Egg-Drop Blues

by Jacqueline Turner Banks

  Jury started laughing. It always cracks him up when Grandpa says "nonsense."

  "You still look like a teenager to me, Ilean," my grandmother told my mother.

  I guess they know how much my mother worries about getting old. Since she broke up with her last boyfriend, she spends a lot of time in front of the mirror using skin creme and plucking chin hairs or smoothing back the gray hair in front of her ears. It's really kind of silly because, as mothers go, she's not bad-looking. She looks good for her age, but that doesn't seem to be enough.

  "We missed you in church Sunday, Ilean."

  "I went to Macedonia, over in Gerber. I know everybody at First already."

  My grandmother made a little moan that I recognized as her "I know what you mean" moan. When both of my grandmothers are here, at some point they seem to stop talking in English. They use a kind of shorthand language, a lot of moans and grunts and raised eyebrows and words that don't mean what they're suppose to. I think it's fascinating, but Jury thinks it's boring, as apparently do my grandfathers, because Jury leaves before long and both grandfathers usually end up asleep in their chairs.

  My mother and father grew up together on the same street in Plank. They always say they were like sister and brother for most of their lives. My mother told us that, before the wedding, she came to know she shouldn't marry my father, but she didn't have the heart to hurt my grandparents, both sets. It's funny to see my father and mother together now; they get along so well. If you didn't know, you would never suspect they were divorced. It's nothing like the arguing that went on before the divorce. Jury and I rarely talk about anything that happened during our fourth-grade year, the year they split up. I don't know about Jury, but all I remember is the arguing and then the silence after Daddy left. There were things that we could say that would make our mother cry, but we never knew what those things might be, so whenever she was home the house was silent.

  "That's nonsense," my grandfather said, a little too loud. I think he's losing his hearing.

  I don't know who said what, but Jury was dying across the table from me. I tried to kick him under the table, but it was too wide and I couldn't reach him.

  "Would you like some dessert, Judge?" my mother asked.

  "When doesn't he?"

  "When you buy it or make it, Brother," I told him. Sometimes I have to get him off my case early or he'll start capping on me all night. My mother shot me "the look," the one that used to come before she thumped me on the head when I was younger. She'd use her middle finger and thumb and just thump, like you would if a ladybug was crawling on you. Not hard enough to hurt you or the ladybug, but it sure was embarrassing if we were out somewhere. Plus you never knew if it was going to be the look and the thump or just the look.

  "Remember how close the boys used to be?" my grandmother asked nobody in particular. "I'd never seen two such loving brothers."

  "That's nonsense, they always fought."

  Jury had to get up he got so tickled.

  My grandparents didn't stay long, even though they only live about five miles away, because Grandpa doesn't like to drive at night anymore. The bad thing about these Friday dinners is the dishes afterward. We don't have a dishwasher like the rest of the kids I know. I've asked my mother if she would get one and she says, "Why should I? I've got two already." That's supposed to be funny. I've since heard her tell somebody on the telephone that she's going to have one put in when we get the kitchen redecorated this summer.

  "Do you think Grandpa might be losing his hearing?" I asked Jury as we were doing the dishes—or maybe I should say, while I was doing the dishes and he was sitting at the kitchen table watching me. I knew he was wondering why I didn't say something to him or yell upstairs to Mama, but I had my own plan.

  "I don't think about stuff like that. If you think about stuff like that, the next thing you know, you'll be thinking about how old he's getting and how one day he won't be here any more and then you'll get all bummed out thinking about how there's no guarantee about any of us being here. The next thing you know, I'm walking around with a serious expression on my face and people will think I'm you!"

  I took a handful of suds and tried to smash him in the face with it. He dodged and I ended up getting suds all over the curtains.

  "Why don't I sign us up for the rally on Monday, save you the bother?" I said.

  "You better not, unless you've got somewhere else to live."

  "But Brother, didn't I hear you tell our grandparents how much you were looking forward to it?"

  "This is serious business, Judge. Don't bring up that rally again in front of Mama. She'll have forgotten about it by this time next week."

  I put the last dinner plate in the rack and stepped away from the sink.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to bed. I'll see you later." I heard him asking me about the pots and pans and drying the dishes, but I kept on walking. He knew he couldn't say it too loud because our mother would have heard and she'd be curious about what was going on. I felt no guilt. I took all the plates and stuff into the kitchen, made the water, washed everything except the pots and pans, and put them in the drying rack—he could do the rest.

  By Monday, I'd forgotten all about the rally; I had other things on my mind. When I got to school, a little early so we could play a quick game of pom-pom tackle, Mrs. Norville was hunched over Miss Hoffer's desk. They were so intense, Miss Hoffer didn't even look up to say to me, "God Bless you with a good morning." Most teachers won't let you put your junk down on your desk before the first bell, but our door is always open and Miss Hoffer will always greet you with a blessing. She mumbles the "God bless you with" part so that most people think she's just saying good morning. It took us (the posse) a long time to figure out what she was really saying. When we finally figured it out we decided that she mumbles the first part so she won't get in trouble with the district for talking religious stuff to us. She's a born-again Christian. She doesn't try to sell you literature or convert you, she just seems to be happy, and you want to know why. Sometimes she'll talk to you about it if you're away from school. Last year I was at the mall with her selling candy for a school project and I asked her why she was happy all the time. Angela and Faye had already set me up to ask. They told me that they talked to her about it one day and they thought she made God and religion sound so logical. I might talk a lot to adults, according to my brother, but I don't usually ask them about their feelings. To be honest, I had to get to be ten and catch my mother crying a few times before I even knew they had feelings. Anyway, Miss Hoffer explained a little and she did make it sound—not logical like the girls said, but real. The next time I went to church I really paid attention because, for the first time, it was real.

  Monday morning, I got a gut feeling that Mrs. Norville was not hunched over Miss Hoffer's desk talking about the New Testament. When the bell rang, I realized Miss Hoffer and Mrs. Norville had been talking about me. Miss Hoffer was looking at me like my goldfish had just died. When it was time to read aloud, she didn't call on me but she came over and stood next to me and put her hand on my shoulder. When she did that, my heart started beating really fast. I was afraid she could hear it so I was glad when she finally started walking away. It's hard for me to read out loud, but something told me that I would have been better off trying to struggle through a few minutes of reading aloud than whatever those two women were planning for me.

  I didn't have to wait long to find out what it was all about. That afternoon during science, Ms. Hennessey called everybody up to the desk, one at a time, to give us our grades. Since she has to travel around to different rooms, she can't post the grades next to our student numbers on the door, like Mr. Fritch, the phys. ed. teacher, does. There were three weeks left until the end of the trimester and we still had one big test. Her thinking was that it was best to let us know what we needed to get on the test to pass. She went in alphabetical order, so I had a chance to study the faces of the kids that came befor
e Jenkins. I could tell I wasn't the only one in trouble, but that didn't comfort me too much when I realized that I was one of only two whose grades my mother cared about.

  "Judge Jenkins."

  I knew I was next, but for some reason I got some limited pleasure out of burying my head in my book and making her call me a second time.

  "Judge Jenkins." There was attitude in her second call. I don't think Ms. Hennessey is cut out for this kind of work. Jury gave a little nod when I passed his desk. I don't know why he did it; maybe he knew I was scared. Sometimes he can be supportive when I least expect it. I glanced over at his desk. His science book was opened and standing up like a barrier and he was playing a game of dots with somebody. The look on Wayne DeVoe's face, the boy who sits in a wheelchair at a table directly behind Jury, told me that it was Wayne. I really wanted to see how they were passing the paper back and forth, but I was afraid I would bust them by staring. Both Jury and Wayne have more nerve than I believe is healthy.

  "Judge, things don't look good."

  No, they didn't. What was I supposed to say?

  "If I had to give you a grade today, I would be hard-pressed to give you a D, even a D-minus."

  "Hard-pressed" is one of those expressions I have trouble with. Does it mean it would be difficult or easy for her to give me a D? My brother uses a lot of expressions like that and it's not just annoying, it's confusing.

  "What are your feelings about the trimester so far?"

  "It's been difficult."

  "How so?"

  "I think I know what's going on and then we have a test and I end up failing it. The stuff you talk about is actually fairly easy." Why did I say that? Teachers hate it when you call their stuff easy. "But then you ask those trick questions on the tests."

  "Did Mrs. Norville explain to you that they're not really trick questions?"

  She saw the shock on my face. How could Mrs. Norville have explained that to me when I hadn't said anything to her about Ms. Hennessey's trick questions?

  "No, ma'am." I couldn't believe I slipped and said "ma'am." I hadn't used that word in years. My father used to make us say "yes ma'am" and "yes, sir," but my mother hated it. She would tell us to stop saying it when they were still together, and she made an even bigger deal about it after he left. My father still says, "yes ma'am" to his mother.

  "Sometimes when you have learning problems, questions just seem like they're trick questions."

  Great. Now I had to deal with another person in the school thinking about me like I was some kind of mental cripple.

  "What are we going to do?" she asked.

  I glanced over at my brother. All I could see was the top of his head. He was scrunched down behind his book doing who knows what.

  "Won't we get extra points for being in the rally?" I don't know what made my mouth say the words, but after I heard them, I thought it was a pretty good idea.

  "We who? I didn't know you were signed up."

  "My brother was supposed to have signed up last week. Didn't he?"

  We both looked over at Jury. One time he told me he had an angel on his shoulder. Sometimes I think he must because he actually appeared to be reading his book.

  "Jury, will you come here please?"

  I gave him the look. I know he caught it, but that didn't mean he'd be willing to cooperate.

  "Jury, Judge tells me that the two of you plan to enter the Einstein Rally."

  He's so cool. He didn't react, didn't even look at me.

  "Is that a problem, Ms. Hennessey?" he asked. A long time ago he told me if I needed time to think about an answer I should ask a question.

  "Well, no, not really, but the deadline was last Friday. I'll have to call your names in today. Which event?"

  He glanced at me and I saw fire in his eyes.

  "The question bowl?" she asked.

  "No, the egg drop," he said.

  "How many extra points will we get?" I asked, trying really hard not to look at him.

  "Let's say I give you half of a letter grade for participating. That would turn a D-plus into a C-minus. If you place in the competition, I'll give you a whole letter."

  "Won't the grades be in before then?"

  I wasn't surprised that Jury knew that; he's good at remembering stuff. People don't think about asking him because they know he doesn't care.

  "Actually, I'm supposed to turn in the grades the Friday before the rally, but I can hold yours until Monday."

  "Aren't we lucky?"

  Ms. Hennessey caught Jury's sarcasm, but she just smiled. I guess she was thinking she'd have the last laugh.

  "Okay, Judge, you can sit down and I'll talk to your brother."

  Take all the time you need, I said to myself. I sure didn't want to deal with him.

  Chapter 3

  "I don't care why you did it, I don't care what you have to say to get us out of it, but you better make it happen and you better make it happen today."

  He had me cornered against the wall facing the west field.

  "Jury..."

  "Jury nothing. I don't want to hear it. Just get me out of it."

  "I'm going to fail without those extra points."

  "You'll be dead before then."

  He walked away. I tried to explain about the D-minus and the trick questions but he just started playing pom-pom tackle. He went into one of his pom-pom tackle trances and there was no talking to him.

  By the end of the day, I still hadn't gotten us out of it. I couldn't get us out of it. I needed the Einstein Rally.

  If things weren't bad enough, my mother had a bright idea when I got home from school. Jury had stayed late to play a game of pom-pom tackle ... sometimes I think he'd rather play that game than eat. Mama was home already; she was still working the morning shift at the bookbinding plant where she's an inspector.

  When I walked in the door, she was sitting at the dining room table with the telephone book, a notepad, and the cordless telephone. Sometimes she can get real hyped about something somebody else wouldn't care about. During these hyper times, she'll make a lot of phone calls and piles of notes on one of her memo pads. One time, she decided she wanted to make a storage cabinet out of an old-fashioned ice box. When I got home from school that day, she had a sketch of what she was going to make drawn on her pad and she was calling all over the country trying to find an ice box for sale. Whenever I see her sitting with all her stuff at the dining room table, I know something is up.

  "Hi, baby. I'm so glad you're finally home. Where's your brother?"

  "He stopped to play a quick game of pom-pom tackle."

  "That boy and that stupid game! Anyway, you're the person I want to talk to."

  Something told me I wasn't going to share her hype. I put down my book bag and started for the kitchen.

  "Just let me get a drink; I'm thirsty," I said over my shoulder.

  "Hurry up."

  When I came back with a soda, she didn't say anything about me drinking her sodas or my drinking "all over the house," like she usually does. Whatever she was waiting to tell me, it was really big. I hope she doesn't say Frank is back and they're going to get married, I prayed, sitting down next to her.

  "Mrs. Norville called me at work. I'd asked her to check on something for me. I didn't get to talk to her—you know how my supervisor is about personal calls."

  I nodded. She takes forever to tell something, but I knew from past experience there's no speeding her up.

  "Shirley at the front desk gave me the message. I started to call her back during my lunch hour, but I remembered that she would—should anyway—still be at school when I got home from work, so I decided to wait."

  At this point, Jury would be on the verge of screaming. He has no patience. I nodded again.

  "When I finally returned her call, she told me about all the schools and programs in the area that have learning disabled classes or tutoring. Actually, I shouldn't say 'all,' because there was only one school in Plank and two programs wit
h supplemental classes and tutoring. The other two schools are over in Gerber."

  "So I'm going to take a class?"

  "No. As it turns out, the classes are as expensive as the tuition."

  "Tuition?"

  "At Tully. Tully has a class of no more than ten kids, never more than ten, devoted to learning-disabled students."

  "I'd have to go over there after school?"

  "No, baby, not after school—for school. You'd finish up the year there. I figure the next five months is all you'd need. By the time you start junior high, you'll know what you need to do to keep up." She was grinning at me like she'd just given me the keys to a brand new car or something.

  I heard Jury coming in the front door, so I waited until he was in earshot. This was something that could take his mind off killing me.

  "You-want-to-send-me-to-Tully?" I asked.

  "Both of you."

  Jury looked first at Mama, then at me, then back at Mama.

  "Both of us what?" he asked, but I know he heard.

  "I found out that Tully has a program that will teach Judge how to deal with his dyslexia. I haven't talked to them yet, but I'm sure that between your father and grandparents we can afford to send you both for the rest of the year. Next September you can go on to middle school with the rest of your class."

  Jury sat down suddenly, as if her words had pushed him into the chair. The look on his face was a new one for him; I couldn't read it. It was kind of like he wanted to ask her the question he's always asking me: "Are you crazy?"

  "I must have missed something," he finally said.

  "Okay. As I was telling Judge, Mrs. Norville called and gave me a list of schools and places that offer special classes for the learning-disabled. It turns out that I can send Judge to Tully for less than it would cost to send him to one of the after-school programs. The way I figure it, if he finishes out the year there—and it might take summer school, too—he'll be ready for junior high."

  "So this is about Judge?"

  I couldn't believe he asked that. I glared at him and he scowled back. Was he actually saying he'd let me go off to Tully by myself?