Sauerkraut

by Kelly Jones

  “Andre is Uncle Gregor’s BOYFRIEND!” Asad told her. “He loves science so much they’re off doing science RIGHT NOW!”

  Oma looked at me, confused.

  I hesitated. I was pretty sure this was one of those things that had been different when Oma was alive, and I didn’t know if Mom and Dad had talked with her about it or not, or if they’d covered it on the History Channel. But Uncle Gregor was her family too. “Oma, do you know about how some guys fall in love with guys, not girls? Uncle Gregor fell in love with a guy he met when he went back to college. His name is Andre.” I went over to the mantel and found the photo from when Uncle Gregor and Andre took us for a special backstage tour of the penguin exhibit at the zoo. Uncle Gregor has his arm around Andre’s shoulders, and they’re both squinting at the sun and smiling. “This is Uncle Gregor, and that’s Andre,” I told Oma. “They’re off doing research on penguins. They’ll be back in September, though.”

  She took the photo from my hand and studied it for a long time. “I cannot wait to meet them,” she said at last. “Does Andre make sauerkraut?”

  * * *

  After that, we were all pretty busy getting everything ready for the fair.

  Dad dropped our entry forms off and paid the entry fees for me and Oma, since we’d been working so hard on our projects.

  Mr. Z. walked me through putting a free open-source operating system and some basic software on my computer, like a word processor and a game I bought, so I could show the judges that it did something. (It’s going to be a while before I save up enough money for all the software I want. But like Mr. Z. said, this is a start.)

  Eli practiced two solos until they were both nearly perfect, even when the goats came over to see what he was doing. He’ll pick which one he wants to do once he’s up on stage doing his thing. Eli likes some spontaneity in his performances.

  Mr. Z. signed Rodgers and Hammerstein up for the fair, but he decided not to enter the goat-and-owner look-alike contest this year, so we didn’t have to help him make costumes. We had to make a few repairs to Eli’s costume after an incident with Asad and a football and the goats, though.

  Eli and I helped Oma make a really nice poster, and she seemed okay with it now. We helped her write out what she wanted to say on index cards too, to hold up if the judges had questions about her sauerkraut.

  I made some cards about my computer build too, and practiced a few times during our kaffeeklatsches. Mr. Z. said I covered everything perfectly.

  And Mom let me use her email account to let everyone know when my presentation was scheduled, in case they wanted to come by. Every single one of them said they’d be there.

  It was all coming together, just like I wanted it to.

  On the morning of our fair day, Mom picked her giant kohlrabi and left early to help her farmers set up their vegetables. She dropped Asad off at his friend Liya’s house on her way, so he wouldn’t get underfoot.

  Then Eleanora and Mr. Z. came by to pick up Rodgers and Hammerstein and wish us luck.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to enter them in the obstacle course?” Eli asked. “They get almost halfway through ours now.”

  Mr. Z. smiled. “This year, we will let someone else win. But next year…”

  Total annihilation, Oma wrote, nodding.

  After they left, Eli and I got kind of fidgety too, especially with Oma asking if it was time yet every five minutes. So it wasn’t that long before Dad suggested we start packing things up. Eli’s tap performance wasn’t until five, but Oma and I had to have our entries there by nine a.m., even though they wouldn’t start judging our categories until ten.

  Dad helped me pack the jar of sauerkraut and the poster and my computer and peripherals into the restored 1958 Chevy Impala he was entering this year, and buckle Oma’s empty crock into the backseat with us.

  * * *

  When we walked into the gym, I saw a sign on the table by my spot: HD SCHENK, HOMEBUILT COMPUTER. I got a feeling in my stomach, like butterflies that could turn into fireworks, or something magic. Like maybe people would look at me and realize that there was a whole part of me they’d never recognized before, and that what they saw impressed them.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay setting everything up yourselves?” Dad asked, putting his box down.

  I nodded. “Yeah, pickles are across the gym, so we’ll help Oma get set up too. We just have to get our badges, and make everything look good, and wait for the judges to come around at ten.”

  “I’m over in the garage if you need anything,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “See you at ten. You do know how proud we are of you, right?”

  I felt a butterfly twitch and take off as I nodded. “See you then.”

  I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave Oma by herself, so Eli and I brought her crock along when we went to the table to get our badges.

  “Name?” said the white guy sitting at the table, when it was our turn. He smiled at Eli, but he gave me a look like he didn’t really want to help me at all. Eli stopped smiling and folded his arms.

  “Mrs. Marietta Schenk would like me to pick up her badge, please,” I said very politely, setting the crock down.

  The guy frowned. “Mrs. Schenk must be present at the time of judging.”

  I nodded. “She knows. We’re helping her get set up.”

  He gave the pickling crock a look. “There’s not much space on the pickle table,” he said. “Are you sure she needs that?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I told him. “Can we please pick up Mrs. Schenk’s badge for her?” My stomach was feeling bad-sick now, not butterfly-strange.

  The guy shook his head. “She’s going to have to sign for that herself.”

  “Are you saying that because HD’s Black?” Eli asked. “Because you let that white lady before us pick up her kid’s badge. Maybe you should think harder about what’s going into your decisions, because my mom says that is not fair and not okay.”

  Oma’s eyes narrowed. “I will handle this man myself.” She grabbed the pen right out of his hand, and signed the form on his clipboard.

  “What the—” The guy flinched. He stared at the badges moving in his box. When Oma found hers and pulled it out, not being too careful about how close she got it to his face either, he got to his feet and backed away. Then he turned and ran.

  “Come on,” I told Eli and Oma, and grabbed the crock. I didn’t know when that guy was going to come back, but I didn’t want to be there when he did.

  That guy was right about one thing, though: There wasn’t much room for pickles. So, Oma moved the other people’s signs over a little bit to make her spot big enough for her poster and her crock.

  “We never got our badges,” Eli reminded me. “We’re not supposed to be in here without them.”

  “Maybe we should wait awhile,” I said.

  Eli went and stuck his head out the gym door. “Don’t worry, that guy is still gone.” He headed out.

  “We’ll be back in a minute, okay?” I told Oma, hurrying after him. Maybe nobody would notice her badge floating around the other pickle entries.

  When we got there, you know who’d taken that guy’s place? Ms. Stevermer!

  “Nice to see you,” I said. “Can we get our badges? We already got Oma’s, but we had to leave before we got ours.”

  Ms. Stevermer handed over her clipboard and pen. “Yes, I heard about that. So sorry I wasn’t here to help.”

  “That’s okay,” I told her as she showed us where to sign. “Oma’s not that patient, but she’s pretty good at managing.”

  Ms. Stevermer handed us our badges. Eli’s said TAP RECITAL on it. Mine said TECHNOLOGY ENTRY.

  We put them on and gave each other a high five. We were official now.

  “Please tell Mrs. Schenk I wish her the best of luck with he
r entry,” Ms. Stevermer said. “And of course, I’ll be thinking of you two as well—though you hardly need luck, with all the work you’ve put in!”

  When we got back to the gym, Oma floated right over, still holding her badge. “HD, come tell me whether the sauerkraut jar looks better on the right side of the crock or the left….Also, I think the bow on the jar could be bigger. Those pickled beets have a bigger bow.”

  I glanced at my watch. Nine-thirty. “Look, Oma, I’ll come help you in a minute, but I really need to set my entry up first. I have to be ready at ten too, remember?”

  Oma blinked, and looked across the gym at my spot. “I see.”

  “I can help you, though,” Eli told her, practicing his second solo grand finale. He slid to a stop right in front of her entry.

  “Thanks,” I told him, and left before Oma could argue.

  It felt good to set my computer up in the spot with my name. I plugged the monitor into the computer, and connected the keyboard and mouse up again. I plugged the power strip I’d brought into the outlet, and plugged everything else into the power strip. Then I double-checked that all the connectors were secure. I arranged the keyboard in front of the monitor so they lined up neatly, put the Black Panther mouse pad that Dad got for me under the mouse, and stacked up my index cards. Everything was ready.

  I checked my watch: nine-forty. I hurried across the gym to see how Eli and the ghost were doing.

  “See, none of the other pickling people have any visual aids at all!” Eli was telling the ghost. “You’re going to do great, Mrs. S.”

  “Let me get my pencil.” The ghost tried to clip her badge to her pajamas. It fell right through her and landed on the gym floor. She looked up at me. “HD, I need an accommodation for my badge.”

  It took us a minute to find some supplies, but by nine-fifty I’d made a pretty good badge holder for my great-great-grandma out of a broken shoelace and a paper clip.

  The ghost put it over her arm and wore it like a purse. It didn’t fall through her shoulder. “How do I look?” She did a little ghostly twirl.

  “Very, uh, like a master pickler,” I told her, smiling.

  Eli was staring at her badge holder. “How is that working?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe her pajamas can’t handle as much weight as she can?”

  “We’re going to need to design a new experiment….” Eli trailed off. “Hey, Mrs. S.? You’re going to say bye to us before you leave, right?”

  “What do you mean?” Oma asked, frowning.

  “You know, when you win the fair and go to the next level,” Eli said. “Should we say bye now, just in case? Or will you come over to clap for HD’s computer before you disappear forever?”

  I swallowed. I’d been working so hard to get things ready for this day, I forgot that this could be it. “You’re going to stay for the award ceremony tonight, though—right, Oma?”

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. She looked at me, and then down at her stack of index cards. “Perhaps I will not win after all.”

  I looked out across the gym at my computer. It was still really important to me. But Oma’s sauerkraut was important to her too. What if she missed her chance because they couldn’t hear her? Maybe I could help Oma with her presentation and still do mine….After all, the judges couldn’t visit all the entries at once.

  “I have an idea,” I said. “Eli, can you come help me talk to Ms. Stevermer again for a minute? Don’t go anywhere yet, Oma—we’ll be right back.”

  We ran back to the registration table. “We think Oma might need my help presenting her sauerkraut,” I told Ms. Stevermer. “We helped her make a poster, but the judges probably can’t hear her, so I might need to tell them what she says.”

  “As an accommodation,” Eli added.

  Ms. Stevermer thought about that for a minute. “Well, I’ve never seen anything about ghosts not being allowed to enter the fair, so let’s proceed as we would for anyone else who was entering. Would you say she’s missing her vocal cords and larynx?”

  Eli and I nodded. “Yeah, she’s missing her whole body,” I said.

  “If an entrant needed an accommodation due to a missing body part, we would of course accommodate her, and I don’t see why a missing body would be any different,” Ms. Stevermer said. “You’ll only be telling the judges what she said, correct? And she’ll need to sign for herself.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it’s her presentation.”

  “And you know she can write just fine,” Eli said.

  Ms. Stevermer nodded, and wrote a note on a piece of scratch paper. “Have her sign this. It will let the judges know you’ve been approved to help her.”

  “Thanks,” I told her, taking the note. We hurried back to the gym.

  “Okay, so here’s the new plan,” I told Oma. “If you sign this note, I can help you out by telling the judges what you’re saying.”

  Oma straightened up and smiled. “Wonderful!” She picked up her pencil and signed the note.

  “A group of judges will be coming in any moment now,” I told the ghost. “If they start with the technology side of the gym, I’m going to go present my computer first, and then come back and help you. If they start with this side—”

  “You will help me explain how I made my sauerkraut first,” the ghost said, nodding. “Thank you, Hans Dieter.”

  The ghost wrapped her arms around me, and I hugged her back. When I opened my eyes, I saw some lady look at me, then look away fast. But you know what? I didn’t really care. Just because she couldn’t see everything in the world around her didn’t mean I had to do anything differently. Sometimes you have to do what’s important to you, no matter what anybody else thinks.

  “And if they have any questions, I’ll help you answer them, before I go present my computer,” I said. “But, try to stick around long enough to say goodbye to everyone, okay? I mean, I know you’re probably impatient to move on, but…We’re going to miss you.”

  Eli grabbed my arm. “We have a problem,” he said. “Look.”

  Two different groups of judges had arrived, instead of the one group we’d planned for. One group had clipboards and big buttons with canning jars on them, and they were moving toward the first pickle entry. Another had buttons that said STEM, and they were moving toward the first technology entry.

  “We can still make this work,” Eli said. “Somehow.”

  Eight entries before Oma’s. Nine before mine. There wouldn’t be time to do one, then the other.

  “I could, uh, create a distraction!” Eli said. “Like, maybe a musical number?”

  I’d spent so long getting ready for this day, picturing it in my mind. My computer was waiting for me, right across the gym. All I had to do was turn it on and tell everyone how I built it. For just a minute, I let myself imagine once more how it would be, me explaining how I built my computer, and my parents, Eli, Mr. Z., Harry, Grace, Rose, Mei, and Ms. Stevermer, all nodding along, appreciating what I had done.

  But all those people know it’s important to help someone out when they need it. Every one of them had helped me out, one time or another.

  I imagined myself looking up over all those people’s smiles and seeing Oma disappear, without saying goodbye.

  I wanted to show everyone I was a maker. But those people already knew that, really. Now I needed to be someone who helps people out too.

  I turned my back on the computer that I built, and I told Oma, “Okay. Let’s get ready for the judges.”

  “Ready!” she said, clutching her pencil. She watched the pickling judges coming slowly down the line.

  “Wait, what? Are you sure, HD?” Eli asked. “You don’t have to do this. I could help her for you, instead.”

  “Thanks,” I told him. “But she’s my oma, and I want to be here, in case it’s time to say goodbye. Just—would
you keep an eye out for my parents and Mr. Z., and let them know what’s going on?”

  “Sure thing.” Eli hesitated. “I’m really sorry, HD.”

  I shrugged. It was okay, kind of. But I didn’t feel like talking about it anymore. Not when I could see my mom walking up to my computer, looking around for me.

  Eli headed across the gym, and I glanced at Oma. She was staring over at my computer.

  Slowly she set her pencil down on the entry table. “HD, you do not have to help me,” she said, her voice quiet. “You belong there, with the project you worked so hard on, and with your family, and your friends.”

  “It’s okay, Oma,” I said. I wiped my hands on my jeans, and watched the judges come closer. “You’ve waited a long time for this, and you’re my family too. I don’t want you to be by yourself when it’s time for you to move on. I guess I can wait another year.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and her voice was very small, even for a ghost.

  And then the judges with the canning-jar buttons were there. “Mrs. Schenk?” one asked, looking around.

  I straightened my shoulders. “I’m doing the oral presentation for Mrs. Schenk,” I told them. “As an accommodation. We have a note, from Ms. Stevermer.” I handed over the note, and they crowded around to read it.

  “This is highly irregular,” one of the judges hissed.

  Another nodded thoughtfully. “It’s never happened before, but everything seems to be in order. On what grounds would you disqualify the entry?”

  “On the grounds that it’s obviously a ridiculous hoax!” the first judge answered.

  Oma didn’t like that. Hans Dieter is my accommodation, and I am not a hoax, she wrote on a spare card. She held it up before I could stop her.

  That was it for the first judge; she took three steps back, then walk-ran out of the gym, muttering.

  The second judge snorted. “Would anyone else like to disqualify themselves from their duties as judge?” She raised her pencil up above her clipboard, like it was a race, or a dare.