by Justin Olson
Tickles’s snoring has gotten louder, and I can’t bring myself to keep talking to a sleeping dog. But I’m not alone as the darkness finishes taking over the daylight.
* * *
I go for a walk because I am hot and sweaty and want to escape the hot box that is my bedroom. Tickles was sleeping away, and I said, “Walk?” But he didn’t even lift his head. I said it again, but the only thing he did was flick his ear in a way that I interpreted as, Leave me alone. So I figured the little guy needed his sleep.
The street seems abandoned as I leave my house. I look at Geoffrey’s house and notice that it now appears stagnant, which isn’t the case when he’s home. The only thing that feels alive to me at this moment is the sky.
I walk up the dirt road to the forest. The same one I always bring Tickles on. But the silence is just too thick tonight. I want to call Seth because I haven’t heard from him in a while, but I am hoping he’ll call me so that I don’t have to bother him on vacation. Even though I know it’s my turn.
It’s almost ten in Montana, so it’s almost nine in Seattle. I figure that’s a decent time to call. I know we’re friends, but even still, I can’t quite convince myself that I’m not being an intruder on Seth’s time. But I’m also conflicted, because I suspect he’s feeling the same way.
Ugh.
“Just dial,” I tell myself. My palms feel sticky, and it’s not because of the lingering heat.
Maybe tonight will be the night the UFO reappears? If so, I shouldn’t be distracting myself with a phone call.
I’ll call him later.
After about twenty minutes I find myself on the rock I fell asleep on.
I stand on top of the rock and look all around the quiet forest. I have a sudden urge to yell and let my lungs expand. But I don’t know what to yell. But the urge is still there, so I yell out, “Ahhhhhhhhh!”
After I stop, the quiet quickly settles back in. I stare up at the stars, and suddenly I have a whole bunch to say. So I say it all, but I don’t yell it. I just whisper it. Sometimes I feel like the universe hears a whisper more loudly than a yell. “Where are you? I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re happy. I hope you come back for me. I’m waiting for the day when you come back. You know where to find me. . . . And I still want to know why.”
I stare up at the big black sky and see the tiny stars twinkle, and I wait.
And wait.
The blackness above echoes back at me. Expanding. I feel like my words are coming back at me—as if they don’t have anywhere else to go. As if there’s no one up there to hear them. As if my mom isn’t up there at all.
Without really thinking about it, I pull out my phone and call.
“Charlie!” he answers.
I feel so confused that I suddenly want to cry. Seth answered my call. But why did I ever think he wouldn’t?
“Charlie? Hello? You there?”
Not sure what’s going on in my mind at the moment, but I’m caught in a swirl of thoughts.
“I’m hanging up unless you say something,” says Seth.
“Hi,” I manage to say.
“There you are.” He laughs. “I’m so glad you called.”
“You are?” I ask, surprised. I sit on the rock. “So how’s your trip?”
The blackness of the sky is less overwhelming. The tiny stars shine a little more brightly. Interesting how sometimes all it takes is a hello to break the feeling of insignificance.
TAKE IT BACK
• • • • •
I talk with Seth for a long time on the rock and for most of the walk home. He talks about Seattle and his dad and the pictures he’s taking, and I mostly just listen. I decide that I like listening to Seth. I don’t need to say anything to be content. He could talk forever, and I’d be happy with that.
For the first time in a long time it appears as if my house is alive. There’s a light on, which means one thing.
“Uh-oh. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I hope so.”
“Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Call me if anything’s wrong, okay? Promise me.”
“I will. Bye, Seth.” I run up the walkway and into the house.
Yep, I know something’s up when it’s nearly eleven and my dad isn’t watching the TV. He’s in the kitchen slamming cupboards when I enter.
“Where were you?” he demands. He seems unsteady in his movements and wobbly when he stands there.
“The forest.”
“The forest?” he mocks. “Looking for damn UFOs, I suppose.”
“Why aren’t you watching TV?” I ask.
A rage blooms in his eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out again? You are—I don’t even know—in trouble.”
“About me going to into the woods?”
“About that damn dog.”
“Tickles?” My heart sinks because I left him in my room. But I know my dad won’t reason with me. He’s in the mood where if you try to reason with him, he’ll explode in anger.
“I don’t even know what to do with you anymore. You are purposely disrespecting me.”
“I was going to take him back before you got home.”
“Oh.” He forces a laugh. “That makes it okay?”
I don’t say anything. The smell of alcohol is particularly strong tonight.
“Huh?” He flashes in anger.
“No, sir,” I say softly.
“Damn right.”
“It’s just—” I shouldn’t say any more, but now I’ve drawn attention to it.
“What, boy? What?”
“Lonely. Is all. He’s, uh, in that house all by himself. I can keep him company until Geoffrey gets back from the hospital.”
My dad looks at me. He fills a cup of water from the faucet and takes a sip. “I see your mother in you. And it’s not good. I’m doing my best to get rid of that, for your sake, but you always fighting me on everything doesn’t make it any easier for either of us.”
I feel so far from my father at this moment. He’s so foreign. So alien. How could anyone love this man when he talks so terribly about the people he supposedly loves?
My dad sits down at the table.
“Why can’t he just stay here? It’d be so much easier.”
My dad sits, he rubs his eyes. “You’re boneheaded, just like your mother. Your crazy mother. You know this, right, Charlie?”
“Don’t say that,” I say under my breath.
“Speak up,” he says.
“Don’t say that!” I scream.
My dad stares into my eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Although, that’s another trait you must’ve gotten from her.”
“She’s helping humanity! She’s with the aliens, and they’re coming back for me and not you! They don’t want you!”
“Charlie, listen—”
“You’re worthless to them! To me! To everyone!” I run up to my room and slam the door as hard as I ever have.
The walls shake slightly, and in a weird way that feels good. For the first time in a long while the house is very much alive.
THE IDEA HATCHES
• • • • •
I’m sitting on her bed, watching Grandma twist her thumbs around each other. The heat wave has been continuing. It’s only the last week of June, and we’ve already had five straight days of 100 degrees. I leave Grandma’s blinds down today so that it can stay somewhat cool in her cave.
Her clock is two minutes behind today. “Can’t your clock make up its mind?” I ask my grandma. But she’s in a different mood when the blinds are drawn. She’s not exactly more morose, but more subdued, which is kind of hard to picture, since she doesn’t do much as it is.
The air ducts in the nursing home rattle, and cool air starts flowing into the cave. I hear a collective sigh throughout the building.
* * *
Her house was built by my grandpa, Harold, when he was a young man. He died i
n that house. She stayed until she could stay no longer. The floor plan was simple but functional. The kitchen was large—designed for when people spent a lot of time cooking, cleaning, and having meals together. At least that’s what my grandma said.
She lived only four blocks away. She used to be my babysitter when my dad was at work and my mom was unable to care for me.
I was standing on a footstool, and my grandma leaned over my shoulder. “Okay. Take this roller and push down and roll out like this. Then do that to each side.”
She was making a pie and had leftover crust—homemade, not from a box—that she let me practice with. We would put some mini pies into the cupcake tray. I’d make those ones. Proudly.
She handed me the roller. Our hands and chests were covered in flour. Or at least mine were.
I pushed and rolled. I tore the crust and wanted to cry.
She smiled kindly. “Whoops. It’s all right. It’s just crust. Let’s try again, Charlie.” She grabbed it and rolled it back into a ball with some water.
I tried again and again. And I finally managed to make a flat, non-holed, mini piecrust.
“Wonderful. Okay. Now we take it and place it in the tray like this.” I watched her carefully maneuver the crust into a tin tray. I tried and succeeded with my mini crust on the first try. “You’re getting good at this.”
My face lit up.
* * *
Susan pokes her head in and says, “Hi, Charlie. Feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”
I have an idea about getting Grandma out of her cave for a bit.
“Hey, Susan? How is someone able to get a patient to leave for a day?”
* * *
A family member (adult) has to fill out and sign a form in order to release a patient (for up to four hours) from the retirement home, so I find myself waiting for my dad at home. He’ll be happy that I’m not out chasing UFOs.
He comes in the back door, and I’m in the kitchen with my phone, texting Seth. He sent me a couple of edited pictures that he took in Seattle. I’m certain he is going to be a famous photographer one day.
“What is this?” my dad says.
I look around. “What?”
“You’re in the kitchen when I get home. What did you do?”
“Nothing. But . . . I have a question.” I tell him my plan, and he pops open a beer.
He interrupts me. “You should’ve come bowling tonight. Trey was asking about you. He’s a nice boy.”
I shake that nasty thought off. “Please, Dad? She needs to get out of there. Just for one day.”
“Absolutely not.” He takes a swig of beer and sets the can on the table.
“Why not?”
I don’t understand why he doesn’t want his mom around more. Or a dog. Or me, frankly.
“Because I already have plans for the Fourth of July, and they don’t include taking care of a woman who won’t know what’s going on anyway.”
“Plans?”
“Yeah, me and the guys are going fishing.”
“Well, can you sign the papers, and I’ll take her to watch the parade?”
My dad shakes his head. “Not a chance.” He turns away from me, letting me know that the conversation is done.
I huff. “Well, can we at least have Tickles stay with us?”
“You’re pushing on my last nerve, Charlie. Go do something.”
I huff more loudly and stomp out of the kitchen, saying, “As long as it’s a preapproved something, right?”
My dad doesn’t respond. I don’t even know if he really even heard me. And speaking of last nerves, his drinking is getting on mine. He always drank. From as far back as I can remember, he’d have a beer when he got home, but ever since his wife disappeared and his mother disappeared, just in a different way, he’s been drinking more.
Would my dad prefer that I drink instead of search for UFOs?
THE GREATEST HEIST WHITEHALL HAS EVER SEEN
• • • • •
Whitehall has this big event for the Fourth of July. In terms of holiday festivities, this is the town’s biggest. There’s a parade at noon and then a barbecue right after in the park, the same one that Seth had his allergic reaction in.
Speaking of which, Seth comes home in two days. So there’s that excitement. But today, July Fourth, there’s going to be some sneakiness and some stealthiness and a good old-fashioned robbery.
Just kidding on that last one.
But the thought of my grandma sitting alone in that dark room today saddens me. So I decided to break her out . . . by forging my dad’s signature on the release papers.
Normally I don’t think that alone would work, because an adult needs to be there to actually pick up the person the nursing home is releasing. But I have fortune on my side because Susan loves me. And she would never think of me as the lying type. And I’m usually not. Except when it’s for a good cause.
I show up in my grandma’s room. “Surprise,” I say, and she slowly looks at me and absently smiles. “I have a surprise for you today, Grandma.” I walk over to her and whisper, “We’re breaking you out of here.”
I have the plan all figured out. The paperwork has already been given to Susan. I said my dad was just running a few last-minute errands and he’d be here soon to pick Grandma up.
Except it’s already eleven thirty.
And my dad is fishing.
But I will use the noon parade as pressure. So this is how my plan works:
I put a thick layer of sunscreen on Grandma’s face, then put on her sweet-looking sunglasses and a red, white, and blue hat. She’s already wearing a red, white, and blue shirt. Then I get her into the wheelchair—not that she can’t walk, of course, but just for getting her out of here quickly. I roll her to the front doors and stand next to her, waiting. We are both looking out as if expecting someone. She is doing it because that’s what she always does. I am doing it because I want Susan to think my dad is coming. Because that’s what I told her.
At 11:45 I say, “Susan, he just texted me that the parade is blocking his car from driving over to this side of town. So he’s walking. I just hope he’s not too late, or the whole day will be ruined.”
At 11:50 I say, “I don’t know where he is.”
At 11:55 I wheel my decked-out grandma back to her room with the saddest expression a teenage boy could ever have. As we pass Susan at her nurse station, I say, “Never mind. He won’t be here in time.”
“Sorry, Charlie,” says Susan, who watches me wheel Grandma back down the hall. Then, as if right on cue, she says, “Wait, Charlie. He’s on his way?”
I turn and nod.
She looks at me and then at Grandma. “Why don’t you just take her to your dad?”
“Oh, really?” My eyes are wide. “Thank you! Grandma will love this.”
Susan bends down. “Now, Eloise, you be on your best behavior. Okay?”
Grandma doesn’t respond. It’s like she doesn’t even realize that someone is talking to her. Or she knows exactly what she’s doing and doesn’t want to be on her best behavior.
THE LOST PARADE
• • • • •
I’m wheeling her down the sidewalk, telling her the plan, and she knows something is up, but I don’t think she knows what. I tell her it’s the Fourth of July parade, but she doesn’t seem to register that.
We’ll watch the parade, and then I’ll promptly bring her back to the nursing home, and neither Susan nor my dad will be any the wiser. I won’t even take Grandma to the town barbecue. I just want her to experience something other than her cave.
After ten minutes of pushing her, she tries to stand as I’m rolling the wheelchair. “No, Grandma. Stay seated.”
She pushes my hands away.
“Grandma, sit.” I hold my hand on her shoulder as I continue to push her.
The parade is already in progress when we get there. I find a place and park the wheelchair so that she can see without anyone standing in front of her.
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I must admit that the parade is kind of lame. I mean, it’s a small town, so there’s one small marching band and some people riding in cars. And some horses (it is Montana, after all).
But I’m happy because people are cheering and shaking those small American flags, and there’s just a lot of excitement. I’m also pleased that I brought Grandma.
I spot Jennifer Bennett across the street. She is writing in a small notepad and occasionally looking up. I figure she is reporting on the parade for the Whitehall Courier.
I’m mesmerized, watching her methodically write and look up and write. Actually, I’m just mesmerized by her. She seems to work harder than any other teenager at our school. And she isn’t into playing sports or cheerleading. Not that I’m against those things, but I’d have more in common with a reporter than a volleyball player.
Mission Probably Improbable: Step one—talk to her.
My phone buzzes, and it breaks the spell. Happy Fourth of July! I miss you, Charlie. I’m almost home. And then we can start our summer adventures!
I smile. I snuck my grandma out. We’re at the parade. Don’t tell your mom!
Putting the phone away, I turn to the wheelchair, and my grandma’s gone. What? Where did she go? How did I not notice her leave?
I quickly scan the area. She couldn’t have gone far, but I don’t see her anywhere.
I take hold of the wheelchair, stare intently both ways, and then choose left. I doubt she headed toward the nursing home, the way we just came.
It’s hard trying to maneuver an empty wheelchair around people who not only barely budge out of your way, but also throw annoyed glances at you, because who pushes an empty wheelchair at a parade?
Charlie Dickens does.
People I know say hi or ask what I’m doing, but I just keep looking for Grandma. I could get into a ton of trouble if I don’t find her.
Like, a ton of trouble. My heart skips a beat just thinking about it.
“Eloise?” I shout, but the parade is so loud that no one pays any attention, and probably least of all my grandma. I shout her name again.
