by Betsy Byars
Lennie was already crying. Just the mention of any more pain than he was suffering now was more than he could bear.
“Now, Lennie, get hold of yourself, please, honey,” his mother said. Then she turned to the doctor. “He’s usually real brave about everything. The time he had his arm set he never even moaned.”
But bravery didn’t seem important to Lennie now. Nothing was. He yelled and cried and hollered. He hit at the doctor until the nurse had to hold his hands. He cursed. He screamed. He sobbed as if he would never stop.
“Now, it’s all over,” the doctor said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
His mother was coming back into the room. “See, hon, it’s all over. Things will be better now. I’m just real sure things’ll be better.”
“The nurse will give you something to help you sleep now,” the doctor said. “In the morning you should be feeling some better.”
The only thing Lennie remembered about the next morning was that he saw his leg for the first time. It scared him so much that for a moment even the pain stopped.
His leg no longer even resembled a leg. It was a huge swollen object, shiny as glass. “Oh, no,” he moaned. From his thigh to his toes, his leg was twice as big as normal, and it was every color in the rainbow.
Lennie fell weakly back on his pillow. “I told you not to look,” the nurse said. “Now you lie back and relax.”
“Where’s my mom?” Lennie asked weakly.
“She stepped out in the hall for a minute.”
“I want my mom.” The sight of his leg had made him weak and sick and scared. He tried to rise. “Mom!”
“She’ll be back in just a minute, soon as the doctor gets through. Your mom just felt a little dizzy and needed some air.”
“Oh.” The nurse eased him back against his pillow. Lennie knew that the sight of his leg had been too much for his mother, too. He remembered she went out in the hall every time it was uncovered.
“It’s beginning to look some better,” the doctor said.
“Not to me,” Lennie moaned. “I never want to see my leg again.”
But to everyone else the leg was a fascinating sight. That was what Lennie remembered most about the next two days—showing his leg. Nurses from other floors, doctors, patients who were allowed to walk around, visitors, all came in to have a look at Lennie’s leg.
“Haven’t they ever seen a leg before?” he kept asking the nurse.
“Not like that one,” she said. “You couldn’t get any more color on that leg with a paintbrush.”
“Will it ever go away?”
“Oh, sure.”
“When?”
“Oh, by next week probably.”
“Next week?” Lennie moaned. It seemed a lifetime. Turning his head to the window, he began to weep.
Chapter Nineteen
It was Friday before Lennie felt like he really wanted to live. That happened about four o’clock in the afternoon. Lennie’s mom had rented a TV set for him to watch, and she had just rolled up the head of his bed so he could see. A rerun of Bonanza was on.
And as Lennie lay there watching Hoss win a Chinese girl in a poker game, he suddenly felt hungry. The hunger surprised him for a moment. Up until now he hadn’t wanted a thing to eat. They had had to feed him through a tube in his arm.
He said, “Mom, I’m hungry.”
His mom was watching Hoss, smiling because Hoss had thought he was winning a horse named Ming Lee. Now he was afraid to take the girl Ming Lee back to the Ponderosa and show her to Pa. His mom turned her head to Lennie and got up at the same time. “I’ll get you something to eat,” she said quickly.
At the door she turned, still smiling, and said, “The nurse will be so pleased. She’s been trying to get Jell-O and broth down you for days.”
“I know, Mom, but I don’t want that stuff.”
“What do you feel like eating then? I’ll go out for something if the doctor says you can have it.”
“I want a hamburger.”
“Oh, Lennie, I don’t think—”
“And a chocolate shake.”
“Well, I’ll try, but I really don’t—”
“And if they won’t let me have that, then I’ll take a pizza.”
“I’ll try, Lennie.”
He lay back down. He already knew he wasn’t going to get the hamburger or the pizza. His mom was going to come back with Jell-O and broth, but it didn’t much matter. He felt hungry enough to eat anything.
A commercial came on the screen. A little girl was swinging, and a solemn voice announced that the little girl had skinned her knee yesterday and was about to fall on the same knee today.
Lennie looked at the girl’s knee. There was a mark the size of a dime. He glanced down at his own huge, discolored leg. He thought that the people who made television commercials didn’t know anything about real life, not the way he, Lennie, did.
It seemed to him suddenly that every TV person he had ever seen wasn’t real, not the girl in danger of skinning her knee again, not the women who had just given up their soap for an experiment in white clothes, not the man who had eaten enchiladas and gotten an acid stomach.
Lennie went on, even including his favorites. Not Hoss, who had just won a Chinese girl in a poker game. Not Lassie, who had rescued a colt from a burning barn. Not Gentle Ben, who didn’t really kill the chickens. Not the Brady Bunch, who had to go on a talent show and sing a rock song to get money for their parents’ anniversary gift.
That wasn’t life. It was close enough to fool you, Lennie thought, if you weren’t careful, and yet those TV characters were as different as a wax figure is from a real person. Lennie imagined you had to come up against life hard to know what it was all about.
He looked at the TV. He smiled slightly. On the screen Hoss was saying, “But, dagburnit, Pa, how was I to know Ming Lee was a girl?”
Lennie watched Pa for a moment. Pa Cartwright was the kind of father that would make you think—if you had a father—that your father wasn’t good enough. Or Lassie pulling a newborn colt from the burning barn made you think your dog wasn’t good enough. Or Mother Nature-type forests ruined real forests for you, made them seem dirty and empty. Or the Waltons or the Brady Bunch made you think there was something wrong with your family, when really, Lennie thought, his own family—just him and his mom—was a hundred times realer than the Bradys or the Waltons or the Cleavers or any other TV family you could name.
Lennie shifted on his hospital bed. After his mother brought his supper, he thought, he would turn off the TV for a while and work on his report. It was the only thing that really interested him. His teacher, Miss Markham, had come to see him in the hospital and had suggested that he do a report on rattlesnakes and rattlesnake bites. She would, she had said, give him extra credit for it. It would make up for his last Science test.
He had wanted to start the report right away, but he hadn’t felt like it. Now, suddenly, he did.
Lennie looked at his clock. He decided he would work on his report during Let’s Make a Deal. For a second he had a feeling of betrayal. All those people in their farmer suits and banana costumes would be in place, waiting. Monty Hall would be coming down the aisle. A great cheer would go up. Signs would wave. People would beg Monty to choose them. And Lennie would dial them all down to a small dot and start working on his report.
And after that he would betray the celebrities on Hollywood Squares who were waiting with their funny answers.
And after that ...
Lennie’s mother came in the door with a tray. She was smiling. “The nurse says no hamburgers or pizza today.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Jell-O and broth, but she says you can have something else tomorrow if you’re feeling better.”
“A hamburger?”
“We’ll see.” She sat by his bed, spooned up some broth and fed it to him. She said, “What happened on Bonanza while I was gone?”
“I don’t know,” Lennie
said. “I was thinking.”
“Oh?” She fed him some more broth. She dabbed at his face with a napkin. “What about?”
“My report.” The broth felt good and warm inside him. “I’m going to work on it after supper.”
“Now, the doctor says you shouldn’t do anything you don’t feel like doing.”
He nodded, took another spoonful of broth. “I feel like it,” he said.
Chapter Twenty
Lennie stood in front of the Fairy Land Motel. He was beside the wishing well. One hand was on Humpty Dumpty’s head. He leaned forward and looked down at the painted water below. There were still seven pennies and one nickel, but the Mounds wrapper was gone.
Lennie eased himself down on the edge of the well. His grandfather had made this well, Lennie thought, and painted all the fairyland figures. Lennie could remember how proud his grandfather had been. He glanced around. Now there were only three figures in good enough condition to be in front of the motel—one elf, Humpty Dumpty, and Hansel. But once the whole lawn had been covered. People had had their pictures taken there as if it were Disneyland.
“Mom, get a shot of me with the dwarfs.”
“Dad, take me with the Wicked Witch.”
Lennie ran his hand over the rim of the well. It was odd how different things looked to him now. The motel was more a home to him now than any house he could imagine. Driving up to the door after he had left the hospital had made him understand why his mom was always singing songs about going home. It had given him such a peaceful feeling to go into his room and lie down on his own bed.
Lennie straightened. He imagined that if he went back to the stone house by the lake, that would look different too. Maybe someday he would do that—go back the way other people returned to look at their old high schools or the places where they had been born.
Using his crutches, Lennie got up and walked across the driveway. He passed the cold-drink machine. Behind him the red neon sign flashed on. FAIRY LAND MOTEL—VACANCY.
Lennie’s mother was watching him through the picture window of the office. She had just turned on the sign, and she came to the door. “Lennie, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Well, you’re supposed to take it easy.”
“The doctor said I could do anything I felt like doing,” he called.
“Well, I want you to take it easy. You’re a very lucky boy. Everyone at the hospital says so.”
“I know.”
“Don’t undo all the doctor’s good work now and have a relapse.”
“I won’t.”
A relapse was the last thing he wanted to have. By the time he got out of the hospital he had been jabbed with needles and stuck with thermometers and had his blood pressure taken enough times to last him forever.
A truck passed on the highway, building up speed for the hill ahead, and at the same time a car turned in the motel driveway. Lennie glanced around.
It was a policeman’s car, and the big cop who had helped Lennie—Officer Olson—was behind the wheel. The car pulled up by Lennie.
“Well, how are things going today?” the policeman asked.
“Lots better,” Lennie said. “I’m still sore from all those shots, though.”
“How many did you have—did you ever find out?”
“Sixty-one. The nurse counted them for me from my chart.”
“That’s a lot. How’s the leg?”
Lennie held it out. “I can walk around on it now. I don’t even use my crutches in the house.”
“Well, that’s fine. You’ll be ready to go on that fishing trip with me before long. I haven’t forgotten my promise.”
Lennie nodded.
“Your mom around?”
“In the office.”
The policeman parked his car in the slot for Room 316 and got out. His jacket was open and his stomach hung over his belt. He stood for a moment, looking over the grounds. “Grass could use a cutting,” he said.
“That’s my job,” Lennie said. “I’ll probably be back at it next week the way I’m going.”
He nodded. “You know, you folks got a nice place out here, real peaceful.”
“Homelike,” Lennie said.
The policeman went into the motel office, and Lennie hobbled across the walkway. He sat down in one of the plastic webbed chairs. He stretched out his leg. He looked at the empty chair across from him.
Suddenly he thought of Friend. “Yes, with Friend—the doll that’s as big and as real as you are—you’ll never be alone again.”
He shifted in his chair. Not so long ago, he recalled, Friend had seemed like a pretty good idea. The way toys like G.I. Joe seem great when you see six kids playing with them on TV, laughing, having a wonderful time with about a hundred dollars’ worth of extra equipment and perfectly formed little hills and cliffs and sand dunes. You don’t even realize that you’ll be playing on the sidewalk, probably by yourself, with no extra equipment at all. Or the way games on TV seem so much fun because they’re being played by one of those TV families that do nothing but laugh together.
Why, if he had seen Friend advertised on TV, he would probably have sent off for one himself. Television could make you believe anything—it was their business.
“Only ten ninety-eight in cash or money order for Friend. And remember, Friends also come in the Multi-Pack, which consists of three Friends in assorted sizes and colors so, overnight, you can become the most popular kid on your block.”
Lennie would send off his money and wait. He would check the mailbox daily. He would come running in from school every day, gasping, “Anything for me?”
“Not yet, Lennie.”
Then when he couldn’t stand it another moment, the box would come. He would tear it open, eager to have Friend as soon as possible, eager to get on with the good times, the picnics, the long walks down country lanes, the movies.
He would lift the box top, fold back the tissue paper and there would be Friend. Lennie would be too excited to notice anything.
He would struggle with Friend, trying to get the arms and legs bent in the right position. He would get Friend on his feet. He would drag him outside. He would sit him in the other plastic webbed chair. He would begin telling Friend a joke.
A car would pass on the highway, and Lennie would imagine how he looked sitting there, laughing and joking with Friend, just like in the TV ads.
Then a little boy in the car would stick his head out the window and cry, “Hey, look, that kid’s talking to a doll!”
Looking at the empty chair, Lennie smiled.
Chapter Twenty-one
Lennie could hear the policeman and his mom talking. The policeman was saying, “After I go home and change, I’m going to come back and cut the grass. The boy shouldn’t be pushing the lawn mower till he’s a lot stronger.”
The policeman had come to visit Lennie every single day he was in the hospital—some days he even came twice, his mom had told him.
“Did he say anything about me?” Lennie had asked when he felt good enough to worry about being caught by the police.
“Nothing bad.”
“Nothing about me going in all those houses?”
“No.”
“He’s probably waiting till I get well.”
“No, he is a very nice man, Lennie, and he’s taken a real interest in you. He and his wife never had any children, so you be nice to him.”
“I’ll try.”
“It was him got your picture in the newspaper.”
Lennie was grateful for that. It was the first time he had ever been in the newspaper, and he had gotten twenty-nine get-well cards from people he never even heard of. And every single person in his English class had written him a note. And the mayor of the city had sent him good wishes in a letter.
A Mercury sedan turned into the motel driveway and stopped just in front of where Lennie was sitting. Lennie could hear the car radio. John Denver was singing about nature in Colorado.
The man said, “I’ll check and see how much the rooms are,” and he got out of the car.
There were two girls in the back seat fighting over a Young Love comic book. The older girl was saying, “Mom, I’ll have you know I bought this comic with my own baby-sitting money, and I don’t have to share it with anybody if I don’t want to.”
“Mom,” the smaller girl whined, “I told her she could look at my Porky Pig, but—”
“Who wants to look at Porky Pig? Anyway, you make me sick. Everything I get, you want. Mom, she copies every single thing I do.”
“It’s flattering to be copied,” the mother said in a tired voice.
“Not by her.”
“Now, Faye.”
“I mean it. You made me let her wear my good pink top, and look! She’s got chocolate all over it! I hate her!”
“Will you please stop it, girls? You’ve been arguing all the way from Tuscaloosa. Look, over there’s a wishing well. Go make a wish, why don’t you? I think I’ve got some pennies.”
They took their pennies and walked to the well. The little girl looked up at her sister and said, “What are you going to wish for, Faye?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll wish for the exact same thing, that’s why!”
They stood at the wishing well for a moment. Lennie watched them. Then silently they made their wishes and dropped their pennies into the well. The coins clanged faintly against the bottom of the well.
The man came out of the office with a key. “We’re staying,” he said. “Drive down to Room three-oh-two.”
The policeman came out of the office right behind the man. He paused and said to Lennie, “Well, I’m taking over your job for the evening.”
“What’s that?”
“Grass cutting.”
“Oh.”
“Probably this’ll be the last time it has to be cut before winter.”
“Yeah.”
He got in the patrol car and drove off. Lennie continued to sit in his chair.
“Hey, what’s wrong with your leg?”
Lennie glanced up. It was the smaller of the sisters.
