Read Online I'm Down: A Memoir by Mishna Wolff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mishna Wolff
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his cords, hoping he would just mind his own perfect business.
“Where does she live?” he asked.
“Oh,” I said, “Just, you know . . . up the street . . . I take a left up a bit.” He was quiet, so I embellished. “She loves it when I come over, because I’m the only one who really gets her parrot talking.”
Adam looked at me for a moment and after two seconds that felt like two years, he nodded and said, “I love birds.”
“Who doesn’t?” I said.
We walked another half a block until he peeled off to the left. “This is me,” he said, and walked up the steps to the most beautiful two-story colonial I had ever seen. “See you around.”
“Okay, cool,” I said. “See you around the neighborhood.” And I quickened my pace as I continued up the block. I decided then and there to hate him—but also to get invited over. That’s the line I was trying to walk.
As I rounded the corner at the end of Adam’s block I was relieved that lying had panned out for me so well—it actually made me feel a little classier. And on the way back to my neighborhood, I took my time. I walked down the streets of well-tended yards, and fantasized about fathers with tweed jackets, and mothers who stayed home and who had tons of Fruit Roll-Ups in the cupboards. I spent so much time picking out my dream house that I got home an hour late, completely forgetting that Dad and I had made plans. And rather than tell him I was late because I had been designing a new life for myself, I told him it was ’cause I was playing ninja with Tre’s new nunchucks. He looked at me dubiously for a moment and then went back to jury-rigging the toaster.
As weeks went on, fitting in at school proved a little more difficult than I had originally anticipated. For one, my classmates did not appreciate a good cap. One day we were standing on the playground—all lined up to go back inside. And knowing that I had the ear of Zachary, Gavin, and Marylyn, I decided it was the perfect moment to say, “Gavin’s so dumb, he saw a wallet in a store and tried to feed it grass.” A surefire gem in the capping community, but at IPP it was worth nothing—just blank stares. I was amazed.
I explained, “Because wallets are made of leather.” There was silence as Marylyn and Zachary looked at each other.
“Why would you say that?” Gavin said. “I couldn’t possibly be dumb. I have an IQ in the top point-five percent.”
“Oh,” I said. “It’s just like joking.”
I thought about explaining what a joke was, but the look on Marylyn and Zachary’s face let me know what they were thinking—I was too ghetto.
“You’re kind of the dum-dum.” Marylyn said, laughing a little.
“Yeah,” Zachary said. “You didn’t even know what algebra was.”
It was then I really realized that I was actually the dumbest kid in the class. I mean sure I had passed some tests. But the tests I had taken tested logic, not information. And we all knew what time two trains that leave Chicago simultaneously arrive in Detroit. But unlike my classmates, I didn’t know about algebra, or Shakespeare, or lacrosse, or Lacoste. I knew things like if you had fifty cents, and you stole a dollar from the slow kid, you had a dollar fifty. Or that the whipped cream canisters in the corner store across the street get you high. And overcoming these obstacles and making friends was starting to seem impossible.
Then open house came and Mom couldn’t go and asked Dad to instead. I think she was partially hoping that if he saw my classroom and met my teacher, it would get him in the IPP spirit. It certainly got him in the dressing spirit, because the night of the open house Dad got sharp in a cream-colored suit and a shiny rope chain around his neck. And for his feet, there were new shoes. He took them out of a glossy bag labeled “B-A-L-L-Y,” and they were so shiny, I wanted to cheer. When I went to touch them he said, “These are a two-hundred-dollar pair
“Where does she live?” he asked.
“Oh,” I said, “Just, you know . . . up the street . . . I take a left up a bit.” He was quiet, so I embellished. “She loves it when I come over, because I’m the only one who really gets her parrot talking.”
Adam looked at me for a moment and after two seconds that felt like two years, he nodded and said, “I love birds.”
“Who doesn’t?” I said.
We walked another half a block until he peeled off to the left. “This is me,” he said, and walked up the steps to the most beautiful two-story colonial I had ever seen. “See you around.”
“Okay, cool,” I said. “See you around the neighborhood.” And I quickened my pace as I continued up the block. I decided then and there to hate him—but also to get invited over. That’s the line I was trying to walk.
As I rounded the corner at the end of Adam’s block I was relieved that lying had panned out for me so well—it actually made me feel a little classier. And on the way back to my neighborhood, I took my time. I walked down the streets of well-tended yards, and fantasized about fathers with tweed jackets, and mothers who stayed home and who had tons of Fruit Roll-Ups in the cupboards. I spent so much time picking out my dream house that I got home an hour late, completely forgetting that Dad and I had made plans. And rather than tell him I was late because I had been designing a new life for myself, I told him it was ’cause I was playing ninja with Tre’s new nunchucks. He looked at me dubiously for a moment and then went back to jury-rigging the toaster.
As weeks went on, fitting in at school proved a little more difficult than I had originally anticipated. For one, my classmates did not appreciate a good cap. One day we were standing on the playground—all lined up to go back inside. And knowing that I had the ear of Zachary, Gavin, and Marylyn, I decided it was the perfect moment to say, “Gavin’s so dumb, he saw a wallet in a store and tried to feed it grass.” A surefire gem in the capping community, but at IPP it was worth nothing—just blank stares. I was amazed.
I explained, “Because wallets are made of leather.” There was silence as Marylyn and Zachary looked at each other.
“Why would you say that?” Gavin said. “I couldn’t possibly be dumb. I have an IQ in the top point-five percent.”
“Oh,” I said. “It’s just like joking.”
I thought about explaining what a joke was, but the look on Marylyn and Zachary’s face let me know what they were thinking—I was too ghetto.
“You’re kind of the dum-dum.” Marylyn said, laughing a little.
“Yeah,” Zachary said. “You didn’t even know what algebra was.”
It was then I really realized that I was actually the dumbest kid in the class. I mean sure I had passed some tests. But the tests I had taken tested logic, not information. And we all knew what time two trains that leave Chicago simultaneously arrive in Detroit. But unlike my classmates, I didn’t know about algebra, or Shakespeare, or lacrosse, or Lacoste. I knew things like if you had fifty cents, and you stole a dollar from the slow kid, you had a dollar fifty. Or that the whipped cream canisters in the corner store across the street get you high. And overcoming these obstacles and making friends was starting to seem impossible.
Then open house came and Mom couldn’t go and asked Dad to instead. I think she was partially hoping that if he saw my classroom and met my teacher, it would get him in the IPP spirit. It certainly got him in the dressing spirit, because the night of the open house Dad got sharp in a cream-colored suit and a shiny rope chain around his neck. And for his feet, there were new shoes. He took them out of a glossy bag labeled “B-A-L-L-Y,” and they were so shiny, I wanted to cheer. When I went to touch them he said, “These are a two-hundred-dollar pair
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