by Betsy Byars
Bingo Brown’s Guide To Romance
Betsy Byars
Contents
Bingo’s Challenge
Through the Sliding Doors
Melissa’s Clone
Love Letters for Eternity
Following Melissa
The One-Way Disaster
Rip Van Wentworth
Merrily We Burp Along
Melissa, at Last
Bingo Brown and the Brownettes
El Bingo, the Gringo
The Red Badge of Spaghetti
The Unfortunate Facts
Bingo Brown’s Day Off
The Brown Crisis
Waiting for Melissa
The Best Mixed-Sex Conversation in the History of the World
After the Last Cartoon
A Biography of Betsy Byars
Bingo’s Challenge
BINGO BROWN HAD TOLD his mom that he was bored and needed new challenges, and he was now on his way to the laundromat to wash the family’s clothes.
All his protests had been in vain.
“By new challenges, I didn’t mean wash clothes, Mom,” he had said, at first trying to be patient. His father had warned him, correctly, that women with new babies were sometimes easily irritated.
“Well, you’ve never washed clothes before, have you?”
“No.”
“Then it will be a new challenge.”
“Mom, the laundromat is right next door to Columbo’s, and my friends hang out there, eating pizza and playing video games and—”
“Wash the baby’s things separately and divide the rest of the clothes into piles, bright colors in one, whites and pastels in another.”
“Why don’t we just wait until the washer is fixed?” Bingo went on with reason and good humor. “I could run to K Mart and get us some underwear and Jamie some disposable diapers and—”
“If I had wanted you to run to K Mart and get underwear, I would have asked you to go to K Mart and get underwear.”
Her nostrils flared, which was not a good sign. “I’m working tomorrow and I can’t leave the babysitter with all these dirty clothes. Look, if you don’t want to go to the laundromat, just say, ‘I don’t want to go to the laundromat.’ ”
“Thanks.” With a shrug of regret, he repeated, “I don’t want to go to the laundromat.”
“Fine! Great!” Her nostrils were so flared now that Bingo thought he caught sight of her brain. “Then go to your room for the rest of your life.”
Faced with those two choices, Bingo manfully picked up the basket of dirty clothes.
Now he was on his bicycle, pedaling to the King Koin Laundromat. He had a bushel basket of dirty clothes strapped on the back of the bicycle, and he had to take the long way to the laundromat so none of his friends would see his unfortunate burden.
To pass the time, he began working on his Guide to Romance, A Record of the Personal Ups and Downs of Bingo Brown. Dedicated to My Brother, Jamie, as a Guide and Comfort to Him When He Finds Himself, as He Surely Will, upon the Roller Coaster of Life.
Bingo was now working on the section that contained romantic problems with their solutions. Bingo was determined not to spare himself, even though many of the problems were extremely personal.
Problem #1. The Xeroxed Love Letter.
Suppose that you have written a love letter and suppose that this love letter turns out to be the best love letter in the history of the world and suppose you want to save this letter for future generations and with this in mind, you make a Xerox of the letter and in your haste to mail the letter, you mail the Xerox of the letter. Will this take away from the warmth of the words?
Bingo’s Answer: Yes, for I myself have been waiting for three long months for an answer to just such a Xeroxed letter.
Bingo broke off his thoughts and cut swiftly around the back of Winn Dixie, past the dumpsters, and behind Rexall Drugs, and peered around the corner of Columbo’s Pizza. Seeing no one he knew, he pedaled quickly to the King Koin. He rode through the open doors and came to a screeching halt at the first available washing machine.
He could not be bothered with patiently separating the clothes. If any of his friends were on their way to Columbo’s to spend a pleasant hour with the video games, just as he would like to do, and saw him with little prissy piles of clothes—pink over here, blue over here, pink with blue flowers over here … The thought caused Bingo to shudder.
There were too many clothes for one washer, so Bingo crammed what he could in one washer, crammed the rest in the next washer. Still too many, so he put the remaining diapers into a third washer and slammed down the lids. His heart was pounding.
He made quick work of the change machine and soon the machines were rumbling happily. Bingo went outside for some badly needed fresh air.
While he was standing there, fanning himself with a box of Rinso, he found himself thinking about life—about how in the old days when a boy asked his mom for a new challenge, she sent him to the Crusades or out West to look for gold or on a whaling ship bound for northern climes or—
“Hey, Worm Brain.” A voice broke harshly into his thoughts.
Bingo saw with displeasure that Billy Wentworth was standing in front of him. He sighed. “What do you want, Wentworth?”
Wentworth was chewing gum and he paused to blow a small purple bubble about the size of a Ping-Pong ball. That done, he said, “I just saw that girl.”
“What girl?”
“The girl that used to be in our room. The one you used to like.”
Bingo’s heart began to thud against the Rinso box, which he had wrapped in both arms. Actually there had been many girls in Bingo’s life—the future President of the United States, the would-be orchestra conductor, Cici, Boots—but his only true love had been Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde, known to everyone else as Melissa.
Obviously Wentworth couldn’t know that, because Melissa was miles away in Bixby, Oklahoma. Still, the thought of her was enough to make Bingo’s imprisoned heart attempt to burst right out of his chest, through the box of Rinso, and fly nonstop to Bixby.
This—Bingo knew—was why chests were made so strong. Ribs were designed for one thing. They were prison bars to keep hearts from doing anything foolish. Bingo had been grateful for ribs many times in his life, and particularly now.
Bingo said in a controlled voice, “What girl would that be, Wentworth?”
“Melissa.”
Bingo dropped the Rinso box with a thud.
“M-Melissa.”
“Yeah, M-Melissa.”
“But Melissa’s in Oklahoma.”
Wentworth paused long enough to create another purple bubble. “No, she’s not. She’s in Winn Dixie.”
“W-Winn Dixie?”
“Yes, W-Winn Dixie.”
“But she couldn’t be. She’s in Bixby, Oklahoma.”
“Not anymore.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So … check it out.”
Bingo turned at once toward the grocery store and then stopped. Wentworth would enjoy seeing him rush into the store like a heartsick fool.
“Where, exactly, was she in the store?”
“She and this other girl had gotten a cart with a bad wheel, and they were trying to get it through Produce.”
“What makes you think the girl was Melissa?”
“I got eyes.”
Still Bingo hesitated.
“Look,” Wentworth said, “you don’t believe me, check it out.”
“That’s what I intend to do.”
“Be my guest.” Wentworth pulled down his camouflage T-shirt in a forceful manner.
Bingo’s heart was pounding so hard it was as if tom-tom
drums were being beaten inside the grocery store, deafening him.
“Hey, Worm Brain.”
Bingo heard that. He turned.
“You forgot your R-Rinso!”
Bingo returned to the Rinso box and the small pile of blue flakes that had leaked out. It was amazing, the amount of dignity required to pick up a box of Rinso with Wentworth sneering. Bingo felt he did as well as anyone could.
He even managed to say thanks without stuttering.
Then he headed manfully for whatever awaited him amid the groceries.
Through the Sliding Doors
BINGO APPROACHED THE SLIDING doors of Winn Dixie with caution, but they flew open anyway. Bingo stepped back quickly. Two shoppers passed him with curious looks, but Bingo remained against the side of the building.
When the doors had once again shut, Bingo moved forward. Without touching the floor mats, he peered inside.
Bingo had recently been fitted for glasses. He had wanted glasses for years—not because he couldn’t see well, but because he liked the idea of himself in glasses. He was the type for glasses.
Finally he had convinced his parents of his need, and now—the very moment when he really needed glasses to see into the depths of Winn Dixie—they were still at the eye doctor’s, being ground to prescription.
Even without his glasses, he could see that Melissa was not in sight.
Bingo was tempted to turn around immediately, retrieve the family’s laundry, and mark the whole thing up to a cruel trick of Wentworth’s. Certainly Wentworth was capable of that sort of cruelty, but Wentworth wasn’t sensitive enough to sense the depth of Bingo’s longing for Melissa and take advantage of it.
Bingo cracked his knuckles in a manly fashion. He would have spit on his hands but they were already wet with sweat. Bingo prided himself on his manly gestures and hoped, sometime in the future, to get the mature feelings that went along with them.
“You going in, Worm Brain, you gotta open the doors, like this.”
Wentworth stepped around Bingo onto the mat, and the doors opened. Without looking at Wentworth, Bingo entered.
He took a cart—he hadn’t intended to do that, and behind him Wentworth gave a snort of disgust. Bingo put his box of Rinso in the baby’s seat and set off. The cart wanted to turn immediately into a display of paper towels, but Bingo wrestled it to Produce.
Bingo moved slowly through Produce. He watched the mirrors at the end of the fruit-and-vegetable aisle to see if Billy Wentworth had followed him into the store.
Bingo seemed to be in everyone’s way, so he muttered beneath his breath, “Grapefruit … lettuce … kumquats … we have those … celery … parsnips … not quite fresh enough …”
This took him to the bakery department.
He went quickly past the loaves of bread and brought his cart to an abrupt stop. He peered around a pyramid of macaroni-and-cheese dinners. Billy Wentworth was still outside the store. Now he could devote his full attention to finding Melissa.
He proceeded more slowly now, giving each aisle the caution a hunter would give the jungle. He did not think Melissa would be in Baby Supplies and, of course, she wasn’t, but he paused there to put a box of disposable diapers in his cart. That, he thought, gave him the look of a serious shopper. If he did run into Melissa, that would make a good impression.
He continued. Of course she would not be in Pet Products, but he gave that aisle the same caution as the others.
He was gaining in confidence now. There were only two aisles left—Soft Drinks and Health Supplies.
By now, Bingo thought he knew what had happened. Wentworth had seen someone who looked like Melissa—after all, there were other girls with incredibly beautiful, beribboned hair and jazzy lips, girls whose eyes had a little squint that would make a man’s heart beat faster.
Wentworth might even have said, “Hi, Melissa,” and the girl hadn’t bothered to say, “I’m not Melissa,” and this had reinforced the mistaken identification. Therefore Wentworth genuinely believed he had seen the real Melissa and reported it as the truth.
This explanation made Bingo feel better. Melissa was still safely in Bixby, Oklahoma.
And, Bingo went on as his spirits began to lift, this would give him an excuse to write an amusing letter. “Today, I almost saw you in the grocery store. Billy Wentworth thought he saw you, and I, of course, rushed into the store and …”
And he definitely would not Xerox the letter when he finished—no matter how perfect it was!
The soft drink aisle was empty, and Bingo pushed his cart directly into Health Supplies. One of the cart wheels stuck, and Bingo came to an abrupt halt. He glanced down and saw the trouble. A leaf of lettuce was jammed into the wheel.
He knelt, dislodged the leaf of lettuce, and looked up.
There she was!
Melissa was in Health Supplies!
Melissa and a friend were picking out a box of health supplies!
Fortunately Bingo was on his knees, so he was able to duck-walk backwards, pulling the cart with him, into the safety of Soft Drinks.
Here, after a few tense moments, he was able to straighten up.
Melissa—if it was Melissa—had been reading the directions on a box, and her head had been bent—so maybe it wasn’t Melissa at all. Maybe it was a girl so like Melissa that he had made the same mistake as Billy Wentworth.
Bingo found that he was badly shaken and short of breath. The shock of thinking he had seen Melissa was as great as if he had seen Melissa. He was glad for the support of the grocery cart.
There was a convex mirror at the end of the aisle to keep people from stealing health supplies. Bingo had read only this week that the most frequently stolen product was Preparation H, so this mirror was a must.
In this mirror he had a good look at the girl who looked exactly like Melissa, and he found that it was Melissa.
No other girl had that hair, those eyes. No other girl had that T-shirt with the Declaration of Independence on it.
Bingo had only seen that T-shirt one other time, on the day of the T-shirt wear-in, but he had never forgotten it. It had been her mom’s shirt and was very, very large on her. Now, however, the shirt was not so large. Either the shirt had shrunk or Melissa had enlarged.
He checked the mirror.
The shirt had not shrunk.
Therefore Melissa had enlarged.
He checked again.
The phrase “bigger than life” came to his mind and stayed there. Melissa was bigger than life.
He had a brief but troubling picture of her seeing him and holding out her arms. He would hold out his arms, too, of course, anything else would be unthinkable, but—and this is where the picture got troubling—when they met, where would their arms go? He knew where the arms went if the boy was taller, but now he was shorter.
Bingo’s arms began to twitch nervously, as if they wanted to reach out and hold back at the same time. He understood his arms’ reluctance. If his arms misjudged her size and reached out too low or too high, it might be embarrassing. Well, perhaps if one arm reached high and the other low, they could sort of meet around her without actually touching anything. That is, unless she reached out low-high, too, and her high arm hit his high arm and her low—
He forced himself to look at the situation rationally.
Problem #2. Girl Larger than Usual.
Suppose that you have not seen a girl for a long, long time. And the last time you saw this girl was on the front porch of her house. Suppose that even though her mother was watching, you kissed her good-bye because she was moving to a place like Bixby, Oklahoma, and you might never have this opportunity again. And so you leaned down—because she was smaller than you—and kissed her. Suppose months pass, and the next time you see this girl she has grown enough so that you will no longer be the one who has to bend down for the kiss. Should this deter you?
Bingo’s Answer: No, but other things might deter you, like the fact that she didn’t answer your lette
r or let you know she was coming to town and was more interested in securing health supplies than in seeing you. Those things are far, far more important than height, which is—after all—only a statistic.
Bingo had now worked out the situation to his satisfaction, and he pushed his cart boldly into Health Supplies.
Melissa was gone.
Melissa’s Clone
“EXCUSE ME.”
“What?”
“I’d like to get by, please.” It was a woman with a grocery cart.
“Of course,” Bingo said.
He discovered he was still blocking the aisle of health supplies. He pushed his cart quickly against the deodorants.
As Bingo waited for the lady to pass he checked the convex mirror. He didn’t see Melissa, as he had hoped. He saw something he had hoped not to see—Billy Wentworth.
Wentworth was in the meat department, moving as if by radar straight to Health Supplies. Bingo U-turned his cart and moved to the front of the store.
Again no Melissa, but he sensed Wentworth was now moving to the front of the store, too.
Bingo abandoned his cart and began darting through the aisles, looking for Melissa. He had to see her again. He had to.
And he had to do this without Wentworth witnessing the meeting. He needed time to get his arms under control, to say nothing of his face, his thoughts, and the rest of himself. He stopped.
Melissa was at the end of Pet Products. Bingo rushed down the aisle and stopped behind a pyramid of Kibbles ’n Bits.
Melissa and her friend passed directly in front of him—not five feet away—on their way to the checkout counters.
The girl with Melissa glanced in his direction—the pyramid wasn’t high enough to hide him completely—and she said something to Melissa. Bingo waited with his heart in his throat for Melissa to turn, to meet his eyes, to speak.
But Melissa did none of those things. She was concentrating on getting a place in the express lane.
Melissa was saying, “I can give the best home perms of anybody. My mom says I could be a beautician. This—my hair—”
She shook her head, and her hair flew out with such vigor Bingo could feel the breeze from it against his pale face.
