Little Chicago

by Adam Rapp

  I have a mane and I’m walking around on all fours.

  At school everyone’s afraid of me and when I show up in the cafeteria I roar so loud Steve Degerald’s and Evan Keefler’s heads pop off.

  The Crewcut Brothers’ heads pop off too.

  Tornado drill! I roar. Get in position!

  They all get into position and I flip them over one by one and eat their stomachs.

  When I wake up I am disappointed to find that I am no longer a lion.

  It’s raining again and you can hear it hitting the roof. It sounds like fish simmering in a pan.

  Cheedle is sleeping so deep you can hardly hear him breathing.

  Ma’s with someone in the kitchen.

  They are laughing and trying to be quiet about it. His voice is deep and hoarse. I imagine him seven feet tall with a mustache and cowboy boots.

  When I go out to the kitchen Ma is serving Folger’s instant coffee to a man with a huge back. He doesn’t have a mustache but he’s got a beard.

  I think he might be Native American cause he looks like Sitting Bull.

  They don’t know I’m there.

  When Ma places the coffee in front of him she puts her hand on his shoulder and he looks up at her and puts his hand on top of hers.

  His face is yellow and wooden-looking.

  Then Ma dips her head toward his and they kiss.

  His beard moves like an animal.

  In the kitchen light Ma’s hair looks yellow and dry. Like Frosted Flakes without the frost.

  When they finish kissing the man turns and sees me. His eyes are black and small.

  He says, Hi there.

  His voice is high like a woman’s. He seems younger than Ma.

  Hey, Blacky, Ma says. This is a friend of mine. Lake.

  Link, the man says.

  Ma says, I mean Link. Did we wake you?

  I was up, I say.

  The alcohol on their breath makes the kitchen smell sweet and disinfected.

  Why are you still wearing your Shunday shlacks? Ma asks.

  When Ma’s drunk some of her s’s turn into sh’s.

  I say, Cause all my other pants are dirty.

  You’re sposed to save those for church, Blacky.

  We don’t go to church, I say.

  Then Ma loses her balance and lands on her butt. Link helps her up and puts her on his lap.

  Ma giggles and then burps and then laughs some more.

  I say, She’s not sposed to be drinking cause she takes medicine.

  Ma says, Oh, ha. Medicine shmedicine.

  Then she laughs and burps again.

  What do you do? I ask Link.

  I drive a rig, he says. Eighteen wheeler.

  Eighteen wheels, Ma says.

  She almost falls off his lap but he hugs her around the belly. There’s a tattoo of a word across his knuckles. It says LUCK.

  Ma says, Vroom, and laughs some more.

  Then they kiss and he pinches her butt.

  I say, I’m telling Al.

  Then I just stand there.

  Nobody says anything.

  The refrigerator is so loud I think it might break.

  Who’s Al? Link asks.

  Ma says, Just a friend of the family.

  Family comes out like fambly.

  I say, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know about this, and then I turn and go back to my room.

  In bed I try to sleep but I can’t stop picturing the Native American man on top of Ma. His body glows huge and yellow.

  His beard gets all slick with grossness and he smothers her with his belly.

  They hiss at each other when their parts touch.

  They look greedy and sad.

  Later I can hear Ma crying.

  I go into her room.

  I don’t knock, I just walk in.

  She is sitting on the floor with a shoebox. Her face is wet with snots and tears.

  I say, Hey.

  She says, Hey.

  I stand there in my brown Sunday slacks. When I sleep in them they make my legs itch.

  What’s wrong? I ask.

  Ma says, He left.

  I say, Why?

  She says, Because he got nervous when you mentioned Al.

  Sorry, I say.

  We don’t talk for a minute.

  I watch her General Electric digital alarm clock go from 2:05am to 2:06am.

  What’s in the box? I ask.

  Letters, she says.

  Letters from who?

  Your father, she says. Gerald Senior. He used to write me. Sonuvabitch wasn’t a bad writer.

  Where is he? I ask.

  She says, I don’t know where he is, Blacky.

  How come?

  He never left a return address, she explains. Your Uncle Jack tried to track him down. We thought he might be down in Galveston but we gave up looking after a while.

  Where’s Galveston? I ask.

  It’s in Texas. He could be in Mexico, for all I know.

  I say, What did he look like?

  For some reason I always pictured him as this man that’s on a Wrigley’s Spearmint Gum commercial.

  Ma says, He looks just like you, Blacky.

  I say, He does?

  You’re a spitting image.

  Ma wipes her eyes with some Kleenex. Her face is puffy and sore-looking.

  For some reason I want to tell her about how I touched that deer, but when I open my mouth I have to close it cause I think I’m going to vomit.

  I walk over to her and try to put my hand on her cheek but she stops me.

  Don’t, she says.

  I take my hand back.

  Don’t you dare do that.

  Okay, I say. I won’t.

  Then she says, Leave me alone.

  So I do.

  I turn and go back to bed.

  19

  Mary Jane Paddington and I are holding hands in the hall. It’s just after homeroom and we’re at her locker.

  Her hand is warm and wet.

  Mine is cold and hard.

  This fifth grader with bushy eyebrows runs up to me and gives me a thumbs-up.

  Skanks die tomorrow! he says, and spits at Mary Jane Paddington.

  His spit misses and hits the combination dial on Jenny Carpenter’s locker.

  When he runs away Mary Jane Paddington says, See what we’ve started? They can’t handle it.

  In Speech, Drama, and Journalism Miss Williams assigns impromptu death scenes. We did birth scenes last week.

  She says impromptu means that you can’t think about it. You just have to stand in front of the class and go off the cuff.

  Skip Bush pretends he’s at a fancy restaurant eating a plate of fried eggs. Instead of salt the waiter gives him international hitman poison.

  He chokes to death and falls to the floor.

  This isn’t salt! he cries.

  Then he vibrates a lot and dies.

  Everyone claps and laughs.

  Troy Burke takes a hundred million bullets in the gut. He vibrates a lot, too. Then his back hits the chalkboard and he slides down the wall.

  When he stands back up he says, Vicelords got me.

  Charles Newbill and Tracy Town team up. They perform an old-fashioned Western duel. Tracy Town fires first and Charles Newbill clutches his chest and makes his eyes pop.

  He vibrates much less than Skip Bush and Troy Burke.

  His knees hit the floor and Tracy Town twirls her imaginary gun and blows on it cause it’s so hot.

  Miss Williams says, Your turn, Blacky.

  I go up in front of the class and just stand there.

  Everyone watches me and I watch them.

  Someone says Skank under his breath. I think it is Tom Klontz, but I can’t tell for sure cause his face is inside his turtleneck sweater.

  I puff my chest out a little so they can see the red paint on Shay’s sweatshirt.

  I feel I am making some kind of statement.

  Mary Jane Paddington wou
ld be proud of me.

  I watch the clock on the opposite wall. The second hand sweeps a full minute.

  Miss Williams says, Whenever you’re ready, Blacky.

  But I just keep standing there.

  Everyone is so quiet you can almost hear their hearts shrinking.

  Another minute goes by. I don’t vibrate and I don’t fall to the floor.

  Someone else says Skank. He plugs his nose when he says it and Joy Christianson can’t help but laugh.

  Quiet! Miss Williams orders.

  She makes an angry face at the class and they all stop breathing.

  What is it, Blacky? Miss Williams asks.

  I say, Don’t you get it?

  No, she says.

  I’m a deer, I say. Somebody needs to shoot me.

  That’ll do, Blacky, Miss Williams says. You can sit down now.

  Between first and second period I walk up to Eric Duggan at his locker. He’s wearing a new pair of glasses. They are sleek and expensive-looking. The lenses are so clear you can hardly see them.

  He shuts his locker and there I am.

  Hey, I say.

  No one else is in the hall.

  It’s so quiet it feels like the fire alarm might start blaring.

  He says, Hey.

  I think I’ve scared him cause he drops his Math Skills book and won’t pick it up.

  Maybe it’s the look on my face.

  What do you want? he says.

  I got a gun, I say.

  He makes a face.

  A twenty-two revolver, I add. It’s in my pocket right now Pretty cool, huh?

  He keeps making the face. It’s a very disturbed-looking face.

  Then I tell him I’m gonna shave my head to free my karma.

  I say, If you free your karma then you can start over.

  He tries to take a step back but I grab his wrist and we struggle.

  Blacky, he says, everyone knows you’re a skank and that you and Mary Jane Paddington are having a skank affair.

  I think this is brave of him to say, considering I’m the one with the gun.

  So I reach around and goose him with my thumb.

  I do it as hard as I can.

  He lets go of my wrist and squirms away and runs down the hall.

  He runs as fast as he can, too.

  I know this for a fact cause he is the slowest boy in Gym.

  He’s even slower than me.

  In Social Studies Miss Cosgrove hands us our assignments back.

  Good work, she says, and passes me Mary Jane Paddington’s essay on capital punishment.

  It’s an A.

  When Miss Cosgrove walks away I turn it over and draw my new gun. I draw it bigger than it really is and this excites me.

  At the end of class an old lady from the office comes in and hands Miss Cosgrove a note. She reads it and then calls me over.

  She says, Dr. Lockwood would like to see you, Blacky.

  Dr. Lockwood is the guidance counselor. He’s so tall you can’t even see the top of his head.

  You get called into his office when they think you’re going crazy.

  Hello, Blacky, Dr. Lockwood says.

  Hello, I say.

  Please sit.

  Dr. Lockwood’s office is too small for his body. There is wood paneling and a chair full of stuffed animals. One of the stuffed animals looks like a chicken with a frog’s head.

  When he stands up to show me what chair to sit in I think his head will go through the ceiling.

  There are two chairs and he chooses the one on the left.

  I assume there is a reason for this.

  There are things all over his desk. Things to squeeze and spin. Things that hold pens and paperclips. It’s so cluttered it makes me think he’s got bad hygiene. I see him trapped in a little apartment with dirty underwear thrown everywhere.

  When he gets settled in the chair he leans back with his hands clasped on his chest. He’s looking at me like he wants to draw me.

  I just sit there and stare at the things on his desk. In addition to all of the pens and paperclips there is a grapefruit and an orange. I wonder if they’re real or made out of wood.

  Blacky, Dr. Lockwood says, I understand that you and Mary Jane Paddington have initiated some kind of clothing strike.

  I notice that he has a big nose with lots of dark hair coming out of his nostrils. I try to focus on other parts of his face, but this is difficult cause there is so much of the hair.

  He adds, I’ve been informed by several students and more than a few members of the faculty that you and Mary Jane have been wearing the same shirts for two days in a row and these shirts have splashes of red paint on the front. Is this true?

  Yes, I say.

  Open your windbreaker, he says.

  I unsnap my Koren Motors windbreaker.

  Dr. Lockwood stares at Shay’s sweatshirt like it’s something that should be burned.

  So it is true, he says.

  Yes, I say.

  What does this red paint represent to you? he asks.

  Nothing, I say. They splashed us with paint and we decided to keep wearing it.

  Who splashed you with paint?

  Nobody, I say.

  Blacky, he says, you can tell me. Who splashed you with paint?

  The Crewcut Brothers.

  And who are the Crewcut Brothers?

  Greg and Andy Bauer.

  He writes some of this down on a pad.

  Another pad writer, I think. Maybe he spends time with the Ham Lady.

  I see them playing on a seesaw. He is too heavy and has to cheat to make it work.

  I say, We’re just wearing shirts.

  He says, I understand this, Blacky, but you must realize that your wearing these shirts has upset a number of people.

  I say, So.

  His eyebrows go high and he scribbles something on his pad.

  He says, I would say So is not the best response, Blacky.

  Then I say it again.

  I say, So.

  He exhales so you can hear it.

  Then he says, I understand that you’ve been victimized by your peers’ silliness, Blacky. But it is unhealthy to respond this way.

  I say, Why?

  Well, he says, it only promotes more of the same behavior.

  My face gets hot and I have to swallow hard to keep myself from barking.

  Dr. Lockwood says, Sometimes we have to learn to rise above things, Blacky. You’ve heard of the phrase, Turn the other cheek, right?

  Yes, I say.

  It was something Jesus practiced. You might want to give that some thought. You and Mary Jane both.

  I think of turning the other cheek and I see more paint flying at me. All my clothes are soaking wet with red paint.

  For some reason I say, Jesus got nails hammered into his hands.

  Dr. Lockwood doesn’t know how to respond to this. I don’t think he had any intention of getting religious on me.

  He says, Blacky, does your mother know about your plan to continue wearing this?

  No, I say.

  How do you think she would feel if she knew you were causing an uproar?

  I don’t know.

  Would she be happy?

  No.

  Would she be angry?

  Maybe.

  I think she might, he says.

  Dr. Lockwood sits up straighter and starts looking through a file folder. I don’t know where this item came from. It’s like he was hiding it under the chair.

  He says, Blacky, when was the last time you saw your father?

  I say, I don’t know. When I was little.

  He lives in Texas, right?

  I don’t know, I say. He might.

  Dr. Lockwood scratches his ear and says, Does he ever contact you?

  No.

  I see.

  He writes this down and shifts in his chair again.

  Have you ever thought about getting in touch with him?

  I say, Not r
eally.

  Why not?

  I just shrug my shoulders. I think it’s cause that ache’s in my throat again.

  Dr. Lockwood just sits there. I notice gray hairs coming out of his ears. This is something I hope never happens to me.

  Blacky, he says after a minute, I don’t want to keep you too long. I realize you have to get to your next period.

  He starts to write me a late slip. His hand is so huge it looks like it would be too heavy to shake.

  While he’s writing he says, I want to recommend changing your shirt.

  But what would I change into? I ask.

  Do you have any extra clothes in your locker?

  No, I say.

  He finishes with the slip and then reaches under his desk and hands me a GO TROJANS! T-shirt. It’s white with blue and red letters.

  He says, I got a couple of these from the Booster Club dinner the other night. You’re a size Small, right?

  I nod.

  Then why don’t you change into this?

  He holds it out to me like it’s a birthday cake.

  I imagine putting it on and never being able to take it off. Either that or the letters would burn into my chest.

  I saw Mary Jane at the end of last period and I recommended the same thing to her, Dr. Lockwood says, still offering the T-shirt. The faculty and your peers would appreciate it equally, I’m sure. Do you understand what I’m saying, Blacky?

  Yes, I say, still staring at the T-shirt.

  I think it will make things much easier for everyone, he adds.

  I take the T-shirt.

  Up close his hands are death-white and hairy.

  He passes me the late slip and I put it in my pocket.

  Do you think you can cooperate with this idea, Blacky?

  I say, Maybe.

  He looks at me all serious and says, Maybe might not be good enough.

  I say, I’ll think about it.

  And then I get up and walk out.

  I get the feeling that the frog-headed chicken is watching me as I leave.

  When I pass by the garbage can at the end of the hall I drop in the GO TROJANS! T-shirt and keep walking.

  In the cafeteria I walk over to Mary Jane Paddington.

  She’s spreading her food out on the table. Lay’s potato chips, a tuna salad sandwich, and a small carton of Nestle Quik chocolate milk.

  I just stand there for a minute.

  Hey, I say.

  She says, Hey.

  Help me sit, I say.

  She gets up and helps me sit.

  Several sixth graders yell, Skanks!

  Aren’t you gonna eat? she asks.