by Jack Gantos
“Yes we do,” Dad and Freddy said at the same time.
“But more than just clothes,” she said. “There are toys.”
She walked me to the window on the far side of the house and put her hands over my eyes. “I couldn’t get you the motor scooter you asked for,” she said. “But I hope this does the trick.”
When she removed her hands I was staring out at an all-terrain vehicle. In fact, I was staring at two awesome ATV’s—one red and one black. But before I could run out of the house and jump onto one of them and chew up the turf, she grabbed me by the neck. “There are rules,” she stressed.
At that moment Dad whipped open the coat closet, grabbed something that I thought was a bowling ball, then turned toward me with a big black-and-yellow helmet. On the back of it was stenciled NUMBER ONE WORKER BEE.
“You have to wear this,” he said. “For your own safety. If just once you don’t wear it, I’ll take away the ATV and that will be the end of it.”
I looked at the helmet. I could see Freddy Heinz’s goofy face reflected on the polished stripes and it felt to me like his eyes were spinning around like a winner. “Okay,” I agreed. “Not a problem.”
Then Dad went back to the closet and pulled out his own helmet, which read in stenciled letters KING BEE. “Plus,” he said, grinning widely, “there is more.”
There was. I attacked a stack of boxes that he carried out from the closet. I got a paintball gun with a supply of power cartridges and a box of two thousand orange paintballs. I got a neck protector and face mask and a full-body camouflage outfit along with army boots, and knee and elbow pads. “Freddy is very pleased,” I whispered to myself as my trigger finger twitched.
Dad opened his extra boxes and he got what I got, except his paintballs were yellow. I glanced over at Mom and she smiled knowingly. “Like father, like son,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Freddy is the happiest boy on the planet,” I said to her. And deep inside I was happy. Very, very happy. And very, very eager to get going. But I couldn’t cut loose just yet. The happy Christmas play wasn’t over.
Once Dad and I finished opening all our paintball equipment he announced that it was his turn to give some gifts. This time he got Mom exactly what she wanted. When she opened the little jewelry box with the big diamond ring, the tears ran down her cheeks and she stood up and gave him a big kiss and hug.
“I guess it’s hard to wear that diner on your finger,” he said slyly as he reached for her hand. “Pretty silly of me to think it would make a great wedding present.”
“You are a fast learner,” she replied, and slipped the ring on.
It was big. “Impressive,” she said, and held her limp hand out. “You may kiss the Queen Bee’s ring,” she ordered.
Charles dropped down on one knee and gave it a kiss.
When it was my turn I gave her a kiss, and an envelope. She opened it up. It was a brochure from a company that removed tattoos by laser.
“They offer a free appointment right downtown,” I said. “And then I promise you I will work and save up enough money to have that belly button tattoo removed.”
“That is very thoughtful,” she said. “But I like my tattoo.”
“Well, think about it,” I asked. “I called and they won’t do anything until you have the baby.” And before she could say anything else I gave her a big box. It was one of those baby spy cameras that you can clip on to your baby’s crib and watch it sleep on a little screen you can keep with you while you are in another room doing other stuff.
“Oh, I love this,” she said. “It’s just what I wanted.”
“There is only one channel,” I said. “All little Heinzie all the time.”
“Do you think I can get reception at the mall?” she asked. “It would be super great if I could see when he wakes up and then run home.”
“We’ll test it out later,” Charles said as I tossed the dogs chew toys in the shape of burritos.
After every gift was handed out and we were all slumped down as if we had eaten a fifty-course meal, I pointed at a low branch on the tree. “There is one more,” I said. Charles and Maria exchanged a glance. I ducked under the tree and grabbed it, then wriggled back out.
I looked at the tag. “Why, it’s for you, Charles,” I sang and handed him the flat package which was about the size of a postage stamp and weighed about the same.
As he unknotted the thin ribbon and peeled tape from the folded paper, I could feel my heart unwrapping. This is it, I said to myself. This is really it. Get ready, Freddy.
When he had completely unfolded the paper wrapping, he looked baffled and then turned the paper upside down. Then right side up. He searched his lap and around his feet. A very alarmed look crossed his face. “I can’t seem to find what it was you gave me,” he said as if he had already lost it.
“That’s because it’s an invisible gift,” I replied. “You can’t see it, but it’s the biggest thing in the room.”
He looked confused. “Is this a puzzle I’m supposed to figure out?” he asked.
“It’s actually a puzzle that other boy had to figure out first,” I said. “Your Christmas gift is actually the answer to the puzzle. Are you ready?”
He nodded. “Bring it on,” he said.
I looked him right in the eye, and I wasn’t faking it when I said, “Freddy forgives you. He forgives you for everything. All of it. Even stuff he doesn’t know about. Even stuff he hasn’t even imagined.”
He started to say something but I held up a finger and stopped him.
“And,” I said, “from now on I’m Freddy Heinz plain and simple. That other kid, what’s-his-name, has left the building.”
“I hate to burst your bubble,” he said, and cocked his hands on his hips, “but Charles Heinz hasn’t done anything that needs forgiving.”
I didn’t know what to say and for a blank moment I felt as if I was neither Joey nor Freddy. I looked at Mom as if she’d stabbed me in the back, but she looked just as shocked.
“You know me—I’m just joking,” he said quickly, and opened his arms wide as he stooped down and smiled his wide goofy smile. “Now come here and give me a hug, Freddy me boy!”
I guess something in me really wanted to be hugged by Charles or Carter or Dad or whatever his name was, and in return I wanted to love him and be loved by him and feel that huge sigh of relief which comes with everything finally being normal and perfect. The power of that forgiveness swept through me, and all my old worries about him vanished and I sprang forward and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“What took you so long to stop being a jerk?” I asked, squeezing him tightly.
“I don’t know,” he said, pulling me away from his neck so he could look into my face. His eyes were shiny with tears, which made the tears stream down my face. “But for sure I didn’t realize how good it feels to be a family man. Now put your arms around me and let me get caught up on a decade of hugs.”
“And what about me?” I asked. “I need some hugs, too.”
“Every man for himself,” he cried out, gripping my wrists tightly as he stood and swung me around so suddenly my feet left the ground, and as he spun and turned I was spinning straight out like the spokes on a wheel until I realized I wasn’t so much hugging him as I was just barely hanging on.
“You are so weird!” I howled as I circled around.
“I know,” he howled back. “But keep it a secret.”
“Too late for that,” I yelled back.
Then he started to laugh and as he did he lost his footing and began to stumble and I began to wobble and suddenly he tripped over a pile of paper and boxes and as he staggered and fell he let go of me and I went flying up over the little plastic tree we decorated just for the dogs and landed with a full-body slam across the leather couch cushions.
My skin was stinging but I hopped up and shouted, “Are you okay?” He was, because he was all rolled up in the wrapping paper and laughing.
&n
bsp; “Is it possible,” he said as he pushed himself up off the floor, “is it possible that I’m becoming more like you?”
“Do you want fries with that?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “I do want fries with that.” Then he rubbed his backside. “Oh, I think I bruised my bottom but it reminded me of one more gift.” He pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and removed a Pennsylvania State Identification Card. “I’ve been saving it for you,” he said.
I looked at it. There was my picture. Beneath it was FREDDY HEINZ and my birth date and our new address.
“It’s official,” I said, and showed it to Mom.
“Well, now that you two have your guy issues worked out, why don’t you go outside and do what guys do best,” she suggested.
I gave her a puzzled look.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Now take your guns and go shoot each other.”
“Come on,” I yelled at Dad. “It’s time to play with our toys!”
At that moment the Christmas play was over and another play began. We both got suited up in our paintball outfits and went outside with our guns slung over one shoulder and ammo bags over the other.
“I get the black ATV,” I called out, quickly hopping up onto the seat.
“We should make a few rules,” he said.
“Why?” I asked. “Here is what I think. We just ride around and shoot at each other.”
“But just in the farm fields out back,” he said.
“Can we go on the highway?” I asked.
“No!” he said sharply.
“Darn,” I said. I really wanted to take a shot at that little clown car.
I turned the key on my ATV and it fired right up. I had never driven one before but it looked easy.
“You just turn the throttle like a motorcycle,” Dad instructed. “There’s a front brake on the left handgrip and a back brake on the foot pedal.”
I revved my engine. It was like Freddy had been doing it all his life. “Every man for himself!” I hollered, then I began to fill the auto feed tank on the paint gun. It could fire a hundred and fifty shots, each as fast as I pulled the trigger. His would do the same, but he didn’t scare me. I had the killer-bee instinct.
I turned the throttle and roared off around the house, and when the diner came into sight I took aim with my paint gun and pulled the trigger. Instantly an orange splat appeared on the silver siding. “Yes,” I thought. “Freddy feels very powerful.” And then I went looking for Dad.
He was driving across the uneven cornfield. Light snow kicked up behind his wide tires along with loose cornstalks and chunks of frozen dirt. He looked over his shoulder and saw me coming straight at him. He turned sideways and stopped, then lifted his paint gun, aimed, and fired. The first few missed, but as I got closer he started finding his range and one hit me in the helmet with a huge thwacking sound and my head jerked back, and then a few more hit me directly in the face mask and the yellow paint burst open as if my eyeballs had just erupted.
“Awesome!” I shouted. Then one hit me in the chest and knocked the breath out of me. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” I added.
I turned away and ran my gloved hand over my mask to wipe the paint off so I could see, and then I circled around and headed straight for him. He headed straight for me. It was like old-fashioned jousting. I kept one hand on my throttle and with the other I raised my paint gun and fired. He did the same. Paintballs zinged back and forth. Some collided and exploded in midair. They pinged against the front fenders of the ATV and smacked me hard across my legs. I kept pulling the trigger and the orange blotches exploded across his ATV. I roared over the field toward him, and he roared toward me. Neither of us flinched. We kept firing. By the time we were ten feet apart we were blasting each other with direct hits all the way until we were at point-blank range. Then we skimmed past each other and circled around and did it again, and again, until we had to stop and reload and change power cartridges. Then we were at each other again. He was better than I was because he could steady his gun with one arm while driving with the other. I was soaked with yellow splat marks and my skin was stinging as if I were shot with arrows. After another jousting pass he slowed down and looked over his shoulder as he yelled, “You had enough?”
“No way!” I shouted back. I roared forward and circled around again. As we headed toward each other, firing wildly, his front wheel hit a rut and the ATV bounced up into the air, and when it came down he hit his seat hard and pitched off the back and onto the ground. His paint gun flew out of his hands and his ATV sputtered forward for a moment and then slowed to a stop. I was coming at him as fast as I could and he saw that I was going to be all over him before he got to his ATV. He turned to look for his paint gun and by then I was about twenty feet from him. I began to fire as quickly as I could. I braked my ATV and jumped off and ran at him firing the entire time. He tripped on the jagged cornstalks and I danced around him and fired and no matter which way he turned I had a shot at his mask and I knew he couldn’t see a thing and I got closer and kept blasting him from all angles like the big man I was.
“Enough!” he cried out as he crawled forward. “I give, I give!” He held his gloved hands in front of his face but I kept giving it to him. Splat! Splat! Splat! I fired until the orange paintballs blended together and turned him into one big, yowling orange blob.
“I said to stop it!” he sputtered angrily.
I got him a few more times and then I just heard a hissing sound. I was out of ammo. He stood up and reached blindly for me as if his eyes had been poked out, but I was too fast for him and jumped back onto my ATV and roared across the field toward the house.
“Don’t mess with Freddy,” I howled. “He is one tough customer. One bad dude. One hombre muy malo!”
“You are dead meat!” Dad shouted. “I’m loco now.”
I pulled up in front of the diner and grabbed my ammo bag. The front door was locked so I ran around back to the kitchen door. I went in and snatched a towel and wiped the yellow paint off my face mask, then rubbed it over my helmet and clothes. I was panting and my blood was pumping like never before. I could feel my welts throbbing but there was no time to think about pain. His ATV skidded across the gravel. In a moment I heard him yank on the front door. He pulled so hard the entire diner kind of jerked forward. Then he remembered he had the keys.
I put in a fresh power cartridge and loaded up another hundred and fifty shots. He must have done the same because the moment he unlocked the door and entered he was ready for a showdown at the Beehive Diner. I slid into a kneeling position behind the coffee counter, steadied the paint gun, and fired. He dove behind a bench seat in a booth and fired back and we just kept firing away at each other until both of us had to reload and then we did it again and by the time we were out of paintballs the diner was totally trashed. Yellow and orange paint dripped down from the ceiling and walls. The clock was hit, the stacks of plates, the coffeemakers, the griddle—everything was spattered with paint.
“Wow,” I said, looking around and waving a paper napkin over my head. “Truce.”
“Truce,” he echoed, and the moment I set my paint gun down he made his move. In two quick steps he had me pinned on the floor.
“Just who do you think you are?” he said, crushing me with his body weight.
“I’m Freddy,” I wheezed.
“So when I say ‘I give up,’ what are you supposed to do?”
“Take advantage of you,” I replied, panting as I tried to squirm away.
“That’s my boy!” he said proudly.
Just then Mom walked in through the kitchen door. I stared up at her and her mouth was hanging open. Then she looked down at us. “Do I have to separate you two already?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” Dad said. “This is love.”
“Then kiss and make up,” she said.
We banged our helmets together because that’s about as close as we could get to a kiss and he gave me a bear hug.
> “You gave me a great gift today,” he whispered. “That forgiveness means the world to me. It’s like receiving a bucket of good karma. Tomorrow I’m playing the Christmas dates and, baby, I have a feeling you will be living in Snow White’s castle.”
I’d like that, I thought to myself. Even Grumpy looked happy there.
11
THE NOISE INSIDE
You can’t imagine how much trouble that paintball gun caused me. I started doing bad things right away. I was hanging out in the shot-up diner like a time bomb that never stopped going off. Dad said he’d give me twenty bucks if I’d clean up all the dried paint, but I hadn’t lifted a finger. The diner was still splattered with paint and looked like the inside of an insane person’s mind. A few weeks ago I would have had the job done in record time, but now I just didn’t care. I stretched out across the coffee counter like a sniper with my finger on the trigger.
Maybe the paintball battle with Dad had made me insane, too, because without thinking I did something really sick. I shot poor little Quesadilla. She was walking through the diner when I impulsively aimed my paint gun and shot her on the rear. She yelped and went running for the door, but it was closed so she hid under one of the booths. Her yelp snapped me out of my insane mood. I felt so bad that I got down on my hands and knees and crawled across the dirty floor to where she was cornered. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” I said. She cowered in fear when she saw me and began to quiver and I didn’t know what else to say besides “I’m sorry,” so I held the paint gun out and shot myself in the rear. Oh, that hurt to the core!
This didn’t have anything to do with my old “wired” ways. I had my med patch on my arm. But ever since I quit school and killed Joey off, there was nothing much for me to do. Dad was always out running around searching for good karma. He came home late one night and announced that he had stood outside a nursing home all day and had walked eighty-seven old people across the street and then had walked seventy-five of them back and then had played the number one hundred and sixty-two for the Daily Number lottery. This is the kind of nutty guessing game he was doing all day now that his full-time business was trying to win the lottery. It was snowing one day and I saw him counting flakes sticking against the window where he was sitting. So far he had not hit it “big.”
