by Kris Langman
“You mean a Squaw, Sally.” said her father.
Sally nodded. “Right. If you’re a Naïve American and a girl, then you’re a Squall. The boys are Braves, like the baseball team. All the Brownies from my troop are in the play. Course, we don’t have boys in the Brownies, so there are some Cub Scouts in the play, but it’s still gonna be good.”
Mrs. Worthington dismounted. “I’m sure even the Cub Scouts will be unable to dim your thespian brilliance my dear. Of course I’ll be there. It will be the highlight of my social season.”
Chapter Six
“Hey Dad,” Sally yelled as she ran across the stage at her school. She was wearing one of her Dad’s old T-shirts which hung to her knees and was dyed brown. Covering her head was a paper grocery bag which had loops of green paper sprouting from its top and red stripes of paint on the front. The eyeholes cut into the bag kept shifting as Sally ran, making it hard for her to see. She tripped over a pumpkin which a Cub Scout had sent rolling across the stage like a bowling ball.
“That’s a strike!” shouted the Cub Scout. “I win!”
“No you don’t,” said another Cub Scout. “You didn’t knock Hesslop down. You don’t get any points in bowling unless you knock the pins down. Try that little girl over there, the one with the white feather sticking up from her head. She looks easier to knock down.”
Sally ignored the Cub Scouts and waved at Mr. Hesslop and Robbie, who were sitting in the front row of the audience waiting for the play to begin.
“Dad,” Sally yelled from inside the bag. “Do you like my costume? I made it myself in drama class. Guess what I am.”
Bill Hesslop cocked his head to one side and examined her. “Well, I’m going to go with either Yoda’s twin sister or that homeless guy on Fisherman’s Wharf who thinks he’s a circus clown.”
Sally groaned. “Daaaad!” She spun around in a chaotic dance, arms flailing wildly. Katie, who had come on stage carrying her own painted grocery bag under her arm, backed away out of range. Sally came to an abrupt halt and looked down at her Dad expectantly.
Bill Hesslop shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, honey. Haven’t got a clue. Are you Big Bird’s cousin, Weird Little Parakeet?”
“Sheesh, Dad. It’s sooo obvious. I’m a Naïve American.”
“A what? Oh. I think you mean you’re a Native American, honey.”
The grocery bag nodded its head. “Right. I’m Princess Scary Fighting Eagle. Katie is Little Pigeon Poop. Put your head on, Katie.”
Katie turned red and shook her head vigorously.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Katie,” said Mr. Hesslop.
Katie gave him a grateful smile and leaned toward him. “My name’s Little Pigeon. No poop,” she whispered.
Mr. Hesslop smiled at her. “It’s a very nice name, Katie.”
“Thank you. Sally wanted me to be Little Gopher On The Prairie, but I think pigeons are nicer. Plus, they don’t taste like corndogs.”
“Kaaatie,” said Sally. You could tell she was rolling her eyes just by the angle of her grocery bag. “Only the Pioneers thought that gophers tasted like corndogs. That’s because the Pioneers never went to the State Fair and had a real corndog. The last time I went to the State Fair I petted a pig and went on the Tilt-a-Whirl and ate six corndogs. I should have gone on the Tilt-a-Whirl before eating the corndogs. Remember, Dad? They had to shut down the ride and call the cleaning crew. The cleaning crew was calling me bad names. Remember, Dad?”
“Vividly,” said Bill Hesslop. “You desecrated a great American institution and Robbie ate all the rabbit pellets in the Rabbit Hutch at the 4H Club. They asked us not to come back.”
“What’s desecrated?” asked Sally. “Is that what Robbie does after he’s eaten too much dirt?”
“Something like that,” said Mr. Hesslop. “You two run along. I think your teacher is waving at you.”
Chaos reigned backstage at the Montgomery Elementary School auditorium. Kids ran around bumping into each other and knocking against the set, which consisted of pine trees painted on cardboard.
Sally darted out from behind the scenery, ran across the stage, and slid to a halt in front of Mrs. Patterson, who in addition to her duties as a Brownie troop leader was also the school’s drama teacher. She was carrying a clipboard and looking extremely harassed.
Sally took off her paper bag headdress and put her hands on her hips, staring up at Mrs. Patterson defiantly. “Ok, all the Indians have voted. We want to do my dance.”
Mrs. Patterson glared down at her, nostrils flaring. “How many times do I have to go over this? In this play, the Indians do not, I repeat, do not dance. They offer corn and pumpkins to the Pilgrims, and then stand quietly in the background while the preacher recites a prayer of thanks.”
Sally glared right back at her, looking mutinous and pondering various retorts. She squirmed, she bit her tongue, she drove the heel of her bare foot into the floorboards, but finally, with an enormous effort at self-control, Sally decided that direct confrontation was not the way to go and stomped off.
Mrs. Patterson sighed and marched over to a piano at the side of the stage. A pale scrawny girl in a Pilgrim costume was plunking out the national anthem. “For Heaven’s Sake, Patricia,” barked Mrs. Patterson, “pick up the tempo. This is the Thanksgiving Feast, not a funeral.”
Behind the cardboard scenery Sally was holding a secret meeting of the Indians.
“Okay guys,” she said, waving her paper bag around for emphasis. “Prissy Patterson is not going for it. She says that we have to stay behind the Pilgrims and be quiet. That’s just stupid. I say we owe it to all Naïve Americans to do our dance. You know how they had rain dances? Well, this can be our Pumpkin Dance.”
A tiny Indian took off her paper bag. “I don’t know, Sally,” she said. “I don’t wanna get in trouble. My Mom says I should never do anything that Hesslop girl tells me to do. I think she means you.”
Sally put a hand on the tiny girl’s shoulder. “Most of the time, Piper, your Mom would be right. But not tonight. So, let’s vote on it. Raise your hand if you want to do the Pumpkin Dance.”
At first only two of the Indians raised their hands: Sally and Katie. But Sally glared an especially fierce glare at all of them until everyone raised their hands.
“Great!” said Sally. “It’s unanimous!” She pulled her paper bag over her head and peered around the edge of the scenery. Mrs. Patterson was motioning all the kids into the wings, stage right. Sally waved her troop of Indians into a scraggly line and led them off stage.
The audience wandered into the auditorium, chatting and looking in no rush to take their seats. Sally’s grandmother glided elegantly down the center aisle, dressed in a yellow satin gown, pearls, and a fake-fur wrap. She joined Mr. Hesslop and Robbie in the front row.
The lights dimmed. Stragglers took their seats. Mrs. Patterson minced across the stage, patting her bouffant hairdo. Giggles wafted out from behind the closed curtains. Mrs. Patterson rapped sharply on her clipboard with a pencil and frowned menacingly at the curtains. The curtains abruptly stopped giggling.
Mrs. Patterson cleared her throat. “Dear Friends and Family, thank you for coming tonight. We hope you’ll find our presentation of The First Thanksgiving both enjoyable and uplifting. This is our tribute to the founders of this great nation, who fought against the heathen masses and emerged victorious.” Mrs. Patterson motioned to someone stage right and exited into the wings. The curtains lifted. Boys and girls dressed as Pilgrims sat at a picnic table covered with ears of corn. The centerpiece was a cardboard bird which looked more like a parrot than a turkey. It was holding a sprig of cranberries in its beak.
Behind the picnic table Sally and her Indians formed a ragged line across the stage. They all had paper bags on their heads and each held a small pumpkin. Sally was holding hers in one hand, tossing it lightly in the air like a baseball. Bill Hesslop waved to catch her eye and glared at her sternly. Sally waved back at him
cheerfully and kept tossing her pumpkin.
A Cub Scout dressed as a minister in a little black suit stood at the head of the table. “Welcome to our feast of Thanksgiving. Through hard work we have overcome all hardships. Let us give thanks to our heathen neighbors who have helped us through these difficult times.”
The Cub Scout minister pointed to the line of Indians standing behind the picnic table. All the Indians looked at Sally. Sally nodded and carefully placed her pumpkin on her head. The other Indians followed suit, executing wobbly 360 degree turns in place while balancing the pumpkins on their heads.
The audience laughed, clapping appreciatively. The Cub Scout Minister looked uncertainly over his shoulder to where Mrs. Patterson stood in the wings. She glared and motioned abruptly at him to resume speaking.
The Cub Scout looked like he wanted to renounce his vows, but he gave it one more try. “These humble savages bring gifts of food to keep us from hunger.”
He motioned to the Indians to come forward. Sally arranged them in two lines on either side of the picnic table. As one, they bent forward, as if to place their pumpkins in front of the pilgrims, but at a hand-signal from Sally they suddenly started tossing their pumpkins to each other over the heads of the pilgrims. A tiny Cub Scout Indian misjudged his throw and conked a pilgrim on the head with his pumpkin. The pilgrim waved an ear of corn at him threateningly and the Cub Scout ran off stage in tears. Two of the Indians tried to get fancy by throwing their pumpkins diagonally across the table. Their pumpkins collided in mid-air and rained orange pumpkin pieces down on the pilgrims.
Mrs. Patterson marched out on stage in an attempt to restore order. When Sally spotted her she gave another hand-signal. All the Indians launched into their Naïve American dance with wild abandon. Pumpkins were tossed. Pumpkins were rolled like bowling balls. Pumpkins were smashed. Sally climbed up on the picnic table and started dancing, waving ears of corn, her high kicks narrowly missing the Pilgrims’ pointy hats.
Down among the clapping audience Bill Hesslop sat with his head in his hands while next to him Mrs. Worthington clapped loudly and whistled. The pilgrims sat at the table, looking at each other uncertainly as they ducked and dodged the pumpkins and Sally’s kicks. Finally, one of them got up and tried a few tentative dance steps. Mrs. Patterson advanced on him, waving her clipboard, and he rapidly sat back down at the picnic table.
Sally jumped down from the table and started dancing down the steps of the stage into the audience, scattering bits of pumpkin goo which had stuck to her paper bag. The rest of the Indians followed her, slipping on pumpkin guts and knocking each other down the steps. They executed a messy conga line down the center aisle of the auditorium, scattering paper feathers and pumpkin bits. They danced back up the steps of the stage and disappeared into the wings, accompanied by audience cheers.
Mrs. Patterson waved frantically for the curtains to be brought down. “Well, that concludes our performance. I hope we’ve managed to show how unmannered and disruptive heathens can be. Let’s take our example from the Pilgrims and go forth to stomp out heathenism wherever we find it.”
Suddenly the curtain raised a few inches off the floor. Mrs. Patterson peered uncertainly under it. The curtain twitched and a multitude of tiny pumpkins rolled out from under the curtain and across the stage. Mrs. Patterson jumped and dodged as they rolled past her feet and dropped off the edge of the stage with loud splats. Deciding she’d had enough of pumpkins, Indians, and Pilgrims for one night, Mrs. Patterson exited rapidly, stage right.
* * * *
Sally skipped along, her excited breathing making little puffs of steam in the cold night air. Her parka covered her Indian costume, but a green paper feather could be seen poking out of her hood.
She skipped a circle around her Dad. “Wasn’t it cool?” she asked breathlessly. “I was the director. Directors tell everybody what to do. I was just like George Lucas. He was the Star Wars director. Only I had pumpkins instead of aliens. Pumpkins are easier to direct. Also, they don’t shoot you with laser guns. And we didn’t have Yoda. I don’t think he was at the First Thanksgiving, though I think maybe aliens were, cause Mrs. Patterson kept going on about ‘savage alien cultures’. What I think happened was the aliens got invited, but they found out that the Pilgrims’ parties were really boring, so they didn’t show up. They went to the Andromeda galaxy instead, where there’s a really cool dance party every Friday night.”
Bill Hesslop folded his arms and gave Sally a stern glance. “I was under the impression that Mrs. Patterson was supposed to be the director.”
Sally looked up at him innocently, one of her paper feathers tickling her ear. “She directed the Pilgrims. I directed the pumpkins and the Naïve Americans. There was too much work for one person, so we shared. You’re always telling me how important it is to share, Dad.”
Sally’s grandmother chuckled and pulled her fur wrap around her. “Out maneuvered as usual, Bill dear. Well, Miss Sally, I thought tonight’s entertainment was a sparkling success. I foresee a great career ahead of you in the theater. You’ll be directing plays on Broadway in no time. And if you need an investor just let me know.”
“Thanks grandma,” said Sally.
Mrs. Worthington looked around for Robbie, who had absconded with one of the mini-pumpkins and was sitting on the ground gnawing on it. She patted him on the head, waved to Bill Hesslop, and disappeared into a waiting taxi.
Bill Hesslop scooped up Robbie and his pumpkin. “Okay, everyone. Let’s go home.”
They headed down the dark street, Sally skipping ahead until she was half a block in front of the others.
“Sally, not so far ahead,” yelled her father.
Sally reversed course and skipped back to them. “It’s okay, Dad. I was just scouting. All Naïve Americans do it. They explore ahead, checking for dangers and stuff. Like bears and wolves and aliens. Especially aliens. Since the aliens missed the First Thanksgiving they might have wanted to come to ours, since we had pumpkins. Aliens love pumpkins, you know. I saw it on TV. Pumpkins make aliens crazy. The pumpkin smell makes them shoot people with laser guns and cut off their hair. Aliens hate long hair. They want everyone to have crew cuts. I saw it on America’s Most Wanted. Plus they have tattoos. The most popular tattoo for aliens is Hello Kitty. If you see anyone with a Hello Kitty tattoo or a Hello Kitty lunchbox you can bet that’s an alien. So, you have to have a scout. The scout goes ahead of the group and checks behind parked cars and mailboxes for any aliens carrying laser guns and Hello Kitty lunchboxes.”
Robbie looked terrified. He clutched his pumpkin tighter and started sniffling. “Aliens want my pumpkin?”
“No, Robbie,” sighed his father. “Aliens don’t want your pumpkin. And even if they did, Sally would karate-chop them before they could get it. Okay?”
Robbie wiped his nose with his hand and tried to look brave. “Okay.”
They walked slowly up the hill toward home, Sally darting here and there in front of them, looking in the windows of parked cars. At the top of the hill Sally led the way into their apartment building and they shut the door on the world.
Chapter Seven
“Billy Randall, give Matthew back his retainer,” yelled Mr. Zukas. “You certainly don’t need it. Not even Hoover Dam could hold back those giant buckteeth of yours.”
It was field trip day at Montgomery Elementary School, and a long, raggedy line of kids with backpacks stretched across the playground. The line ended at a large school bus. Kids jumped up and down, trying to see in its windows, but its door remained firmly closed. The front of the line stuck to the school bus door, shoving territorially, but the rest of the line swayed back and forth like a sidewinder rattlesnake as kids pushed and yelled and played “Keep Away”.
Mr. Zukas, portly in a Burberry raincoat, was trying to restore order. “Melinda Smithers, stop that ear-splitting racket. I’m sure Bobby Stillman is the cutest guy in fifth grade. However, I sincerely doubt that screaming this fact at the t
op of your lungs is going to endear you to him. I’ve heard car alarms that were less piercing.”
Sally and Katie were holding their position mid-way down the line. Sally wore her usual jeans and parka, Katie wore a tailored coat over a pleated skirt. As Mr. Zukas walked by her Sally assumed a painfully innocent expression. Mr. Zukas frowned at her suspiciously. Sally smiled and gave him a finger wave. He harrumphed and continued on down the line.
Keeping an eye on Mr. Zukas, Sally slipped her backpack off one shoulder and unzipped it. Melvin poked his nose out.
Katie gasped. “You brought Melvin?! Oh, I don’t know, Sally. You’re going to get in so much trouble. And what if they think I’m an accomplish? My Mom’s always saying how she loves accomplishes, cause that means she can bang her judge’s gavel and put more people in jail. I don’t want to go to jail. My Mom says they don’t allow teddy bears in jail, and I can’t sleep without Muffy.” Katie sniffled and wiped her nose with her embroidered handkerchief.
“You’re not going to jail,” said Sally. She pulled Melvin out of the backpack and put him on her shoulder. “Nobody’s gonna spot Mel. He’s in super secret invisibility mode. See? He’s wearing his T-Shirt of Invisibility.”
Melvin dug his claws into Sally’s parka. He was wearing a piece of old t-shirt with holes cut into it for his legs. His shaven fur had grown a little. Instead of a crew-cut he now had a fashionably layered look.
Katie eyed him doubtfully. “You’re sure no one can see him? Cause even if they don’t send us to jail, they might send us to the Principal’s office. Jamal Warner got sent there yesterday for feeding Jiffy Pop to Arnold the Iguana. Did you know that iguanas can explode if you feed them too much Jiffy Pop? Mrs. Finsterman was very angry. She said that exploding iguanas would give the school a bad reputation. Then she pinched Jamal with her clothes pin. Which I thought was really unfair, since Arnold didn’t explode. He just swelled up, like he was going to have baby iguanas. Then he got really skinny all of a sudden and Mr. Zukas had to ask the janitor for a can of air freshener.”
