My Most Excellent Year (28 page)

Dear Hucky:

I recently heard about you on England’s side of the Atlantic Ocean. Is it true that you can finger-spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and you’re only six? Even
I
can’t do that. You must have had a very special teacher.

Popping in and out of chalk pavement pictures takes a lot of practice, so be patient. You may not be able to master it until you’re at least ten. (One trick I learned is to begin by closing your eyes and imagining candy apples and steam calliopes. That always helps.)

Please promise me that you’ll continue to do well in school, because the penguins won’t let just anyone dance with them. Bert had to have good grades first, and they’ll expect the same from Hucky Harper.

Hugs to you.

My loveliest of wishes,

Julie Andrews

Dear Mama,

When I first had the Julie Andrews idea it was only because I knew it’s what you would have done if you were me and I was Hucky. Except that it wouldn’t have stopped with a letter. When I came home from school one day, she would have been sitting in our living room with you, drinking tea and eating cakes, and you would have said, “T.C., Mary Poppins came over to see you,” like it was the most normal thing in the world. After that, she would have walked me to Emerson Garden holding my hand, and when we got there she’d have sat on the bench with a smile on her face while I knelt on the sidewalk with my colored chalk and drew a picture of merry-go-rounds and penguins and talking horses. Once I was finished, she would have stood up and said, “All right, T.C. Spit-spot! Let’s get ready to take a trip.” Just like we were really going to hop inside of it. But at the last minute, she’d have stared down at the Ferris wheel and said, “Oh dear. There’s a thunderstorm coming just over the hill you drew. I’m terribly afraid
that if we pop inside for a visit right now, we’ll be washed away with everything else.” Well, I wouldn’t have wanted that either, so I’d have let her take me to The Word Shop Café instead—without even knowing that she was secretly Julie Andrews, who didn’t really have special powers, because I’d always believe that Mary Poppins had saved my life by not letting me get erased in the rain. And while we were eating cookies at the café, all the other kids would be whispering, “Hey, look! That’s T.C. Keller with Mary Poppins!” Phyllis would have been impressed too, even though she’d know the truth. (“Anthony Keller, you march yourself over to Aisle 2 and pick out a thank-you card for Julie—for Mary Poppins.”) On the way home, we’d stop by a church so we could sit on the front steps and feed the birds bread crumbs (tuppence a bag), and then she’d come over to our house for dinner. You’d ask her how Bert and Uncle Albert were doing, and Pop would want to know how she could get any sleep with Admiral Boom shooting off that cannon next door. Finally it’d be bedtime and Mary Poppins would tuck me in and kiss me on the forehead. And just as I was nodding off, she’d whisper how much she loved me.

But I have all of the things you taught me on my side, so I can work a little Mary Poppins magic of my own. And I know just where I’m going to start.

I love you,

T.C.

P.S. I figure I set myself back three months with Alé by pulling the “just friends” routine. Pop says it’s not his fault that nobody sent him the rule book upgrade. Meanwhile, I think I found a gray hair.

S
TUDENT
/A
DVISER
C
ONFERENCE

Lori Mahoney/Anthony C. Keller

Dear Mama,

When Aunt Babe came up for the weekend and saw Hucky jamming on his keyboard, she invented a new holiday on the spot—Saint Sivithius Day—and bought him a present for it. It’s a big plastic electric guitar that’s the same kind of yellow as the keyboard is. Augie
was the one who picked it out. He says the reason the Pet Shop Boys never made it to the A-list is because they weren’t color-coordinated.

Mr. Landey was right—deaf kids can rock to music as much as anybody else can. They just feel it differently. But as far as we know, the only thing Hucky ever listens to is
Mary Poppins
—which is why Alé and Nehi and I took him over to Augie’s for the afternoon with a handful of our CDs. I mean, there’s a whole world outside of “Jolly Holiday With Mary” that he didn’t even
know
about. Yet.

His hands-down favorite was Snoop Doggy, especially “Step Yo Game Up” (which turned Augie’s face the same color as third base by the sixth inning). Once Hucky had listened to “Doggy Dogg World” and “Ain’t No Fun if My Homies Can’t Have None,” we knew we were in a jet stream, so Augie halfheartedly raided Mom’s red-flagged “these-people-need-to-be-run-out-of-town” DVD collection and found the
Undercova Funk
Madison Square Garden concert. For the next hour and a half—while we all sprawled across the floor—Alé and I jammed on “Snoop Bounce,” Augie glowered in the corner, and it turned out to be the first video (except for you-know-what) that Hucky’s wanted to sit through twice in a row. Inside of ten minutes he’d begun swaying his shoulders and lip-synching the first five words of “Up Jump the Boogie” right along with “Snoopy Dog”—which is actually kind of scary when you realize he can’t
hear
any of it.

“Can I play a concert in Madison Garden too?”
he begged while I put on his coat at the end of the day.

“When you’re nine,” I promised, zipping up the hood.

Before we took him back to the Children’s Residence, we all went over to Brookline Music together to buy him some CDs of his own:
The Doggfather
for Hucky, and
Crosby, Stills & Nash
for Mateo. (He figured they could trade them back and forth with each other, along with their rabbits’ feet, Gummi Bears, and Legos.) But I realized when we hit the sidewalk again that he didn’t know anything about the sixties, and my gut told me that he ought to learn at least some of the facts if he was going to understand why CS&N rocked.

“People wore beads around their necks and bands around their
heads and ugly pants with bell bottoms,” I told him, holding his hand as we crossed the boulevard.

“Why?”

“To stop the war in Vietnam.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Pop didn’t explain that part.” By the time we’d gotten to Beals Street, two things had happened: (1) He was already losing patience with the whole concept of Woodstock (
“Why wasn’t there anyplace for all of those people to pee??
” “Don’t blame
me!
I wasn’t there!”), and (2) I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Alé was shivering, even though it was almost thirty degrees out and she was already bundled up like an Eskimo. So while Hucky and I were arguing about Porta Potties, I wrapped my arm around her to keep her warm, like it was something I was used to doing every day. And she didn’t even try to stop me—probably because I was still pretending to pay all of my attention to Hucky. Nehi saw the whole thing and barked in appreciation.
“Smooth move, dude!”
I even think Alé’s reconsidering the probation she put me on.

Kids and dogs are great props. Why didn’t Pop ever tell me
that
before??

I love you,

T.C.

P.S. Hucky still cries during the night, but not as much as he used to. Wait until he starts falling asleep with “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes” tickling his temples through his Discman. Maybe the crying’ll even stop completely. Who needs Mary Poppins?