Authors: John J. Bonk
“Of Chicago?” I blurted out loud. “Hold on a second. That’s Dad’s home turf!”
A true “watershed” moment, if there ever was one.
How could I have missed the Chicago part when Lynch brought it up on the first day of school? Must’ve been distracted by Candy’s
recent developments
.
“A free trip to see Dad in the Windy City! No way.”
“Dustin!” Mom called again. “Come downstairs!”
I sat there wiping my wet face on my T-shirt, letting the news sink in. I hadn’t seen Dad in over
three
years and the thought of coming face-to-face with him made my teeth itch – but in a good way. The more I thought about it,
the more excited I got. My heart was rumbling up a storm – I mean it was
actually giving the storm outside a run for its money. It’s a wonder the thing didn’t burst in my chest.
BANG!!
Maybe it just did.
What the heck was that?
After I scraped myself off the ceiling I realized the sound had come from downstairs.
Could be Gordy’s fireworks accidentally going off in the basement
. But it was just a single blast – like a gunshot.
Is one of the Grubbs packing heat? Man, how much excitement can a kid take in twenty-four hours?
I darted into the hall and flew down the steps, holding my breath all the way. My family was huddled in the middle of the
living room. Aunt Olive was in tears.
Did Granny finally crack and plug the deliveryman from Gleason’s Market for busting her eggs again?
“Dustin, come here,” Mom said, gesturing me over.
Was she nuts? I didn’t want to see the body up close.
“You and your brother can have ginger ale for the toast.”
Ginger ale and toast?
I moved in a little closer to the crime scene. Aunt Olive was pouring from a big, green bottle, filling everyone’s glasses
with bubbles.
“It’s a little warm, I’m afraid,” Aunt Olive said, sniffling. “The store didn’t carry refrigerated champagne.”
Oh, I get it. Cork. Pop. Celebration!
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Granny said, watching
bubbles fill her glass. “Didn’t think I’d be alive and kickin’ to see another wedding around here.”
“Wedding?” I asked, “
Whose
wedding?”
Maybe Gordy’s?
He’d been dating his girlfriend Rebecca longer than any other girl (and there’d been plenty). But he was barely seventeen.
I was pretty sure you weren’t allowed to get married until you were eighteen – unless you lived in Vegas or the Ozarks.
“Here’s to the blushing bride!” Aunt Birdie said, raising her glass.
“What blushing bride?” I asked, but my words got lost in the clinking of the glasses.
Oh, gawd, it’s Mom! Was she dating behind our backs again? And just when things were going so good with Dad
. Panic started to kick in.
“Oooh, that tickles,” Aunt Birdie said, giggling into her glass. “The bubbles went straight up my nose.”
“Who’s getting married?” I asked again, louder this time.
“That would be me!” Aunt Olive said, wiggling her fingers to show off her glittery ring. “I’m officially engaged!”
Instant relief. “Well, congratulations!” I gave my aunt an enthusiastic hug. Maybe
too
enthusiastic – tears came gushing out of her like a fire hydrant.
“Dustin, why don’t you help your brother with the hors d’oeuvres?” Mom said, gesturing to the dining room table.
“Ugh. You shouldn’t let him near food without rubber gloves and a hairnet.”
I had to wrestle the can of cheese away from Gordy before he sprayed it all down his throat. He bolted and I sat there squirting
smiley faces on crackers until the platter was filled; then started making rounds like a cater-waiter. Good practice for when
I’m a struggling actor in New York, taking odd jobs to make ends meet. I can’t wait.
“Oh, none for me, hon,” Aunt Olive said, waving me away. “I’m on a strict diet. I’ve got my eye on a gorgeous wedding dress,
and I don’t want to look like the great white whale when I march down the aisle.”
“White?” Granny spit a mouthful of champagne back into her glass. “That’s a cockamamy idea if you ask me. You’re not exactly
a spring chicken, you know.”
“I’m wearing white, Ma. Possibly bone or ecru, but definitely in the white family.”
“So, who’s the lucky guy?” I asked, changing the subject before there really
was
a dead body lying on the floor.
“You know Smashum Pest Control, right?” Aunt Olive’s eyes lit up. “Well, Dennis Smashum is the proprietor, and we’ve been
keeping each other’s company for a little over a year now. One thing led to another and – we’ve set the date! October eighth,
so mark your calendars.” She did a kind of slow twirl across the floor. “It’s always been my dream to get married in a small
family ceremony out back – under the rose trellis.”
“Oh,
pllllgh
!” Granny made her opinion clear with a sloppy
raspberry. “Have you lost your marbles? You’ll be freezing your bloomers off.”
“Dennis prefers cold weather,” my aunt told her, swooning into the cushy, blue armchair. “No bugs.”
“Oopsy daisy,” Aunt Birdie snorted. “She’s lost her ball bearings.”
“Just bearings – no ball,” I said, correcting her. “Hey, you guys, since the champagne is flowing, I’ve got some good news
too I’d like to –”
“Someone has had enough,” Granny interrupted and grabbed the glass from Aunt Olive. The future Mrs. Smashum was obviously
too smashed to care.
“So, guess what?” I hopped up on the ottoman to get their attention. “Guys?
Guys!
” All eyes were on me now, but I wasn’t sure where to start. I was tempted to just blurt out the Chicago news, but figured
I’d better not. Granny always got cranky when anyone mentioned anything to do with Dad. She was still holding a major grudge
for him walking out on us like he did. Better to go with my less touchy news.
“I’ll be back on the boards again this year! That’s theatre-talk for doing a show. We’re doing a musical this time – a joint
effort between our school and Fenton High. And it’s gonna be huge.”
“Oh, how wonderful, honey,” Mom said over Aunt Birdie’s enthusiastic applause. “Which musical are they doing?”
“Oliver!
You know, based on
Oliver Twist?
I’ll be tackling
the role of the Artful Dodger. He’s a pickpocket – a scallywag, and ’e kinda tawks loik this.” I slipped into my cockney accent
to really set the mood. “Wears a top hat, ’e does, and works for the oily Mister Fagin – scouring the foggy streets of London
to rip off respectable gentlemen and the like.”
“Nobody cares,” Gordy grumbled.
“It’s gonna be a sellout,” I said, switching back to my real voice, “just like Gordy. So if anyone wants to give me their
ticket orders now and pay in advance, I do accept credit cards –”
“Put me down for two!” Aunt Olive cried out and kicked off her shoes.
“You lie like a rug, dweeb,” Gordy snarled. “The sign-up sheets just went up today. You can’t know what part you’re gonna
get if they didn’t even hold the stupid auditions yet.”
“A mere technicality.”
“Aren’t you putting the horse before the cart?” Aunt Birdie asked.
“Uh, sorta, but… wait – it’s the
cart
before the horse, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be silly. How could the cart roll if the horse wasn’t pulling it?”
I give up
.
Without warning, Gordy shoved me off the ottoman and I hit the carpet like a sack of turtles.
“Hey, I wasn’t done!”
“Tough. I’ve got an announcement to make too.” He sat with his ankle crossed over his knee on the edge of the ottoman, waggling
his foot a million miles a minute. “You guys might want to sit down for this.”
Uh-oh
. Mom and Granny took a seat on the couch. I dashed over to the phone and positioned my finger on the nine, just in case I
had to dial 911. The Grubbses were famous for their overreactions.
Gordy’s face was all twitchy. He probably got caught for drinking beer on school property again, and this time they were throwing
him in the slammer for five to ten. No great loss.
Hey, if the wall between our two bedrooms isn’t load bearing, we could tear it down and I could have one gigantic
–
“What is it, Gordon?” Mom was using her worried voice.
“All right, I’ll just spit it out.” But he didn’t. “This might freak you out – but I’m not kidding around or anything. This
is for real.”
Omigod, he’s joined a cult!
“I’m – I’ve decided to go to college.”
Dead silence.
“Bartender or clown?” I asked.
“Shaddup, Freakshow!”
“Oh, Gordy!” Mom gushed. “That’s incredible news!”
Ten to one it’s Rebecca’s idea. That girl deserves a medal
.
“Well, I can’t be too choosy about colleges ’cause of my grades. That’s what Becca says.”
See!
“Plus, I ain’t got no extra-curricular
activities on my record. But I’ve still got my senior year to bust my behind, right? And at least I made up my mind to go
– if we can afford it.”
Mom was beaming. “We’ll find a way,” she said. “I’m just so proud!”
There was a crack of thunder outside, and I realized Gordy had just stolen mine. I sauntered across the room and perched on
the radiator, listening to the outpouring of encouragement raining down on my brother. Here’s the thing about juvenile delinquents:
Everyone’s so used to them being in trouble, just a hint of something respectable eeks out of them and suddenly they’re heroes.
If you’ve been on the honor roll your whole life, no one even blinks when you get all A’s on your report card again. It’s
no big whoop. “What’s that, Dustin? Oh, you’ve just won the Pulitzer Prize? That’s nice. Now move out of the way of the TV
– we can’t see through you.”
“This house is going to seem so empty next year,” Aunt Birdie said dreamily. A series of rapid-fire hiccups escaped, taking
her by surprise. “Ooh, pardon me. What with Gordy off at college –
hic
– and Olive moving to Hinkleyville…”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll end up at the community college,” Gordy said between taking hits of air from the empty can-o-cheese.
“So I ain’t movin’ nowhere prob’ly.”
“Ain’t movin’ nowhere prob’ly,” I echoed. “Mmm, you keep talking real good English like that and you’ll make the dean’s list
for sure!”
“Bite me, scrod.”
“Whoa, back up a minute,” Granny said, zeroing in on the bride-to-be. “Let me get this straight.
You’re
moving out of the house, Olive? Out of Buttermilk Falls – for good?”
My aunt sat upright. Her eyes were darting around like she was trying to do math in her head. “Of course. What’d you think?”
“I didn’t think,” Granny snapped. “You didn’t give us time to think. You just sprang this whole thing on us at the last minute.”
You could feel all the joy in the room fizzling out, like the bubbles in the champagne.
“Dennis’s brother has a thriving extermination business in Hinkleyville and – to make a
shong
story
lort
, they’ve decided to partner up,” Aunt Olive said, twisting her engagement ring like she was trying to unscrew her finger.
“It makes good business sense. And, besides, it’s not that far away.”
“Might as well be on the moon.” Granny’s mouth formed a tight pucker, as if she were fighting to keep the rest of her words
locked inside.
“Oh, Ma,” Aunt Birdie said, “don’t be such a party –
hic
– pooper. She’ll come visit us, and we can visit her… and she’ll come visit us…”
Nobody said anything after that. There was just the
tick-tick-tick
of the wall clock and the
hic-hic-hic
of Aunt Birdie. You could definitely feel the “tension you could cut with a
knife” that everyone talks about. Finally, Granny struggled off the couch and shuffled around the room fluffing pillows that
didn’t need fluffing and straightening pictures that didn’t need straightening. My butt was getting deep-fried, so I popped
off the radiator and started cleaning up. I swept the crumbs off the dining room table and grabbed the empty champagne bottle.
“A delightfully refreshing nonalcoholic alternative to traditional sparkling wine”
was printed in tiny letters on the bottom of the label.
“Contains less than 0.3 % alcohol by volume.”
Somehow my aunts had gotten sloshed on sugar water and bubbles. Pretty hysterical, but definitely not a good time to poke
fun. I followed Granny into the kitchen, keeping a safe distance, but I could still hear her grumbling to herself:
“First Teddy – now Olive. Running off with some bug man – to Hinkleyville, of all places. Might as well be on the doggone
moon.”
“Thanks, Ted. I haven’t laughed that hard in quite a while. It’s been kind of intense around here lately – I really needed
that!” Mom was winding up her phone conversation with Dad, wiping her eyes from busting a gut. After being incommunicado for
a third of a decade due to Mom’s righteous anger, my crazy parents were hitting it off these days better than ever. Now he
was causing happy tears – not sad. A complete 180.
“Okay, I’ll hand you over to your son now. Yeah, talk to you soon, hon.”
Hon?
Move over Aunt Olive – was there another wedding in the works? I took the phone and heard Dad’s voice radiating through.
“Hey, kid! So, break a leg at that audition of yours. When is it again?”
“Tomorrow after school. I’m singing your favorite song – the ‘Broadway’ one. And Aunt Olive helped me with it, so I’m not
too worried. She said it doesn’t matter too much if I can hit all the high notes, the important thing is that I sell it.”
“And if you screw up, just launch into a joke or something. Funny never fails
.”
“Right.”
“Play up your strengths and they won’t notice your weaknesses
.”
“Got it.”
“Wow ’em with a big finish and they’ll forgive you for anything
.”
“Hey, read my lips. I said I wasn’t worried.”