by Susan Lubner
“Oh it’s just for fun, Clark!” Mom said, interrupting my thoughts. “Jermaine is experimenting. She can have a special family showing when she’s finished. An ordinary, Scrabble-playing family is a fine example of reality TV,” she chirped.
“Rrrright,” I said. But a family showing wouldn’t do, and neither would ordinary—not if I wanted to be famous.
In reality (no pun intended), I had much bigger plans.
3
Reality Check
Dear Mr. Carmichael,
Tonight, right in the middle of a heated game of Scrabble, I decided to produce a reality-TV show about my family! I have watched some of your shows and I think they are A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! I’ve never seen Outlaws because my parents say it’s inappropriate. But I love The Country Life. Maybe you could come film that show in my town? We have a barn and everything—no cows, though, just pickles. But it’s pretty country-like out here. Maybe we could work together? You could film me filming my family. FYI I have a hotheaded thirteen-year-old sister who would provide some awesome material. Plus it would be a great way for me to get my show on TV.
Filming starts tomorrow right after school. Lights, camera, action! (HA! How do I sound?) I’d really appreciate any tips you could give me on reality-show production. I am new at this.
Thank you.
Yours truly,
Jermaine Davidson
PS Have you Googled yourself? There are millions of news articles and photos of you. You are extremely famous. I want to be extremely famous, too!
4
Red, White, and Blue
I prop the camera on the counter so I can film Zelda and me scrubbing the charred microwave clean. It takes about twenty minutes. There’s still a bit of black stuff and a melted spot that we label permanent damage. Dad tries to get what’s left with a Brillo pad.
“You need to be more careful,” he says.
“Sorry.” I cringe when I think of what could have happened.
“Next time, try a bowl of cereal for breakfast,” Dad says.
“I wasn’t the one who wanted popcorn,” I explain.
“You’re the one who stood around filming while the house was on fire!” Zelda argues.
Dad tips his head and raises his eyebrows at us as if to say, You’re both at fault.
Mom comes in through the back door. Her cheeks are flushed from the chilly air. She swings her bright green Nora’s Pickles tote bag off her shoulder, catching the bottom with her other hand. Then she pulls out a jar of piccalilli and two jars of dills and plunks them onto the counter.
“I’ve got so much to do for the Winter Pickle Palooza,” she says. Then she sniffs. “What burned?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear the smoke alarm,” Dad says.
“I can’t hear anything in that barn with the sink spraying and the dishwasher running.” Sticking out from under her bulky knit hat, a puff of red hair hugs each side of her jaw. “It stinks in here, what happened?” she asks again. Dad explains about the popcorn and the fire.
“My goodness! I’m glad the house is still standing and everyone’s okay. I guess I missed all the excitement. Speaking of excitement …” Mom cranks a window open to help diffuse the smell. “Brrrrrr.” She shivers. “We’re going to Edie and Larry’s tonight for a Fourth of July dinner party!”
“In February?” Zelda whines.
“That’s the whole idea! It’s supposed to snow later on. What better way to get through a cold, snowy winter than by having a big summer blowout?” Mom smiles.
“Strange,” Dad says, shaking his head. But I’m thinking YAHOOO! Aunt Edie and Uncle Larry are fun. What a great way to spice up my reality show! The last themed dinner was dead-presidents night. The centerpiece on the table, made out of a shoebox, was a mini version of Ford’s Theatre where Abraham Lincoln was shot. How brilliant is that? Clay headstones were propped up against the dinner plates, each with a dead president’s name etched into it. Mine said John Adams even though I was dressed as George Washington. Dessert was a White House cake with black frosting. Uncle Larry was John F. Kennedy. Even though Uncle Larry has the thickest Maine accent of anyone I know, he adjusted it just enough to sound like he might have been from Boston. The night was awesome and typically weird.
Back when my cousin Melinda was a baby, Uncle Larry and Aunt Edie lived in a camper. Not one of those gigantic bus-like things, but a pop-up one that they hitched to the back of their car. “Why live in a house, when there’s a whole wide world out there?” Uncle Larry still likes to say. Too bad they live in a house now. The pop-up-camper angle would have added another dimension to my show. Like a road show! Now the camper sits lopsided in the driveway with a flat tire.
Uncle Larry likes to invent things. He once made a T-shirt to fit over a tissue box. It came in different colors and said Achoo! on one side and Bless you on the other. I thought it was a great idea. He and Aunt Edie tried to sell them at craft fairs, but nobody wanted to shell out money for a T-shirt for their tissues. And nobody wanted disposable cooking utensils that kept catching on fire, either. Then there was the automatic door stopper (it didn’t stop any doors but made plenty of holes in the wall), the Svelte Belt, which was supposed to help you lose weight but gave you indigestion instead, and a bunch of other stuff that didn’t do what it was supposed to do. Uncle Larry says one of these days he’ll invent something that will make him rich. Then he’ll hook up that old camper, and they can travel the whole country. (Of course if he gets rich, he’ll probably buy a new camper.)
For now, Aunt Edie and Uncle Larry run a balloon business. Besides selling giant turkey balloons on Thanksgiving and three-foot pumpkin balloons on Halloween, Aunt Edie and Uncle Larry dress up in costumes and deliver balloon-a-grams to their customers. Sometimes Melinda, Zelda, and I get to help at special events. On our birthdays, we get the balloon animal of our choice. Uncle Larry makes unbelievable two-hump camels.
At six o’clock we head over to my aunt and uncle’s house for the Fourth of July dinner. I capture the ride with my camera. It’s snowing, and the streets are like white ribbons stretched out in front of us. The frozen Kenduskeag stream will have to wait until the spring thaw before it can empty itself into the river at the other end of Bangor. It shadows the road until we cross the bridge into town, and then it disappears.
Dad makes a turn after the Copper Kettle Diner. The sign in the window says OPEN in red neon letters. There’s a man stomping the snow off his boots in the doorway.
The Bluebird Nest & Rest Senior Home is lit up inside. I see the flash of a TV screen when we pass by. I imagine Granny V with her frayed afghan tucked around her, watching reruns of Murder She Wrote. Her tired feet snug in moccasins, underneath pale blue ankles, pressed against the metal footrests of her wheelchair.
The short ride takes longer than it normally does because my mother is a nervous wreck about crashing.
“Slow down, Clark. The roads look treacherous,” she keeps repeating.
“I’m creeping as it is, Nora,” he replies each time.
I stop my camera because it’s so repetitive it will bore the viewers.
When we arrive at my aunt and uncle’s house I turn the camera back on. A red, white, and blue balloon arch frames the doorway to the kitchen, and several shiny star-shaped balloons float across the ceiling.
Mom brings creamed-corn casserole because good corn on the cob is hard to get this time of year. She pulls the foil back so I can zoom in on the bread-crumb topping. Dad carries in piccalilli and the two jars of pickles.
“Juggle!” I tell him.
“I can’t do that. I’m not a good juggler.”
“Try! Please!” I beg. I already know he can’t juggle, which is the whole point. I aim the camera at Dad.
“Jermaine, don’t be ridiculous. I don’t think Aunt Edie would appreciate me repainting the hallway with pickle juice.”
“Fine.” I sigh, knowing that he’s right.
On our way to the kitchen we pass through
the dining room. I pan the camera around. The usual mismatched seats have been replaced with folding lawn chairs, and the table is covered in a red checkered cloth made out of plastic. In the center is a bunch of balloons tied to a large silver bell with Liberty written across it in black marker. Leaning up against the bell is the Declaration of Independence stapled to a piece of scroll-shaped Styrofoam with a feathered pen sticking out of the side. On each dinner plate is a plastic flag held upright by a little blue ball. I pick up one of the flags and sniff at the handmade stand. I thought so. Play-Doh. My cousin’s cat, Louise, jumps up to eat the ribbon hanging from one of the balloons.
“Shooo! Get off of there, Louise!” my father hisses. “There goes my appetite,” he mumbles. I hear Aunt Edie’s voice boom from the kitchen.
“THREE CHEERS FOR THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE—THE ARMY AND NAVY FOREEEEEEEVER!” Aunt Edie marches in place in front of the stove. Because the grill outside is covered in a mound of snow, she boils hot dogs. She pokes at them with a long fork. I zoom in on the American-flag earrings that swing from her ears. Dad rolls his eyes.
“Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud!” Mom whispers to him. “Hello, everybody,” Mom calls cheerfully.
“Happy birthday, fellow patriots!” Aunt Edie greets us. “Oh, you brought a video camera! What a smart idea! We never take ours out, do we, Larry?”
My uncle is counting hot-dog buns and placing them in a basket. “I think it’s been ten years since we used it,” he tells us. “Melinda was just a year old.”
I scan my camera over to the boiling water on the burner. The pink ends of the hot dogs poke through the bubbles, rising above the rim of the pot. “Smile, Aunt Edie!” I say.
“Jermaine is making a reality show about our family,” Mom announces. I catch her wink at Aunt Edie on camera.
“No kidding!” Aunt Edie says. “Don’t get a close-up of me. I haven’t waxed my mustache in a month.”
“Cool, a reality show! Can I be in it?” my cousin Melinda asks. She’s wearing a bikini, her pale skin looking almost ghostly under the kitchen light, and a fake tattoo on each forearm, Peace Baby on one and a black and white yin-yang on the other.
“Of course, you’re all going to be in it!” Melinda steps right in front of the camera. I zoom out so I can film more than her left cheek.
“Too bad we have the most boring family on the planet,” Zelda interrupts. Then she closes her eyes and starts to snore.
“Zelda,” Mom chides. “We are anything but boring!” Zelda tips her head back and snores louder. The phone rings.
“I’ve got it.” Uncle Larry almost trips sprinting to snatch it up. Aunt Edie looks over her shoulder. Uncle Larry speaks softly.
“Who’s that calling?” Aunt Edie asks.
“Balloon order.” Uncle Larry hangs up.
“A good one, I hope.” Edie turns around to face Larry.
“It’s … for tonight,” Uncle Larry says slowly.
“Tonight? It’s already tonight!” Aunt Edie yelps. “Did you tell them we need at least twenty-four hours notice for orders?” Uncle Larry turns away when he answers.
“It’s all right. I’ll take care of it. It’s just a simple birthday bouquet. The girls can help blow up the balloons.”
“Hmmm …” Edie says, and turns back to the pot of hot dogs. “So long as you don’t need to deliver in the middle of our dinner,” she tells him.
“Not a problem,” he assures her. Louise jumps up onto the counter next to Aunt Edie.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” my father moans. “Do you know where her feet have been?”
“I heard that cats are cleaner than humans,” I tell him.
“Not cleaner than Dad,” Zelda says.
“I don’t know any humans who stand around in litter boxes and walk all over kitchen counters and tables,” my father argues.
“Girls, take Louise upstairs,” Aunt Edie tells us. “She doesn’t seem to understand the dangers of a hot stove.”
Melinda scoops the cat up and holds her over her shoulder. For a split second I imagine Louise’s tail going up in smoke. But I push that awful thought out of my brain. Poor Louise! Plus I already have the microwave fire in my show. I need more variety. I am following Zelda and Melinda out of the kitchen when Louise gags and coughs up a hunk of something red. I film a stream of yellow liquid running out of the cat’s mouth and a red glob falling to the floor.
“Ewww!” Zelda yells. “Louise coughed up part of her gut.”
“Where?” Melinda spins around, still holding Louise. “What is that?” she squeals. Though a gut would have been much more exciting, I’m glad to see it’s definitely not.
“Are you okay, Louise?” I ask. “It’s just a piece of red ribbon.” I zoom in on it.
“Oh my gosh, did she barf on me?” Melinda freezes. “I’m going to be sick!” Aunt Edie rushes over with a wad of paper towels. She inspects Melinda’s shoulder.
“You’re fine, honey,” she tells Melinda. “It’s just a little mess on the floor. What happened, sweetie?” she coos at the cat.
“That’s good,” Melinda says. She strokes the top of Louise’s head.
Okay, this isn’t so bad—gross, but it’s a start, I tell myself. Who knows what else she might puke up … maybe a whole mouse! That would be interesting!
On the way up to Melinda’s room I grab a can of lemonade from the ice-filled rubber blow-up pool next to the staircase. Then I aim my camera at the striped cat still slung over my cousin’s shoulder, and hope for the best.
5
Icy
The lawn chairs we sit in at the dinner table are low, and we have to raise our arms a bit to reach our plates. We look like a family of dwarves. But it’s easy to film while we eat, since it’s basically a one-handed meal. I’m glad we’re not having steak or barbequed chicken, because it would be impossible to hold my camera if I had to use a knife and fork.
“Speaking of balloon deliveries, when are you getting the second delivery van?” Dad asks.
“The beginning of the week,” Aunt Edie says excitedly. “We saw an ad in the paper for a used one in great condition. Once we have it, we should be able to double our deliveries.” I point the camera at Uncle Larry, who is shaking his head.
“I still say the best way to increase our business is efficiency. The faster we can put together balloon orders, the more orders we can handle,” he says. I zoom in as Uncle Larry pushes half a hot dog into his mouth.
“Oh—are you thinking of hiring someone to help out?” Mom asks. Uncle Larry shakes his head and wipes the side of his face with a napkin.
“We can’t afford that,” Aunt Edie says. “We barely have enough for the down payment on the van.”
“I have something else in mind,” Uncle Larry says, his mouth still full.
“We are not discussing that!” Aunt Edie snaps. “That” blows angrily across the table, like an airborne exclamation mark, and seems to smack Uncle Larry right between the eyes. He stops chewing and his eyebrows hunch up like two furry caterpillars. My aunt and uncle glare at each other without saying a word. I feel a pinch of excitement that a big fight is brewing. I aim the camera at my uncle.
“Would someone please pass Nora’s piccalilli?” Dad smiles at my mom. “Does anyone want more corn stuff?” he asks.
“It’s a casserole,” Mom corrects him. “By the way, did you all know that the Liberty Bell supposedly got that crack the very first time it was rung?” I am peeved that my parents try to head off the battle between my aunt and uncle, who are still staring each other down. It works, too. Aunt Edie looks away and holds her plate out to Mom, who spoons on a small pile of corn casserole. Uncle Larry finishes off the rest of his hot dog.
People around here should let nature take its course so I can get some action for my show. What would Rufus Carmichael do?
Still holding my camera, I stretch across the table as if I am reaching for the ketchup. I bump the pitcher of ice water that is conveniently close to my arm.
It lands in my mother’s lap.
“ARGGGGGGGHHHH!” Mom jumps out of her seat like a broken spring and the glass pitcher rolls off her lap and smashes with a loud crash. Water gushes down the front of her Bermudas and ice cubes scatter and slide all over the place like loose marbles. I stop filming for a second. I didn’t plan for that to happen! I was just hoping for a harmless spill.
“Mom! Are you okay?” I look over at Mom’s dripping legs. No blood. Phew! I restart my camera and catch Aunt Edie running to the kitchen. She brings back a stack of dish towels covered with plaid roosters. Dad grabs the towels from Aunt Edie and carefully mops up the floor, trying to avoid the shattered glass.
“Bring a broom and dustpan!” Uncle Larry yells. I zoom in on Dad as he drops towels over the mini lake running under the table.
“Are you cut, Nora?” Dad asks.
“No, just freezing. May I have one of those towels, please?” Mom shivers just as Dad drops the last one on top of the icy mess. I get up from my seat so that I can get Dad on all fours. “Can I get a towel, please?” Mom asks. Aunt Edie leaves the room again and Dad smacks his head on the table as he tries to stand back up. The silverware rattles from the jolt and Dad says a swear word. Yes! I will have a bleep in my show!
“Jermaine!” Dad hollers when he notices me with the camera. “Put that camera down and go get a towel for your mother.”
“Okay, I will. Hang on just one second.” My poor mother is freezing. But the footage is so much better than a barfing cat.
“Jermaine!” Mom scolds. I shut the camera off.
“I’m going,” I say, but Aunt Edie has already returned with a bath towel and a pair of pants for my mother. She has a small broom and dustpan tucked under her arm. Uncle Larry is working on something stuck between his front teeth as he pushes one of the rooster towels around with his foot. Then he bends down and carefully gathers the large pieces of broken glass. My sister and cousin are still seated at the table.
“You kids better stay put,” Uncle Larry orders. “I don’t want any of you stepping on glass. It’s all over the place,” he warns. My mom’s shorts are plastered to her legs and drops of water make a tap, tap sound as they hit the floor.
