Paint Me a Monster (5 page)

“Put it in the jar with the other dead flies,” I say. We save them to feed to the squirrels that tightrope walk across the telephone lines.

“I’ll check the closet,” I say, “But I may need help.”

The closet is the same size as the entire bathroom. A huge drawer is filled with girdles and nighties and lacey bags of underwear. Another drawer is stuffed with extra blankets, and one more drawer holds tablecloths and napkins. I climb on top of a long, wide shelf and crawl past piles of
National Geographic
magazines, round fabric boxes with hats inside, and rolls of toilet paper.

“What are you doing in there?” Lizzie yells.

“Help me,” I answer, pushing my way through hanging dresses and shoe-bags filled with high-heeled shoes.

“Did you find the surprise?”

“Not exactly.” I lug a fat book of photographs to the table. “S. SAMUELS INC. Suppliers of Restaurant and Kitchen Equipment Nationwide,” I read.

“You better put that back. It’s one of Pop Pop’s business books,” Liz says.

I open the first page and there is a picture of Pop Pop. Under it is the word “President.” There’s a picture of Daddy, too, with the words “Vice President.” Behind them is a sign that says “Forty years of Unrivaled Service.”

There are pages and pages of photographs of “appliances”: refrigerators, ovens, stoves, dishwashers, and sinks, and even more pages of shelving, carts, glasses, plates, scales, counter-tops, lights, and furniture.

“Let me see,” Lizzie says, grabbing the heavy book. “Wow, there are even fireplaces like in the olden days. I want one of those.”

“I’m thirsty,” Evan says. He spreads himself on the floor, faceup, as if he’s floating on a raft in the swimming pool Pop Pop had built so Mommy could swim and exercise her bad back. Evan’s eyes are wide open and his tongue is out.

“I found it! I found it!” He pops up and points to the wall with a shelf above a photograph of the American Indian, Sitting Bull.

On the shelf with our books are three new yellow ones tied with yellow string. Next to them is a monkey and a man wearing a hat the same color as his clothes.

“
Curious George and The Man in the Yellow Hat
!” Lizzie and I say at the same time.

Lizzie stands on a chair and reaches for the new books, and I grab the stuffed toys.

“I’m still thirsty,” Evan whines. “Maybe Beulah will give me a drink.”

“Good thinking, Evan,” I say. “Maybe Beulah has finished the housework for Gaga, and she’ll make lemonade for all of us.”

We head downstairs holding the curvy banister, except for The Man in The Yellow Hat. He slides down the banister with George on his back.

Last night, when I closed my eyes, I saw a monster blow across my bed, back and forth—slowly, going nowhere. It breathed cigarette ashes into my nose and tapped a finger without skin on my heart.

“I’m gonna getcha. I’m GONNA GETCHA!” It hissed.

I know it is real—when I wake up, my throat burns.

Doctor Ron is in Evan’s bedroom. It’s been two days since I talked to Evan. Verna says he’s “quarantined.”

“Don’t open Evan’s door,” Mommy says. “He has bad germs, and I don’t want you to catch his fever.”

“I wish I had a fever like Evan’s. You and Mommy are with him all day,” I say to Verna.

“Girl,” Verna says, “as soon as Evan feels a little better, you and I’ll make sugar cookies together, and we can have a tea party with your dollies.”

“Can I have a cookie now?” I say.

“You sure can, you don’t have no ills. Evan can’t. He can’t hardly swallow anything,” Verna says. “His throat is too sore, and his tongue is fat and red as a ripe strawberry.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Lord, no!” Verna says. “But it’s going to be a while before his fever and rash go away.”

“I have something for Evan. Will you give it to him?”

I get Wooly Willy out of his special place in my toy box and smooth out the hard plastic cardboard that covers Willy’s face. Before I give Willy to Verna, I drag a clump of black bits to Willy’s head with a magic stick.

“Now he has hair,” I say. I move the red stick with the magnet inside, and it picks up more dark clumps that look like a bunch of ants stuck on a piece of sucking candy.

“Look. Willy has a mustache, an eyebrow, and hair in his nose.” I show Verna. “Be careful not to shake him, and tell Evan it’s from me.”

Verna takes the piece of cardboard with Willy’s decorated face into Evan’s room.

I miss Evan. I miss teaching him his ABC’s. I miss showing him how to draw cats. I miss holding his hand and bump bumping down the stairs on our tushies.

“Evan’s sleeping. Let’s go downstairs and get you and Lizzie some lunch,” Verna says.

Mommy and Doctor Ron follow Verna, and I follow them to the bottom of the stairs. The doctor gives Mommy a slip of paper and tells her to go to some place called the “farmfac’try” for medicine. Why is the doctor giving Evan animal medicine? Does he think my brother is a cowboy?

“Rinnie, that was very nice of you to give your game to your brother,” Doctor Ron says. “You must love him very much to give him something you can’t have back.”

“I didn’t give it to him. I let him borrow it,” I say.

“It has sick germs on it. When Evan is well, Willy has to be thrown away,” the doctor says, putting on his coat.

“But it’s mine. Evan’s borrowing it,” I say. “He can’t keep Willy.”

“He’s not keeping it,” Mommy says. “Willy will be thrown away.”

“No! You can’t throw Willy out. He’ll miss me,” I cry.

No one listens. Verna is frying baloney; Mommy and Dr. Ron are saying good-bye.

I sit on the bottom step with my fists on my cheeks, and rock, back and forth, back and forth. It’s not fair. Willy’s mine.

Second grade is serious business. My teacher, Mrs. Hipshell, jiggles when she walks and doesn’t smile. Her orangey brown hair is wavy and the same
every
single day. Maybe it’s a wig. She is old and has tan spots on her face. Some spots are buried in her wrinkles. Last year, she was Liz’s teacher, and Liz says she
really
is a witch and cast a spell on one of the boys to make him keep quiet.

We pull our chairs into small circles for reading groups. Soon, I will move up to the top reading group. The chairs are just the right size for seven-year-olds. The varnish on them makes them shiny, like a just-licked lollipop. I sit by the window and the sun warms the smooth wood. My hand likes to rub the varnish and feel its slickness. I could sit in my chair all day rubbing the varnish and reading about Dick and Jane and Spot. Everything about them is rosy and friendly. Spot looks soft and squishy like my mother’s fur coat. I’d like to hold Spot and bury my face in her fluffy fur and kiss her.

Fingers fly, hands flap. Mommy and Daddy are going out tonight. Emmy’s gone home. She left right after dinner. She never baby-sits. She just cooks dinner and cleans up the mess. Verna hardly ever stays late because she’s married, and her husband wants her home. But tonight she’s here. Hooray! This means popcorn and pillow fights and staying up late, late, late. I love Verna, and she loves me back. After dinner, Liz, Evan, and I put on our PJs. The smell of hot buttered popcorn lures us downstairs. We grab the pillows from our beds. Croquette is in her kennel so she won’t get hurt.

“Whoever gets the Old Maid kernel, the last of the bunch, washes the bowl,” Verna warns.

“’Cept me,” Evan says. “I can’t even reach the soap.”

The salty popcorn dissolves in my mouth. Mmmm. This is so much fun. I never take the last handful, and Liz has to clean the bowl.

Sneak attack. I smash Evan on the head with my pillow.

“Hey!” he grumbles from the floor.

“Whamo Bamo, two tushies in one blow,” he brags and tries to knock me over.

“Wap-a roni!” Liz cheers a direct hit.

Evan’s been beaned and his pillow trips Liz. She drops on top of me. Verna has us pinned with her knees, and I tickle Evan who grabs Liz and tickles her.

“Time out!” Lizzie says.

“I have to breathe,” I say and sit up. Evan swipes at Verna’s legs and misses.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Verna’s pillow lands on us again and again. “Do you give?” she says. “Quit now, and you get to watch TV before bed.”

“We quit, we give up, we quit.” Our pillows mark our spots in front of the television, and we scramble upstairs to brush our teeth. I squeeze a gob of blue on my toothbrush and wonder if Verna would like to live here with us all the time.

“Last one downstairs is a rotten egg,” Liz yells.

Three toothpaste spits hit the sink at the same time. The clock in the hall cuckoos eight times and then, before we know it, ten times. Our screen door squeaks open. Uh oh. “Shhhhh.” We scramble up the stairs and shush into bed.

“Did you have a nice evening? I’ll get my jacket, and I’m ready to go, Mr. G.” Verna’s words skip the stairs and fly straight to our ears. They’re code for close your eyes and get to sleep.

Mommy and Daddy are going out again. Verna has to be with her husband. This time a nursing student will stay with us. Mommy calls me into her bedroom while she dresses. I watch her brush on eye shadow.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” she says, stroking her eyelid with blue powder.

“Are my eyes even?” she says. “Is the color the same on both sides?”

“A little more on the left lid,” I say and listen to a three count. “That’s good.”

Mommy puts on her dress and spiky high-heeled shoes. She is so pretty. I wish I could look like her.

“Hurry up, Rose!”

Daddy looks at his watch and rubs his forehead. “Why is your mother always late?” he says. “We can’t be anywhere on time.”

Before leaving, Mommy goes over the rules with the sitter. “Bedtime is eight o’clock, and be sure the kids brush their teeth.” She tugs on her fur to make sure it is on straight. “No fighting,” she says to us.

The sitter makes Liz, Evan, and me play while she watches her television program and does homework. When eight o’clock comes, we are in bed, lights out, no noise anywhere. I miss my parents. Maybe if I look out the window I will see their car. When I stand on my pillow, I see the birch tree outside my window swaying in the wind. A storm is coming. On the lawn, the tree’s shadows makes shapes of alligators with sharp teeth and an octopus with twisted arms.

Like fingers, long branches brush the glass. Please, tree, don’t crash through the window, I pray.

I stand on my bed a long time, waiting for Mommy and Daddy. I hope they’ll be excited when they find out I stayed up to see them. My head rests sideways on the window ledge, and the world looks crooked. I wish Croquette was here, but she’s hiding.

Moving lights turn into the driveway. I hear the front door and the coat closet open. “Thanks again. Drive carefully,” Mommy says.

High-heeled and flat-shoe footsteps take turns on the wood steps.

The footsteps stop first in Liz’s room, then Evan’s, and finally mine.

“Hello!” I jump out like a grasshopper. “Guess what? I waited up for you!”

Mommy jumps back. She is beautiful in her fur coat, even though her lips make a big red circle. Daddy’s lips press against his teeth. His chin sticks out.

“Rinnie, you should be asleep.” Mommy’s head must hurt because she holds her forehead in her hand. She bends to me.

I hug Mommy through her coat and hide my face in the cold, thick fur. It’s smoother than melted chocolate. I want to lick the softness.

“The sitter said you were asleep. You need your rest,” she says and leans over to kiss my forehead. “Sleep tight. Tomorrow is another day.”

I close my eyes and listen to the whoosh of Mommy’s coat as she turns to leave.

“Was I a good surprise?” I ask Daddy.

He winks and says, “Sweet dreams, Rin.”

My birthday is in a few days, but I’ll be at camp. My birthday wish is to stay home with Verna, Evan, Gaga, and Croquette all summer. I want to ride my bike through the alley next to the Starr’s house and stand in their fountain, chalk hopscotch on the driveway, and roller-skate down our slanted driveway. I want to eat Verna’s grilled cheese and potato chip sandwiches. I want to play mermaid in Gaga’s pool, and I want to break eggs in the gutter. The crack of smooth shell against the ground is a song. It’s over so fast. I want to hear it again and again. Inside is a yellow sun, sitting in goo. I pour the sun like melted butter into the gutter next door and think about it never becoming a chick. I hope it looks like our neighbor cracked it so I don’t get into trouble.

Mommy and Daddy have a different birthday wish. They think going to camp will be more fun for me. My second wish is that they remember the birthday candles belong to me.

The plane lifts itself from the runway and tilts toward heaven. It’s my first time flying.

“How high does the plane go?” I ask Lizzie. “Will it know when to stop? How do we get down?”

“Don’t worry, Rinnie. I did this last summer, and it’s easy. The pilot took a test to make sure the plane won’t fall and he uses a compass,” Lizzie says. “The plane can even fly in the dark! Those ladies in the blue uniforms are hostesses. They’ll get you anything you want.”

“Their caps look like cans of tuna fish,” I say.

We are on our way to Camp Redwood. Two months sounds like a long time: no Verna to gather worms with, no Evan to tease, no dressing Croquette in her raincoat or baseball cap, no Mommy and Daddy.

Mommy says, “Don’t worry. Lizzie will show you the ropes.” Liz knows all the kids from last summer.

Daddy says, “You’ll celebrate your eighth birthday with new friends.” He gives me a velvet box with an angel pin and two coins inside—one for good luck with the year I was born on it and one for love.

They promise Liz will look after me if I need her.

The plane flies through clouds. Where are the angels? From the ground, the clouds look like marshmallows. Clouds aren’t solid at all.