The Key That Swallowed Joey Pigza Page 5

  Then he reached out and touched me in the chest and smiled his little carved-pumpkin smile.

  It was so great having my own baby brother mirror. And then it was so terrifying because I had to save him from everything. I picked up a patch and started to rip open the waxy cover with my teeth and he picked up a patch and put it in his mouth.

  I tugged it away from him, and as I quickly gathered up all the rest of my meds I realized why Mom hid them. She knew he’d want to be like me. She hadn’t lost her entire mind. She was still protecting him.

  “Thank you, Mom,” I whispered. “I know you love us. Get better soon.” Then I turned my back on Carter Junior as I quickly changed my patch. “Come on,” I said to the little copycat, and swooped him up and went into the living room. “We have to get that trash out of the front yard. Help me load up the carts and we’ll make a trash train and push this old junk over to Goodwill, and then we have a million other things to do.”

  I loved feeling pawzzz-i-tive.

  Carter Junior was napping upstairs in his doggy bed and I was still feeling super pawzzz-i-tive. Over the last two days I had finished the laundry, mopped the floors, scrubbed all the walls, washed out the inside of the refrigerator, scraped the creepy crust out of the oven, Ajaxed the stains out of the toilet with the stinky brush, and was counting out the rest of the found money and dividing it up into days when I heard a familiar sound. It was faint at first but then grew louder. Tap, tap, tap. It sounded like Mom’s shoes. She must have missed us so much she got better right away! And now she was coming home. I didn’t have flowers for her, or clean sheets back on the bed, or even a card, but the house was like a present for her, and when she walked up the steps and across the porch and opened the front door she was going to see that every room was spic-and-span, and I had quit playing my insane-boy killer roach game, and that all our junk was thrown away, and I had taken care of Carter Junior, and most of all I had protected him from Dad. That is what would be inside her present. And as a bonus gift I would show her where she wisely hid my meds and that I was totally on task and ready to perform her every command.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She was getting closer. I couldn’t stand still. I was so excited I dropped down onto all fours and ran in circles with the dogs just to run off some extra energy. My chest filled with pride as I could just hear her praising me by saying, “Joey, you are the man of this house.” Suddenly I hopped up and ran to the kitchen just in case a daring roach had snuck out of its motel before checkout time. But they were all still taking an eternal snooze. Then through the open window I heard something go thwack, thwack, thwack. That did not sound like Mom. It sounded like a human weed-whacker or a person with a stick who was slapping at trees and telephone poles and porch steps and yard gnomes and aluminum chairs and parked cars. Then I heard some stranger holler out, “Ouch! Hey, watch that!” Then a dog yelped and whimpered. Glass broke.

  Thwack, thwack, thwack. It was coming my way. Maybe the cure didn’t work for Mom and only turned her sad mood into a bad mood, because when she is in a really bad mood the whole world can be dented up.

  But in a moment it was back to tap, tap, tap again like she was kicking up happy sparks from her high heels. That made me feel better. Then a moment later her shoes were tap, tap, tap–dancing up the front stairs. Any second she was going to tap right into the house and back into our smiley-better lives.

  I glanced in the oval hanging mirror by the door and ran my shaking hand through my hair. “Be a perfect boy,” I said to myself because I knew my in-control perfection would be the best welcome-home gift to her.

  Then suddenly it was three window-rattling thwack, thwack, thwacks on the front door.

  “Coming, Mom!” I yelled out like a gigantic mouth on wheels. “Coming!”

  I took a deep breath, pulled my shoulders back, unlocked the door, and swung it wide open.

  “Mom!” I sang out with my sunny-side-up face. I halfway raised my arms for a hug—and then I gasped. It wasn’t Mom.

  It was Olivia, my old girlfriend, and she was the meanest blind girl in the world, and the only girl I had ever kissed. But I didn’t want to kiss her just then because I might lose my lips.

  She was hissing away like a burning fuse on a scowling bomb—and then she exploded! “I’m not your mother and I never will be,” she said sharply, then swiftly she raised her long blind-girl stick and thwack—she slashed me right across the knee. It could have been a mistake. Or maybe not. It certainly wasn’t a love tap. “Welcome to the House-of-Pigza,” I whimpered, and limped aside.

  “Don’t talk!” she ordered. “Just get out of my way—I’ve been traveling all night.” She raised her stick to strike me and I retreated.

  She tapped her way into the middle of the living room, then hovered menacingly while swinging her head to the left and to the right like a storm cloud searching for a place to rain. I dashed around her and closed and bolted the door.

  “Why are you wearing a sign around your neck that reads HELP! Blind Girl Hitchhiking?” I asked, nervously chattering away. “Isn’t that risky? Why would you wear a black dress to hitchhike at night? Besides—”

  “Quiet!” she said bluntly, and stomped her foot. “I’ll tell you more later.”

  But I couldn’t wait for later. “I thought you were boarding at that special church school for blind girls your parents sent you to,” I said.

  “I’ve been suspended,” she announced with a sneer.

  “That’s insane!” I cried out. “How can a blind girl be suspended?”

  “What a stupid thing to say,” she snapped back. “Blind girls get in trouble too, and you know how much I love trouble.”

  I knew. We had been homeschooled together by her mom for a while. I still had the scars.

  “I’m sorry,” I squeaked. “What did you do?”

  “I refused to go to my anger management therapy,” she said.

  “Is that all?” I asked.

  “Well, I spray-painted graffiti,” she added with pride.

  “What did you paint?” I asked.

  “I spray-painted I AM NOT ANGRY!” she replied. “A hundred times all over the school!”

  “Did they suspend you for bad blind-girl handwriting?” I asked, and laughed at my own joke.

  “Don’t make me angry,” she ordered, and raised her stick. “Now just listen. I have an emergency.”

  “How can I help?” I asked.

  “Do you still love me?” she asked right back.

  “Yes,” I said, keeping a sharp eye on her quivering stick, which I noticed was spray-painted tar black and was scarred up from hitting everything that dared to stand in her way. “The last time you were home, I told you I’d love you forever.”

  “Are you willing to do anything for me?” she pressed. “Anything at all?” She raised the stick like a trembling conductor about to strike up the band.

  I knew her aim was deadly. She could swat flies out of midair. Her killer aim was one of the things I loved about her. Except when it was aimed at me. I lifted my arm in self-defense and began to wince in advance of an expected blow.

  “Sure,” I said to her. “I’ll do anything.”

  “Then I need you to go buy me some underwear,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” I replied, and took a hesitant step back.

  “Panties,” she repeated as if I were deaf, and leaned toward me.

  “Why?” I asked. “Why so suddenly?”

  Thwack! She got me right across the shoulder.

  “Just listen!” she insisted.

  I soundlessly squatted down like a frog on all fours and held my breath. I figured it would take her a few failed slashes before she could target me again.

  “Are you trying to look up my dress?” she cried out angrily, and raised the stick so high the tip stabbed the ceiling.

  “No,” I croaked. “No. I wouldn’t ever look up a blind girl’s dress.”

  “But you would look up a sighted girl’s dress?�
�� she asked, more as an accusation.

  “No,” I quickly replied, and shuffled back across the floor because I feared her anger. “I don’t look up skirts or kilts or anything with an open bottom.”

  “Then stand up and talk like a man,” she commanded.

  “How did you know I was ducked down?” I asked, slowly standing.

  “Blind-girl radar,” she stated with pride. “Now watch this.”

  And before I could watch anything she lunged forward and pressed the sharp tip of the stick right between my eyes.

  “Okay,” I sort of yelped. “You win. Let’s just talk about underwear.”

  “Panties!” she insisted.

  “So where are yours?” I asked.

  “Say that word,” she insisted.

  “Pan-tees,” I said slowly, and squinted cross-eyed at the tip of her stick. “What happened to your pan-tees?”

  “I lost them,” she replied irritably.

  “How?” I asked. “It seems kind of hard to lose something like that.”

  “Well I did,” she said frankly. “At a gas station bathroom.”

  “But how?”

  “I rinsed them out in the sink and then I spread them across the hand blower to dry off and pressed the button. The hot air must have heated them up and they floated away like a balloon—I searched everywhere but couldn’t find them.”

  “What happened to your famous radar?” I asked.

  Thwack. Right across the fingers.

  “Okay, I deserved that one,” I whimpered, and stuck three dented fingers in my mouth.

  “Now go get me some panties,” she repeated.

  “But I’ve never done that before,” I replied. “My mom buys her own panties.”

  “Nothing to it,” she said. “Just walk in and buy them like you buy socks.”

  “Please don’t hit me,” I said, and cringed. “But I don’t have any pantie-buying money.”

  “Here,” she said, and reached into her pocketbook and tossed me her wallet. “I have plenty of money from gambling at cards.”

  “Blind church girls play cards for money?” I asked.

  “I might have to kill you,” she threatened.

  “Okay,” I said. “But how many panties do you need?”

  “Buy a three-pack,” she said. “For starters.”

  “Any color?” I asked before my brain was working.

  Thwack! She hit me again. “They are all the same color to me.”

  “Ow,” I said sharply. “That’s going to bruise.”

  “Ha,” she sort of laughed. “For you it will turn black and blue, but to me it will be black and black. Ha!” She always had a painful sense of humor.

  “But I can’t go,” I said. “We have a baby, and he’s sleeping and I can’t wake him.”

  Then she smiled in surprise and lowered her stick. “You have a baby?” she asked softly, and suddenly glowed with joy. “A real baby?”

  “Yeah. Carter Junior,” I replied proudly. “He’s kind of my kid for the moment while my mom’s in the hospital adjusting her mood and my dad’s hiding out somewhere in town after a bad face-lift.”

  “I love babies,” she said, ignoring everything else I’d just said. “At school I do a lot of babysitting for the teachers.”

  “Really?” I asked. “People ask blind girls to babysit?”

  “I should slash your eyes out for being so offensive,” she said. “You sound like my mother, who just wants me to be a blind-girl nitwit. But I want to do everything people say I can’t do because when people say I can’t do something I get really angry.”

  “Did someone ever say blind girls shouldn’t hitchhike?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact they did,” she replied, grinning. “But I showed them.”

  “Did someone ever say blind girls can’t lose their panties?” I asked, and instantly jumped back, but she just frowned and shook her head.

  “Was that a blind-girl eye-roll?” I asked.

  “Good guess,” she replied. “But really I’m just being impatient.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But for now do you want a pair of my underwear?”

  “Don’t insult me,” she huffed, and made a stinky face. “I’m blind. Not sick. I don’t wear boys’ underwear. Now go. I’m chafing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You don’t want to know,” she said, and made an unpleasant face. “Besides, I need panties because I’m wearing a dress and it’s against the universal girl dress code to wear a dress without coverage.”

  I slapped my own forehead. “Absolutely,” I shouted. “I should have known that!”

  Just then Carter Junior began to cry out.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “Upstairs,” I said. “I’ll get him.”

  “No!” she ordered, and wiggled her stick back and forth. “You go get the panties, and I’ll get the baby.”

  “Let’s all go shopping together,” I suggested. “Like a little family.”

  “I can’t be spotted in town,” she said in a half whisper.

  “Did the school call your parents?” I asked, alarmed. “Or the cops?”

  “Probably. But my mom’s on a monthlong church retreat to the Holy Land and my dad is probably on the road driving his big rig. If the cops do show up here you’ll have to lie for me,” she said, and blew me a kiss. “Now go. I’ll take care of the baby. I’m good at it. I even volunteered in a hospital with newborns. I love them and they all adore me.”

  “They let blind girls take care of newborns?” I cracked.

  “You’ll die for that,” she threatened. “That’s a promise!”

  She started tapping her way up the stairs. Halfway she turned and pointed toward the front door. “Go,” she commanded. “Or else you’ll never see that baby again.”

  My heart swelled. “You are still the meanest cute blind girl I have ever loved,” I cried out, and threw my arms above my head as if I were throwing her a dozen roses. “You can stay here as long as you want and help me raise Carter Junior.” I was suddenly so happy and so full of love I just wanted to thank the whole wide world for my good luck, but she gave me one more cross look and I ran for the door because she could throw that stick like a javelin.

  I walked nervously down the sidewalk as fast as I could, with my head rotating back and forth like a jailhouse searchlight. I had the police to watch out for, and maybe Olivia’s parents, and my lurking father, and anyone from school. I really had to hurry.

  When I entered the discount store a few blocks away I lowered my face and marched straight to a part of the women’s section I had avoided because there was always some kind of show-and-tell lady stuff going on that made me uncomfortable.

  I walked over to a counter where a store clerk had her back to me and was folding T-shirts.

  I leaned over the counter. “Excuse me,” I said in a whisper. “I need to buy some panties.”

  She spun around and I nearly fainted. She looked like Mrs. Jarzab, my school principal. But she wasn’t. “What size?” she casually replied.

  I had already lost my breath and now I felt my face turn red. “I didn’t know they came in sizes,” I said, barely squeezing out the words.

  “Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly. “They come in a wide variety of styles and sizes.”

  “Well, she’s a girl size—a sister size,” I quickly added.

  “I already made that assumption,” she said kindly. “And just so you know, girls come in a variety of sizes. How old is your sister?”

  “She’s eighteen. An adult girl,” I said, lying.

  “Is she a big eighteen, or a medium eighteen, or a small eighteen?” she asked.

  “Do you have to ask so many questions?” I replied.

  She gave me an exasperated look. “I believe you are the boy who has suspiciously strolled into the ladies’ lingerie section and is asking about panties?”

  “Sorry,” I said nervously, and quickly glanced around to see if anybody Olivia�
��s size was in the store, but there were just a lot of ladies half dressed in the bra department. I quickly turned away.

  The clerk crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. “Well? What size?” she repeated.

  “She’s your size,” I blurted out.

  “Are you being fresh with me?” she asked, and gave me a stern look as if I was trying to be a wise guy.

  “No,” I said. “I really think you are about the same size. And I’ll need a three-pack,” I added.

  “Any color?” she asked. “And plain style or with lace?”

  “No lace, and black,” I shot back. “But color doesn’t really matter.”

  “Yes, it does,” the lady insisted.

  It didn’t, but I didn’t explain why. I paid for them and anxiously ran all the way home.

  When I unlocked and opened the front door Olivia and Carter Junior were giggling back and forth. She had found his diapers and changed him and gotten a bottle out of the refrigerator and fed him, and now he was looking up at her face and when she smiled he smiled. When she crinkled her nose and sniffed at him like she was a dog, he crinkled his nose and sniffed at her.

  “I taught him how to be bi-facial,” I explained. “Whatever face you make, he makes. It’s kind of like a wordless language.”

  “It’s called gestures,” Olivia said. “Social cues. We took a course on it in school. They want us to walk around smiling brightly all the time so people think we are deliriously happy about being blind. We’re not supposed to look like lost cows on a foggy field.”

  I smiled. “You don’t look like a cow,” I said sweetly.

  She frowned. “Just hand over the panties,” she demanded. I gave her the bag and she swatted her way down the hall and into the bathroom.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Carter Junior took a deep breath and let it out slowly. We both hoped I got what she wanted.

  About a minute later I heard, “Joey! Get in here. I’m having a problem and need your help.”

  I ran over and stood outside the door. “All you do is step into them one foot at a time and pull them up,” I instructed. “Nothing more to it than that.”