by Mark Gimenez
"May I attempt to execute this maneuver?" Norbert said.
"Uh, yeah, sure. But you'd better wear my pads."
"That will not be necessary. I have excellent balance."
I sat down on the last step of our front walkway and watched Norbert. No doubt this would be a disaster. He looked like less of an athlete than me. He studied the Ripstik a moment then carefully placed his left foot on the board and then his right. He stood perfectly straight and didn't wobble at all. He did have good balance.
"That's real good," I said. "Now swivel your hips."
He swiveled his hips. The Ripstik moved a foot forward. He swiveled his hips again. Another foot. Swivel, foot. Swivel, foot.
"Yes, I understand the required movement now," Norbert said.
He swiveled his hips a little faster, and the Ripstik rolled slowly up the sidewalk past the hedgerow between our houses. Not bad for a beginner. My shin guards were rubbing me wrong, so I pulled the Velcro straps loose and removed the guards. From where I was sitting, the hedgerow blocked my view down the sidewalk so I couldn't see Norbert. He was probably taking it nice and slow so he didn't—
"Whoa!"
Norbert raced past on the Ripstik! Man, he must be going fifty miles an hour!
I jumped up and watched him speeding down the sidewalk. He got to the end of the block, then did a U-turn without stopping and headed back toward me. His little hips were swiveling so fast they seemed like a blur. He had a big smile on his small face as he zoomed past me.
The little guy was good!
He made a few more passes then abruptly stopped in front of our house and hopped off.
"That is excellent fun!" he said.
"How'd you do that?"
I tried the Ripstik again, but I couldn't get my hips swiveling fast enough to achieve any speed, only enough to get tired. We decided to take a rest and swing in Norbert's backyard. The family who lived there before him had put up a swing set.
"I find the swaying motion very enjoyable," Norbert said.
"The kid who lived here before you used to twist the swing around then let it spin him real fast so he'd get dizzy. He'd try to walk and fall over. He thought that was hilarious. He was a weird kid."
"Do you think I am weird?"
I shook my head. "You're different. But I've always heard people from California are different." After a moment, I said, "Hey, Norbert?"
"Yes?"
"Today at the game, why'd you tell me to swing with great force?"
"I wanted you to hit the ball far."
I smiled. "I did."
Norbert smiled, too. "Yes. You did. I enjoyed watching the ball fly through the air."
"Me, too. Say, you want me to show you the neighborhood tomorrow?"
"Yes. I would enjoy that."
"After church. You go to church?"
"No. I have never been to church."
I nodded. "I heard people in California don't go to church, but here in Texas going to church is like a religion. You can come with us, if you want to."
"I will ask my father."
"When will he get home?"
"Late."
"Why does he work so much?"
"He is working on a special project. Top secret."
"You want to eat dinner with us?"
"Hot dogs and ice cream?"
"Get real, dude. Mom always fixes something organic and nutritious, like bison meatballs and whole wheat spaghetti."
"Maddy wears her food," I said.
She had put a handful of spaghetti and meat sauce on her hair. Norbert stared at his plate of spaghetti like I did that time we went for Chinese food and they gave us chopsticks instead of forks. So I demonstrated the recommended method of eating spaghetti: I stuffed one end of several strands in my mouth and sucked them up. Norbert watched me then gave it a shot. He was a quick learner.
"Mrs. Dugan, this food is quite delicious. Almost as tasty as hot dogs and ice cream."
Mom emptied the last of the long bottle into her glass. "Why, thank you, Norbert."
"You ever play Scrabble?" I asked him.
"No."
"You home-schooled kids live sheltered lives."
I had set the board on the table, and we had each taken our seven letters.
"What you do is, use your seven letters to make a word off the words on the board. I'll go first and show you."
I put down a word: S-P-A-C-E.
"With the double word score, that's eighteen points. Now you use your letters to make a word using one of those letters. If you can use all seven letters, it's a fifty-point bonus."
"Yes, I now understand the object of this game."
He put down letters off my C: Q-D-X-B-T-F-K.
"Thirty-one points plus a fifty-point bonus."
Norbert smiled as if he were really proud. We all looked at the letters then at each other then at him. It was sad when someone got Scrabble totally wrong, but we didn't want to embarrass our guest. Still, he needed to learn the game.
"Dude, that's not a word."
"Dude, yes, it is. It means …" Norbert looked back down at his letters then up at us. "My bad. I am still thinking in Russian. Lots of consonants."
He removed his letters and added an X to the A.
"Ax. Nine points."
"You lived in Russia?" Mom asked.
"Yes, in Moscow."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Yes, but the Russians are a sad people. Like us. Perhaps it is the Communism. Perhaps it is the weather. Or perhaps it is the food—no hot dogs or ice cream." He smiled. "But I had much fun today."
"Good."
Scarlett added L-E to AX. "Axle. Eleven points."
"What does your father do for the government?" Mom asked.
"He is an analyst."
"And he has to work weekends?"
"Yes. It is a very important assignment. National security."
"Oh, he works for the federal government?"
"Yes."
"Are we being invaded?" Scarlett asked with a grin.
Norbert didn't answer.
"Spaceman," Mom said.
"Pardon me?" Norbert said.
"My word." She added M-A-N to the end of SPACE. "Fourteen points. Norbert, we'd love to meet your father, have him over for dinner. Any night."
"I shall inquire as to his availability."
After dinner, Mom took Maddy for her bath, a requirement after every meal. Norbert helped Scarlett and me clear the table. I pulled a chair up to the sink and climbed up. Norbert watched me with a curious expression.
"Max, are you attempting to reach something?"
"Oh, I'm gonna wash the dishes." I gestured down. "Our dishwasher doesn't work."
Norbert opened the dishwasher door and peered inside at the dish racks.
"You place the dishes inside this machine and it washes them?"
"Yeah. But it's broken, so I wash the dishes by hand."
"Why does the dishwashing machine not work?"
"I don't know. Mom called the repairman out for a free estimate. He looked inside the service panel for like, ten seconds, then said, 'Two hundred fifty bucks.' She said goodbye."
Norbert lay flat on the floor and removed the service panel at the bottom of the dishwasher where the engine was. Norbert stuck his hand inside and fiddled with something. He then removed his hand and stood.
"The dishwashing machine is operational now."
"You fixed it?"
"Yes."
"Hey, Scarlett, Norbert fixed the dishwasher."
Scarlett came over and glanced from Norbert to the dishwasher.
"No way."
"Way."
"It works?"
"Yes," Norbert said. "Commence the operation."
Scarlett closed the door and turned the knob. The dishwasher started.
"It works. How'd you do that?"
Norbert just smiled. But I smiled bigger—no more man-washing.
When he left to go home, Mom said, "Norbert,
remember to ask your father over for dinner. And thanks for fixing the dishwasher."
"Thank you for the food, Mrs. Dugan."
Norbert turned to me and stuck out his fist. I gave him a fist-bump.
"Dude," he said, "this was my best day on Earth."
Home-schooled kids were enthusiastic when they got out.
seven
The next morning, Norbert knocked on our door at seven sharp sporting his L.L. Bean look. When I opened the door, he held out my iPod. It looked brand new.
"You fixed it?"
"Yes. But what is a 'kung fu fighting'?"
"Oh, that's a song. My mom put it on my iPod, to give me self-esteem."
I turned the iPod on. The screen lit up. It worked.
"How'd you do that?"
He just smiled.
"Wow. Thanks, dude."
It was Sunday, so we ate breakfast then got dressed for church. Norbert sat in the den and watched the morning talk shows, the ones with old politicians yelling at each other and getting red in the face like their blood pressure had climbed dangerously high. When I came back downstairs, he pointed at the TV and said, "Your politicians never answer a single question."
"Mom says they're professional liars."
Norbert nodded. "We had the same problem. So now our politicians must wear a truth implant. It can discern whether they are telling the truth or lying. If they lie, it administers an electric shock. One million volts."
"Wow, you guys are tough in California."
"It has proved quite effective."
Mom walked into the room. Her face looked like she hadn't slept at all—again—and she seemed particularly frazzled trying to get Maddy dressed. We went outside and climbed into the Suburban. Mom turned the key … but the engine wouldn't start. She dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel and groaned.
"Not again. Last time it cost five hundred dollars to fix."
Dad had always fixed the cars. I thought Mom might cry.
"Mom, we can skip church today," I said.
"But I've still got to get it repaired. They'll have to tow it, which'll cost even more and …"
"Perhaps I can repair the vehicle," Norbert said.
"Oh, Norbert, you can't—"
But he was already out the door and standing in front of the Suburban. He was so short I could barely see the top of his head over the hood.
"He fixed my iPod, Mom."
"And the dishwasher," Scarlett said.
Mom sighed and popped the hood. Norbert released the latch and the hood flew up. He was invisible to us. After only a few seconds, he pulled the hood down—somehow. Then he came around and got back in.
"The vehicle is operational," he said.
Mom turned the key, and the Suburban roared to life. Mom turned to Norbert.
"How'd you do that?"
Norbert just smiled. Again.
After church, we waited on the front sidewalk while Mom talked to the priest by the front doors. He was patting her hand like he did every Sunday now. When we got back home, I changed into shorts and a T-shirt and my Legend sneakers and came back downstairs where Norbert was waiting.
"You want to change into play clothes?" I asked.
"These are the only clothes I possess."
"Dude, you'll scare people in SoCo dressed like that."
We went outside and started down the sidewalk, but Norbert stopped.
"Max, is it safe for you to walk around the city without a larger person protecting you?"
"Safe for me? I'm twice as big as you, dude. But yeah, it's safe. Everyone in the neighborhood knows me. Besides, I've got superpowers now."
But Norbert was right. Before I had superpowers, I was always nervous walking around the neighborhood by myself, even though everyone knew me and I knew how to run from bad guys since I had had lots of practice. We walked up the hill past Mrs. Cushing's house.
"Up and down, up and down," Norbert said.
"Austin is like that. The hills and the trees and the lakes, that's why people love living here. That and the Mexican food."
Two more blocks and we were at the fire station.
"My dad worked there."
I loved to visit Dad at the station. He'd let me climb up on the trucks and slide down the pole. I missed that. Jesse and Oscar were outside washing their red EMT truck. They noticed me and waved.
"Max!"
I waved back, then Norbert and I continued over to South Congress and stopped at the light.
"The light is red and the sign says walk," Norbert said. "Why are we stopping?"
"Because drivers here run red lights."
I checked both ways, then we crossed Congress. Halfway across, Norbert stopped and gazed north at the State Capitol. The dome sparkled in the sunlight.
"A beautiful sight," Norbert said. "That is where your politicians gather?"
"Yep."
A car honked at us.
"Come on," I said, "before we get creamed."
We hurried across then walked down the sidewalk to Ramon's tattoo shop where we found Floyd T. painting and Rex sleeping. The big dog perked up when we arrived.
"Hey, Floyd T."
"Whaddaya say, Max?"
"This is Norbert. He just moved in next door to us."
"Nice to meet you, Norbert."
I turned to Norbert. "Floyd T. was a war hero. He's got a fake leg."
Floyd T. reached down and rapped his left leg with his knuckles.
"Plastic," he said. "Say hello, Rex."
Rex barked. I petted him, but he sniffed Norbert and backed away, which was odd for Rex.
"Sorry, Norbert," Floyd T. said. "Never seen him act that way before."
"It is me. I am uncomfortable around your animals. He must sense that."
Floyd T. put his brush on the paint can and said, "Bathroom break," then went inside Ramon's tattoo parlor.
"Why does he smell so badly?" Norbert asked.
"Oh, Floyd T.'s homeless."
"He has no home?"
"Nope."
"Where does he sleep?"
"Right here, on Ramon's stoop."
"Why?"
"Because we lost his war."
"Ah."
"You want to see Ramon tattooing someone? Come on in, but don't touch anything, especially the blood. Mom said you can get a bad disease in tattoo parlors. Hippopotamus C."
"That sounds bad."
We went inside the tattoo shop just as Floyd T. walked out. Latino music played in the background. Ramon was inking in a big tattoo of a black spider on the broad back of a fat man who was bleeding like someone had walked on his back with Dad's golf shoes, the old ones with the metal spikes. Ramon was blotting blood with a towel. I introduced Norbert to Ramon.
"Does that procedure inflict pain?" Norbert asked.
The fat man chuckled. "Dang right it does. But it makes me look pretty, don't you think?"
"No, I do not think so."
The fat man chuckled. He was good about being insulted by a kid.
"But it is artistic."
"Thanks, dude," Ramon said.
The parlor smelled like the doctor's office when I got my flu shot a few weeks ago. I hated that smell … and needles even more. All that blood made my face feel hot and my armpits tingle, so we said goodbye and went outside.
"That fat man must also be homeless," Norbert said.
"Why?"
"Because he smelled worse than Floyd T."
We strolled down the sidewalk past the other shops on that block. Norbert liked the painted faces on the outside wall of Lucy in Disguise with Diamonds. All the stores were open on Sunday. Mom said there used to be laws against that sort of thing, but now Sunday was just another shopping day, like Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July. Norbert stopped and stared at everyone we passed as if they were the most fascinating creatures he'd ever seen.
"Why does everyone here paint their bodies?"
" 'Cause this is the weird part of Austin."
&
nbsp; We crossed Elizabeth Street and walked past Güero's and down to Kid Genius, my favorite store. Not that I was a genius or anything, but they had neat stuff for non-geniuses, too.
"I grew up on this stuff," I said.
They had toys, scooters, books, games, Legos, and other cool stuff that was supposed to make kids smart. We walked over to the check-out counter where Brian was manning the cash register and hunched over a Sudoku puzzle in a book. He was a geeky college kid with wild hair and black glasses. He was tapping a pencil against his head and frowning.
"Hi, Brian."
His head came up. "Max—whazzup, dude?"
He gave me a fist-bump, but Norbert turned his eyes to the ceiling.
"Nothing is up," he said.
"That's just an expression," I said.
"And what does it mean?"
"Just a way of saying hello."
Norbert smiled. "I like that. 'What is up?' "
"No. It's like, 'whazzup?' You run the words together."
"Whazzup, dude?"
"Nothing much," Brian said.
"This is Norbert. He just moved here from Los Angeles."
He held his fist out to Norbert, who hesitated then executed a timid fist-bump.
"Man, I wanna move to L.A., get into movies," Brian said.
He had about as much chance of being a movie star as I had being a pro quarterback.
"Do not quit your day job," Norbert said to Brian.
"What?"
Norbert shrugged. "I do not know what that expression means, but humans say it often in Los Angeles."
"Oh."
"Working another Sudoku?" I said.
Brian loved those puzzles. He bragged that he was the top Sudoku solver in Austin. Brian needed a life. Of course, I was one to talk.
"Trying. This one's super hard. I can't figure it out."
"You ever do one of these?" I asked Norbert.
"I have never seen one of those. What is it?"
"A Japanese number puzzle," Brian said.
He flipped the book around so Norbert could see the puzzle.
"There's nine spaces in each row and column," Brian said, "and nine three-by-three grids with nine spaces in each grid. The object is to use the numbers one through nine in each row, column, and grid."
Norbert stared at the puzzle but held his hand out to Brian.
"Writing instrument."
Brian slapped his pencil in Norbert's hand like Mom slapping a scalpel into a surgeon's hand, but he chuckled.
