Then Again, Maybe I Won't

by Judy Blume

Does Vinnie know about us now? Does he know that we live in a big white house and that we drove here in a new green hardtop instead of the old truck? Does he know that Grandma has her own color TV because she’s not allowed to cook anymore? Does he know about our boss, Maxine? And if he knows, what does he think? Is he laughing at us? Is he laughing and saying, “Hey, what happened to you guys since you visited me last year?”

  Ted Gibbons organized our Junior Youth Group basketball team. He said anybody who wants to play can play. He told us he remembers what it’s like to try out for a team and not make it. So we wound up having two teams. Only two guys in our Youth Group didn’t want to play and one of them agreed to be Ted’s assistant coach and the other one said he’d like to be our sports reporter.

  Ted meets with us every Friday afternoon at our junior high. We don’t have any after-school activities on Friday so Ted got permission from the principal for us to use the gym. Ted’s moustache is getting thicker. He touches it a lot as if he’s checking to make sure it’s still there. He’s worked out a whole schedule of games for us. We’re going to play every Friday night during January and February. Eight games in all against teams from other churches and temples. Since we have two teams Ted said we’ll alternate and change over at every halftime. That way we’ll all have a chance to play.

  We started our practice right before Thanksgiving. I’m the best foul shooter. And I’m fast too. I think Ted is pretty impressed. I just wish I was taller. Because when somebody like Marty Endo guards me I can’t shoot at all. I can’t even see!

  When I’m playing basketball I don’t think of anything else. Not Lisa or school work or my family. I concentrate on the ball and getting it into the basket. Basketball makes me feel good. I wish we didn’t have two teams. I wish I could be in there all the time.

  The whole family was invited for Thanksgiving. My three aunts and uncles and my cousin Ginger from Weehawken. Ginger belongs to my mother’s sister Rosemary. We call her Aunt Rose. Aunt Rose is married to Uncle Lou. Uncle Lou’s Jewish and my mother doesn’t approve of him. It has nothing to do with being Jewish she says. It’s just that he isn’t right for Aunt Rose, which is pretty funny because they’ve been married for fifteen years.

  This was the family’s first visit to Rosemont and my mother was really doing it up big. She hired another lady to help Maxine in the kitchen so Maxine wouldn’t get all tired out what with cooking the turkey and all. Grandma refused to join us. She hasn’t left her room since Veterans Day.

  My mother begged, “Please, Mama … just this once! It’s Thanksgiving. Give me some pleasure, Mama! Get dressed and come downstairs. Mama … will you please turn off that television set and come down for dinner!” But Grandma wouldn’t budge.

  Angie brought Vicki in a car bed. She was supposed to sleep in it all afternoon but nobody told her that because she screamed a lot. So we played Pass the Baby. All my aunts and uncles got to hold her and make silly faces at her until my mother came up with the brilliant solution of leaving Vicki upstairs with Grandma while we ate.

  Angie took the baby to Grandma’s room and then even if she was screaming we couldn’t hear her. A very important thing to remember about babies is that if you can’t hear them they’re not so bad.

  My relatives were really impressed with Rosemont and our house. Uncle Lou kept telling Ginger, “Now you can say you have rich relatives, baby. Really rich relatives!”

  And Aunt Rose said, “When Ginger gets older Tony can fix her up on dates and she can sleep over here.”

  “Oh, can I, Aunt Carmella?” Ginger asked.

  My mother nodded and smiled.

  I thought, I’ll never fix you up Ginger, because you’re dumb and ugly and I don’t like you anyway!

  Uncle Lou said, “Rose thinks of everything, doesn’t she? Why should Ginger go out with a poor boy if she can go out with a rich one, right?”

  So I said, “What’s so great about being rich? Money isn’t everything, you know.”

  They all laughed. Even Ralph and Angie laughed. Ralph said, “Listen, Big Shot … wait until you have to pay for baby shoes!”

  How does he know so much about baby shoes? I wondered. Vicki doesn’t even wear shoes yet! Ralph is different lately. He isn’t The Wizard any more. He’s just an old guy with a wife and kid. Would he be like this if we were still in Jersey City? Is it being a father that changed him?

  Finally we sat down to dinner. I’ve never eaten so much in my life. For dessert we had a choice of three pies—pumpkin, apple or lemon meringue. I chose lemon meringue because I knew Angie baked it and Maxine baked the other two.

  After dinner the family went upstairs one at a time, to visit with Grandma.

  When Aunt Rose came downstairs she said, “Mama’s lucky to be able to spend her last years in such luxury.”

  “And with her own color TV,” Ginger said.

  Later they all decided the reason Grandma “took to her room” was plain old age. I could have told them the truth but I’d have gotten in a lot of trouble.

  My father offered Ralph and my uncles cigars. He laughed as he told them each one cost $1.00. When they all lit up, Aunt Rose asked Ginger to recite for us. Ginger’s been doing that ever since I can remember. You’d think by now she’d know how dumb she sounds. You’d think she’d be too embarrassed to stand up in front of a bunch of relatives and say her stupid poems. But no! She jumped right up and started.

  She had some new poems this year. Two about Thanksgiving, naturally, and one about love by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. When she recited that one she closed her eyes. How I wished Joel could have heard her!

  When Ginger was through I heard Aunt Rose telling my mother that Ginger wears a bra already, which reminded me of Lisa. Soon it will be dark outside and I’ll be able to watch her from my window. When I feel my neck turn red hot I know I better think about basketball in a hurry.

  Corky’s real name is Kathryn Thomas. I found out because a girl in my homeroom named Marian passed me a note. It said:

  K.T. thinks T.M. is super!

  I knew who T.M. was … me. But I didn’t know who K.T. was. And I really didn’t care. So I crumpled up the note and threw it away. I made a disgusted face at Marian. That afternoon I got another note. This one said:

  My real name is Kathryn Thomas. Love, Corky.

  I crumpled up that note too. I wished she’d leave me alone. She’s a real pain!

  Ever since that day Marian runs over to me every morning and says, “Hi Tony. How’s Corky?”

  Corky is always stationed right near us so she doesn’t miss a thing.

  I answer Marian with a straight face. “I don’t know,” I say. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  Then Corky and Marian giggle like crazy until Mrs. O’Leary looks up and tells them to settle down.

  Marty Endo told me that Corky offered to do his math homework for a week if he arranged for me to wind up sitting next to her at our Junior Youth Group meetings. Marty wouldn’t do it. Why should he? He’s great at math.

  The more Corky bothers me the more I think about Lisa. I wish it was Lisa who passed me notes and wanted to sit next to me.

  This morning, in math class, I wasn’t thinking about Lisa. I was concentrating on a problem in my book. When I got the answer I raised my hand and Miss Tobin called on me. She asked me to go up to the board and show the class how I worked it out.

  Just as I finished writing the figures on the board I started to get hard. Mind over matter … mind over matter, I told myself. But still it went up. I kept my back to the class and prayed for it to go down.

  Miss Tobin said, “That’s an interesting way to solve the problem, Tony.”

  For a minute I thought she meant my real problem, but then I realized she was talking about the math problem.

  “Could you explain your reasoning to the class, Tony?”

  I started talking but I didn’t turn around. I could just picture facing the class. Everybody would laugh and point to my pants. I
wished I was wearing my raincoat.

  “We’d hear better if you’d turn around,” Miss To bin said.

  What could I do? Pretend to be sick and run out of the room? Maybe. Or just refuse to turn around? No. Ask to go to the bathroom? No.…

  “Tony …” Miss Tobin said.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re waiting for you to explain the problem.”

  “Oh. Okay, Miss Tobin.”

  I was holding my math book in my left hand and a piece of chalk in my right. I turned sideways, keeping my book in front of my pants. I explained my answer as fast as I could and Miss Tobin didn’t ask me any questions. She said, “Thank you, Tony. You can sit down now.”

  I walked back to my seat still holding the math book close to me. But I didn’t have to worry. By then it was down.

  From now on I’m going to make sure I always have a stack of books with me. Books are a lot better than my old raincoat!

  One afternoon after Thanksgiving vacation Joel came over. My mother was in Queens with Angie and Vicki as usual and Grandma was locked in her room. So was Maxine. She has this strict rule about how she has to have an afternoon nap every day, so she’ll be fresh as a daisy for supper, she says. My mother says, of course that’s only fair. So we’re not supposed to disturb Maxine between three and four-thirty.

  While I was pouring two glasses of milk Joel asked if he could use the phone.

  “Sure,” I said. I didn’t pay any attention until I heard him ask for Denton F. Buchanan. I thought, oh no! He’s at it again.

  He dialed two more times, going through his whole routine, before he called back and said, “This is Denton F. Buchanan. Have there been any calls for me?”

  I said, “Same old tricks!”

  Joel said, “Why don’t you try it?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Tony! Make up the name yourself.”

  “I don’t know, Joel. I could get in trouble.”

  “For what? Nobody’s going to know. Come on … think up a good name. You’re not chicken are you?”

  “No.”

  “Well then … go ahead.”

  “Oh … all right.” I concentrated until I came up with a name. “How’s Peter Ira Grinch?” I asked.

  “Peter Ira Grinch? That’s a nutty name.”

  “I suppose … but it has good initials,” I said.

  “P.I.G. Hey, yeah! I like that,” Joel said.

  “How do I do it?”

  “Just dial a number. Make sure it’s not long distance though.”

  I picked up the phone, clearing my throat several times as I dialed seven digits and waited. It rang twice before a lady answered.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Uh … hello. May I please speak to uh … Peter Ira Grinch.”

  “What number you calling?”

  I repeated the number I dialed.

  “You got the right number but nobody’s here by that name.”

  I hung up.

  “You did fine,” Joel said.

  “I did?”

  “Sure. Now call back.”

  I dialed.

  This time she answered right away. “Hello.”

  “Peter Ira Grinch, please.”

  “Look kid …” How did she know I was a kid? “I told you … you got the wrong number!”

  I hung up without saying anything. I told Joel, “She doesn’t like me.”

  “She doesn’t have to like you,” Joel said. “She doesn’t even know you. Go ahead, Tony … one more time.”

  My hand shook as I dialed. It didn’t even ring once.

  “Hello,” she said. You could tell she was mad.

  “Peter Ira Grinch, please.”

  “Listen, you lousy kids,” she screamed. “I’m fed up with you and your lousy phone calls. I’m gonna call the cops! You hear me? The cops. They’ll find you and lock you up where you belong!” She slammed the phone down.

  “She said she’s going to call the cops,” I told Joel.

  He laughed. “She’s not calling anybody. Go on … call one more time.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t? You’ve got to call and say you’re Peter Ira Grinch. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”

  “I can’t,” I said again. “Don’t you know they can trace calls? Don’t you know that, Joel?”

  “You’ve got to call her again, Tony!”

  I got a stomach pain then. A bad one. “I can’t … I can’t because I’m sick!” I said, holding my stomach. “You might as well go home Joel—I mean it, I’m really sick!” I rushed to the bathroom.

  When my mother came home I was still in the bathroom and my stomach was killing me. My mother said nobody can have that much gas and that she was going to take me to the doctor.

  She made a lot of phone calls to find out which doctor to see on Long Island. Finally she decided on the one Diane Hoober recommended. My mother thinks everything the Hoobers do is perfect. I wanted to tell her the truth about Joel. I wanted to see how her face would look then, but the more I thought about telling her the more my stomach hurt.

  The doctor’s name was Frank Holland. He has gray hair and a big nose. He asked my mother to wait in the outer office while he checked me. I had to lie down on his examining table with most of my clothes off while he pushed and prodded at my belly. I was supposed to tell him if it hurt in any special place. It didn’t.

  “I think we’d better do a test on you, Tony,” Dr. Holland said. “Come back tomorrow morning at eight. Don’t eat anything after six o’clock tonight. And no breakfast in the morning.”

  “What kind of test?” I asked.

  “Oh … I’m going to have a look inside you. It won’t hurt. I promise.”

  I couldn’t sleep at all that night. I was worried about the test and about what might be wrong with me. I hope I don’t need an operation. I’m really scared about somebody cutting into me.

  The next morning my mother took me back to Dr. Holland’s office. He was right about the test. It didn’t hurt. But he forgot to tell me I’d have to drink a glass of this horrible stuff called barium. It tasted like chocolate flavored chalk. Dr. Holland explained that when I drank the barium and stood in front of his machine, he could see inside me.

  Being a doctor must be really neat. Maybe I’ll go to medical school so I can look inside people too. Then again, maybe I won’t. Doctors have to do a lot messier stuff than that and I don’t even like dissecting frogs in biology.

  After the test, Dr. Holland said I should get dressed and come into his office. He talked to me from behind his desk. I noticed he doodled on a prescription pad—dog and cat faces mostly. I sat in a chair to his left and I was pretty nervous. My hands were sweating like crazy.

  “Well, Tony,” he said, “there’s nothing for you to worry about. Everything is going to be fine. Your test was normal.”

  “I don’t need an operation?” I asked.

  “No, nothing like that,” Dr. Holland said.

  “Then what? I mean, why do I get so many pains?”

  “Well … I think you’re pretty tense, Tony. And when a person gets tense about things his insides tighten up and that can cause pain.”

  I rubbed my hands on my pants.

  “You know, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Dr. Holland said. “We all face some problems. It’s just a question of learning how to handle those problems.”

  “Really? That’s what it really is?”

  “Yes. Some people call it nervous stomach.”

  “Oh that. I knew a kid in Jersey City with nervous stomach. He was a creep.”

  “Well … we all hold things inside of us that might be better out in the open. Don’t push yourself, Tony. Try to relax and unwind.”

  “I am relaxed,” I said.

  “Maybe now … but not always. In any event I’m going to prescribe some pills for you. One tablet twice a day for two weeks. After that, only when you need them. When you get pains o
r diarrhea.”

  Dr. Holland handed me the prescription.

  As I stood up to leave he said, “What about girls?”

  I sat back down. “Girls?” I asked.

  “Yes. Do you think about them a lot?”

  “Not much,” I mumbled, looking down.

  “It’s perfectly normal you know.”

  “Oh sure. I know.”

  “Do you like a special one?”

  “Kind of,” I said.

  “Does she know?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Maybe you’d feel better if you told her.”

  I could just see myself telling Lisa that! I shook my head at Dr. Holland.

  He gave me a small laugh. “Well, you’ll be just fine, Tony. There’s no real problem here.” He stood up and patted me on the back. Then he opened the door to his waiting room and called in my mother. I read a magazine while she talked to the doctor.

  Everybody was very nice to me at home that day—even Maxine. She made my favorite kind of chicken for supper. While we were eating it my mother told us that the stores were decorated for Christmas already. And that since this was to be our first Rosemont Christmas she wanted it to be extra special.

  “Make me a list of what you want, Tony,” my mother said.

  “I thought I was supposed to mail that list to Santa,” I said.

  My mother laughed. “Listen to him!” Then she said, “Not so many years ago you did write to Santa!”

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” my father said. “This is going to be the first Christmas I’ve ever had where I don’t have to worry about the bills. This year we can afford to splurge!”

  “I really don’t know what I want,” I said. “But I’ll think about it.”

  Later I took my pill and got ready for bed. I kneeled in front of my window until ten o’clock but Lisa’s room stayed dark. When I got into bed I thought, if I had binoculars I could see her really good—up close—her face and everything. I knew what to put on my Christmas list.

  That night I dreamed about Lisa. My dream went on and on. It started out at the football game where Lisa put her arm around me. Only in my dream she didn’t stop there. And Corky was in it too. She was sitting on the football field and Lisa kept saying, “You see, Corky … here’s what to do … to do … to do …”