by John Anthony
“It’s a little early for Christmas snooping,” Mom said from behind me, startling me out of my daydream.
“I just wanted to see the Christmas room again.”
“Well, just make sure you get these toys sorted out, honey. You don’t want Dad doing it, or he’ll get rid of it all.”
I tilted my head and looked at her. “Did you know there were other kids that lived here before?” I pointed to the markings on the little door. “They marked how tall they were and their ages, just like us.”
Mom nodded. “Yep, they were kids about your age, if I remember right.” She walked over to look at the door and brushed my hair with her hand. “They had to move for the same reason. Their family got too big for the house.”
“And it’s for positive that we can’t stay here?”
Mom frowned and looked at me. “Honey, if it was possible, I’d make sure you never had to leave. This house just doesn’t have the space we need anymore.”
“I know.” I hung my head. “I had to try.”
Mom smiled to cheer me up. “I bet this little boy Stephen tried as best he could too.” She put her finger under my chin and lifted my face. “Sometimes it’s best to move forward instead of staying in the same place. Because they moved, you were able to have your time here. And when we leave, there will be other kids who can have their time here.”
“Do you really think there will be kids moving in here after us?”
“I guarantee it,” she said. “And I bet they’ll love it here.”
It still made me sad to be leaving, but that thought made me happy. “It’s a good place.”
“I think so too,” Mom said. “It’s a very good place.”
Chapter Six
Sometimes when I was feeling like I needed to think, I’d sit under the big pine tree in the front yard. It was as tall as the house and reminded me of a huge rocket ship. A bed of brown pine needles spread over the cool darkness under the large lower branches, making a quiet space to let things simmer.
That was Granddad’s saying, and it meant to figure things out.
The pine tree stood tall and proud. Its branches swayed in the breeze, calling me to hide beneath them. My thinking spot was probably the one place I’d miss more than any other when we moved.
I pulled a lower branch to the side and crawled under, letting it swing back into place behind me, locking me into the brilliant pine-covered dome. Once under the tree, no one could find you unless they knew you were there.
The soft bed of needles made a comfortable place to lie down. I tucked my hands behind my head and looked up into the branches.
I told Granddad about the pine tree one time, and he said every kid should have a spot like that, where they can just lie back and think about stuff. “It’s a place where you can figure things out,” he’d said.
He was really smart, my granddad. I didn’t always understand everything he said, but it was in this place, under the big pine branches, that his words sank in and started to mean something.
“Some people say they’re going off to find themselves,” he’d say, adjusting his glasses. “When I think all they really do is leave behind the things they grow out of.”
And I thought that was what was happening to me. It was like when Cubby’s snake shed its skin in second grade. It outgrew it and left it behind. Because that was what was supposed to happen.
But having to leave behind our house, the pine tree, and the neighborhood, the thought of it had me feeling sad. Not to mention the thought of Tommy and Cubby not being right out my front door anymore.
That was what was bugging me most of all.
The sounds of kids playing and laughing caught my attention, and I sat up from the bed of pine needles, cupping my hand to my ear to hear them more clearly. It was Tommy and Steph playing in their backyard. Steph’s giggle cut through the air so distinctly, you could have heard it from a mile away.
I crawled out from under the pine branches and quietly sneaked around the side of the house to hide behind a bush in the backyard. There I watched Tommy and Steph play together in their backyard.
Steph’s small table and chairs sat right in the middle of the yard. Tommy sat on one end of the table, with dolls on each of the other sides, as Steph walked around and pretended to fill cups with a plastic teapot.
Right there, in front of God and everyone, Tommy let his little sister serve him tea in a pink teacup. This was the boy who was the boyest of all the boys I knew, and he was sitting at a table having a tea party.
Though, to be honest, Tommy looked happy. Happier than I’d seen him in a long time. He was laughing, and Steph was too. They looked like a picture out of a children’s book.
I spied Ryan coming out of the back door. Tommy and Steph didn’t seem to notice him as he crept around the side of their house to the garden hose.
He slinked along the side of the house, ducked behind a bush, and when the moment was right, turned the nozzle and unleashed a light spray of water on Tommy and Steph.
Steph screamed. Tommy laughed, jumped up, and chased Ryan around the house. When they made it back around the other side, Steph grabbed the hose and sprayed them both, her pretty hair hanging in wet tangles down the back of her head. Between her high-pitched squeals, she was laughing so hard her face was bright red.
Tommy grabbed Ryan and pulled him down onto the ground. They rolled around, wrestling, as Steph continued to spray them with water from the hose.
To an adult, it might have seemed like a fight, but to kids, it was just a perfect afternoon.
Mom walked out the back door with my sisters. She spread a blanket on the soft grass for them, set down some toys to play with, and relaxed next to them with a book.
I ducked behind the bush a little further so they wouldn’t notice me.
Heather chewed on a teething ring as Jenny stacked wooden blocks. Their little faces shone in the sunlight.
I remembered when Steph was that little. Tommy wasn’t as patient with her as he is now. I wondered if that had to do with his age, or if it was because of his dad leaving. Maybe it was both.
How can I be a brother more like Tommy is?
I returned my gaze to Tommy’s yard and noticed Ryan coming out the back door with a bunch of bath towels. They each took one and started drying their hair. Tommy helped Steph dry off, and took her white shoes and set them in the sun to dry.
The whole scene seemed so peaceful. They played and laughed together, something I didn’t do with my sisters. They were too young. And for the first time, I realized I wished for that.
I ducked further down, planning on heading back to the pine tree out front, or maybe to get on my bike and go for a ride, but something on the side of the house caught my eye.
The garden hose.
Mom and the girls were still sitting on the blanket in the yard, quietly enjoying the sunny afternoon.
I might have made some stupid mistakes before, but this one might have been near the top. I wish I’d known that at the time.
Slowly, I turned the knob and felt the hose stiffen as the water filled it. The nozzle dripped cool water into my hand as I wrapped my fingers around it.
I crept around the bush and waited for the right moment, when all three of them were facing the opposite direction. Then I twisted the handle to release the water.
Instead of a gentle mist, a hard stream blasted from the nozzle. It hit Mom in the back of the head, drenching her in a steady stream of ice-cold water that ran down her back. She threw up her arms, arched her back, and jumped to her feet, screaming. Heather and Jenny yelled as the mist from the blast sprayed them in their shocked little faces.
I tried to turn off the nozzle but accidentally twisted it in the opposite direction, causing a heavy mist of water to cover all three of them at once.
Mom marched over to me, grabbed the hose, and delivered the sternest message I’d ever received from her. “To your room,” she said sternly as water dripped off the tip of her nose.
“Now.”
I went immediately. Waiting or protesting would have made things worse.
Much worse.
I lay on my bed, motionless. My plan to involve us in family fun hadn’t exactly worked out the way I’d planned. I was going to be punished; that much was certain.
Who would come to deliver the punishment?
Please let it be Dad. I can’t face Mom right now.
That familiar soft knock came, and the door opened. Mom entered.
Curses!
I rolled on my side. Seeing her face mad—or even worse, hurt—was something I couldn’t handle at that point.
The bed squeaked as she sat on the edge, and I felt her hand touch my arm.
“Why on earth did you do that, Jack?”
Why had I done that? I wasn’t quite sure, so I bit my lip and said nothing.
“The silent treatment isn’t helping your case right now, Jack.”
She used my name in times like this, and I didn’t care for it at all. I needed her to use something like honey or sweetheart, a word that meant she still loved me. Using my name was cold and unfeeling.
“I was trying to have fun.” I spoke into my pillow.
“What made you think spraying us with the hose would be fun?” She pulled on my shoulder to roll me over on my back.
“Ryan sprayed Steph and Tommy, and they all laughed.” I pulled my pillow over my head. “I don’t know how to be a brother.”
Mom was silent, and I pulled the pillow away from my face.
She furrowed her brow. “My goodness, why would you think that?”
“I see how Tommy is with Steph. And Becky is with Lucy.” I shrugged. “Feels like it’s more important than I am.”
Mom slowly shook her head. “They’ve got completely different circumstances, Jack. You can’t compare yourself to them.”
I raised a shoulder. “I guess.”
Mom swung her legs up onto the bed and snuggled next to me. “All of these changes—moving, a new baby, maybe leaving your friends—it’s hard, isn’t it?”
She was able to put into words exactly what was going on in my head, and I cried because I finally knew what all of these feelings were inside of me. My mom was the smartest person I knew.
I nodded and buried my face in her shoulder.
“Everything will work out, honey. You’ll see.” She wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close. “When that moment comes that you prove to yourself you’re a good big brother, you stand up and be proud. Because I already know you are.” She turned and kissed my cheek. “And so do your sisters.”
Chapter Seven
The house across from Cubby’s was a two-story haunted mansion. That was a fact; we were convinced of it.
A wall of tall, overgrown shrubs created a border around the property like a castle wall. The opening at the end of the front sidewalk leading to the door looked as if it would swallow you whole.
I used to think Dracula lived there, maybe with the Wolfman living in the basement and the Mummy somewhere in a back shed, waiting to grab little children and wrap them in a cocoon.
But at eleventeen, I was smarter than that now—unless I was walking past it at night. And Cubby teased me about it all the time.
“You’re just used to it because you live right by it, Cubby,” I said.
“Maybe.” He gave me a sly look, then said in a mocking tone, “But mainly because there’s no such things as monsters, scaredy-cat.”
Maybe I was a scaredy-cat, but I didn’t need him saying that out loud. “Oh hush, Cubby.”
His eyes bugged out as he mouthed my words back to me, then he giggled.
“Ever wonder what’s really inside it?”
Cubby stopped poking fun at me and turned to look at the run-down house. “Probably just spiderwebs and bugs.”
“Ever see anyone there?”
“Saw some man there the other day. First time in a long time.” Cubby shook his head. “But mostly not since that old lady moved out.”
The old lady was Mrs. Tremont, and I swore she was made out of nothing but dust and hairspray. It looked like she would disappear in a quick poof of smoke if she got too close to a candle. She was also a good friend of my grandma’s, so I’d see Grandma at her house sometimes. The house looked different back then; it seemed brighter and happier, like a family could live there. Now it looked dark and scary like Dracula’s castle.
The only time I remember walking up to the door was the Halloween right before she moved out. The door was extra wide and made of heavy dark wood. A little window was in the center, with its very own tiny door on the inside. Jack-o’-lanterns lined the sidewalk and porch steps, and Mrs. Tremont was dressed up like a witch. She didn’t give us carrots or healthy stuff like some of the other older folks did, but handed me a huge homemade caramel apple.
Before Mrs. Tremont moved out, a guy would come and clean the yard and plant flowers, so everything always looked really pretty. But when she was gone, everything started growing all over on its own.
Mom said she was over ninety years old when her daughter came and moved her across town to be closer to her family. That was six years ago. It was clear no one had bothered to care for things since then. It needed someone to love it again.
“Tommy went up to the front window that one time.” Cubby pointed toward the big window by the front porch.
I stepped back, shocked. “I didn’t know about that.”
“It was after his pops left and my folks had them all over for dinner.”
Cubby’s mom was sweet that way. She always reached out to people, and tried to help them feel better if something bad happened. Mom told me that after Grandma passed away, Cubby’s mom would always send food and stuff over to our house. Cubby was the same way, when he wasn’t being an annoying little brat.
“It was like he wasn’t scared of anything that day,” Cubby said.
I knew what he meant. Right after Tommy’s dad left, he wasn’t the same for a while. He’d get mad a lot. Sometimes he’d blow up at us for no reason, and then stomp off. He’d say mean stuff to us, or make fun of us. We wouldn’t see him for days at a time.
Slowly Tommy came around again, but he hadn’t been exactly the same since then. It was about that time he started treating Steph different too, taking care of her more and being nicer to her. There would be days he didn’t want to hang out with friends, but be with Ryan and Steph, outside playing or walking to the store instead of fighting and trying to get away from each other.
It confused me, because I always figured days with my friends were a whole lot better than days I had to spend with my sisters.
Am I wrong?
“Wonder why no one else moved in there,” I said.
“Mom said Mrs. Tremont didn’t want anyone to.” He shrugged. “Don’t know why.”
Cubby glanced down the street and his back stiffened. “See you later, Jack.” He got up and hurried across the street, giving me a wave as his gaze kept darting down the block. “I’m getting hungry. And I think I heard my mom calling me for lunch.”
“What are you talking about, Cubby? I didn’t hear no one.”
Cubby didn’t answer, just tossed his hand over his head in a wave and hustled up his front sidewalk. I laughed and waved back.
Shaking my head, I turned to look to the far end of the block to see if I could tell what had appeared to spook Cubby. And there they were—the hooligans, as my granddad called them. Three boys, brothers, a few years older than we were. They showed up sometimes on our block and tried to make fun of the younger kids. I figured they’d grown out of it because I hadn’t seen them all summer.
The boys lived in an old corner house with their mother, and they had a reputation for being mean to some of the younger kids in the neighborhood. Maybe because Tommy and I were older now, they left us alone. We thought they were done, but Cubby was still a shy and timid kid, so maybe they were still bugging him.
Ryan had nearly popped one of them in
the nose a few years back when they made fun of Tommy. We were at Cherokee Park tossing around a baseball, and they started yelling insults at us. Then they came over and started shoving us around, took our baseball, and threw it over the bluff to the Mississippi River.
Ryan had been riding bikes with his three friends and saw them bothering us. They rode over, and because Ryan’s group outnumbered the hooligans, the bullies left. But not before making a comment about Tommy and Ryan’s dad being a drunk.
Ryan jumped off his bike and leaped toward the one who’d said it, his hands clenched. But Tommy took his arm and told him to stop.
“It’s just words, Ryan.”
Ryan looked at him, took a breath, and dropped his fists.
“That’s what I thought,” the hooligan said, laughing, and turned to run off with his brothers.
Ryan knelt and talked quietly to Tommy—we couldn’t hear what they were saying—and then they hugged.
Even though Ryan hadn’t clocked the one who made the comment, they must have figured Ryan wasn’t going to put up with them, so they left us alone after that. We’d still see them around sometimes, usually from a distance and never up close. They just acted like hotheads and punched at the air to try to mess with us and make us afraid. Sometimes they tossed out mean words.
We just ignored them now, but it looked like Cubby was having problems with them he couldn’t avoid. I wondered why he hadn’t told Tommy and me. Ryan would have stood up for him and made them leave him alone.
I looked back to the end of the street again as they disappeared from view. Good riddance.
I stepped down into the street and sat on the curb. The haunted house behind me pushed at my back, wanting to be noticed. It wasn’t a scary feeling, not anymore. Now it was something else, almost comforting. Maybe it was because I remembered Grandma being there talking to Mrs. Tremont. Or because I remembered how nice the house used to be before it got overrun with weeds.
Either way, the fear I felt around that house faded, and it became a place I could look at and remember nice things instead of think of scary ones. But I still wasn’t ready to go up and look in the windows.
