Читать книгу Why Is Brian So Fat? - Gary Solomon - Страница 9

The Stash Drawer

Brian sat on the edge of his too-narrow bed, which creaked in protest. He noticed that his feet dangled an inch from the floor. Pretty soon I’m going to be able to sit on the bed and touch both feet to the floor at the same time, he thought as he dipped his toes to the floor. Strange how my legs grow . . . I wonder if they would grow faster if I ate more. I bet I’ll be seven feet tall before I’m thirteen. I better watch it or I’ll be so tall people won’t like me.

I think people don’t like other people when they’re real different, he thought. Most of the people I go to school with all look about the same. Some have brown hair, some have black hair, and some have blond hair, but they all kind of look alike. The other kids tease or are just plain mean to the ones who are real different. I don’t like being teased or treated differently, he thought. I just want to be like the other kids.

Sometimes when I’m with Josh, the other kids make fun of us because Josh is shorter than everybody in our class and I’m fatter. I get so tired of that. Sometimes it makes me feel . . . Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Brian looked up and the door flung open. Madison stood at the doorway with her blue and white cheerleading outfit on and an angry look on her face.

“Hey,” she snapped at Brian. “Have you seen my Jack Jet CD? I was listening to it yesterday and now it’s not there. I always leave it in the same place in my room sitting right on my nightstand. I need it for cheerleading. Did you take it?”

“Can’t you wait until I say ‘come in’? You didn’t even give me a chance to say ‘come in.’ You’re always walking in on me. You better stop doing that or I’m going to tell.”

“So what,” she said defiantly. “Who cares? No one will do anything anyway. No one cares what I do. Well, have you seen my CD or not?” she screeched.

Brian heaved his body forward and with a smirking grin snapped, “No, I haven’t seen your stupid Jack Jet CD, and if I had, I wouldn’t tell you anyway. After what you said to me at dinner tonight do you think I’d help you?”

“Come on, Brian, I was just kidding,” she moaned. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Kidding!” he groaned. “It’s not very funny. Did you see me laughing?”

“Okay!” Madison replied with a snap. “Okay. Are you sure you haven’t seen my CD?”

“No, I told you. No!”

“Well then, will you help me look for it? I need it for tonight.”

“Can’t you see I’m busy? I’ve got things to do.” Madison looked at him sitting on the corner of the bed looking like a big bump on a small log.

“Forget it. Just forget it!” she wailed. “I’ll find it myself.” She slammed the door behind her as she stamped out of the room.

A second later Madison suddenly opened the door, stuck her head in, and said, “By the way, I take it back. I’m going to call you whatever I want, Fatso!” This time she slammed the door twice as hard.

Brian slumped back over the bed and ended up on his back with his eyes staring straight up at the light fixture that hung over his bed. “Man, I hate her. I really do. I wish she was dead. Maybe she’s not really my sister,” he mumbled aloud. “Maybe her real parents will come and pick her up someday and I can live in peace.”

Rumps was sitting in the corner listening to all the sounds that were going on. Rumps suddenly barked at Brian when Brian started talking to himself.

“Shhh,” Brian said. “Be quiet before Dad starts pounding on the ceiling. You know he gets mad at me every time you start barking. He said if you do that one more time I have to get rid of you. Do you want that to happen? Do you?”

Rumps lifted his ears, cocked his head, and stared at Brian as if he really knew what Brian was talking about. Rumps stopped barking.

Brian had found Rumps a couple of blocks from his house in a dirty alley. He was a scrawny mutt with fleas, matted hair, and a hurt front paw. Brian could see parts of his brown and white fur were torn out, probably from dog fights. Brian often heard the dog fights that took place in the middle of the night. But he didn’t care how Rumps looked or how he got that way. The dog liked Brian and Brian liked him. Brian was determined to keep this dog.

Brian brought him home the same day he found him and begged his father and mother to let him keep the dog. His father had told him absolutely not, but after twenty minutes of pleas and moaning and groaning, he won out, with his dad having begrudgingly lost the battle to a persistent son and a nagging wife.

“But if that dog makes a mess or gets in my way, he goes, and that’s final.” Marshall said, waving them away and stomping out of the room.

“What are you going to call him, Brian?” his mother asked gently.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should name him after Dad since he let me keep him.”

“Perfect. You can call him ‘grumpy.’” They both laughed. “Or ‘grumps’ for short.”

“I know,” Brian said with excitement, “I’ll call him ‘Rumps.’ It sounds like ‘grumps.’”

“And every time I hear the name, I’ll think of your father,” Brian’s mom said with a smile.

Brian proceeded from that moment forward to take care of Rumps. He took the thorn out of his paw, gave him a bath, dried him off, and brushed out his hair. He fed Rumps five times a day, just as often as Brian ate himself.

“Come on Rumps,” he’d yell. “It’s feedin’ time.” Rumps would come running, crashing into his bowl, sending his food everywhere. In time, Rumps got the hang of it and made his way to the bowl without knocking everything over.

Rumps had never had it so good. He ate every bit of the food that was given to him. As the weeks went by Rumps learned to run to his bowl every time Brian came into the house. As the months went by Rumps no longer dashed to the bowl, but rather waddled to the bowl as any plump dog would. And if it’s true that a dog looks like its owner, then clearly Rumps had been put on this earth to be with Brian, his friend and master.

“Come here,” Brian called as he clapped his hands at Rumps. “I’ve got a treat for you.” Brian rolled over on the bed and reached into his nightstand and out of it came, as if it were magic, a bag of candy-coated peanuts. Rumps sat at the foot of the bed panting, ears high, tail wagging, and tongue hanging. He had seen these treats before—many times before. As a matter of fact, Brian and Rumps shared something to eat every night. All Rumps had to do was lift himself up just a little bit on his hind legs, stick his tongue out, and the treat was his. Though it was difficult at Rumps’s size to do such a strenuous trick, he did so every night. Night after night, for his best friend, Brian.

Brian lay on the bed, stomach down, as he hurled the candies one-by-one into Rumps’s gaping mouth. With each toss Rumps received the treats with great enthusiasm, knowing that there was more for the begging.

“Good boy,” Brian praised. “Good boy. Here, want another one? Whoops, go get it! It’s over there in the corner.” Rumps scampered to retrieve the sloppily thrown treasure that awaited him on the floor in the corner of the room. “Good dog,” Brian mumbled, having gobbled a handful while Rumps was getting his treat. And with two final tosses, one into Rumps’s mouth and one into Brian’s, the game was over.

“Here. See, Rumps,” said Brian, his palms extended in front of him so that Rumps could see them. “All gone.” Rumps cocked his head one more time and with ears raised higher than ever before, gave Brian his famous “what’s going on?” look. If Rumps could have talked, Brian would have heard him say, “Just open your magic drawer, Brian. I know there’s more in there. Come on, let’s not stop now, I’m having too much fun.” As if Brian knew what Rumps was thinking, he said aloud, “No more tonight, Rumps. There’ll be more tomorrow.”

You can’t let dogs have too much candy, Brian said to himself. All that stuff’s not good for him. Brian stood up with the empty candy bag still in his hand.

“Well, Rumps, where should I hide the candy bag? We don’t want anybody to find out what’s going on up here with our stash drawer of candy treats. If they find the empty bag they’ll know for sure . . . . Let’s see,” he said with a puzzled look on his face. A moment later he exclaimed, “I know, I’ll put it inside my school book. No one will find it there. On my way to school, I’ll just throw it away. What do you think of that, Rumps?”

Rumps gave him an approving look as Brian walked over to his books. He flattened out the candy bag, opened his English book, and placed the bag neatly between the pages.

“There, Rumps,” Brian giggled aloud, “no one will ever know it’s . . .” At that moment there was a knock on the door.

“Brian, can I come in?”

“Just a second, Mom.” Brian slammed the book tightly over the candy wrapper. Brian hid his candy wrappers all over his room so his mother wouldn’t find them. Rumps skidded his way over the hardwood floor and went crashing into the door where the sound of the knock had come from. Recovering from his tumble immediately, Rumps sat panting and waited for the arrival of the visitor.

“Come on in, Mom. Sorry, I was just finishing getting dressed.”

Brian had already put on his favorite oversized T-shirt and sweatpants when he had first walked in his room. But he couldn’t tell his mom what he was really doing. It’s not much of a lie, he thought to himself. She doesn’t really care anyway.

Brian’s mom walked in and sat at his desk in the only chair in the room. It made a groaning, creaking noise as she settled into the chair.

“Well, Brian, tomorrow is Saturday and let’s make it your day. Let’s celebrate your report card. So what would you like to do? The usual?”

“YEAH,” Brian exclaimed. “Yeah!”

“First, we’ll go have some breakfast with all your favorites—biscuits, sausage, and pancakes with lots of syrup. And then we’ll go play miniature golf.”

Brian loved to play miniature golf. He didn’t have to move very fast. He never got a chance to play football, basketball, or baseball because he spent most of his time sitting on the bench.

“Maybe we can go to that new restaurant on the other side of the hill. You know the one with the big kettle pot in front. I believe it’s called The Brass Kettle. What do you think about that?”

“Is it any good? Do they serve a lot of food?” Brian asked.

“Brian,” his mother said with a tone of exasperation. “Just because a restaurant serves a lot of food doesn’t mean that it’s good.”

“Well, I’d rather go to Herb’s Hamburgers anyway. They’ve got those giant double-thick hamburgers with cheese. Plus I’m dying for a chocolate shake. I’ve been thinking about their chocolate shakes all week long.” Brian’s mother laughed aloud.

“Well, it’s your day, and you can have whatever you want.”

“Thanks, Mom. Thanks a lot.”

“Come on, get in bed. It’s getting late.” Brian climbed into bed. He rolled onto his squeaking bed and settled in for the night.

“Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite,” his mom said as she waddled down the hall. Brian could hear her heavy footsteps as she lumbered down the stairs.

“Good night, Mom,” he called after her.