him and made him remove his Cubs hat.
If they come after me I will hide in a dumpster.
I realize that I am still wearing the hardhat but I donât feel guilty and I keep it on.
The rain dies a little but not much.
I think about cutting through Hamil Woods. I could rest in the dugout at the baseball field.
But you never know when the Smudge Man will come out of his hole.
I imagine meeting him.
Hello, Smudge Man, I say, nice to finally meet you.
He is gentle and scary at the same time.
He plays his violin and I get hypnotized.
Then he takes me down into his hole and eats my brain with a spoon.
7
By the time I get home, the rain has stopped and the backyard looks like rubber.
Cheedle is under the swing set with his typewriter. Heâs sitting on newspapers and wearing a red football helmet. The helmet makes his head look huge.
Hey, I say.
He says, Hey.
What are you doing out here?
Maâs talking to someone in the kitchen.
Who is it? I ask.
Some woman with frizzy hair.
Whatâs with the football helmet? I ask.
He says, Itâs for concentration. Distracting forces see it and it renders them useless.
I have no idea what he just said.
I say, Whereâd you get it?
I found it in the basement, he says. I would hypothesize that it belonged to our dad.
Oh, I say.
The chin strap makes his face look smashed.
Itâs a day for interesting headgear, he says, pointing to my hardhat.
I found it, I say.
He doesnât ask where.
I donât think heâs at all interested in my life.
Sometimes I feel like Iâm his little brother and I should be following him around.
We are quiet and he types for a minute.
Did you see the rainbow? Cheedle asks.
No, I say, I missed it.
It was strange, he says, still typing. The rain was coming down in a veritable deluge and then it suddenly stopped and there was a full rainbow.
Huh, I say. Whatâs a reversible luge?
Ver itable del uge. An authentic downpour.
Oh, I say.
Cheedle says, The Indians believed rainbows meant good things to come.
Then he picks at his ear through a hole in the football helmet.
Howâs the novel coming? I ask.
Iâm having a good session, he says. Glen the Bear Boy is leading me on an interesting journey. As weâve learned in Techniques in Fiction Writing, keeping your protagonist active is perhaps the novelistâs greatest challenge.
He stops typing.
By the way, Cheedle says, thanks for the kissing lesson. I told Anna Beth Coles about it today in Chaos and Creativity and she expressed interest in having a lesson as well. Sheâs eleven like you and sheâs already well into puberty. I think she would benefit from your wisdom on such matters. She said sheâd be happy to provide remuneration.
Whatâs remuneration? I ask.
Re mun eration, he says. A fee for your services.
Oh, I say.
I think about getting a fee for my services and it strikes me that this would be a form of prostitution.
Eric Duggan told me that prostitutes donât wear any underwear and make a thousand dollars an hour. He got this information from a late-night HBO special.
What did you think of Anna Karenina ? Cheedle asks.
I couldnât read it, I say. I kept getting stuck on the names.
He says, Tolstoy takes some getting used to.
He adjusts the chin strap and cleans his thumbnail.
Anna Karenina winds up jumping in front of a train, he adds. One of the most tragic moments in Russian literature.
Why does she do that? I say.
I donât know, Cheedle says. I guess sheâd had enough.
I see myself jumping in front of one of the Metra Rock Island trains. I can hear the whistle screaming as it pulls into Union Station. But instead of jumping I get scared and sit down on the platform.
I say, The Sherpas believed that the Indominable Snowman was a time traveler.
Cheedle watches me for a moment and says, Itâs abominable.
Oh, I say. Isnât that what I said?
You said indominable. Indominableâs not
If they come after me I will hide in a dumpster.
I realize that I am still wearing the hardhat but I donât feel guilty and I keep it on.
The rain dies a little but not much.
I think about cutting through Hamil Woods. I could rest in the dugout at the baseball field.
But you never know when the Smudge Man will come out of his hole.
I imagine meeting him.
Hello, Smudge Man, I say, nice to finally meet you.
He is gentle and scary at the same time.
He plays his violin and I get hypnotized.
Then he takes me down into his hole and eats my brain with a spoon.
7
By the time I get home, the rain has stopped and the backyard looks like rubber.
Cheedle is under the swing set with his typewriter. Heâs sitting on newspapers and wearing a red football helmet. The helmet makes his head look huge.
Hey, I say.
He says, Hey.
What are you doing out here?
Maâs talking to someone in the kitchen.
Who is it? I ask.
Some woman with frizzy hair.
Whatâs with the football helmet? I ask.
He says, Itâs for concentration. Distracting forces see it and it renders them useless.
I have no idea what he just said.
I say, Whereâd you get it?
I found it in the basement, he says. I would hypothesize that it belonged to our dad.
Oh, I say.
The chin strap makes his face look smashed.
Itâs a day for interesting headgear, he says, pointing to my hardhat.
I found it, I say.
He doesnât ask where.
I donât think heâs at all interested in my life.
Sometimes I feel like Iâm his little brother and I should be following him around.
We are quiet and he types for a minute.
Did you see the rainbow? Cheedle asks.
No, I say, I missed it.
It was strange, he says, still typing. The rain was coming down in a veritable deluge and then it suddenly stopped and there was a full rainbow.
Huh, I say. Whatâs a reversible luge?
Ver itable del uge. An authentic downpour.
Oh, I say.
Cheedle says, The Indians believed rainbows meant good things to come.
Then he picks at his ear through a hole in the football helmet.
Howâs the novel coming? I ask.
Iâm having a good session, he says. Glen the Bear Boy is leading me on an interesting journey. As weâve learned in Techniques in Fiction Writing, keeping your protagonist active is perhaps the novelistâs greatest challenge.
He stops typing.
By the way, Cheedle says, thanks for the kissing lesson. I told Anna Beth Coles about it today in Chaos and Creativity and she expressed interest in having a lesson as well. Sheâs eleven like you and sheâs already well into puberty. I think she would benefit from your wisdom on such matters. She said sheâd be happy to provide remuneration.
Whatâs remuneration? I ask.
Re mun eration, he says. A fee for your services.
Oh, I say.
I think about getting a fee for my services and it strikes me that this would be a form of prostitution.
Eric Duggan told me that prostitutes donât wear any underwear and make a thousand dollars an hour. He got this information from a late-night HBO special.
What did you think of Anna Karenina ? Cheedle asks.
I couldnât read it, I say. I kept getting stuck on the names.
He says, Tolstoy takes some getting used to.
He adjusts the chin strap and cleans his thumbnail.
Anna Karenina winds up jumping in front of a train, he adds. One of the most tragic moments in Russian literature.
Why does she do that? I say.
I donât know, Cheedle says. I guess sheâd had enough.
I see myself jumping in front of one of the Metra Rock Island trains. I can hear the whistle screaming as it pulls into Union Station. But instead of jumping I get scared and sit down on the platform.
I say, The Sherpas believed that the Indominable Snowman was a time traveler.
Cheedle watches me for a moment and says, Itâs abominable.
Oh, I say. Isnât that what I said?
You said indominable. Indominableâs not
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