Читать книгу Remember Dippy - Shirley Reva Vernick - Страница 9

Chapter 3

The next day I got to stay in bed a little later since Aunt Collette didn’t have to be at work until eleven. Mem had been watching The Weather Channel all morning, but when I came downstairs he leaped up and was all over me. “Let’s go swimming, Johnny! C’mon, let’s go swimming at the lake.”

“What—do you even know how?” I asked groggily.

“Do you even know how?” And then I realized he was already wearing his trunks.

Okay, I thought, this might not be the worst way to spend the day. I guess I was still half asleep, or I wouldn’t have had such a crazy thought. “You sure you can swim?”

“Yup. I learned at school.”

“They have a pool at your school?”

“Yup.” He took a pair of swim goggles out of his shirt pocket and pulled them over his head. “But I wanna swim in the lake.”

So it was settled. I stumbled into my trunks and stuffed some towels and Twinkies into my backpack before I was even fully awake. My flip flops were nowhere to be found, though—until I looked at Mem’s feet. “You really don’t have any other shoes?” I asked.

“Nope. Do you?”

I threw on my sneakers, which still felt like homework and smelled like the cafeteria, and told Mem to get a move on. All I wanted was to hit the beach and get barefoot again. Then maybe I could relax for a while.

No such luck. As we started down the front steps, something caught my eye. The mailbox. It was different somehow. I squinted against the morning glare. Something was definitely off, but what? I ran down the driveway. Now I saw. The letters didn’t say T E DIPP anymore. They said DOPE. Someone had removed the T, put the E where the second P had been, and gone to all the trouble of buying an O to replace the I.

Dirk the Jerk. I was sure of it. I could just see him, that mop-topped, freckle-frosted freak, prowling around Aunt Collette’s yard when no one was looking. DOPE. Did he really think that being captain of the basketball team entitled him to pull a stunt like this? “C’mon, Mem,” I charged into the street. “We’re taking a little detour.”

“Why?”

“We need to go to the hardware store.”

“Why?”

I scoped Dirk’s mailbox and the gold-and-black lettering that read A. DEMPSTER. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.”

Mem’s face was getting red and twisted, so I knew an outburst was on its way. Sure enough, he planted his skinny little body in front of me and screeched, “But we’re going swimming at the lake! Johnny, I wanna go swimming. At the lake. I know how. I learned at school. We have a pool there. You prrrrromisssssed!”

Great, a temper tantrum right out here for the world to see. Maybe even for Dirk the Jerk to see. Mem was acting two and I felt 99. “Okay Mem, fine, you’re right,” I said. “I told you we could go to the lake, and we will. It’s just that we can stay there longer if I get this errand out of the way first. You want to stay at the lake as long as possible, don’t you?”

“Don’t you?” he said, his voice softer now. “Don’t you?” He started walking with me—not very fast, but at least in the right direction. “Don’t you?”

Champlain Hardware is right next door to Niko’s. I hadn’t been there in ages, but when Mem and I stepped inside, it smelled familiar, like the paints and varnishes my dad used to keep in the garage, back in the good old days. Mr. Wizzly, the owner, greeted us from behind the counter. I asked him where he kept the letter decals.

“Next to the No Trespassing and For Sale By Owner signs,” he said, pointing to the back of the store.

Good, I could work in private there. So while Mem picked out the letters of his name, I racked my brains. Dempster, Dempster, what could I do with Dempster? It needed to be something really maddening—no, infuriating—but what? Then finally I had it. I took a U and a B—black on gold—and made Mem put his stack of letters away while I paid. I asked Mr. Wizzly for my three dollars change in quarters.

“Ub?” said Mem on the way out. “Or is it bu?”

“Neither.” I put the decals in my backpack. “I’ll tell you later. Maybe.”

“Okay. Want some Juicy Fruit?”

“No. Hey, let’s say hi to your mom while we’re here.” The 7-11 was right around the corner, and I figured it would fill up some of the blank time that was stretching out in front of us like a school day.

“Yeah!” he shouted and started off faster than I’d seen him go in two days. He got there first. By the time I arrived, Aunt Collette was already pouring him a slushie the color of her lipstick.

“Howdy, Johnny,” she said over the moan of the slushie machine. “Good timing, you two—I was about to die of loneliness.” She handed Mem his drink and started pouring my favorite, blue raspberry. “What’re you boys up to?”

“We’re going to the lake,” Mem slurped. “We’re going swimming because I know how. But first we had to—”

“Hey Mem, you know what?” I cut him off. “I’ll take a piece of that Juicy Fruit, after all.”

He handed me a stick of stale gum and, thankfully, that was enough to make him switch gears. “Good day for the beach today, folks,” he channeled Martin the Meteorologist in all his squeaky enthusiasm. “Clear and sunny this afternoon, partly cloudy and cooler tonight. This is Martin the Meteorologist wishing you blue skies and starry nights.”

“Sounds good,” Aunt Collette said, picking a People magazine off the rack and perching on her stool with it. “Now, what did you say brought you downtown?”

Just then, the door sleigh bells jangled, and Niko walked in, although he looked more like a gangster than the perky pizza guy I’d always known. He was wearing the same grimace he had on when he caught me barefoot yesterday. His apron was stained blood-red with tomato sauce, and his sunglasses, roosting on his forehead, were like an extra set of beady eyes. “Two packs Gold Strikes,” he rasped when he got to the counter.

Aunt Collette raised her eyebrows into triangles of surprise. “And hello to you too, Niko.”

He made a weak laugh and smoothed his mustache. “I am sorry. It’s just that I—I need my smokes.”

“I thought you quit.”

“Today I am not quit. Maybe tomorrow.” He laid down his money.

She frowned but got him his cigarettes anyway. “You okay, Niko?”

“I am…tired.”

“Now that I can appreciate.” She winked at Mem. “I wouldn’t mind a good night’s sleep myself one of these days.”

“Sleep is good. Better than these.” He rattled the Gold Strikes boxes. “Well, I…” He kept his mouth open, but no words came out, and he finally turned to go. “See you.”

Aunt Collette watched him leave and then wondered aloud as she closed the cash register, “Now, what do you suppose has gotten into him?”

“That’s what I want to know,” I said. But before we could toss any guesses around, Mem was at the door begging to go to the beach. “C’mon, Johnny. You promised. Let’s go swimming at the lake! I know how! You promised!”

“All right, all right,” I said, draining my slushie cup. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll have supper when I get home,” Aunt Collette called after us. “Around seven.”

• • •

Only a few other kids were swimming when we got to the lake—no one I particularly knew—and a man and a small boy were sitting on a wooden raft about fifty feet out, fishing. The bass and pike really bite this time of year, and I could see the boy yanking something on the end of his pole. His father—or whoever the man was—leaned over and helped him with the reel, but the fish got away.

I wondered what my own father was doing right now. Not thinking about me, that’s for sure. Even when he lived with Mom and me, he spent all his free time hiding in his basement workshop. It never would have crossed his mind to spend a morning at the lake with me. I wondered if that kid on the raft knew how lucky he was, even if the stinking fish did get away.

Mem and I picked a spot on the sandy-stony beach and spread out our towels. Okay, I supposed as I took off my shirt and lay down, this should be tolerable. Dull and friendless, but tolerable. Mem kicked off his—I mean my—flip flops and ran straight into the water, which was still freezing cold at the end of June. He lasted about three minutes, then bolted back to his towel and gobbled a couple of Twinkies guts before going shell-hunting. I dug my Sports Illustrated out of my backpack and escaped into an article about yacht racing. I had to admit, this was kind of all right. Mem was entertaining himself, and I could chill. Yes, this was working out okay.

Okay, that is, until Mem disappeared a half-hour later. One minute I could hear him crunching around on the sand, and the next minute he was gone. I sat up to inspect the thin strip of beach—nothing. I stood up to scan the lake—nothing. I ran knee-deep into the water and called his name over and over, louder and louder—nothing. The other kids were gawking at me, and I think the man on the raft was too.

I didn’t know what to do. What if he were drowning right this very minute? What if he already had drowned? It would be all my fault. Visions of police cars and lake-rakers raided my mind, and my heart started pummeling my chest. I turned back toward the beach.

And there he was, wrapping himself in his towel and digging around for more Twinkies. “Jeez, Mem,” I hollered. “Where were you?”

He finished decapitating his Twinkie before he answered. “Picking shells. I told you I was.”

“Didn’t you hear me calling?”

“Nope. You mad?”

“Yes—I mean, no—I mean…” I didn’t know what I meant. “Where’re your shells anyway?”

He pointed somewhere behind him. “In my special place.”

“Well, your special place almost gave me a heart attack.” I put my shirt back on and packed up my towel. “Let’s go.” My throat was so tense, the words came out in spurts.

“You are mad,” he moaned and started drawing a picture in the sand with his toes. “You are too, aren’t you?”

“Look, from now on, try to stay where I can see you, all right?”

“Where I can see you. All right. Where I can see you. See you.”

Mem must have been tired or bored because he didn’t put up a fuss about leaving. We didn’t talk during the walk back, and then I marched straight into the shower. I must’ve taken a pound of the beach home with me, plus I was hot, so the water felt good. When my blood pressure finally returned to normal, I got out and went to my room for some peace. But instead of finding privacy, I found Mem on my bed playing with the ferrets.

I coughed loudly to make him notice me. He glanced up. Whatever he saw on my face made him jump to his feet, rush Linguini back into the cage, and slip off to his own room with Jambalaya, all without a word. I think he was scared of me. He probably thought I was still angry, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t angry, I was just…I don’t know…glad I wasn’t him.

• • •

It seemed like forever until Aunt Collette got home and another eternity until she and Mem went to bed. Sometime after midnight they finally turned in, freeing me to take care of my business with Dirk.

The decals had gotten a little wet from the towels in my backpack, but not too bad. I snuck a flashlight out of the kitchen and peeked out the living room window to make sure the Dempster’s house was dark. Everything was a go, so I opened the front door, closed it gently behind me, and sneaked down the front steps in my bare feet.

Slinking along the grass, I realized I was smiling. It’s not that I loved the idea of messing with someone else’s stuff, but still, I felt like Tom Sawyer or something, doing mischief for a good cause. If only I had Mo or Reed along as my Huck Finn, this might be downright fun.

When I got to the Dempster’s mailbox, I turned on the flashlight long enough to peel off the first E and the P, changing A. DEMPSTER into A. D_M_STER. Then I took my time applying the U and the B I’d bought from Mr. Wizzly. I wanted the letters to be neat and straight, as if they had always spelled A. DUMBSTER. That way, it would take Dirk some time to get it. He’d have to look at the mailbox for an extra second and wonder if it were really any different at all. Then he’d stand there, humiliated, trying to figure out exactly which letters had changed. I only hoped I’d get to see his face when all that happened.

Perfect, I thought, stepping back to admire my handiwork. This was perfect. With those two little letters I was getting Dirk back for all the names he ever called me and all the pranks he ever framed me for. I should’ve thought of this ages ago. Before going back inside, I ripped the D off Aunt Collette’s mailbox. I’d forgotten to get new letters for DIPPY, but OPE was better than DOPE. Now nothing stood between me and a good night’s sleep.

Nothing except Mem, who appeared without warning on the porch. “Hi, Johnny,” he called in his too-loud voice, tying his bathrobe around his scrawny waist. “Whatcha do—”

“Shhhhh! Mem, what’re you doing here?”

“Watching you,” he whispered cheerfully.

I opened the front door and motioned him inside. “Look, Mem, out there, I was just…”

“Mailing a letter?”

“Yeah, right, I was mailing a letter.” Two letters, to be exact.

“Why don’t you talk to him instead? He lives right across the street.”

Talk to Dirk the Jerk? That’d be the day. But I told Mem I’d think about it for next time. “Why are you up, anyway?” I asked.

“Up, anyway? I heard Jambalaya crying, so I went to be with her. You weren’t there, so I came downstairs to look for you. Up, anyway?”

Great, now he was monitoring my every move. Didn’t he ever hear of personal space? “Hey, how’d you know it was Jambalaya crying and not Linguini?” I asked.

“Easy. Linguini never cries, only Jambalaya.”

“Yeah, but Mem…” I began, then stopped myself. I didn’t really want to get into a late-night debate with him over ferrets or anything else. I wanted to relish my mailbox master stroke, maybe gloat a little to myself, alone. So I told Mem I’d keep an ear out for the ferrets, and we both headed upstairs. I was going to sleep like a log.