, I don't know. It was happening. I wanted her like the big bad wolf wanted pig flesh, like Cinderella's ugly sisters wanted the prince. Like the Wicked Witch wanted the silver slippers, which—if you would take the time to read the book, Fish, you would know—was
the true color
of Dorothy's shoes!

J-Cat wiggled her fingers. “C'mon, Hairball,” she said, “just a little closer.”

I lunged. Homer screamed, “Don't!” And I tripped over the lump of rock that started it all, falling right into her spastic waiting arms.

I swear that woman must have grown up on the street. She knew how to take care of business, using my unbalanced weight against me. Before I knew it, J-Cat had me pinned in a bear hug from behind.

“Ever since I met you, I've been dying to do this,” she whispered. “Now, it would help if you were relaxed, but I guess there's not much chance of that.”

And right before it happened, my brain threw out strange signals. I tasted leaves after rain, felt the softness of Moonie Pie against my cheek, smelled Mr. Olatanju's cooking.

Then she cracked me.

Like an egg.

Like stomping on new ice.

There was pain at first, searing through my shoulder and down to my navel. Against the back of my eyelids, red curtains closed off the light.

And then, I had the strangest impression of water tumbling over rocks after a heavy rain, of banks overflowing with water that rushed to places it has never been.

I couldn't hold myself up. I crumpled. J-Cat lowered me to the floor. She bent my knees.

“Toss me a pillow, Homer,” she said. “Oops, forgot. You're a turnip.”

“God, I hate you!” Homer screamed. “What did you do to her? You'll never work again if you hurt her!”

I wanted to tell him it was all right. At least I thought it was all right.

“Let your head hang over this,” she said, putting a rolled-up pillow on my knees. “Relax, Homes, you'll dislocate your tongue. I adjusted her. Her spine is so out of line it feels like a comb that's been through the garbage disposal. She's finally got blood flowing to places that have been dying of thirst.”

I tried to get up, but J-Cat put a foot on my good shoulder.

“Stay,” she said.

Truth be told, I didn't have much choice.

J-Cat sat down on the edge of Homer's bed. I couldn't see him, but I knew what he was doing. He was turned away from her, his head to the wall.

“Now don't be cross, Homer,” she said in her annoying way. “In case you hadn't noticed—being so wrapped up in your own misery and all—your girlfriend's been in a lot of pain.”

“I hate you,” Homer repeated. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

“Homer! Are you spitting on me? That is so clever. You know what? Before I go, I'm going to give you a present for that talented tongue of yours.”

She stood up and I could see her out of the corner of my eye, her hands jammed deep into those kangaroo-pouch pockets. She grabbed a package wrapped in butcher paper that had been leaning against the wall and then all I saw were the bottoms of her tennis shoes as she climbed up on Homer's bed rail again.