I'd gotten as far as the school when I saw Jerry Langerman. He and his buddy, Joe Ellinghaus, were fooling around on the playground, shooting baskets and showing off their pitiful vocabulary of cuss words.
When Langerman spotted me, he sauntered across the asphalt, bouncing the basketball. Ellinghaus tagged along with him like a shadow at noon, short and dense.
"Well, well," Langerman drawled, "look who's here. The damn Yankee himself, all dressed up for his own funeral."
I'd clean forgotten I was wearing my best clothes and no doubt looked like a dumb old sissy. Which couldn't have been further from the truth. Stepping closer, I eyeballed Langerman, but before I could hit him, he said, "How's your old man like being in jail?"
It seemed Grandville was getting more like College Hill every day. There was just no end to gossip and small-town nastiness. "Ask your old man," I said. "I bet he's been there once or twice."
"That's a laugh," Ellinghaus said. "Jerry's father is Dr. Langerman."
He said this as if I should fall down dead with awe or something, but I already knew about Langerman's daddy and the pills he gave the principal. "So what?"
"So this." Langerman yanked my tie, and Ellinghaus hee-hawed like the jackass he was.
I shoved Langerman hard enough to make him drop the basketball. "Why don't you get your ugly face out of here?" I sneered. "The sight of you is enough to kill a person. And the stink's even worse."
Langerman shoved me back. "Shut your Yankee trap, Smith, or I'll shut it for you."
"You and who else?"
Langerman lunged at me, hitting, kicking, using every low method of fighting he knew, including pulling my hair and trying to choke me with the stupid tie I was wearing. I happened to know a few tricks myself, and by the time we were done with each other, both our noses were bleeding. His lip was cut, and I had a black eye. Our shirts were ripped, too. We were still cussing each other, but I was way ahead of him in the use of bad language. My brother Donny had taught me a lot, and so had the old man. I doubt fancy-pants Langerman knew anyone like the pair of them.
Finally he and Ellinghaus went one way, still yelling insults, and I turned to go the other, yelling just as loud. It looked like I wasn't going to make any friends in Grandville. Which didn't surprise me.
At the corner I shouted one last insult at Langerman and then headed for home. That's when I saw William for the first time. He was sitting in a wheelchair on his front porch. A plaid blanket covered his legs. His face was as thin and white as an old man's, and his hands were skinny claws. A fringe of dark hair hid his forehead but not his eyes, which were big and gray and fixed on me as if he'd never seen my like before.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
"Nothing." William started to roll his chair toward the door.
"Wait a minute," I said.
He turned and looked at me.
"How come you always spy on me?" I asked.
"I don't," he said.
"Yes, you do. I see your window curtains twitch whenever I'm fooling around in Grandma's yard."
"I suppose I can look out my own window if I feel like it. So far as I know, there's no law against that."
For a cripple he was pretty uppity, I thought. "If you're so smart, why aren't you in school?"
William gave me a look meant to cut me dead and started rolling himself toward the door again.
I rattled off a few cuss words and called him a name that would get most kids' mouths washed out with laundry soap. It was the only way to defend myself. I couldn't hit him or anything, that was clear.
It was just my luck that the door opened before I was finished and there was William's mother, staring at me as if I were the devil himself.
"William," she said, "is that boy bothering you?"
"Him?" William loaded his voice with scorn. "He's a moron. He couldn't bother me if he tried."
With that he went inside and the door slammed behind him. But not before his mother gave me a look that plainly said I hadn't heard the last of this.
Since the relatives' cars were still parked in the driveway, I climbed up the tree and sat on a branch, waiting for them to leave. Pretty soon the window curtain twitched and I knew William was watching me again. I made my worst face and gave him the finger again, but I knew he was still there, snickering at me no doubt, thinking I was a moron.
After a while June came outside and spotted me in the tree. She tried to climb up but was too short to reach the lowest branches, so she had to stay on the ground. "Where've you been, Gordy? You're all dirty. Did you get in a fight?"
"What if I did?"
June shrugged and twirled a curl around her finger. "Everybody's mad at you," she said.
"So what else is new?"
"Grandma's going to make you 'pologize to Great-aunt Mavis."
"There's not a snowball's chance in hell of me doing that."
June pressed her hands over her mouth. "Gordy, you said a bad word."
"I could say a whole lot worse if I wanted to."
"You better not." June walked around the tree a couple of times, singing something about a mulberry bush.
I wished she'd go back to the house and leave me be, but she stopped and looked up at me again. "The lady next door called Grandma and said you were rude to her little boy. You'll probably have to 'pologize to him, too."
This time I just snorted. Grandma had a lot to learn about me. She could lock me in a closet, she could feed me bread and water, she could beat me black and blue, but I wouldn't apologize to anyone. Gordy Smith never said he was sorry. If Grandma didn't believe me, she could ask the principal.
"Aren't you cold?" June asked after a while.
"No," I said, which was a lie. It was early March and getting dark. I'd gone out without a jacket. Of course I was cold. But the relatives hadn't left and I wasn't coming down till they were gone.
"I'm going inside," June said. "Why don't you come too, Gordy?" Her voice was starting to sound like a mosquito whining in my ear. It made me cross to listen to her.
"Because I don't want to," I said. "Don't tell anybody where I am or I'll bust your butt."
June left. After a while the back door opened. Grandma called into the dark, "Gordon, are you out there?"
I said nothing. Just sat on my branch as if my rear end were frozen to it and waited for her to give up and go inside. Which she soon did.
After that, the relatives' cars began to leave, one by one. I heard Great-aunt Mavis say, "Virginia, you poor thing, promise me you'll take care of yourself. Get some rest or something, cheer up, smile. Nothing's that bad, honey."
Little did that skinny witch know about what was bad and what wasn't. She'd never been married to the old man, had she?
I let a few minutes go by, then some more. It was totally dark now, which meant I'd missed "The Shadow," my favorite radio show, and supper, too. The only good thing was, William couldn't see me anymore. Stupid cripple. If he ever got out of that wheelchair and learned to walk, I'd hit him from here to next Sunday.
Finally I climbed down from the tree and went inside. All that was left of supper was the good smell of fried chicken. I helped myself to milk and bread and went up to my room before Grandma saw me. She and the others were too busy laughing at stupid old Jack Benny to notice me going by the living room door. I guess I could have been lying dead in a ditch somewhere and they wouldn't have cared, as long as they didn't have to turn off the radio and fetch my body.
Before I fell asleep, I heard Grandma coming down the hall to my door. She flipped the light on and took a good look at me. Boy, she just wouldn't leave me alone. I tried rolling over so I couldn't see her but she went right on talking.
"Have you been fighting again, on top of everything else, Gordon?"
I kept my eyes shut, but nothing fooled that old lady. She sat down on the edge of the bed and gave my shoulder a shake. "Playing possum won't help," she said. "Open your eyes and answer me."
"Leave me alone," I
said. "I don't want to talk to you or anybody else."
"You certainly were doing some fancy talking to William and Great-aunt Mavis."
"I'm tired now," I said. "I got school tomorrow, I need my rest."
"From what Miss Whipple says about your scholastic achievement, you need more than rest."
The last thing I wanted to do was add Miss Whipple to the things Grandma was mad at me about. "School's harder here," I said. "They're doing decimals already. Mrs. Wagner hadn't started that stuff." Which was a lie. But I figured Grandma wasn't about to make a long-distance call to Mrs. Wagner just to check up on me and my decimals.
Grandma studied my face silently. It made me nervous the way her gray eyes probed mine. So I gave her an ugly look, which she ignored. "Why are you so angry, Gordon?" she asked.
She sounded like she really wanted to know, but I figured it was just an act to soften me up or something. First she'd trick me into a heart-to-heart and then she'd make me apologize to everybody from God on down to William.
When I didn't say anything, she said, "I don't blame you for being mad with Mavis. She had no business talking like that to your mother. But I can't condone rudeness. She's an adult and you're a child. It's not your place to correct her."
If that wasn't the stupidest thing I'd ever heard. A rude adult wasn't any better than a rude child. Worse, actually, because adults, being older, had more practice minding their manners than kids. When I said as much to Grandma, she told me she expected me to write a note to Great-aunt Mavis anyway. "You must tell her you're sorry."
"I'm not sorry and I won't say I am. Lying's worse than being rude."
Grandma pressed her lips together. "How about Mrs. Sullivan's complaint?"
"That crippled kid's mother?"
"Please don't talk about William like that. Don't you have any kindness in your heart?"
"I'm no softy, if that's what you mean. Besides, William's a stuck-up snob. He said I was a moron."
"Tomorrow afternoon you and I will call on the Sullivans," Grandma said. "I'll see to it that you apologize for the language you used."
She got up and walked to the door. Before she left my room, she turned to look at me. "You might want to think about the name William called you. Perhaps he had a reason for using it."
I turned over and punched my pillow. If that didn't beat everything. Moron—William had no call to say I was a moron. I was probably smarter than he was in lots of ways. Book learning's not everything, is it? You have to know how to take care of yourself in this world, and I doubt William knew the first thing about that. Unlike me, he hadn't had the benefit of the old man.
Nine
If there was one thing I learned about Grandma, it was that she kept her word. As soon as I got home from school on Monday, she took me by the arm and hauled me over to the Sullivans' house. I put up a good fight. Made her drag me every step of the way, but she was strong enough to do it.
Grandma must have told Mrs. Sullivan we were coming because the door opened right away. There was snotty William in his wheelchair, trying to look tough but failing miserably. His mother stood beside him in the hall, as fierce as a she-bear with a cub to defend.
"This is my grandson, Gordon Smith," said Grandma. "He's come to tell you he's sorry for his rude behavior."
I didn't look at either one of them. "I'm sorry," I muttered to the floor, wishing I could sink right through the wood, I was so ashamed of myself for giving in to Grandma.
Grandma's grip tightened until her nails bit into my arm. "Gordon, please look at Mrs. Sullivan and William."
I flashed them the meanest scowl I could muster and returned my gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry."
Those fingernails felt like daggers stabbing me. "This will not do, Gordon. Look Mrs. Sullivan and William in the eye while you apologize. Use their names. Sound as if you mean it."
Lord, Grandma didn't want much, did she? Keeping my eyes as cold and hard as two steel BBs, I stared at William and his mother. Mrs. Sullivan matched me ice for ice but William was smiling, which made me sore as you-know-what. The little cripple was enjoying this. I'd get him later, I thought.
"I'msorrylwasrudeMrsSullivanandWilliam," I said, running the words together so they sounded like the longest vocabulary word any teacher ever invented.
Grandma sighed. "I believe that's the best we can expect, Shirley," she said to Mrs. Sullivan.
I turned to the door, thinking I was free to go, but Grandma didn't loosen her grip on my arm. "Mrs. Sullivan has invited us to sit and visit awhile," she said in that no-nonsense voice of hers. "For some reason, William has expressed an interest in becoming better acquainted with you."
I tried to pull free and run, but Grandma held me all the tighter. I guess she'd expected me to make a break for it.
There was nothing to do but follow Mrs. Sullivan and William into the living room. I sat on the edge of the sofa and looked around. It wasn't the kind of place you could relax in. There were knickknacks everywhere, fancy little china and glass things that would break if you breathed on them. No dust anywhere. No shoes or papers or sweaters scattered around. No toys. The place reminded me of a funeral parlor. The only thing missing was a stiff in a coffin.
A maid brought us a plate decorated with an arrangement of teeny-tiny cookies. She served glasses of milk to William and me. Grandma and Mrs. Sullivan had tea. Everyone but me took tiny bites and little sips. I expected Grandma to say something about my manners, but she was chatting with Mrs. Sullivan about the weather, which was cold for March. William and I just sat there. Even though I wasn't looking at him, I knew he was looking at me. Probably thinking I was a moron who'd been brought up in a barn.
Finally I leaned close to him and whispered, "Quit looking at me."
"I was admiring your black eye," William said. "Who gave it to you?"
"None of your beeswax."
"I bet it was Jerry Langerman."
"Maybe it was Adolph Hitler."
William grinned. "I hope you gave Jerry two black eyes."
I stared at him. "I probably busted his nose."
That actually made William laugh. "Good for you," he said, sounding a lot friendlier. "I hate Jerry. He's the worst kid in Grandville."
Not anymore, I thought, not with Gordy Smith in town. Compared to me, Jerry Langerman was just some rich doctor's kid cutting up. An amateur juvenile delinquent. I was the real thing.
"I never met anybody with polio before," I said. "Does it hurt?"
William shrugged. "Sometimes."
"Are you going to be crippled all your life?"
"I hope not."
Just then William's mother reached over and patted his head like he was a little pet or something. "William tires easily," she said softly. "Maybe you should say good-bye to Gordon and go lie down, dear."
William frowned. It seemed to me he pulled away just a little bit from his mother's hand. "I'm not tired," he said.
"Yes, you are." His mother went on talking in that soft voice as if she knew more about how William felt than he did. I'd have told her to leave me be if I'd been William, but he just sat there like a prisoner. What he needed was some backbone.
"Can Gordon come back tomorrow?" he asked, not looking at me but at his mother. "We could go up to my room and play with my toys."
"Well," Mrs. Sullivan said slowly, "Gordon might have other things to do, William."
Mrs. Sullivan was giving me an excuse, probably because she was hoping she'd seen the first and last of me. It was real plain she didn't like me. Didn't want me in her house, didn't want me playing with her precious William.
That's all it took to make me say, "I don't mind coming over."
Mrs. Sullivan turned to me. No smile, just as cold-eyed as could be. "You must be careful not to tire William. Excitement's bad for him. He needs rest, peace, quiet."
I figured folks got enough of that when they died, but I just nodded my head like I understood.
Grandma stood up. "Thank you for a l
ovely treat, Shirley," she said. "I hate to leave, but I have to go home and start dinner." Turning to me, she added, "Tell William good-bye, Gordon. You can talk more tomorrow."
Once we were outside, Grandma said, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"William's okay," I admitted. "But I don't think his mother likes me."
Grandma gave me one of her looks, but she didn't say anything. Instead she marched me inside, sat me down at the kitchen table, and told me to write that note to Great-aunt Mavis. While she bustled around cooking dinner, I stared at the blank paper. I was not going to apologize to that witch. One apology was more than enough for today.
In the living room I heard the gong that meant my second favorite radio show, "Terry and the Pirates," was starting. Next would be "Dick Tracy," then "Jack Armstrong," and "Captain Midnight" after that. I never missed those four shows.
"Can I listen to the radio and then do this?" I asked Grandma. "I got to know what's going to happen to Terry. Friday he was tied up in this boat that was sinking and—"
Grandma leaned over me. "Write the note first. The faster you do it, the faster you can join the others in the living room."
I scowled at her. "It's not fair. You said yourself that old bag had no business talking to Mama like that."
"I don't remember using words to that effect," Grandma said.
"That was the gist of it."
"Write the note, Gordon. Now."
"You're worse than Hitler and Hirohito and Mussolini all rolled into one."
I thought for sure she'd slap me for that but she just said, "I don't care what you think of me. Write the note."
Gunshots and shouts came from the radio. Victor said something and June shushed him. The music got fast and scary. It sounded like Terry was in real trouble, but even though I strained my ears I couldn't quite hear what was going on.
"Write," Grandma said.
I picked up the pencil. "Deer Grate Ant Maviz," I scrawled. "Im sory I was rood. Yor nefue Gordy." I pressed so hard the pencil point broke on the y in my name.
Following My Own Footsteps Page 4
