Hit the Road, Manny

by Christian Burch

  The museum was crowded with people. Kids from summer day camps. Japanese tourists from buses. Ladies with matching pastel shoes and purses. The ladies weren’t really looking at the art. They were talking to one another about skin-care products and their kids who were home from college. I heard one lady say that her son was studying to become a Podiatrist. A Podiatrist fixes iPods.

  We walked around the museum and tried to keep Belly from touching things. Mom told her that if she was really good in the museum, she could choose what we did that afternoon. We all got worried looks on our faces, even Dad. India said that Belly would probably make us all go back to the hotel to have a pretend tea party. Lulu said that we’d probably all end up skinny-dipping in the hotel swimming pool if Belly got her way.

  “Oooh, fun! I love skinny-dipping!” said the manny.

  Lulu rolled her eyes.

  I looked around to see if anybody had heard the manny talk about skinny-dipping. Sometimes I wish he would use his inside voice. Not everybody gets his sense of humor.

  I didn’t want Belly to pick our activity, so I kept a close eye on her, ready to point out anything that she might be doing wrong. I thought it would be easy because Belly is always doing something wrong. One time she glued both her hands to our dining-room table with Dad’s Krazy Glue. But Belly didn’t do anything wrong at the museum. In fact, she was even trying her hardest to do everything right. She picked up a program and handed it to an older woman who had dropped it. The woman thanked her and said, “Bless your heart.”

  Belly called the museum security guard “sweetie.”

  She even turned to a woman who was admiring a painting called Aorta by an artist named Julian Schnabel and said, “PRETTY.” She said it with her eyes closed, like the beauty of the painting was too much to take in.

  The woman was startled because of Belly’s loud foghorn voice but said, “It really is, young lady.” Then she turned to Dad and said, “What a precocious little girl.” I asked India if “precocious” meant the same thing as “obnoxious.” She told me that “precocious” meant “wise beyond your age.” Belly is not precocious. A precocious girl wouldn’t ride an escalator ten times in a row like it was a carnival ride. Belly did that at the mall last winter when we went shopping for the manny’s birthday present. We got him sunscreen especially made for bald heads. I picked it out.

  The woman walked away, and I turned to Belly and said, “Do you really think this painting is pretty?”

  She said to me in an annoyed voice, “NO! HER WAS BEING GOOD, STUPID!” I looked around to see if Mom or Dad had heard her. We’re not allowed to call one another stupid or say “Shut up.”

  They hadn’t heard her.

  “Shut up!” I said to Belly. Mom looked over like she had heard me, so I looked up at the Julian Schnabel painting and pretended to be admiring the clumps of red paint. I even put my finger on my chin and said, “Hmm,” like I was deep in thought about why Schnabel had chosen to paint a big, messy heart. Maybe he had just had his heart broken.

  I know who Julian Schnabel is because Grandma had a big book of his paintings at her house. He does really big paintings. Some of them are on broken dishes that are glued onto big boards. My favorite painting by him looks like a headboard of a bed and says THE TEDDY BEARS PICNIC on it. Grandma gave her copy of the book to Uncle Max before she died. Now it’s on Uncle Max’s coffee table next to a yellow bowl that I made for him in pottery class. It has my initials carved into the bottom: KRD.

  Belly clenched her fists and shouted, “Yesssss!” when Mom told her she had been good in the museum and could choose what we were going to do. It made me nervous because I was scared she was going to pick the Build-A-Bear store. Belly always wants to go to the Build-A-Bear store. She has eight bears that she’s built already. They were supposed to be for her friends, but she can never part with them. “BUT HER LOVES HERMAN!” she said once about a scraggly bear with denim jeans and a Western shirt that she had made for her friend Analise but didn’t want to give away. Belly loved Herman so much that he spent last winter frozen in a snowbank in our driveway. Housman had dragged him out there and left him there. The manny pretended to arrest Housman for teddy bear homicide. He even paw-printed him.

  Belly didn’t pick the Build-A-Bear store. Mom listed a few places for Belly to choose from.

  “Lincoln Park Zoo to see animals?”

  “NOOO,” Belly sang.

  “Shedd Aquarium to see sharks?”

  “NOOO.” Belly didn’t sing it that time. She said it like Mom was crazy.

  “Adler Planetarium to see stars?”

  “YES!”

  A planetarium is a big dome room that has stars and solar systems projected onto the ceiling. I guess that’s the only way people that live in the city get to see stars. Belly wanted to go to the planetarium because she loves stars. She calls them magical. She also calls glue sticks and Fruit Roll-Ups magical. She calls anything that she likes magical.

  The planetarium was freezing inside. The air conditioners were blowing, and it felt like we were in a wind tunnel. Luckily, Mom always makes us be prepared, so I had a sweater. It was cashmere. It used to be Uncle Max’s, but the manny accidentally put it in the dryer and now it’s my size. I told the manny to shrink Uncle Max’s green argyle sweater vest for me too, but he said he’s not allowed to do the laundry anymore. And then he winked, like it had been his plan all along to get banned from having to do the laundry.

  Belly put her hands in her armpits and shivered and said, “HER WANTS TO BUILD-A-BEAR.” Then she started holding herself and jumping up and down without her feet leaving the ground. This is Belly’s sign that she needs to go to the bathroom. Cold rooms make Belly have to pee. We can’t even go to hockey games. Mom took Belly to the restroom. India went with them. She said she was going to stand underneath the hand dryer to warm up.

  Dad, the manny, Lulu, and I went into the Sky Theater to look at the stars. I pointed out the Big Dipper, and Dad pointed out Orion. The manny pointed to a star that was very light and off by itself. “That’s my favorite one because it looks lonely and unpopular. I think I’ll call it Lulu.”

  Lulu said, “Funny! NOT!” like they do in that movie Wayne’s World.

  Mom, Belly, and India came back from the bathroom and sat down next to us in the theater, and the lights dimmed. India put her toasty-hot hands on my cheeks to let me know that she really had stood under the hand dryers to get warm. Her hands smelled like sanitizing soap. I love the smell of sanitizing soap almost as much as I love the smell of Windex. I also love the smell of Cascade dishwasher soap. Sometimes I put a pinch of it in my jeans pocket so that it makes my hands smell fresh and clean. That’s a secret that nobody knows, not even the manny.

  In the planetarium I started telling everybody about an interview that I had seen on 20/20 where a woman was talking about how she grew up homeless. “She said that on one of her birth-days she and her dad were lying on their backs and looking up at the stars,” I told them. “Her parents couldn’t afford to give her a party or buy her a birthday present, so her dad pointed to a star and said, ‘That’s your present.’ She’s rich today and rides in limousines to private parties, but the star that her father gave her is still her favorite present that she ever got.”

  Mom said, “That’s a good story, Keats,” and she squeezed my hand like she really loved me just then.

  Belly said, “A STAR?”

  I squealed impatiently, “It was all he could give her and it’s really all she wanted.”

  “NOT A BARBIE?” asked Belly.

  “No. She just liked being with her dad,” I said, still squealing.

  Mom squeezed my hand again, but this time it was to get me to stop arguing with Belly.

  “WHAT STAR?” asked Belly, looking up at the fake sky, trying to guess.

  I didn’t answer. Belly makes me mental. Mrs. House used to tell Sarah and me that we made her mental with our “side conversations” during class. We like to talk abou
t who we think will be voted off next on Project Runway. Or where we want to live when we grow up. New York City.

  As we left the planetarium, a woman in baggy clothes said hello to me. She was sitting against the building and had a little girl sitting in her lap. Next to her was a sign that said PLEASE HELP.

  Dad reached into his pocket and handed her some money, but I was the only one who saw him do it. He walked behind everybody else so that they wouldn’t see. The homeless woman smiled and thanked him. I reached into my pocket and handed the little girl my butterscotch candy from the hotel lady.

  Dad grabbed my hand and whispered, “That was very kind.”

  That night I wrote on a postcard with a picture of Andy Warhol with his wild wig:

  Dear Uncle Max,

  Andy Warhol’s studio was called the Factory, and everything was painted silver. Some of his paintings had real diamond dust on them. I think you should paint your whole house gold the way Andy Warhol painted his studio silver. You could even paint the manny. He’d look like an Oscar statue. And you should put smashed jewels in your paintings too.

  Waiting for my fifteen minutes of fame,

  Keats Rufus Dalinger

  On a postcard with a Warhol painting of a banana I wrote:

  Dear Sarah,

  I like you because you’re kind. I just thought I’d tell you.

  We went to the planetarium, and it was freezing cold. The manny called it “a tittle bit nipply.” Belly is driving me insane. You’re so lucky you’re an only child.

  Your friend,

  Keats

  I gave a postcard to the manny so he could write one to Uncle Max. The manny wrote on it and then gave it back to me so I could add the P.S. I pretended to be thinking about what I was going to write for my P.S., but really I was reading what the manny had written to Uncle Max, because I’m curious. That’s what Grandma called me when I sat behind her during a poker game and asked out loud if four aces was a good hand.

  Sugar Bear,

  I think your paintings are good enough to be in the Museum of Contemporary Art, and I’m not just saying that because you gave me cashmere socks for Valentine’s Day. Your family is nuts…especially Keats. I think he needs medication. We’re having a great time, but it would be even more fun if you were here. I’m getting nervous about visiting my mom and dad.

  Love,

  Matthew

  P.S. Why does the manny call you Sugar Bear? I picked out this postcard for you. KEATS

  P.P.S. I don’t need medication. I need cashmere socks for next Valentine’s Day.

  P.P.P.S. Why is the manny worried about visiting his parents?

  I ran out of room on the postcard even though I had three more P.S.’s to write.

  Egad!11

  Mom and Dad wanted to get an early start because we were driving all the way from Chicago to as far as we could get in Iowa. They tried to carry us out to the RV without waking us up. We didn’t even get dressed, we just stayed in our pajamas. I woke up but let Dad carry me anyway. Lulu woke up when the manny grabbed ahold of her feet and Dad grabbed underneath her shoulders like she was a dead body. Lulu told them she would walk because she was afraid that they would drag her across the pavement and get the bottom of her pajamas dirty in an embarrassing spot. India and Belly didn’t wake up at all. They didn’t even wake up when we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts, but I picked out doughnuts for them anyway. A glazed twist for India and a sprinkle-covered doughnut for Belly even though she doesn’t need sugar. Sugar makes her hyper, and Mom says that Belly is “cavity prone.” Mom hates taking Belly to the dentist. Belly screams likes she’s being tortured even when they’re just doing a routine cleaning. Mom’s been “referred” four times to new dentists. “Referred” is a nice way of saying, “Please don’t bring your daughter back here.”

  The manny says that maple long johns are his weakness. He had two and a half before he finally stopped and drank his coffee. I had a regular glazed doughnut. I pointed out to the manny that I had only one because I have self-control. He said he couldn’t laugh because his stomach hurt. He still had his pajamas on too. Striped pajama bottoms and a green T-shirt that said “Local Celebrity” on it in yellow letters.

  The RV was very quiet. Mom fell back to sleep in the passenger seat, and Lulu listened to Diana Ross and the Supremes on her iPod. I tried to talk to her, but she hit me in the shoulder and snarled, “Be quiet, I’m listening to my music.”

  I rubbed my numb shoulder while Lulu sang along, “‘What the world needs now is love sweet love…. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of.’”

  I was just going to tell her that her singing was really good, almost like a professional’s. When her song finished, she took out her earbuds and asked me what I had wanted.

  “What happened to the money Mom and Dad gave you?” I asked.

  “What money?” Lulu seemed confused.

  “The money they gave you for singing lessons,” I said, and smiled. The manny made a ba-dum-bum sound, like he was playing a drum for a comedian.

  Lulu didn’t understand the joke, turned off her iPod, and started reading To Kill a Mockingbird out loud. So far India’s favorite character in To Kill a Mockingbird is Dill because he has a “unique way of looking at the world.” Even though his life’s not perfect and his mom has left him, he doesn’t feel sorry for himself. He still has fun.

  After a few hours we were nearly out of Illinois and everybody was asleep except for Dad, who was driving; the manny, who was eating India’s doughnut; and me, who was bored out of my mind. Lulu was sleeping with her book on her lap. The manny showed me a fun game called sugar and spice, where you wave to people who are passing you on the highway. He said that they are sugar if they wave back and spice if they don’t. Everybody was spice, and we got bored with the game. That’s when we decided to make a JUST MARRIED sign and hang it out the side window. The manny wrote JUST MARRIED in big black letters on two pieces of pink construction paper, which I taped together. I pressed the sign up against the window and waited for people to pass to see if they would see it. An older lady did see it and blew kisses and waved but stopped when she saw that we were a whole family and not honeymooners.

  A lady in a white Subaru station wagon rolled down her window and yelled, “Congratulations!” I pulled the sign away from the window and hid it underneath my bottom. The manny covered up his laughter with both of his hands and kicked his feet wildly like he couldn’t control himself. We looked around to see if the lady or the manny had woken anybody up. They hadn’t. Lulu had her mouth gaping open, and her cheek was all wet from drool. Her book had fallen off of her lap and was lying on the ground on her boundary line that she had made. India’s head was under a pillow. Belly was curled up in a ball in her car seat. And Mom was snoring a little. Dad always talks about how Mom snores, but she always denies it.

  When we were sure that nobody had woken up, I held the sign against the window again. The first car that passed didn’t even notice. They just drove, talking to each other and making hand gestures. I bet they were talking about their feelings. That’s the way Mom and Dad talk when they talk about their feelings. Like the time Dad felt underappreciated because Mom was working so much.

  Then a big McDonald’s semitruck drove by, saw the sign, and pulled down on his horn. Byaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

  I pulled the sign away and sat on it again. The manny giggled but stopped because he didn’t want us to get caught.

  Everybody in the RV jumped up at once. Lulu jerked awake. Belly screamed. India’s pillow went flying across the RV. Mom stopped snoring and yelled, “What the hell?”

  When Mom said this, Lulu gave her a conduct mark for inappropriate language. It’s Mom’s second conduct mark. The first one was for saying the S word when she spilled her coffee all over her lap. Mom says the S word when she gets hurt or really mad. She is trying to say it less because I started calling the S word “Mom’s word.”

  “Ummmm! They said Mom’s word!”
I said when we were watching The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants on DVD.

  Mom’s conduct marks will probably all be for language. Other than that, she’s pretty well behaved.

  The truck went flying by, blasting its horn over and over again. Mom accused Dad of driving recklessly. India said that maybe the trucker saw that the RV was full of kids who would enjoy the blast of a semitruck horn. India always has a positive attitude. That’s what Grandma used to say about her.

  Lulu said that the trucker was probably hopped up on McDonald’s coffee and Egg McMuffins. Grandma never said that Lulu had a positive attitude. She said that Lulu was “suspicious.” When Lulu was eight, she used to make Mom taste all of her food just in case someone had poisoned it.

  “But what if it is poisoned?” Mom asked, wondering why Lulu thought it was okay for her to eat poison.

  “I know how to dial 911,” Lulu assured her.

  Mom looked back at the manny and me like maybe we knew why the truck driver had blared his horn.

  “It’s a McMystery!” The manny shrugged.

  I laughed and made sure the JUST MARRIED sign was well hidden underneath me. Belly said that she needed to go to the bathroom, so we stopped at a convenience store. Mom didn’t want to unpack the luggage from the RV bathroom. We all went inside in our pajamas, except for Mom and Dad. They were dressed. Dad pulled next to a pump and got out to get gas.

  Inside the store India picked out a bag of Smartfood to buy. Lulu had a V8 in her hands. She loves tomato juice. I tried it once because tomato juice seems so grown-up, but it didn’t taste like juice at all. It tasted like cold soup and dirt. Belly and Mom were in the bathroom. We could hear Belly singing, “‘Stacy’s mom has got it going on…’” through the thin fake-wood door. That song is on one of India’s Now CDs, and Belly loves it. Belly sings when she’s on the toilet like it’s a stage. The manny says that Céline Dion probably does the same thing. Then he imitated Céline Dion: “‘I drove all night to get to you….’” Then he stopped and yelled in a fake French accent, “René plez bring me zum toy-let pa-pear. We are out in zee upztairs restroom!” René is Céline’s husband, who looks like a teddy bear.