Don't Make Me Smile (4 page)

“Oh really, MaryAnn?” I said. “Gee. I'm sure Mrs. Fensel will be glad to know that you think she's a big fat liar. Because when I got to school today, Mrs. Fensel told me she knew all about my ‘problem.' And she also told me that she got the news from you.”

I got up from the table. “Excuse me for a minute, Blabbette,” I said. “I think I'll go tell Mrs. Fensel that you think she's a big fat liar.”

MaryAnn's face turned pale as a ghost's.

I walked over to the table where Mrs. Fensel was eating lunch. MaryAnn watched me as I tapped my teacher on the shoulder. Then I whispered something in her ear and pointed to where MaryAnn was sitting.

You should have seen MaryAnn squirm. She
packed up her things and ran out of the lunchroom.

I didn't see her for a while after that. But someone told me that she had run into the bathroom and started to cry.

I don't know what she was crying about. All I had done was show Mrs. Fensel where I was sitting and ask her if I could have a few extra minutes to eat my lunch. I told her I was having a hard time swallowing.

It wasn't a lie, exactly. Being upset always makes it hard for me to swallow.

Of course, lately, I hadn't had to worry too much about swallowing when I was home. After Dad left, the meals that my mother made were so terrible that I didn't even want to go to the table.

I probably should have reported her to the health department or something. I think there's a law to make mothers feed their children good dinners. If there's not a law, there ought to be.

The first week that my father was gone was the worst. I remember when Mom called me to supper the first night. I was really getting hungry. I had spent the whole day in my
room thinking about how ruined my life was. For lunch I had only been able to eat half an apple. I wanted more, but I just couldn't get it down.

Anyhow, when I went to the table that night, I thought that I had made a mistake. Maybe it wasn't dinnertime, after all. The only thing on my plate was a hard-boiled egg and two slices of bread.

“Didn't you just call me to supper?” I asked Mom.

“Yes,” she answered. “Sit down and make yourself an egg sandwich.”

The thought of eating a dried-up egg sandwich made me sick. I'd rather eat a frog.

“Don't we have any soup?” I said.

“Listen, Charles,” said my mother. “Don't give me a hard time, okay? Please, just eat your sandwich and drink a glass of milk. I'll make you a better dinner tomorrow night.”

She kept her word, too. The next night, she made one of those macaroni and cheese dinners out of the box … and the next night … and the next night.… As a matter of fact, my mother cooked macaroni and cheese dinner four nights in a row.

I used to like macaroni and cheese a lot. Now I can't stand the stuff. It's just one more thing that this divorce has ruined for me.

The whole idea that my mother wasn't cooking anymore really bothered me. It's not that I wanted to eat. In fact, usually I didn't feel much like eating at all. It's just that I thought she could have tried a little harder. When she didn't try, it made me feel like she didn't care.

The fifth night she served macaroni and cheese, I finally told her how I felt.

“What are we having for dinner tonight?” I asked, as if I didn't know.

Mom stirred it in the pot. “I'm heating up that leftover macaroni and cheese,” she said.

“Don't we have any soup yet?” I asked.

“I told you before, Charles. I'll get some next week,” she said. “I just haven't felt much like going to the grocery store. And besides, I thought you loved macaroni and cheese.”

“I used to,” I said. “But that was before I ate three million macaronis in a row. Come on, Mom. Can't we just go to the store and get some chicken noodle soup?”

“No, we can't,” she said. “Not tonight.” Then she plopped a big spoonful of macaroni and cheese on my plate.

I pushed it away. “No, thank you,” I said. “If I put one more little macaroni in my mouth, I'll gag.”

I felt myself getting mad.

“I'm not a
pig
, you know, Mother,” I said.

“What in the world are you talking about?” she asked. “I never said you were a pig.”

“I mean I'm not a pig, and you can't just throw some slop at me and expect me to eat it.”

My mother got furious. Mothers really hate for their dinners to be called “slop.”

“Go to your room!” she snapped.

I stormed out of the kitchen and hurried to my bedroom.

By then, I was in the worst mood ever.

Angrily, I gathered some of my things together and stuffed them in an old shoe box. I would have stuffed them in my old gym bag, but it got broken at Harold Stengler's spend-the-night party. Harold and another kid were trying to zip me inside it when the sides busted.

I spotted my dumb helicopter beanie hanging on my bulletin board. My father had bought it for me at the state fair a couple of years ago. It's probably the corniest thing I own, but for some reason it always makes me laugh.

I snatched it off the bulletin board and stuck it on my head.

I figured if I ever needed a good laugh, it was now.

Then I picked up the shoe box, opened my window, and left.

R
UNNING AWAY from home is something that I'd always wanted to try. I would have tried it a long time ago, but I never had a good enough reason. Until the divorce came along, my parents had never done anything bad enough to make me leave. I mean, once in a while I got sent to my room. And a couple of times they took my allowance away. But that's about it. I always thought it would sound stupid if I had to tell my friends that I ran away from home because my parents wouldn't give me the five bucks they owed me that week.

But divorce … now
there's
a reason to run away.

When I climbed out my window that night, I've got to admit, it was a pretty big thrill. Being out alone after dark is an exciting feeling. It makes you feel real sneaky, like a cat burglar or something.

I started walking down the street very slowly. I didn't run. When you run away from home, the worst possible thing you can do is actually run. Running makes you look like you're doing something wrong. Personally, I think they ought to call it
walking
away from home. I bet a lot less kids would get caught if they knew they should walk.

The most important thing about leaving home is that you've got to have a plan. If you don't have a plan, you might as well stay put.

As for me, I've always known exactly what I would do if I ever left home. I got the idea from a TV show I saw a couple of years ago.

The show was about these two little kids who ran away from an orphanage. They didn't have anywhere to go, so they decided to live in a tree in the park. It turned out to be perfect, too. No one found out about them for months.

When I got to the end of my street, I turned and headed toward the park. We only live about three blocks from there, so it didn't take long at all. And once I arrived, finding the tree I wanted to live in was simple. I chose the one next to the boys' bathroom.

It was a big tree with low branches, so I figured it would be pretty easy to climb. I held the shoe box under my arm and started up. I've always been a pretty good tree climber. My legs aren't very long, but I have great balance.

After I got up about ten feet, I stopped to look down. It was
perfect.
The limbs were so thick and bushy, I knew no one could spot me.

I picked out a nice fat branch to sit on and put the shoe box on my lap. I lifted the lid and looked inside. I had packed three pairs of underpants, a toothbrush, a pair of pajamas, and an old comic book.

“Oh, man. What stupid stuff to pack,” I said right out loud.

I sighed. Oh, well, it didn't really matter, anyway. The important thing was that I didn't have to eat macaroni or listen to any more divorce talk.

I thought about my mother and wondered
what she was doing. By now, she had probably discovered I was missing and called the police. I wasn't worried, though. Not even the best detective in the world could have spotted me in such a thick tree. I was completely safe.

I leaned back and tried to make myself comfortable. Since it was too dark to read my comic book, I decided to figure out a way to sleep. On the TV show I had seen, the kids had built a tree house. I would start on that soon, but right now I had to do the best I could.

The first thing you need when you're trying to get comfortable is a pillow. I took my shoe box and placed it between my head and the tree trunk. I tried to pretend it was soft.

“
Ahhhhh
,” I said. “Now that's more like it.”

It wasn't any use, though. I've never been much good at pretending. The shoe box didn't feel at all like a pillow. It felt like a shoe box.

I would have used my pajamas for a pillow but I needed to use them as a blanket. It had really started to get chilly. Even though it was April, it felt more like January. This gave me one more reason to be angry at my parents. If they really loved me, they would have waited until July to get divorced.

I tried scrunching up into a ball to keep
warm, but it didn't help. Finally, I took two pairs of underpants out of the box and wrapped one around each hand. When I get cold, my hands are always the first part of my body to freeze. Next come my ears. And this time was no exception.

I had no choice. I took off my beanie and put it in the box. Then I pulled out the last pair of underwear and put them on my head. I pulled them way down so they would cover my ears. I never thought I would do anything that dumb. But when you're as cold as I was, you don't care if you're dumb.

It wasn't long before I started shivering. In science, Mrs. Fensel had told us that shivering is the way your body tries to warm itself. Well, I'm sorry to tell her, but she's wrong. Shivering makes you feel even colder. There's no way that you can hear your teeth chattering together and convince yourself that you're getting all toasty warm. No way.

“
Brr
!” I said. “
Brr, brr, brr
!”

When you're freezing, saying
brr
is about all you can do.

I promised myself that the next morning, I would sneak home and bring back a blanket. Meanwhile, I tried not to think about how cold
and uncomfortable I was. The main thing was that I was out of the house and no one could find me.

“
BRR
!” I said louder.

“Cold up there?” asked a voice.

I panicked. Who said that? Who was down there?

I got very quiet and listened.

“Yooo-hooo,” said the voice, again. “I see you, Charlie Hickle.”

No. This was
impossible.
No one could have possibly seen me in that tree. Carefully, I looked through the branches. It was dark, but I could see someone's shadow.

“Charrrrrrrlie …”

Oh no! It was my
mother.
But how could that be? There was no way she could see me through branches that thick. I was sure of it.

Wait a minute, I thought. Maybe she's just bluffing. Yes, of
course.
That was it! When my mother found me missing, she came to the park and started calling my name. She was hoping that I would give myself away.

“Hey up there,” Mom called. “You with the underwear on your head.”

She wasn't bluffing.

This was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing
thing that had ever happened to me. It was even worse than singing in the chorus with my zipper down.

“Go home!” I yelled. “Leave me alone!”

“Don't be silly, Charlie,” she said. “You can't stay in a tree all night. If you don't come down, I'm going to call the fire department.”

Geez. She was treating me like a cat.

“Go home,” I yelled again. “I mean it, Mother! I'm going to live up here for a while. And stop treating me like a cat.”

“For heaven's sake, Charlie. You're being ridiculous!” she shouted back. “You can't live in a tree. Just think about how crazy that is. How will you keep warm?”

“I'll shiver,” I said. “I learned it in science.”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Mom. “And what exactly do you plan to eat?”

“Nuts and berries.”

Right away, I wished I hadn't said that. Now I sounded like a squirrel.

“This is absurd,” said my mother. “You leave me no other choice, Charles. I'm going to go call the fire department to get you down.”

She started to walked away. I didn't really think that she would call the fire department, but there are some things you just don't want to
risk. And having a big hook-and-ladder truck come drag you out of a tree is one of them.

“Okay, okay!” I yelled. “You win. Don't call the fire department. I'm coming.”

I started down the branches. On the way, I remembered to grab my pajamas and my shoe box. Unfortunately, I didn't remember to take the underwear off my head.

When my mother saw me, she started to laugh. She tried not to, I think. But let's face it, I looked like an idiot.

“I'm sorry, honey,” she said, pulling it off my head. “I know you must be freezing.”

She put her arm around me, and we began walking home. For once in her life, she didn't start lecturing me.

When we got to the house, I headed for the front door, but my mom grabbed my hand and walked me to the car. We both got in.

She drove to the grocery store and gave me some money.

“I'll wait here,” she said. “Go get as many cans of chicken noodle soup as you want.”

On the way home, we stopped at Burger King and got a couple of Whoppers.

By this time, I was feeling better about things.
But I was still very curious about how Mom had spotted me in that tree.

“So how did you do it?” I asked at last. “How did you know where to find me?”