Paint Me a Monster (12 page)

We stop in front of a stucco house the color of oatmeal. A stocky boy with chipmunk teeth, egg-shaped eyes, and a stomach that jiggles under his T-shirt runs toward us.

“Hi, Unca Barry! Are these my new cousins? I’m Dennis.”

“The menace,” says a serious voice behind him. “I’m Dan, not Danny. Uncle Barry, Dad wants to know if you need help with anything.” Dan licks his thin lips and takes off his sunglasses. Wow! His eyes are small but blue as a jay’s feathers. He is slimmer and fairer skinned than Dennis.

“Meet my nephews,” Dad Barry says, helping each of us out of the car. “Nephews, meet Aunt Rose, the prettiest flower in the garden. And your new cousins, Liz, Rinnie, and Evan.”

Both of Mom’s hands clutch her purse. No hand shaking here. “Hello, nice to meet you,” she says.

“What do you think?” I whisper to Liz.

She doesn’t hear me. She’s busy giving Dan the once-over.

Dennis hands a baseball mitt to Evan and tosses him a ball. “Come on. Let’s play catch in the yard.”

Evan slips the mitt on his right hand.

“I’m ready,” he yells. “Wow! That was a laser!” He winds up his arm and lobs the ball back to Dennis.

Barry’s mother, my new Grandma, waves from the porch. Her thick glasses slip down her nose, so she has to lean her head back to see us. She reminds me of a sumo wrestler, big body, big belly, small head.

“Come in. Come in. I’m so glad you’re here. You kids are just like Barry described you, cute, cute, and cute! Rose, you look as pretty as on your wedding day.” Her voice is high- pitched and almost plinky, as if the highest keys on a piano were tapped.

Mom receives an unfamiliar hug that sends her hat sliding to her shoulders.

Grandma hugs me so tightly I almost suffocate in the folds of her apron. Her nose and Dad Barry’s nose curve out at the same place. Forehead to forehead, their silhouettes make the shape of a sharp-angled hourglass.

Smells of vanilla and sugar escape through the screen.

“We’re hungry, Grandma,” Dennis shouts from inside. “Evan and I washed already. Hurry up.”

Inside, an abundance of blintzes and relatives wait for us. I’m glad I wore my hair down today. Braids are cooler on a hot day, but down is more grown-up.

“Would you like more sour cream or maple syrup for your blintzes, Rose?” Grandma passes a bowl with a cow painted on it and a warm pitcher of syrup. The cousins short stop the toppings before they reach Mom. “Thanks, but no,” Mom says, pats her stomach, and passes the sticky plate down the table.

Eating takes a long time because we have to be polite and put our forks down between bites and answer questions about school, hobbies, and camp. Finally, the grown-ups tell stories of Dad Barry when he was our ages. We devour Grandma’s blintzes.

“How about we visit the store,” Uncle Marvin suggests, when the dishes are washed.

Dad Barry is eager for us to see where he worked as a boy. Mom and Aunt Elaine vote for a change of scenery by walking to the porch. We follow.

“Your hair is so adorable,” I hear Aunt Elaine say. “I love the layered look. It’s perfect for your angled face.”

“How nice of you to notice, thank you,” Mom answers.

She had it styled yesterday, and I can tell by the sugar in her voice that she’s glad someone noticed.

At the store, Uncle Marvin snakes us down aisles of pink for girls, blue for boys, and purple for both. Who decides whether something is pink or blue?

“Ah ha,” Uncle Marvin says. “Hold your breath, here’s the secret part. Hardly anyone gets to enter this room
.
”

He opens a door that says STOCK ROOM, EMPLOYEES ONLY. It’s a maze of unopened boxes with labels like
Board Games
,
Costumes
,
Batteries
,
Tea Sets—Porcelain, Tea Sets—Plastic
,
Tea Sets—Broken, Helmets—Construction, Helmets—Fireman, Helmets—Football
. Along the walls are shelves crammed with stuffed animals, balls, push toys, and little-kid art supplies. It looks as if a giant piñata exploded.

When we are ready to leave, he lets Liz, Evan, and me pick out something to take home. We have been taught to never take the biggest item as a gift from anyone. Liz chooses Travel Bingo. I take a drawing pad and the smallest box of markers on the shelf, and Evan picks a battery-operated plane. I guess, as Mom has said to Liz and me before, that Evan forgot his manners.

We make a parade as we noodle a path to the car. Grandma promises she’ll visit and make blintzes. She smothers everyone with a squeeze, except for Mom who reaches out and grabs Grandma’s arms before they flatten her. Dan smiles as we get in the car. Dad Barry turns on the ignition. Dennis stretches across the hood.

“Unca Barry, Unca Barry, stay until tomorrow,” he says. Dad Barry pries Dennis off the car. Dennis hops in the driver’s seat. “Take me with you.”

Mom lowers her window and Uncle Marvin leans across her chest. In his hand is a squirt gun aimed at Dennis.

“Do it. I don’t care.” Dennis laughs. “You’ll get Aunt Rose’s hair wet.”

Mom shoots Dennis with a look.

Bull’s-eye.

“OK. See you later, Aunt Rosie.” Dennis scoots out of the driver’s seat.

Dad Barry pulls out of the driveway, waving out the window.

I knock Liz on her leg and mouth the words. “Do you think Dan is cute?”

“Do you?” she mouths back.

I raise my eyebrows and grin a toothless smile.

“Kiddos, you hit a home run with Grandma. She thinks I couldn’t have done better!” Dad Barry says. “Everyone buckled up?”

The car bumps across a train track. Dad Barry hums to himself. I see him put Mom’s hand inside his on top of the console.

“Oh my God,” Mom says. “Stop squeezing my hand. It’s like being with your mother all over again.”

“What?”

“I’m tired of being constricted like some snake’s dinner. One more helping of sour cream and syrup, and we’d suffer heart attacks.” Mom pounds her chest.

“Come on. That’s not fair.” Dad Barry reaches for her hand again. “How would you welcome new family? Be happy. Did you have fun, kids?”

“Yeah! When can we go back?” Evan says.

“Grandma’s a great cook,” Liz and I say.

“Everyone needs a bear hug now and then,” Dad Barry says.

Mom is stone still.

“Her blintzes with sour cream and syrup may not be health food,” Barry admits, “but they’re a good reason to visit!”

Mom mumbles something about Dennis and the squirt gun, then stops and clears her throat. I see her twist her wedding band. “I’ll call and say thank you tomorrow.” She sighs, her fingers busy with the gold band.

Dad Barry turns, winks at us, and starts humming. Liz, Evan, and I play Travel Bingo, and we drive off into the sunset. Mom stares past the billboards, soundless.

Pop Pop leans over and gives me a moist kiss on the forehead, scraping my skin with the stubble on his face. His stomach, a personal retaining wall, keeps the rest of him from spilling into my space.

The trademark long day at the office odor that belongs to Pop Pop is a potpourri of rumpled clothes, deteriorating starch, hand soap, and bourbon, his before-dinner drink. Liz hears my stomach grumble, nudges me with her elbow, and whispers, “I’m starving. Let’s go into the kitchen and check on dinner. Maybe Beulah has carved the roast beef.” The words are code for if the maid has carved the meat, we can sneak the roast tomatoes and onions that have fallen off the slices.

“Oh yeah, Good idea.”

Beulah is at the sink, and steam from the pot she drains closes in on her like fog. Liz and I steal the vegetables and shove them in our mouths before Beulah turns around. The intense flavor of seasoned fat, sweetness, and salt makes my stomach growl louder.

“Get away from that meat. Go tell your folks dinner is ready, ” Beulah gruffs.

Evan doesn’t eat with us on Monday nights because he’s at swim practice.

After we sit in our chairs at the table, Gaga steps on the buzzer under the rug. It rings in the kitchen to signal that we’re waiting for dinner to be served. Beulah answers, hands balancing the heavy platter of meat, followed by silver dishes mounded with buttered noodles and candied carrots. It’s the same meal she’s made every Monday night for as long as I can remember. It’s the one night of the week Gaga and Pop Pop don’t have commitments.

“Can I have another piece of meat, please?” I ask.

Pop Pop carves a slice so thin, I don’t feel anything when he puts it on my plate.

Liz reads the disappointed look on my face and buries a giggle.

“I’m going to want thirds,” I say.

Pop Pop grunts. He thinks children should be seen and not heard, so the conversation rotates between adults.

“The stock market did well today.”

If it did well, then why don’t you cut the meat a little thicker, I think.

“Eva, the YWCA is expanding, and I’ve been offered a seat on the board. . . . Mom says you got your new sofa today, Rose. I suppose you’ll need more money. . . . Eva, she spends money like a drunken sailor. . . . Mayor Carlson called, he wants us to host a party. . . .”

Liz and I break in to Pop Pop’s monologue a couple of times.

“What kind of party are you having? Can we come?”

“Eva, tell those girls to be quiet,” Pop Pop whines.

“Oh, Dear. They’re trying to learn. Go on girls, ask your questions.” Gaga is our champion.

“When is it, Dad?” Mom asks.

“Why? Do you have to go out and buy a new dress?” Pop Pop asks.

“What if I do? It’s my money.”

Mom’s chin slices the air as sharply as Pop Pop’s knife carves the roast beef.

“Your money, but it comes from me.” Pop Pop bites like a viper. “Your trust is revocable.”

“Simon!” Gaga’s hands hug the table palm down. “Rose’s fashion sense is a gift. Appearance is important to her, and she wants to make you proud. She should do what makes her happy.”

Gaga’s disapproval is the only thing that brings Pop Pop to his knees.

“OK, OK, Eva, if you think it’s important. . . .” Pop Pop gets up and cha-chas to Gaga, arms outstretched, his napkin tucked in his shirt between the middle buttons. He holds her face in both brown spotted hands and kisses her cheek. His lips remind me of a triggerfish. Gaga is statue still.

“Thank you, Simon,” Gaga says. “Now go sit down.”

“That’s my angel,” Pop Pop says smiling and makes a rolling shuffle to his chair at the head of the table. He picks up the carving knife.

“Rose, how about another piece of meat?” He measures a thick slice.

After dinner, Liz and I do our homework until 8:30, when it is time to leave. Before we put our coats on, Pop Pop gives us a fish-lip kiss and hands us each a dollar bill.

“Don’t spend it all in one place,” he says, grinning to two astonished faces.

Why can’t people sleep with their eyes open?

How does a pebble in your shoe cause so much hurt?

Why doesn’t soap get dirty?

Why does a kid in my class have one green eye and one blue eye?

Why is it “I before E except after C”?

Why are fire engines red?

What is a personality?

Why are some ladybugs black?

Why are some freckles big and others are itty-bitty?

Why does Temple have Sunday school on Saturdays?

Why does everyone think Mr. Bonatura is such a good teacher?

Does Dad miss me?

What does bad look like?

Does Pop Pop know his smell is of rumpled clothes, cleaning supplies, and bourbon?

Does he know he and Humpty-Dumpty have the same shaped body?

Why can’t people sleep with their eyes open?

How does a pebble in your shoe cause so much hurt?

Why doesn’t soap get dirty?

Why does a kid in my class have one green eye and one blue eye?

Why is it “I before E except after C”?

Why are fire engines red?

What is a personality?

Why are some ladybugs black?

Why are some freckles big and others are itty-bitty?

Why does Temple have Sunday school on Saturdays?

Why does everyone think Mr. Bonatura is such a good teacher?

Does Dad miss me?

What does bad look like?

Does Pop Pop know his smell is of rumpled clothes, cleaning supplies, and bourbon?

Does he know he and Humpty-Dumpty have the same shaped body?

What is perfect? Really, what is perfect?

I’m at Katawauk and Mom wrote a letter! I think it’s the twenty-second letter in seven years of camp.

Dear Rinnie,

I heard from Evan. He is swimming, running around, playing baseball, and having a good time. He says he needs new shorts and T-shirts the next size down. I am so proud of him. Dr. Edison was right in prescribing the thyroid pills.

Hope you are having fun. Play hard and beat those girls on the tennis team.

Love, Mom

Dear Rinnie,

Evan will take a camp shuttle from his camp to the airport, and you should pick him up at the United Airlines gate. He’ll wait for you if he gets to the gate before you. From there, the two of you will fly home together.

Don’t forget.

Love, Mom

As the Katawauk camp bus drops girls off at the correct airlines, the weather inside the bus changes. The warm feelings of chatter and laughter take a turn toward drizzle.

“Bye, everyone,” says a sobbing girl I don’t recognize. She blows kisses, and sniffles break out row by row inside the bus.

“See you next year.”

“Don’t forget to write, or better yet call me!”

“Remember sisters on the court, on the water, and on the stage,” another girl says.