The Upside of Ordinary

by Susan Lubner

  “That includes you, Miss Movie Maker,” Dad barks, “who by the way won’t be filming any more scenes at the dinner table.”

  “It’s not a movie, it’s a reality show,” I correct him. But I don’t blame him for being mad. “Sorry, Mom,” I say, sitting back down at the table. “Sorry I broke your pitcher, Aunt Edie, and for the mess.”

  “It was an accident, Jermaine,” she says to me. I feel myself blush. “And it’s just water,” my aunt continues. “In this family we don’t cry over spilled milk, and we won’t cry over spilled water—even if it’s freezing cold, poor Nora.”

  “I owe you a pitcher,” Mom says.

  “No, Jermaine does,” Zelda says.

  “Oh, I think I paid two dollars for that thing at a yard sale. I don’t care about the pitcher, I’m just glad no one got cut on the glass.” Unfolding the towel, she wraps it around my mother’s waist.

  After apple pie à la mode, we play a couple of games of rubber horseshoes in the hallway. Then Zelda, Melinda, and I help Uncle Larry.

  At the back of the house, in a spare bedroom, is the headquarters for the balloon business. There are two large tanks of helium in the corner of the room and dozens of white plastic storage bins, each holding several bags of rubber balloons that have been sorted by color and size. The shiny Mylar balloons are stacked on shelves, separated into thin piles of Happy Birthday, It’s a Boy! (or girl), Get Well Soon, and others for assorted happy and not-so-happy occasions. Several colorful spools of ribbon spread across a long table like a rainbow, and a pair of scissors hangs from a small hook nailed into the wall. I film a few moments of Zelda and Melinda inflating balloons. I’m feeling excited about the scene I shot at dinner—okay, and a little guilty, too. But “orchestrating” a few more scenes like that will definitely make my show more interesting. Placing the camera on one of the shelves, I film us helping out.

  I slip the neck of a balloon onto one of the helium tanks. I lift up the tip of the valve and a whooshing noise escapes. The balloon expands into a large red tulip.

  “Who are these balloons for, anyway?” Melinda asks.

  “Someone at the Bluebird Nest & Rest Senior Home is celebrating her ninety-third birthday,” Uncle Larry answers. He supervises us for a few more minutes. His thinning hair is full of static and it floats up from his head, swaying back and forth. It’s almost nine o’clock when we finish the bouquet and Uncle Larry leaves to put on his costume. When he comes back wearing his feathery penguin suit, I film him waddling across the room, the black swim fins that he wears for penguin feet tucked under his arm for later. Uncle Larry waves a black-and-white wing at the camera. He pokes his arms out of the armholes underneath, and blows a kiss. I imagine myself blowing kisses into a camera. I’m wearing a dress that swishes and really big earrings. A crowd chants my name, “Jermaine, Jermaine …”

  “Jermaine, hello … Earth to Jermaine.” Uncle Larry pokes his beak against my cheek.

  “Can I have those now?” He reaches for the bouquet of balloons I hold in my other hand. Still in a daze, I think about those oversized earrings as Uncle Larry shuffles out the back door.

  Only when I hear the old, beat-up delivery van thunder down the road do I remember that at the Bluebird Nest & Rest Senior Home, the lights go out at eight o’clock.

  6

  Sorry to Bother You Again, Mr. Carmichael, But …

  Dear Mr. Carmichael,

  How do you make sure your shows never get a little boring? Since my family is sort of ordinary (totally ordinary is more like it) I figure if I want to be famous like you, I need to find a way to kick my show up a notch. I’ve been focusing more on directing. I think it’s called stage-directing or staging? I “set up” some of the drama. Do you think that’s a good idea? It’s not like cheating, is it? If you could let me know if I am on the right track, I would really appreciate it.

  Hopefully you are getting my letters. I haven’t heard back from you yet, but that’s probably because you are so busy. In the meantime I’ll go with my gut feeling and keep “directing” my show more. My dad always says, “Take the bull by the horns!” I guess I’ll take his advice. But I could really use some expert reality-show advice. Fast.

  Thank you.

  Your biggest fan,

  Jermaine Davidson

  7

  Missing

  WHAT! The word vibrates inside my head and startles me awake. I freeze. My heart thumps inside me like it’s trying to break out of my chest. I realize I’m holding my breath. My eyes try desperately to see in the dark. I am positive I heard someone say WHAT!

  “How can that be?” I hear my mom’s voice through the wall. I begin to relax. There’s no ghost or murderer in my room. It’s just the sound of my parents’ voices drifting through my bedroom wall. My clock glows 5:07. I can tell by the speed and high pitch of the mumbled conversation that something isn’t right. I sit up and listen. My mom sounds frantic. People don’t have high-pitched conversations at five o’clock in the morning unless something is wrong. The room is dark and I feel for my camera, which I know is somewhere on the floor next to me. I find it and tiptoe out of my room and into the hallway. My parents’ bedroom door is slightly open, and light spills in a pattern of squares in front of me. I carefully position the lens through the opening. Mom is pacing back and forth, and now of course I can hear everything.

  “Where is he?” Dad stands in the middle of the room in his underwear, rubbing the back of his neck. Not a glamorous sight for national TV, I tell you.

  “I—I—I don’t know …” Mom stutters, holding the portable phone in her hand. Her springy hair sticks out all over the place. Where’s who? I wonder.

  “What did Edie say?” Dad asks.

  “She didn’t say much,” Mom answers. “She doesn’t know.” Mom throws her hands into the air. “Larry called to say he was fine, and not to worry, and that was it!” Uncle Larry? They’re talking about Uncle Larry! My heart starts thumping around again.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” my father says, shaking his head.

  “Of course it doesn’t make sense! Does anything make sense with my sister and her husband?” Mom slaps her forehead, thankfully with the hand that isn’t holding the phone. Well, actually, Mom knocking herself out by smacking the phone against her head would really be something to film. I push that thought away and concentrate on my parents’ conversation. “She said that he promised everything was going to be fine and he’d be home very soon. And that’s it,” Mom tells Dad. I zoom in on her worried face.

  Uncle Larry ran away? Why? I imagine him scurrying down the street, holding a small suitcase under his penguin wing.

  “Well, what now?” Dad asks. “Should one of us go over there?”

  “No. Edie doesn’t want to risk Melinda waking up and getting upset. She hasn’t figured out what to tell her. Edie doesn’t know what to think herself.” Mom sighs and plops down on the bed. Her freckled knees poke out from beneath the hem of her flannel nighty and she crosses her legs at the ankle. I feel a knot tightening in my chest when I think about Melinda.

  “Well, he’s all right at least. Physically, anyway.” Dad sits next to Mom on the bed and pats her shoulder. Physically? I wonder. As opposed to mentally? Did Uncle Larry have some type of breakdown?

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s up to something,” Mom says. Before I have a chance to wonder what that’s supposed to mean, Mom jumps up from the bed. “I’m going to fold laundry.”

  “Now?” Dad asks. That’s my cue to hightail it back to my room. I am just out of sight when my parents’ bedroom door swings wide open. I keep the camera rolling. I can still record their voices.

  “Yes, now. I can’t sleep,” Mom whispers so as not to wake us up.

  I hear Dad go back inside the bedroom, and Mom’s footsteps on the stairs. I shut the camera off and climb back into bed. Why would Uncle Larry want to run away? What about Melinda? And Aunt Edie? I bet it had something to do with the fight he had with Aunt Edie! I fold th
e top of my blankets up against my neck and flip over onto my side. My mind keeps playing back the Fourth of July dinner. Where was Uncle Larry really going with those balloons? I bet not the rest home. The old folks are in bed sleeping at eight o’clock. Then who was it that called on the phone earlier?

  Sleep starts to interfere with my thoughts. My brain feels fuzzy. I see Uncle Larry on the telephone … then he waves goodbye. Is it Uncle Larry, or maybe it’s somebody else? Waving … waving … to a huge crowd of people … the crowd waves back … they’re waving at something … a giant penguin … no … somebody … somebody wearing a fancy dress … with big earrings and frizzy hair.

  At breakfast, Mom and Dad tell us about Uncle Larry.

  “He’s gone on a trip for a while,” Mom explains.

  “That’s weird.” Zelda reaches across the table and swipes her knife across the butter. “He decided to take a trip in the middle of the night?” Zelda gives Mom a look that says We’re supposed to believe that? Then she takes a big bite out of her bagel.

  Mom plays with the colorful clay beads around her neck. She slides them back and forth over the leather cord. “I don’t really know, Zelda,” she admits.

  “Well, is he okay?” Zelda asks. She folds another hunk of bagel into her mouth. I zoom in on her face and she sticks her tongue out, giving me a full view of her chewed-up breakfast and her oversized tonsils.

  “Zelda!” Dad barks. “Knock it off.”

  “Yes, he’s okay … wherever he may be.” Mom sighs. She fidgets with the zipper on her sweater.

  “Well, that’s good,” Zelda tells her.

  “What about that balloon order to the rest home?” I ask. “I bet it was fake.”

  “Jermaine, no camera allowed at the table, remember?” Dad warns. I did remember, but I was hoping he’d forgotten. I stand up from the table and back away, camera still running. This is important stuff.

  “It’s possible, Jermaine.” Mom sips her coffee.

  “You mean probable, not possible. The balloon order was obviously his excuse to get out of the house last night,” Zelda says.

  “Why would he want to do that?” I ask.

  “We don’t know any details, girls, really. We’ve told you all we know.” That last line has a very detective-show feel to it. It sounds like something a perp might say to a police officer. That’s all I know. (I learned the word perp on a reality crime show. It means “bad guy.”)

  “Jermaine, what are you doing?” My father sounds annoyed.

  “You said not to film at the table. I’m not at the table.” I see him look at my mom. They both shrug their shoulders and continue eating.

  “Is he on vacation,” I ask, “without Melinda and Aunt Edie?” I know from what I overheard that this is not the case. But I’m hoping to get a few more details that I might have missed while spying on my parents.

  “We didn’t say vacation,” Dad explains. “We said … a … trip …” Dad looks at Mom for help.

  “Did he run away?” I continue.

  “No,” Mom insists.

  “Did he break the law?” Mom looks like she wants me to stop asking questions.

  “Is he on the lam?” Zelda blurts.

  “What do you mean on the lamb?” I ask.

  “Oh girls,” Mom interrupts, “I know it’s strange, but I just can’t tell you any more! Your uncle, for whatever reason, has decided to go away for a while. He did call to say he was fine, so we wouldn’t worry.” Mom shakes her head. “Aunt Edie hasn’t told me any more—I don’t think she knows any more than we do—so we all have to be patient. Even though it’s very difficult,” she adds angrily. Then she changes the subject. “I’ve got work to do for the Winter Pickle Palooza.” She pushes her chair back from the table. “Who wants to help?”

  Zelda shakes her head no. “Homework.”

  “Maybe later,” I tell my mom. I don’t have time for pickling right now.

  Upstairs in my room I look up lamb in the dictionary. It says “young sheep.” No surprise there, but it makes no sense. Then I find my Magic 8 Ball. I cradle it in my palms like a baby bird. I feel badly that my uncle is missing, especially bad for Melinda and Aunt Edie. But he’s not missing, missing. It doesn’t sound like he’s in danger, thankfully. But the fact that no one knows where he is and why he left has added a whole new spin to my reality-TV show—a mystery. And Mom could be wrong. He could have done something bad, even if he didn’t mean to. He might have broken a law by accident.

  “Is Uncle Larry in danger?” I ask the Magic 8 Ball, tipping it upside down. The plastic triangle bobs side to side before it levels out.

  “Definitely no,” I read in the little window of the ball. I feel relieved.

  “Did he do something bad?” I turn the ball around in my hands.

  “My sources say no,” it tells me.

  “I knew he wouldn’t have!” I say aloud. So there’s really nothing for anyone to worry about. I will tell Aunt Edie and Melinda that everything will be okay. Maybe Uncle Larry has just been thinking about his pop-up-camper life again. Maybe he just needs a little vacation. Whatever the reason is for him not to have come home, Uncle Larry is going to be fine. Even though his leaving is still a big mystery, everything will be okay—it’s all good, especially from a reality-show standpoint.

  By dinner, Uncle Larry still hasn’t come home. And he hasn’t called again, either. Mom’s been chomping at the bit to head over to Aunt Edie’s. But Aunt Edie says if she comes over it might alarm Melinda that something is seriously wrong. And she’s trying to remain calm about everything, at least until she hears from Uncle Larry again.

  Downstairs in the basement we get ready for another family game night. Up until tonight, the Ping-Pong table has been used for sorting clean laundry and, of course, the underside has plenty of room for seven hamster cages. We bicker about who will partner with whom, so we do a round of rock, paper, scissors, and I win! I pick Dad to be my partner because I figure with all the arm exercise he gets from washing his car and sweeping out the garage he’s probably the best player. It turns out we’re all equally uncoordinated.

  “Jermaine, if you put the camera down you could play more effectively,” he tells me. Dad swats at the ball and misses. Mom swipes and misses, and I swear, if Zelda has to move any part of her body more than three inches, she doesn’t. “Don’t worry about serving inside the white line,” Dad reminds Mom, “we’re just playing for fun.” Mom’s serve bounces off the ceiling and lands in front of her. She tries again and gets it over the net. Dad stretches for the little white ball and misses by a long shot. Zelda renames the game “Ping-Pong for Ding-Dongs.” We play for a few more painful minutes and I finally return a ball and get it over the net. The ball flies by Mom’s shoulder and whacks the washing machine. Then Mom puts her paddle down on the table.

  “I can’t focus on Ping-Pong,” she says. “I’m sorry, not with Larry gone and Edie a mess.” Mom sighs. “Game night is canceled. I’m going to go check on Edie,” she tells us, “whether she likes it or not.”

  “Can I come, too?” I ask. I reach for the edge of the table for balance. Playing Ping-Pong with one eye looking through a lens has made me dizzy.

  “Not tonight, Jermaine. I’m sure Edie doesn’t want a crowd.” Since when is two a crowd? Mom races up the stairs, skipping every other step. “I don’t know when I’ll be home. I’ll call you,” she tells us.

  “Shouldn’t we go look for him?” I ask Dad. “Should we put up posters?”

  “He’s not lost!” Zelda says. “Is he?” she asks.

  “Well, he knows where he is, but no one else does,” Dad says.

  “Maybe he has amnesia and can’t remember who he is,” I say.

  “That’s not the case,” Dad assures us, shaking his head. Then I realize something important: famous people can never go missing. I will never have to worry about getting lost and not being found. There she is … Jermaine Davidson! Wherever I go, someone will always recognize me, another exce
llent benefit of being famous. I turn my camera back on and zoom in on Susie, who has just snatched a hand towel from the laundry basket.

  “Maybe Uncle Larry has a secret life,” I suggest. I zoom in on Zelda.

  “Maybe you should get a life.” Zelda covers her face with her arm. The garage door goes up. I hear the rumble of Mom’s pickup truck and the crunch of gravel under her tires. The door closes and she speeds away.

  “There has to be a reason why he disappeared. Maybe we should get a search party together, or I could send some of my reality-show footage in to a news station. We were the last ones to see him before he went missing. I have it all on film. Maybe the police want to see it?” I say.

  “Jermaine, he wasn’t taken against his will,” Dad reminds me. “There’s no need for search parties, police, or anything like that. I don’t know why he left, or where to, but Uncle Larry left because he wanted to. He called Aunt Edie to explain that he was fine, remember?” Dad stacks the paddles together and puts them away.

  I’m really glad that my Magic 8 Ball confirmed Uncle Larry is okay. But where he actually is and why he left is still a big mystery. My viewers will want to know more. People will start tuning out of my show if they’re feeling frustrated. I kneel down under the Ping-Pong table and film each little hamster in its cage. Until I get the 411 on Uncle Larry, or at least a clue as to where he went, I’ll have to distract my viewers with some extra exciting footage in the meantime. Because a good reality show can’t leave the audience hanging in suspense forever. A famous reality-show producer doesn’t leave unanswered questions or loose ends. The mystery of Uncle Larry will have to be solved. Maybe I can find him? I zoom in on Bernie, who is running on her squeaky wheel, faster and faster, but getting nowhere.

  8

  Panhandles

  In Social Studies we are discussing the panhandle states. Lindsey Steinbrecker is asking why Mississippi doesn’t qualify.