"So how was today?" 1 ask.
"Arnie loved it. There must have been a thousand people there."
"Oh God."
"The fire got so hot and I had this rush of memories. I thought of walking to school. All of us walking to school. Funny."
"Not rccilly."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah."
"They let Arnie sit in one of the fire trucks. He wore a hat and everything."
"That's nice."
"He kept asking for matches on the way home and I said, 'No, matches are bad.' After lunch, he dumped out the junk drawer on the kitchen floor, and I said, 'Arnie, what are you doing?' and he said, 'Matches.' But you know how it is when he gets something into his head ..."
Upstairs this summer's hit song plays on Ellen's cassette deck. Their girlie screams accompany it.
"They're having fun," Amy says.
Arnie unearths a big rock and runs around the yard with it, threatening insects and shrubbery.
"Arnie!"
He stops and turns, his lips and chin covered with brown from the fudge bar.
"Arnie, what are matches?" I ask, my voice firm.
He smiles.
"What are they?"
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
He shakes his head.
"Put down the rock and come here. Put it down."
He drops it. Amy flinches because the rock just misses his bare feet. Arnie runs to us, his drool splashing the porch floor. "Matches are . . ."he says, searching for the words.
"Matches are what, Arnie? Are what?"
Amy adds, "You know what matches are."
We wait a minute while Arnie slaps his head.
1 say, "Matches are bad."
"I know that, 1 know that."
"Say it with me."
And he does.
The screen door swings open—Janice says, "Tah-dah," and Ellen steps out wearing one of Janice's stewardess outfits. The blue dress fits tight across her breasts. Her hair is pinned up and she wears a stewardess hat.
Ellen turns like a runway model and Amy claps and I say, "Whoop-de-doo."
Ellen calls to Arnie and says, "Hey, Arnie, look!"
He turns and says, "Yeah, so?" Then he lifts up his rock and disappears around the side of the house. He has the right idea.
Amy says, "You look great."
I quickly pray for those two to go back upstairs when Janice puts a fist to her mouth, like a microphone, and speaks the following: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We'd like to welcome you to flight 161. Nonstop from Des Moines to Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. For your flying safety, please direct your attention to one of our flight attendants who will go over safety procedures." Janice points to Ellen, who stands waiting, beaming and nervous. "In the seat pocket behind you, you will locate a . . ."
This continues as Janice describes the safety features of our plane/porch and Ellen points to where oxygen masks would be. She pantomimes the "correct" seat-belt procedure and in the "unlikely event of a water landing" we learn that our supposed seat cushions will act as life preservers. Amy watches politely as my hands grip my head.
They finish with a flourish and 1 stand to go to the bathroom.
PETER HEDGES
I sit on the toilet much longer than I need to. When I come out, I find Janice sitting in my spot on the porch swing. Walking back and forth, Ellen asks if she can keep the uniform on for a few hours. "To get used to the feel of it."
"Practice makes ..."
"I know," Ellen says. She throws her arms in the air, g5n-ates in a these-clothes-are-the-greatest way.
I stare at Janice, who stretches out in my seat. I hate it when someone takes my place. Janice lights another brown cigarette and 1 consider pulling her up by her frosted hair when the phone rings.
"Gilbert Grape," I say, happy to have been sprung from the activities outside.
"It's me," she says.
"Oh. Hello," I say. There's a long silence where I don't know what to say. I start doodling on an old newspaper.
Becky speaks cheerily. "It's no big deal, Gilbert—I just wanted you to know I'm going away. See my parents. Meeting up in Minneapolis. Just wanted you to know so when you came looking for me ..."
I start to say, "Who says I'm going to come looking ..."
She laughs. "Whatever. Just wanted you to know."
"Okay," I say. "Now I know."
"Bye, then." The phone clicks.
Weird call, weird girl. Come looking for her? Please. Gilbert Grape may be many things to many people but he's not desperate.
Later I walk to my old school. I walk the way I did all those years. Left at the mailbox at the top of the street, cut through the Pfeif-fers' yard, past Tucker's house, under the water tower, down Vine, and left on Third Street.
It is gone. My school. The ground is charred, with chunks of brick lying about, bits of popcorn, too. An orange ribbon, stapled to wooden stakes, surrounds the barren site.
My school is gone.
Part
Four
B,
►ec/cy has been gone for three days. Don't think for a moment I've missed her.
Lately my time has either been spent working at Lamson's grocery or in long, intense meetings solidifying the plans for Arnie's party. Janice and Ellen do most of the talking, Amy adds her wisdom. 1 was required to sit in and listen to these planning sessions. For the record, every suggestion 1 made was distorted or twisted or ignored. But as they would cackle on about what the "theme" colors should be, I was able to drift off and picture my life after Endora.
I liked what 1 saw.
Today is the Fourth of July. Twelve days and counting.
I'm standing outside the Dairy Dream, at my usual spot. Lori Kickbush, the girl working, is wearing blue lipstick and red-and-white eye shadow. She slides open the take-out window and I cover my eyes from the glare. She says, "You seen him? Huh? You seen him yet?"
"No." My retinas have been seared. 1 will be blind by tomorrow.
"He's over at Lloyd's right now and Lloyd is cutting his hair."
"Lloyd always cuts his hair." Where has this girl been? I say, "Lloyd is like a father to him." I order four soft drinks and a cup of ice water.
"Well, did you try to look in?"
"No," 1 say, as if her question is the stupidest ever.
"Well, the shade is down and people are gathered all around."
"Whoop-de-doo."
"I think it's great he came back for this. You know, there wouldn't be a parade if it weren't for him. He's gonna ride in the basket part of the fire truck. With his mother."
"No," I say.
183
PETER HEDGES
"Yes, Gilbert Grape. Oh, man. He's the coolest. Lance Dodge is the coolest."
"You think so, huh?"
"I'm surprised he could find the time. That just shows what kind of a person he is."
"We were in the same class. ..."
"No way."
"No, we were. We used to talk a lot. About everything."
"What's he like? My mother and me both have huge crushes on him. Oh my God. I didn't know you knew him. 1 would have been much nicer to you over the last few years if 1 had known."
"He's Lance—what else can I say?"
The bell dings or dongs or whatever the stupid sound is and one of the two Little League teams in town crowds inside. They're dressed in their blue-and-white uniforms and they are noisy. Their coach is a guy, Mike Clary, who was a year behind me in school. He is one of many who have known Janice in the biblical sense. He sees me through the glass. We both nod like we give a small shit about each other. Lori gives me a cardboard-cup holder for the water and the soft drinks and also an employee discount because of sister Ellen.
I push my way through the crowd. The town is packed with cars and people from faraway towns like Paxton and Andlan Center who have come to town to watch Endora's first Fourth of July parade since 1959. Motley usually has the county parade. But since the
end of May, when it was announced that Lance Dodge would be spending the Fourth with his mother in Endora, Mayor Gaps has been pushing for this year's parade. It's considered a great coup for the city fathers and a potential boon to our small businesses. Food Land, of course, remains open, but Mr. Lamson, who could make a tremendous profit today, closed up because "Americans don't work on America's birthday."
I push through the crowd, most faces 1 don't even recognize, and get to the girls. Janice takes her drink and Arnie's. Ellen asks for a straw and follows after Janice. Only Amy says "Thanks." We watch Janice, in the distance, adjust Arnie's hat while Ellen holds all three of their drinks.
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
"You did great. Amy. His costume looks great."
"You think?" Amy says.
"Yep. No doubt."
"You think he could win? It would mean a lot to him to win."
"I don't know about winning," I say. "But I do know that I like his costume."
The paper said something about boys and girls, ages five to twelve, coming dressed in costumes depicting something to do with our nation's birthday. Of course, the paper should have read, "Boys and Girls from ages five to twelve and Arnie Grape" but the Arnie part is assumed. And while I know there are mothers and fathers who think it unfair that Arnie be allowed to compete, they would never say it or try to have him disqualified. The citizens of Endora keep their rage and disgust quiet; their smiles and friendly nods are like fabric softeners for the face.
Amy and 1 scout the competition. There are about nine Uncle Sam costumes—all of which look awful. 1 see a George and Martha Washington that isn't bad except there are no powdered wigs. The only real competition is a girl with tremendous breasts. She looks about twenty. She has these antique glasses, a giant needle and yarn for thread, and a huge flag wrapped tightly around her chest.
"Betsy Ross is pretty good," I say to Amy.
"Yeah, but in no way is that girl twelve."
"Arnie is seventeen, so . . ."I say.
"I know," Amy says, "but Arnie is special." Special—the nice way of saying it.
Across the street comes an Abraham Lincoln.
"Hey," Amy says, "are those the Carver boys?"
"Looks like it."
"Great idea," Amy says.
"Yeah, but the execution of it . . ."
Abraham Lincoln towers over the other contestants. Todd, the bigger of the two Carver boys, must be on bottom and Doug rides on his shoulders. It looks like Mrs. Betty Carver just took one of her husband's suits, taped together a hat of black construction paper, and that was that.
"It's a horrible costume, Amy."
PETER HEDGES
"But a great idea."
Mr. Carver follows after the boys—two fancy cameras hang on his neck. Mrs. Betty Carver trails along.
"Yeah, it's a pretty bad costume," Amy finedly admits.
Mr. Carver screams at his boys to smile, even though the bottom boy can't be seen. After he takes their picture, Amy calls out, "Thanks for the chicken recipe!"
Mrs. Carver turns to us and shrugs like it's no big deal. She looks at me and says with her eyes, "Free me."
A voice on a bullhorn calls for all the contestants to line up. Janice and Ellen escort Arnie to his spot. In public, they love Arnie in the most visible of ways. You'd think he was the most important thing in their lives by the way they carry on and fuss over him. They are great girls when they have an audience.
The parade begins.
Mayor Jerry Gaps rides by in a convertible. His wife is Barbara of Barb's Beauty Shop. They smile and wave. Barbara Gaps is her own bad advertisement.
Chip Miles and his brothers drive by in minitractors doing figure 8's. Chip keeps his lips pressed together. That silver tooth stays hidden.
"Good for you. Chip!" I shout.
The costumes come into view.
"All of the Uncle Sams cancel each other out," I say.
"Good thing we didn't make Arnie an Uncle Sam."
Three chubby girls have tried to capture that image of the one with the pipe, one with the flag, those injured war soldiers. They do not succeed in creating much.
"We forgot the camera!" Janice screams from the other side of the street.
"Crap, " Amy says under her breath. "Momma wanted pictures. We always forget the camera."
"Oh well," I say, imagining Momma at home, eating in her sleep.
A sea of Uncle Sams march past. The Carver boys are getting tired and we all watch as Abe wobbles along. "There are five more
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
blocks. There's no way those boys are going to make it," I tell Amy.
Arnie is in sight now—easy to spot, too, because he's twice the size of the other kids. He's dressed as Washington Crossing the Delaware. Amy sewed the costume. She worked on it for weeks and designed the cardboard boat that I built in an afternoon. The boat hangs from Arnie's shoulders by elastic straps that give the illusion that he's actually floating. Janice spent yesterday afternoon coaching Arnie, rehearsing his movements. He walks with his right hand above his forehead, and all modesty aside, he looks great. The people are cheering politely for the other kids, but when they see Washington Crossing the Delaware, they start yelling, "Go, Arnie!" "All right, Arnie!" 1 scream, "That's my brother!" and he turns to where Amy and me are standing. But in turning, Arnie decks one of the little Uncle Sams without knowing it. When he hears the little girl scream, he turns to help her up. When he does this, though, the back of his boat smacks into George and Martha Washington. They fall over and George starts crying. Arnie decks a couple more kids before the parents push through the crowd to rescue their fallen children.
Amy shouts, "You can't turn, Arnie. DO NOT TURN!" He looks confused. He stops and starts to hold his breath. The others in the costume parade, the wounded, have moved on. Arnie looks to us for help.
"Walk. Keep walking!" 1 shout.
He stands frozen. The Lions Club tractor, the other parade vehicles, and the fire truck carrying Lance Dodge are brought to a stop.
"KEEP MOVING THAT WAY." 1 point where he should walk. "YOU CAN DO IT!"
A bright light hits Arnie. It's the news camera that has been filming Lance's homecoming. In seconds I'm out on the street with him, blocking the camera.
"1 didn't mean to knock 'em down. 1 didn't mean to."
"I know." I gesture for the cameraman to look elsewhere for his news.
"Gilbert ..."
"Let's keep walking."
PETER HEDGES
"But I didn't mean ..."
"Let's talk as we walk."
We're moving now. He's holding on to my hand. People in the crowd shout "Go, Arnie" and "Looking good, Arnie." Bobby McBurney, off to one side and dressed in his funeral black, says, "Arnie for president!" Tucker, standing next to him, says, "Gilbert for first lady!" I'm about to flip Tucker off when 1 remember this is a family parade.
Once we catch up with the others. I send Arnie on alone. As I make my way to the side, 1 hear him say to the other kids, "Sorry! Sooorrrrry!"
I see Abe Lincoln's legs walking next to his chest and head, his arms dragging on the cement. Mr. Carver walks along side the boys, shouting with disappointment. "Abe didn't give up until he was dead! You don't give up till you're dead, boys. Boys!"
I back up into the crowd as the fire truck gets close. Lance Dodge is waving his bleached hand. He has got the best smile, the straightest teeth. And his mother, in the fire basket with him, is glowing as if this is the best day of her life.
I'm standing among a noisy group who reach their arms out frantically, begging for his attention. Cameras flash, old ladies orgasm as the truck passes. Lance gives a general 1-love-you-all-deeply wave. I'm kind of nonchalant in my response, giving the cool, I-could-care-less wave. Having been his classmate, 1 expect him to at least acknowledge my presence. But he looks right at me, 1 swear it, and waves to me as if 1 were one of the masses.
Amy catches up to me and says, "Doesn
't he look good?"
"Who?"
"Lance."
"He certainly thinks so."
The parade is over and Amy has gone off to keep Arnie from further destruction.
"The kid is a definite winner," Bobby McBumey says, pushing through the crowd.
"And Bobby knows about such things," Tucker adds, popping up, his face all sweaty.
What's Eating Gilbert Grape
"Yeah, I'm pretty good at costume contests." "Pretty good—^you only won like five Halloween prizes." "Six. But when your old man's a mortician, you've got a certain kind of inside track on Halloween."
In a simple ceremony, Lance is given the key to the city. It looks more like a big fork to me. He holds it up over his head, like a race-car driver. His mother supplies him with Kleenex so he can wipe his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you, people of Endora. I never ever would have dreamed this."
Neither would I.
It's time for the costume parade, and the contestants line up to file by the judges. Lance sits in the middle of the table with a judge on either side. One of them is a prime mover in the Endora social scene and a devout Christian. Her name is unimportant and her face a visual sin. The other judge is Melanie, red-haired Melanie, Melanie with the big mole, Mr. Carver's Melanie.
An aging stereo system blares "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" as the contestants march past. As Amie floats by the judges, the others keep their distance; one mother holds back her son.
The judges have reached their decision. Before they announce the "results," the mayor tells us that all of the costumes were great, that "all the kids are winners."
If that is the case, then please tell me why we even bother having prizes and ribbons. If everyone is a winner, then what is the point? I will tell you what the point is—and I will tell you because I think you might be able to understand. The point is that the man making the announcement, the mayor of this town, Jerry Gaps, is lying. Not all of the costumes were good. Most, in fact, look like putridity, if that's a word. We should be embarrassed by our attempt at patriotism. My brothers costume is the exception. He looks like an American. In fact, he behaves like one. When he tried to pick up the first kid he knocked down, he smashed into several others, it snowballed, chaos ensued. My brother very much resembled America today in pretty much all things.
What's eating Gilbert Grape? Page 17
