I Am Not Joey Pigza

by Jack Gantos

  Mom tried again to say something and again Dad cut her off. “And if we get crowded, I’ll just tell everyone to form a Bee-Line and wait to be seated. Oh, I couldn’t beee more buzzed about this concept.” He slapped the table so hard bits of paper flew into the air and the glass salt and pepper shakers hopped up and fell over. The dogs stopped licking at a greasy spot on the floor and ran off to hide under the counter.

  Suddenly Mom bolted upright herself and looked pale enough to faint. “Where is the restroom?” she asked urgently.

  “What’s the matter?” I said.

  “I’m afraid all this food talk has made me ill,” she replied with a desperate look in her eyes as she scanned the room.

  Dad pointed toward the far corner and I let her out of the booth. She walked as fast as a human could and didn’t even get the narrow toilet door shut before we heard her throw up once, then again.

  While we listened I felt real nervous and figured it was also because the beehive idea reminded me of when my brain got the best of me and my head felt like it was full of bees, and they were busy in ways that were bad for me.

  “I don’t have good experience with bees,” I said to Dad.

  “Then we’ll see to it that this is a good expedience and kick those past troubles behind,” he said with complete confidence. “Yes, sir! You’ll be a new man,” he declared. “In no time at all you’ll be wearing a name tag that reads numero uno beekeeper.”

  I didn’t quite know what to say, so I sat there in silence with a smile hanging on my face as if it, too, was a sign that read: UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT. All I knew was that my foot was tapping the floor as if I were pumping on the brakes to slow down my life so I could think about the hundred new things that were going on. Everything was happening so fast, plus it was time for me to get back on my meds.

  In a moment we heard water running in the bathroom and finally Mom staggered out while drying her hands on a brown paper towel.

  Dad hopped onto his feet and ran to help her. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly. He put one hand to her forehead but she brushed it away.

  “I guess I just need some fresh air,” she said, pulling herself together. “It’s a little stuffy in here.”

  “That’s perfect,” he said. “Now I’ll give you a tour of the house.”

  “What house?” Mom and I asked at the same time. I felt myself hop up before I even thought of hopping up. I was getting jumpy and I had that panic feeling in my belly like the diner was on fire and I couldn’t find the exit.

  “Can you believe this diner deal was so sweet a house came with it?” Dad announced, resting his hand on my shoulder. “The house is out back, so you can roll out of bed and roll into work. Not a moment is wasted. It is bee-brilliant!”

  We followed him around the edge of the counter and through the galley kitchen and out a back door that had a window in it like a ship’s porthole. Twenty feet away was a chunky little cottage that looked like it had once been a small barn. It had a black roof and red walls with black shutters on either side of the windows and bright green window boxes full of plastic yellow flowers. My first thought was that we should live in the diner and have the barn be the restaurant. I suggested it to Dad.

  “No way,” he replied. “Then the bee concept wouldn’t work. You can’t make the barn look like a bee.” He gave me a look as if I were missing the point.

  “I just mean,” I tried to explain, “that there are all these farms around here, so a barn restaurant would fit right in. We could make it look Amish or something.”

  “Then people would think they’d have to sit down with a bunch of bearded strangers and eat farm food like cows at a trough,” he said, waving that thought away with his hand. “No, people want fast food. Bee-sting fast!” He jumped into the air and did a couple of twisty fast karate moves to demonstrate the power of his bee-sting speed.

  Without thinking I skipped forward and gave him a straight karate kick in the knee.

  “Ow!” he shouted, and frowned at me as he tilted forward and massaged his kneecap. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Buzzzzz,” I said, buzzing and wiggling my bee-sting bottom. I wasn’t sure why I kicked him. Maybe I just needed to, or I really needed my meds. Either way, it wasn’t good.

  “Let’s bee-have ourselves and go take a peek inside,” Mom said impatiently as she gave me the evil eye. “I’m fading a little.”

  Dad fished the key out of his pocket and worked at unlocking the door, which he said was “tricky.”

  “Are you mad at me?” I whispered to Mom, and petted her hand.

  “I’m just not myself this morning,” she said quietly, and swallowed hard. “But I’ll settle down. Don’t worry.”

  “Me, too,” I replied, and smiled as she squeezed my hand.

  Finally Dad got the door unlocked. “Welcome to honeycomb heaven,” he announced with a bow, as if we were royalty. “Buzz on in.”

  “Buzzzzz,” I said as Mom and I followed the dogs over the threshold. It was clean and tidy and after one second I loved it. There was a big living room with skylights over the old barn rafters and a hanging light fixture made out of welded-together horseshoes. Off the living room was a bedroom where Dad must have been staying before the rewedding because he still had a few of his things neatly folded up on the stripped mattress.

  “Is there a room for me?” I asked, worried that I would have to sleep behind a shower curtain in the living room like Granny did at our house.

  Dad smiled and pointed to a rough wood ladder propped up toward the back of the living room. “Your bedroom is the hayloft upstairs,” he said. “Check it out, bee-boy.”

  I ran for the ladder and was halfway up when I turned around. “Mom, do you want to come up and see my new room with me?”

  “Maybe later,” she called back. “I’m just trying to find the most essential room in the house.”

  “Well, you won’t find the kitchen,” Dad said. “The diner is our kitchen.”

  “Don’t say that word,” Mom moaned. “I’m looking for the bathroom.”

  Dad must have pointed to a door in the bedroom and she trotted off and closed it behind her.

  I kept climbing up to my room, which looked like it had once been an open hayloft but was now closed off with wide old boards up to the ceiling. At the top of the ladder I unlatched a door, stepped in, and closed it behind me. The room was empty and smelled of old pine trees and horse hay. It was a warm, friendly smell. On the far outside wall was a wide window that looked onto an oak tree that was bursting with fall colors. Beyond the tree was a field of harvested corn and past that stood a gleaming white Amish farm. The cornstalks were golden brown and large crows pecked at a few leftover ears. Milking cows grazed nearby in an open pasture. The sky was brilliant blue with just a few wispy clouds scribbling cursive nonsense overhead. I stared out at my new view of the world and felt better already, like a bee drunk on honey.

  “Buzzzzz,” I said again, and right away a thought popped into my mind. I wondered if I could open my heart and say to my dad, “I forgive you and I’m glad you’re back,” as Mom wanted me to. And if I said that, would my life on the inside start to look like that calm farm, all organized and purposeful and well run?

  I stepped toward the window. A few leaves let go from the branches and slowly zigzagged down toward the ground. Right away it occurred to me that if I really did become Freddy Heinz, my Joey Pigza memories might all end up spread across the ground like the leaves, just waiting to be raked into a pile and burned. I figured then that Joey, too, would go up in smoke. I looked far into the sky and those wispy clouds seemed to spell out GOODBYE, JOEY as they drifted east. I could make it better for everyone, I thought, if I’d just step into their Heinz dream and go along with their plans. But something held me back.

  Suddenly Dad clambered up the ladder. He flung my door open. “Hey, bee-boy,” he said, a bit out of breath. “We have to get buzzing. Sorry to cut things short, but your mom got overexcited by her gif
ts and her tummy’s way upset. She wants us to take her to the clinic.” He grinned at me and I guessed he was grinning with pride because he thought his wedding present to Mom had made her sick with happiness.

  “I’ll be right down,” I promised.

  He left and I looked out at the sky for a few more seconds. I didn’t want to leave, because in front of that window I didn’t know if I was saying goodbye to Joey or hello to Freddy. But one way or the other, something in me was coming and going at the same time.

  “Freddy!” Dad shouted. “¡Pronto!”

  I jumped and at that moment I realized I was like an adopted kid who was getting used to a new name.

  After we rounded up the dogs and got back into the car I kept a sharp eye on Mom. She didn’t say much, though she did give me a weak smile just to let me know she was okay.

  But Dad was still excited. He talked about how he and Mom had first met years ago at a restaurant where he was the bartender and she was a waitress, so they knew the ropes. He said Mom could now leave the Beauty and the Beast Hair Salon for our own restaurant business where she could be a boss instead of a peon. He said he was learning some Spanish, too, and when he said a word of it he swaggered his shoulders proudly as if he had conquered one little part of that other language and now owned it.

  When we got back to town we took Mom to the clinic and then stopped at the drugstore around the corner from our house on Plum Street. The pharmacist there knew us pretty well. Before Mom hopped out I whispered in her ear about getting my meds. “It’s time,” I said, not wanting Dad to hear me. “I feel like I’m buzzing all over on the inside.”

  She didn’t make a sound but just nodded as if she already had it on her list, then she pushed the door open and went into the store by herself.

  Once she was out of sight Dad turned around and smiled at me. “Wow,” he said, wide-eyed. “Don’t you just love it when life moves forward at the speed of light?”

  “Not really,” I said slowly. “I’ve lived like that before and it didn’t work out so well because when you move too fast you don’t always know where you’ll end up.”

  “That’s because I wasn’t around to lead the way,” he said. “But don’t worry. This time I’ve got our future lined up in my sights.”

  He picked up Pablita and they stared at each other nose to nose.

  “Let me guess,” he pondered. “Your new name is Quesadilla. Am I right?”

  Pablita whimpered and wiggled and Pablo clawed his way under the passenger seat.

  5

  OFF THE GRID

  Ever since Mom had become Maria she thought she had become a good driver but she hadn’t, and now she was behind the wheel of the Heinzmobile and speeding down the road. I had my helmet on and tightened my chin strap. Even though Mom and Dad had stopped making me wear my helmet around the house, I wanted extra protection in the car. We were on the way to my new school out past the diner and I was sitting next to her singing as loudly as possible a feel-good song I made up so I wouldn’t think about how sad I was to leave my old school. “The gears in my head go round and round, round and round, round and round. The gears in my head go round and round, all the way to school. The holes in my head get big and wide, big and wide, big and wide. The holes in my head get big and wide, all the way to school. The rocks in my head—”

  “Freddy!” she barked.

  I ignored her.

  “Freddy!” she barked again.

  I ignored her again.

  “Joey!”

  I snapped to attention.

  “Very funny,” she said. “Did you take your meds?”

  “This isn’t about meds,” I replied, rolling up my shirtsleeve so she could see the patch on my shoulder. “I’m just making up a song.”

  “Well, it’s not a song I care for,” she said. “I don’t like it when you say bad things about yourself—especially on the way to a new school where I want you to make a good impression on the principal.”

  “The rocks in my head go crunch, crunch, crunch—”

  “Freddy!”

  I tilted my big helmeted head sideways and grinned. “Did you say something?” I asked calmly.

  “Don’t play these games with me,” she said sternly. “If we’re going to have a new life, we aren’t going to repeat those old ways.”

  “Well, I don’t want to go to a new school,” I said, getting to the point because that is what was really bothering me. “I liked my old school and it liked me.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. Now that we are moving to the diner, you have to change schools,” she replied. “But you’ll adjust in no time.”

  “But I’m doing well at the school I’m in,” I stressed, and I felt a lump building in my throat. “I like Mr. Turner, and after I’ve worked so hard to pull myself together I just want everything to stay the same.” I covered my face with my hands because the tears came before I could turn away. “I’m Joey Pigza,” I said, “and I want to stay Joey Pigza. I don’t want to be Freddy Heinz. I don’t even know who he is. Who knows? He could be worse than my bad old self.”

  Mom reached over and put her hand around my shoulder. “Honey, Freddy Heinz can be whoever you want him to be. For instance, let me tell you about Freddy’s mom, Maria Heinz. She is way different from Fran Pigza. She’s a confident woman and a positive thinker. She’s in love and in a happy marriage. She no longer allows her Pigza limitations to overshadow her new talents. She is reaching for the stars. See,” she said proudly, “aren’t you impressed with how much I’ve grown?”

  I wiped my eyes on my sleeves. “I don’t want to rock the boat,” I sniffed. “I just want to be me.”

  “Just because you change your name doesn’t mean you have to completely change who you are on the inside,” she said.

  “I don’t think that’s true,” I replied. “I think if I forgive Dad I’ll no longer be Joey, because Joey wouldn’t forgive him. Only Freddy would, and once he does then life as I know it is over for me.”

  “And isn’t that the entire point?” Mom proclaimed as she reached across and poked me on the shoulder. “That life as you knew it will be over and life as you know it will begin?”

  “Can I get into an ugly name-calling argument with you about this?” I asked.

  “No,” she insisted. “I’m your parent and I’m telling you what is best for you, and at this moment it is best that you are Freddy Heinz in the process of transferring to a new school. Got that?”

  “I don’t understand why you are being nice to Dad and doing whatever he wants and you are mean to me,” I said.

  “That’s easy. I’m nice to whoever is nice to me,” she replied. “And I’m mean to whoever is mean to me. It’s as simple as that!” She snapped her fingers, then suddenly yelped and swung the steering wheel to the right. As we squealed toward the school driveway she hit the curb. I jerked sideways and banged my head on the window.

  “Good thing I was wearing my helmet,” I said, rapping on it with my knuckles.

  “Yeah,” she cracked, throwing the car into reverse and pulling away from the curb. “Or you’d be singing, The lumps on my head go ouch, ouch, ouch!”

  She shifted into drive, hit the gas, and the Heinzmobile heaved itself forward and into a space for disabled drivers.

  “You can’t park here,” I insisted, and pointed to the blue-and-white sign.

  “Yes I can,” she replied, and pointed to my helmet.

  “I’m not disabled!” I protested.

  “You will be if you don’t straighten up and act like a normal kid,” she said, and made a fist.

  She unsnapped the helmet and lifted it off, then reached over and tousled my matted hair. “Maybe I should dye your hair red,” she speculated. “Then we’d match.”

  “Please don’t make me look like a flaming marshmallow,” I begged, and put the helmet back on. “I don’t want the principal to see the dent in my head.”

  “Suit yourself,” Mom replied. “Personally, I think th
e dent is cute.”

  We walked up the sidewalk and entered the front door. The school was a lot newer than my beat-up old one in town, and Mom pointed out every fancy detail—the easy-to-open doors, the freshly waxed floors, the big picture windows, the brightly painted walls, and the colorful bulletin boards covered with a display of cut-out Thanksgiving turkeys and pumpkins and Pilgrims’ hats and shoes. “Even the air smells nice and minty,” she remarked, taking a deep breath.

  “If you like it so much why don’t you work here?” I asked. “You could teach a class in toenail sculpting.”

  “Don’t get testy with me,” she said under her breath. “This is not the time to debate who is the parent and who is the child. Got that?”

  I got it.

  We entered the front office and Mom introduced herself as she signed the visitors’ log.

  “The principal is expecting you, Mrs. Heinz,” the secretary replied as she stood up. “She’s just finishing up her morning rounds. You can wait in her office.”

  I looked at Mom’s signature: Mrs. Maria Heinz. Even her handwriting had changed. Her letters used to look crammed together like a row of bad teeth, but now they were neat and evenly spaced. Then as clearly as I could I wrote down “Joey Pigza, a.k.a. Freddy Heinz” in huge loopy letters while Mom followed the secretary down a hallway. I caught up just when the secretary pushed open a door and stepped aside, allowing us to enter first. “Take a seat,” she offered, and gestured toward two swivel chairs, before disappearing up the hall.

  Mom posed herself with a smile so bright it looked as if her entire face had just been buffed with wood polish. She was so shiny I spun away and looked at the wall. There was a row of glossy photographs of plump little babies dressed up like bees in black-and-gold Pittsburgh Steelers outfits. They were doing cute things. One bee baby was sitting in a giant helmet with a jar of honey Two of them were having a tug-of-war over a football. The last photo had a baby bee clutching his black-and-gold diaper with a desperate look on his face. Below it a caption read, “I hope I make it to the goal line!”