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Authors: Lynne Rae Perkins
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whizzed by, and how so many people stared from their car windows at someone walking down a sidewalk. He tried to maintain a jaunty, nonchalant air as he walked on. A slight ache began to spread through his arms because he could not alter their awkward position.
Hector was within two blocks of the gas station and the blessed garbage can that he knew was there when he felt the paper bag separate into two sections. It was a slight but significant movement. He spread his fingers and tried to increase the viselike grip of his biceps and forearms. He clamped his chin down and shifted into a very fast shuffling walk that had no ups and downs to it, just a smooth forward glide. He moved fluidly in the direction of the garbage can. His whole being was focused on the thought of the can. It was when he reached the edge of the gas station’s property line that he came into view of the can itself and saw, remembered, that it had a top on it, a rounded top with a little swinging door, a door too small for his explosive bundle. He wouldn’t be able to lift it off without letting go. The garbage can was just outside the door, though, and the door was opening. Someone was coming out. Hector shouted.
“Help!” he yelled as loudly as he could without moving his chin. “Take the lid off the garbage can! I’m going to explode!”
The person looked at him quizzically, then grasped the situation and pulled at the lid, though the lid was heavy and grimy and it was clear that the person didn’t want to do it. The lid came up, the heavy load fell in, and Hector experienced an exquisite relief. His arms tingled with renewed circulation. His legs straightened and his major muscle groups spasmed quietly back to their usual configurations. He felt light and free and happy. Then he felt wet and smelly and stupid.
“What are you doing?” said the person who had helped him. Who was his sister, Rowanne.
“So you were going to take this girl to a drainage ditch?” said Rowanne.
“It’s a ravine,” said Hector. “It’s more like a ravine than a drainage ditch. It’s a really pretty spot. Except for the garbage. I don’t think it’s gonna work. I don’t know where else to go, though.”
“Why don’t you just come here?” asked Rowanne. They were sitting on a bench at the Tastee-Freez, eating ice cream cones.
“I mean, for starters,” she said. “Then you could work your way up to the drainage ditch.”
Hector licked his cone, considering. He was a licker. Rowanne was a biter. She was halfway done and he had barely made a dent.
“You could sit on this bench,” she said, “and look at the view.”
“What view?” said Hector. The bench looked out over the A&P parking lot. Also in sight were the used car lot, the gas station, and the Idle Hour Restaurant, with its bobbing neon chicken advertising “Chicken in the Rough.” That meant you ate it out of a plastic basket lined with wax paper instead of from a dish. They were in the heart, though not quite the entirety, of Seldem’s commercial district.
“The chicken sign is pretty cool,” said Rowanne.
“I like it when the lights come on in the car lot,” said Hector.
“Oh, so do I,” said Rowanne.
“Bring her here,” she said. “It’s a good place to start. And then I’ll try to help you think of something else.”
“I’ll try, I guess,” said Hector. “Ice cream is always good.”
“Ice cream is good,” said Rowanne. “Ice cream is always good.”
CHAPTER 14
Japanese chapter
The plum tree blossoms, the new yearbook is opened. Is that who I am?
D ebbie and Patty sat in a wooden gazebo. The flowering plums outside were covered with blossoms, as if a giant bowl of popcorn had spilled from the sky, which was blue, and landed in the branches. They were looking at the senior pages of the new yearbooks.
The seniors could have their pictures taken in different settings—leaning against a tree, by a fireplace, wherever they wanted—and they
Hector was within two blocks of the gas station and the blessed garbage can that he knew was there when he felt the paper bag separate into two sections. It was a slight but significant movement. He spread his fingers and tried to increase the viselike grip of his biceps and forearms. He clamped his chin down and shifted into a very fast shuffling walk that had no ups and downs to it, just a smooth forward glide. He moved fluidly in the direction of the garbage can. His whole being was focused on the thought of the can. It was when he reached the edge of the gas station’s property line that he came into view of the can itself and saw, remembered, that it had a top on it, a rounded top with a little swinging door, a door too small for his explosive bundle. He wouldn’t be able to lift it off without letting go. The garbage can was just outside the door, though, and the door was opening. Someone was coming out. Hector shouted.
“Help!” he yelled as loudly as he could without moving his chin. “Take the lid off the garbage can! I’m going to explode!”
The person looked at him quizzically, then grasped the situation and pulled at the lid, though the lid was heavy and grimy and it was clear that the person didn’t want to do it. The lid came up, the heavy load fell in, and Hector experienced an exquisite relief. His arms tingled with renewed circulation. His legs straightened and his major muscle groups spasmed quietly back to their usual configurations. He felt light and free and happy. Then he felt wet and smelly and stupid.
“What are you doing?” said the person who had helped him. Who was his sister, Rowanne.
“So you were going to take this girl to a drainage ditch?” said Rowanne.
“It’s a ravine,” said Hector. “It’s more like a ravine than a drainage ditch. It’s a really pretty spot. Except for the garbage. I don’t think it’s gonna work. I don’t know where else to go, though.”
“Why don’t you just come here?” asked Rowanne. They were sitting on a bench at the Tastee-Freez, eating ice cream cones.
“I mean, for starters,” she said. “Then you could work your way up to the drainage ditch.”
Hector licked his cone, considering. He was a licker. Rowanne was a biter. She was halfway done and he had barely made a dent.
“You could sit on this bench,” she said, “and look at the view.”
“What view?” said Hector. The bench looked out over the A&P parking lot. Also in sight were the used car lot, the gas station, and the Idle Hour Restaurant, with its bobbing neon chicken advertising “Chicken in the Rough.” That meant you ate it out of a plastic basket lined with wax paper instead of from a dish. They were in the heart, though not quite the entirety, of Seldem’s commercial district.
“The chicken sign is pretty cool,” said Rowanne.
“I like it when the lights come on in the car lot,” said Hector.
“Oh, so do I,” said Rowanne.
“Bring her here,” she said. “It’s a good place to start. And then I’ll try to help you think of something else.”
“I’ll try, I guess,” said Hector. “Ice cream is always good.”
“Ice cream is good,” said Rowanne. “Ice cream is always good.”
CHAPTER 14
Japanese chapter
The plum tree blossoms, the new yearbook is opened. Is that who I am?
D ebbie and Patty sat in a wooden gazebo. The flowering plums outside were covered with blossoms, as if a giant bowl of popcorn had spilled from the sky, which was blue, and landed in the branches. They were looking at the senior pages of the new yearbooks.
The seniors could have their pictures taken in different settings—leaning against a tree, by a fireplace, wherever they wanted—and they
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