It was a prefab. That means the house was actually built in some factory and then stuck on a truck and delivered to our yard in one piece! Crazy!
In order to fit on the truck, the house was a lot smaller than the mullet house, but pretty much Darius and I were the only ones living there, so downsizing didn’t mean downspacing. In fact, my bedroom was huge. It was the master suite! It had its own toilet.
I’m not sure why I got the big bedroom and Darius took the basement, except he’s always liked basements. Really, Darius should’ve slept wherever he wanted because of all he did for me. He dropped out of tech school to work so I could keep being a normal kid. That’s what he promised Mom he’d do as she pulled her last breaths. Take care of me. Stop me from becoming an adult too soon. When I got the job at the pool, he called up Mr. Schwartz to make sure the job ended before school started because he didn’t want me working during the school year. He also put all my money away for college instead of letting me spend it. Darius really took his Taco caretaking seriously. He really tried at times, even though he’s messed up.
Any-hoo.
The first two weeks of September were amazing. Because of my broken butt, I couldn’t really walk, so I had to stay home from school.
Dad came down from the mine for Labor Day weekend, and he bought me ten frozen pizzas and a loaf of bread and some peanut butter I could keep on my side table. He made Darius promise he’d cook me some of the pizzas. Darius said he would, but he only did it once. After work at Captain Stabby’s, he didn’t have the energy. (He also smelled like a fish, and my preference is to have my pizza smell and taste like pizza, not Darius.) No problem! Dad hung out at home for like a full four hours that weekend, which was a record since he moved up north, so that was awesome.
As for school, Brad Schwartz, the largest pal of my life, delivered my homework every day. He was an old pro at doing this kind of work. During Mom’s last three weeks of life, he and Akilesh Sharma were at the house all the time, helping me stay on top of the ocean of schoolwork. Both back in the days of cancer and during my coccyx troubles, Brad talked me through my lessons. He’s one of the top ten or so smartest dudes in the state of Wisconsin (right up there with Sharma), so I picked up everything I needed to know, except for calc, which I didn’t really get.
During this initial coccyx rehab, I spent more time doing homework and reading books than I ever had before, and it was really interesting. If you haven’t read Lord of the Flies, I highly suggest you do. Even to this day, more than eight months after I read that book, I still have dreams about little dudes in underpants stabbing me with sticks. The book also made me want to eat a bunch of ham because the stick dudes kill pigs and eat them. I was so lucky that the pizzas Dad bought had Canadian bacon.
And I haven’t even mentioned the most intriguing development of my two weeks of bed recovery. Every day when Maggie Corrigan finished cheerleading practice, she came over to provide comfort and love.
Generally speaking, her parents hadn’t let her spend time at my house because of the lack of parental supervision. (I once told Mrs. Corrigan that Mom’s ghost watched over me and that she kept Maggie safe too, but Mrs. Corrigan’s didn’t think that was the same.) It didn’t really matter anyway because Dad had barred me from having any female company at the house. “If I hear a peep about girls coming over to party, I’ll move your ass up to the mine and you’ll go to work,” Dad said.
But things changed with the broken butt. First, the Corrigans let Maggie come over. They had almost killed me with their alarm, and they felt guilty. Second, I decided to break Dad’s rule about no female visitors because my butt hurt and I couldn’t think straight, which seemed like a good excuse. Besides, Dad never checked on me anyway, so how could he hear a peep? Thirdly, Maggie’s parents had actually been trying to force her to break up with me before I broke my butt, so I had to let Maggie in my bedroom as much as possible!
How did I find out about the forced breakup? Maggie confessed.
On Wednesday during the first week of school, Maggie showed up after cheerleading and lay down on my bed next to me and cried. She sobbed. Her tears soaked all the sheets and pillows. When she feels something, it’s for real.
“What’s happening, Maggie?” I asked.
“This is my fault. You broke your butt because of me,” she cried.
“I was the one who fell. That’s not your bad.”
“Do you know why you had to climb our house?” she whispered.
I had to think for a second. “Because between shooting the soft serve at Dairy Queen and your cheerleading practice, you didn’t have time to see me, so I had to make midnight visits.”
“No, it’s because I couldn’t stand up to Mom and Dad,” Maggie cried. “They told me not to see you anymore.”
This news came as quite a shock, dingus. The Corrigans didn’t want Maggie seeing me at all? Not just when I broke into their house? Why?
While I hadn’t completely understood why they got so upset about me visiting at midnight, in some ways it seemed reasonable. Sleep is an important part of growing up with a healthy mind and strong bones, and my forced entry disturbed their daughters’ sleep. But the fact they wanted me and Maggie completely broken up made zero sense.
“Is there some reason they don’t like me?” I asked. “I always try to give them hugs and high-fives when I see them.”
“They think we’re impulsive and that we’re doing it all the time, and they don’t want me to be doing it because I’m too young.”
“Aha!” I shouted. “But we aren’t doing it,” I said. “I never asked you to do it. Even though I want to do it, I also don’t want to do it. Because if I do it, then I’ll have already done it, and I want to do it when the time is right.”
Maggie stopped crying and sat up. “You don’t want to do it?”
“I do, but I don’t.”
“I want to do it,” Maggie said.
“You do?” I asked.
“Yeah, man. We’re great together. We laugh all the time, and you’re sweet. We’re the perfect couple, and I think doing it would be perfect, right? Are you saying you won’t do it?” Maggie asked.
I thought, but I couldn’t really think. “I said no such thing,” I replied.
“Then why haven’t we done it? Am I not good enough for you?”
“You’re the best. You’re the greatest ever.”
“I know. That’s how I feel about you. So we should do it,” Maggie said.
“We should?” I asked. I felt so dizzy, dingus! Clearly Maggie loved me!
“Let’s do it this weekend,” she said. “Or maybe next week.”
I had lost my breath. “Here? In my bed?”
Maggie rolled over and kissed me so long and hard that my coccyx hurt.
The whole next day, Thursday, I did nothing but think about doing it. Even when I fell asleep, my dreams were filled with naked Maggie and me always just about to do it. The thing is that if I really thought about it (which was hard because Maggie Corrigan is the love of my universe and I’m a junkie for her), I didn’t think I wanted to do it. Not that I didn’t want to do it, if you know what I mean. These dreams weren’t super sexy dreams. They were highly stressful.
My mom, right before she died, grabbed me by my hands (which took more strength than I thought she had) and told me all these things she thought I needed to know for the future, things that Dad wouldn’t tell me. Although Dad is an okay guy, he isn’t very courageous and doesn’t like to talk to me.
She said, “Your dad isn’t going to have enough money. He is terrible with money, and I didn’t plan for this. I’m so sorry. Your dad tries his best, but you have Darius. He’ll take care of you even if your father can’t.”
She said, “Don’t believe your brother when he says mean things. Darius has a lion’s heart, but he was born angry, probably from something that happe
ned in a past life. He has to work that out for himself. Don’t believe his negativity, you understand? But when he tells you to stop picking your nose in the car because other people can see you, believe that. It’s true. Don’t do that.”
She then said, “You have so much love inside you, Taco. You have so much to offer the right girl. Don’t give away that love when you’re too young. Wait until you find the right girl and you’re both mature enough to know what a gem you have in each other, and then your love will be protected like it should be.”
She said, “You were born special. You were born to do this family proud. You make me proud, Taco.”
She said, “Today is the best day of your life. So is tomorrow and the next day and the next day and the next. No matter what happens, every day you have is the best day of your life.”
“Today is the best day of my life,” I said, though it didn’t feel that way.
“Darius is going to help you,” Mom whispered. “He hurts, but remember, he has a lion’s heart. And you’re brothers. You’re family.”
Mom squeezed my hands a little tighter and said she was going to miss me, but she was excited to see what was on the other side. Then she smiled, and the skin around her eyes crinkled, which made her look like a sad bald elf. And then she told me I was a good boy. Like an hour later, she was gone.
My mom was a super genius and also a mystical spirit goddess. She’s either a nice ghost now that watches over me or she’s a flying baby who lives in Tibet. (I’ve had both dreams, so I don’t know which reality is the truth. Maybe both? I meditate and talk to both the ghost and the baby at times.) In any case, I listened to the lady. Even during the great sadness after she died, after we left the mullet house and Dad went north and Darius was arrested, I repeated what she said to me again and again. Today is the best day of my life and so is tomorrow.
But this thing with Maggie Corrigan really threw me off. I wasn’t sure if Maggie was mature enough to treat me like the gem I am. I just knew what I still know. I love Maggie Corrigan.
While I was lying in bed, I tried to figure out if Maggie Corrigan, whom I love and whom I figured would one day be my wife, was mature enough to treat me like the gem I am.
On the positive side of this chart were the following: She’s hot. She’s daring. She’s fast. She’s a good jumper. She’s a good wrestler. She’s a good driver, although she doesn’t like to drive. She is more fun than Ping-Pong and bowling combined. She’s filled with joy that makes the world glow. Her sadness opens a black hole in the fabric of time and space, but it closes as soon as she is happy again. And she is happy a lot of the time. She’s happy when she’s naked, in a bikini, in a wool hat, and in snow boots. She is happy in whatever she wears because she is happy with herself, except when she’s sad or mad, which does happen. And most importantly, she is happy when she is with me. She loves me.
On the negative side of this chart were the following: Her parents don’t think she’s old enough to do it. Her parents don’t want us to be together, which is why I had to climb their house to see her, which is why I broke my butt.
Maggie’s positives clearly outweighed her negatives, but I had the nagging feeling that the negatives affected her ability to treat me like the gem I am. I was very confused. I read a bit of The Fellowship of the Ring to get my mind off the matter.
Around 2:00 p.m., Darius woke up, and he came upstairs to get some non-Stabby’s food in his gut before he headed off to the Captain’s for his fish shift. I called for him to visit me in my master suite bedroom. It took him a few minutes, but after I yelled and yelled, he opened the door.
“What? What the hell, Taco?”
“Do you think Maggie Corrigan treats me like the gem I am?” I asked.
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. What do you think?”
“Why are you asking?” Darius asked.
“Because she wants to do it—you know, do it—but I need to be sure she’s completely ready before I agree.”
Darius stared at me for a moment. Then he said, “No, absolutely not. Don’t do it. She doesn’t love you.”
“Well, sure she does,” I said.
“No. How would you even know?”
“I just do. We are definitely in love, Darius.”
Darius glared at me for a moment. Then he shrugged. “You’re stupid,” he said. “She doesn’t love you.” He turned and walked down the hall.
Darius used to be in love, but this girl, Kayla Kronstadt, whom he dated all through high school and our mom getting sick and Dad leaving, broke up with him when he got his drunk-driving ticket. Darius said it was because he couldn’t drive her places anymore after he lost his license. But she didn’t get back together with him when he started driving again. Of course, he doesn’t always make great decisions, and he’s kind of a jerk sometimes. And he’s drunk a lot, so maybe that all has something to do with it. Also, he’s broken inside.
Anyway, I wasn’t sure what Darius’s advice had been. He told me I was stupid. But I didn’t ask him if I was stupid or not. He also said Maggie didn’t love me, which clearly wasn’t the case. Mom said that I shouldn’t listen to Darius when he said mean things, and wasn’t he being mean by calling me stupid and not loved?
Whatever. I got very quiet. I meditated to try to communicate with Mom’s ghost. I heard nothing. I tried to summon the Tibet baby that I dream about that might be Mom. I couldn’t do it. And I thought, Maybe that’s your answer. Nothing!
Right? Nothing! Do nothing!
Because honestly, while I was sure Maggie loved me, I wasn’t sure she could yet love me like the gem I am. That settles it!
Sorry, lady pal! No. Doing. It.
I felt very good about this decision, very smart and mature.
After school, Brad Schwartz came over, and we had a good talk about democracy. The lessons he brought home in both English and social studies had to do with democracy. Using the little boys in their underpants killing one another with sticks and rocks from Lord of the Flies, Brad tried to convince me that democracy is doomed to fail.
“We have a base nature,” he said. “We’re more animal than creatures of reason.”
“You’re wrong!” I said. “Those kids on the island are just kids. They don’t have the maturity to make good choices. If they were a couple years older, like our age, they wouldn’t have crushed one another’s skulls with rocks. They’d have figured out democracy—no problem.”
Brad rolled his yes. “Have you seen the cafeteria without a lunch monitor? You’re delusional, Taco.”
“No, I’m not,” I said.
He shrugged and left.
Later when Maggie Corrigan showed up after cheerleading practice, she said all she could think about was my body.
“This body?” I asked.
She nodded. Then she gently removed my bear slippers and my pajama pants, careful not to hurt my coccyx, and she carefully put her naked knees on either side of my hips and leaned over. As she breathed in my ear, she whispered, “I love you so much, man.” That was when I decided we should definitely do it.
And we did! It kind of hurt Maggie, which made me worried, but she said she was okay. We fell asleep. Then—wait for it—we did it again!
It was great! I couldn’t wait for my broken butt to heal so I could actually move while we were doing it! I mean, so great! Oh my God, I love Maggie. I’m a junkie for her for real!
But here’s the deal, dingus: Life begets life.
I read that in a biology textbook. Or maybe it was the Bible?
I can’t remember.
Chapter 3
For the rest of my broken butt convalescence, Maggie came over to the suite after every cheerleading practice. Good times! We were celebrating our love. Of course, sex is sex even if you call it a celebration.
And then my coccyx was ready to attend school!
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It was great to get back. Everybody was so happy to see me. Jocks, jerks, dweebs, dinks, doinks, dickheads, burners, boners, geeks, brats, preps, and trench coat loners all high-fived and hugged me that first day. “It’s like the school lost its beating heart,” Ms. Tindall said. I knew she was right. Ms. Tindall is the health teacher. She has access to academic articles and school transcripts and understands a school’s culture. She knows the what-what.
I couldn’t play football, of course. There weren’t football pants big enough to fit around my inflatable doughnut, which would protect my healing coccyx from offending helmets. That didn’t mean I couldn’t be involved though. I became the best equipment manager and water boy Bluffton High School has ever known. Coach Johnson has a son who played at Iowa, and he coached a kid who got a full ride to Stanford as well as a bunch of other guys who play at small colleges. He actually said as much. “Son, I appreciate how far up my ass you are. You’re doing a fine job, but could you take a step back?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir!” I said and saluted him.
During games, I got to hand out Gatorade on the sideline and cheer, which meant I was close to Maggie and her kicking legs and her jumping booty and her total love. She’d blow kisses at me and lick her fingers like she was eating a sexy ice cream cone. Being water boy also meant I got to be in the locker room for Coach Johnson’s inspiring pregame, halftime, and postgame speeches.
But Maggie was changing just like the seasons.
It was October, at a game in the hills of Richland Center, when I first noticed Maggie’s changing moods. I came limping out on the field after halftime just in time to see Maggie refuse to climb to the top of the cheerleader pyramid. Without Maggie, they were a cheerleader trapezoid, which wasn’t impressive at all. She stood behind the tower of her teammates with her arms crossed while the other girls shouted at her. She shouted back, sort of crying, her face the color of a cherry slushy.
“What’s wrong?” I shouted. I ass-hobbled over to her. The cheerleader trapezoid collapsed to the ground.
Anything You Want Page 2
