Spud (5 page)

“Huh?” he mumbles, clears his throat. “Oh. Sorry. Yeah, Jack’s. Can’t I go to the
shindig this afternoon with them? I’ll get home later. Sorry about that. I forgot.
I thought you and Jer were out all night. Sorry…. Sorry. So?... Okay…. Yup… bye.”
He pushes the “off” button, tosses the phone a few feet from him, pulls the sheet
over his head and mumbles, “Jack, you’re a nerd. Lemme sleep.”

“Dude, what?” I’m pulling on a tee shirt with my boxers at this point.

“Ma’s letting me stay. Just gotta know how to talk to her,” he says, through the
sheet as he’s too comfy to pull it off his head. “Anyway, I’m staying here and heading
to Uncle Ned’s party later with you all. Go back to bed.”

Just as he says it, Ma pops her head in the door. “Hi boys. Spud, everything okay?”
She’s always on the go early. Dressed in pink shorts and a white tee shirt that is
sprinkled with yellow flowers, she looks energetic and ready to take on the day.
It’s kinda funny, she’s so up and at ‘em, a force, yet she’s so tiny and petite at
only 4’10” tall. For a while, as I was growing up, I thought I’d always be a shorty,
too, and was the smallest in my class until eighth grade, but then I shot up several
inches and now am at 5’3”, and still growing,
thank you.

“Yeah, Ma. I talked to my other mom, and she says it’d be okay if I hung out here
until later. Is that all right with you?” Boy, he sure has a way with her. He even
uncovered his head to talk.

“Of course, hun! By the way,” she beams, “I’m making pancakes and bacon, and Jack’s
favorite thick chocolate milk! So, come on down in about five, okay?” She smiles
at each of us, picks up the phone to take downstairs, then disappears down the hall
and back to her kitchen adventure. Ma always goes overboard when Spud’s here.

“Dude, you totally got my Ma wrapped around your finger. You gotta move in.”

“Yeah, it’d be much better than days with Jerry the Jerk. Anyway, I’m gonna sleep
a bit, be downstairs in a few.” Well, it’s useless to argue, so I go do my duties
in the bathroom before I head downstairs. Let Ma deal with getting Spud moving this
morning.

At our kick-ass sweet breakfast, Spud has kept his word and got his ass downstairs
in like ten minutes, and continuously gives Ma compliment after compliment (really,
though, it’s just pancakes, not some Food Channel spectacular). He also tries to
break Zoë.

“So, what ya doing today, Squirt?” he asks, nonchalantly, stuffing bacon in his mouth.

He’s caught her off guard, as she was reading yet another of her summer novels and
didn’t expect our attention. That girl could read through a tornado, a roller coaster
ride, and a heat wave.

“Um, I dunno, read, take a walk, go to the pool for a bit maybe, until we go to Uncle
Ned’s, or well, the park.” She’s looking up, stopping the chewing of her pancake.
Staring at Spud in a weird way. “Why?”

“Just thought I’d ask. Hey, want some more syrup? You don’t
have much.” He slides
the bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s sweetly across the shiny wood kitchen table, and
it glides like a skater on ice until it stops right before Zoe’s plate. She’s seated
directly across from him, under the window where she always sits.

“Thanks.” She picks up the bottle but is still engrossed in the adventures of whomever
in her little book and tips the bottle to pour onto her pancakes, but the cap flops
off with syrup gushing onto her plate like a waterfall! Not just her plate, but the
table around it and then onto her lap! Freaking hilarious!

“Ahh!” she yells, scooting back and quickly putting the bottle upright, while holding
the book over her head to protect it. “Spud! You jerk! You so did not!”

She’s standing up now, trying to wipe the sticky mess from her shirt and legs, but
oh-so-side splittingly funny, everything just sticks more to her! Her paper towel
is now stuck to her upper leg, and the table is a mess, syrup starting to drip to
the floor. Spud and I are laughing so hard that my eyes are watering! We give each
other a high five, and even Mom, who’s been quietly on the sidelines frying up more
grub, has milk coming out of her nose!

“Um, yeah, I
so
think he did!” I can’t help but say, taking a big bite of my own
pancakes and shaking my head at Spud’s trick.

“Real funny, people,” Zoë says, clearly embarrassed and exasperated, but I think
trying not to give in and laugh. She’s frantically wiping at her legs with paper
towels, which are sticking to her like bits of confetti. She’s such a mess! “God!”

“Sorry, Zoë. It was just a little joke. I didn’t think that much would flow out of
the bottle. It is funny though, right, little one?” Spud has recovered from the giggle
fit and has gotten up to help clean the mess, grabbing a rag from the sink.

“Yeah, real funny. Ma, I’m done. Now, I need another
shower.” She sighs, deeply annoyed,
and starts to storm toward the stairs, still trying to wipe the sticky syrup from
her legs. Clearly pissed? Can’t she have a little fun?

“Oh, honey, you don’t need a whole shower. Just a wet rag to wipe it off. It’s going
to be just fine.” Mom is now wetting another rag in the sink for Zoë.

“Sure, you’re not the one covered in this gooey, crappy, dumb syrup. Yeah, Jack,
keep laughing. Payback’s a bit--.” She stops because Ma is right there. “What comes
around goes around,” she says instead, her eyebrows arched like she might have some
plan, as if. Then she stomps up to her shower, leaving Ma to hold the helpful wet
dishrag.

“Dude, I thought she’d laugh it off,” Spud remarks, now having all the mess cleaned
up from the table. “Sorry, Ma, I thought it would be a funny joke.”

“Oh,” Mom says, wiping the table and chair once more, “it was funny. Zoë’s just going
through a phase. Anyone for more pancakes? Bacon? Milk?”

“For sure! You’re the best cook ever, Ma! I’m good on the milk, but I’ll have another
pancake.” What a charmer he can be.

Mom glows as she pours more batter into the pan. “I can shape these pancakes to look
however you want. Name something.”

“How about a guitar?” asks Spud, stuffing what’s left on his plate into his mouth
and reaching for the syrup, as we’ll need it again.

“Of course,” says Ma and starts to carefully pour batter into the pan. “How about
you, Jack? What shape pancakes?”

“Um, how about an easy one, a baseball, for the White Sox?”

“A ball? A round pancake? Oh my! How ever will I do that?” she kids. My mom can be
so much fun. Spud’s mom is never like this. She’s always bitching for him to pick
this up, clean that, watch his
language, take off his shoes, be nice to Jerry, yadda
yadda yadda. No wonder he likes it here!

All my life, Mom has been there for us, making even the most boring days fun. She’s
always up for Scrabble or Monopoly, always used to take us for walks, to the pool,
and tossed us the baseball. She’s never missed a school play or conference, a spelling
bee, anything. She’s great and has quite a sense of humor. Unfortunately, my dad
is so much the opposite. The rain to her sunshine. Usually quiet, he never takes
part in anything, never even sits at the kitchen table for a meal together, always
watches TV and goes on solo car rides. Or, he listens to the radio and takes long
naps in his room. I think I’d be dumbfounded if he sat at the table or showed up
to a school event, I’m so used to him not being there. I’d probably get an uncontrollable
fit of the giggles. Well, at lest we lucked out with one of our parents. Mom is like
two anyway, all the work she does.

As I scarf down my baseball pancakes and Spud devours his very cool looking guitar
and the music note mom was able to make, I think,
this was the best breakfast ever!

Following, in order to avoid the heat, and to let our stomachs settle, we have a
long morning of lying around in the AC and watching
Growing Pains
episodes (Kirk
Cameron is so cool! Who doesn’t want to be like Mike Seaver or his hilarious pal,
Boner? I mean, Boner? What a freaking name!) Then I toss into the VCR the prized
copy of
Ernest Goes to Camp
for more laughs
.
This is my favorite movie, simply because
it’s the first one Dad ever rented when we got this VCR. I’ll always remember me
and Zoe giggling with excitement when we learned about the purchase and then that
we would be a part of the technological world, actually watching a movie in our own
home on a VCR! And a funny one! I love Ernest. You so have to rent it if you’ve never
seen it! Perfect summer movie.

Anyway, this beats the news, as nobody wants to hear more depressing heat and illness
stories, and the Sox game was cancelled because it got too hot. I, myself, have always
played the infield and usually bitch about the hot sweaty clothing we wear as part
of the uniform, but you need sweatpants to slide into bases, and my point is I couldn’t
imagine being the catcher on a ball team, all those pads and helmet in this heat?
While still trying to play the game? That would really suck! So, I guess I get why
the game was called off.

“You know,” Spud says from his stiff position in Dad’s chair, massaging his neck
to get a kink out, “maybe joining the ball team will be kinda cool. Different for
me, but as long as you say so…”

We’ve been planning to join the school baseball team together when practices start
up next month. My mom thought it would be a great idea for Spud and me to get more
involved and keep us busy in a safe place. She could have probably convinced me anyway,
as this is my first summer without a town-sponsored team. I’m too old now. So I’ll
be itching to play by then, but I think her idea was more geared toward Spud. Keep
him active and involved. Safe. Out of trouble.

“Sure, well, I’ve played all my life, as you know. Never for a school team, though,
just the summer leagues. I just hope we get to play a lot, instead of sitting on
the dumb bench, but it will certainly be fun. The road games. The girls from school
who come to cheer us on. The bus rides. What’s not to like? We’ll be like jocks!”
I tease. Country boy Spud is not a jock.

“Haha. A jock. Who would have thought? Does that mean I’ll have to wear a jock strap?
Isn’t that what all you big, tough, sports guys brag about?” he teases, and I smirk
at him. “Well, whatever wins the ladies, right? I think I’ve got a few homers in
the old arm here,” he’s sitting up and takes a pretend swing. “Not too crazy ‘bout
them gay looking uniforms, though.”

“What?” I ask, shocked. “The uniforms aren’t bad. School colors, green and yellow.
I think. Might be green and white, though. At least they ain’t purple or something.
Of course, you’d probably be thrilled to wear some pink polka-dotted tutu or what
not, show yer feminine side,” I can dish it out to him, too. He gives me a
whatever
look, rolling his eyes.

“But, really,” I continue, “at least it’s pants and jersey shirts, no shorts, and
we don’t have to wear those skimpy things the wrestlers wear. Can’t even
think
about
girls when you’re wearing one of those!” We both chuckle.

“And we get our names on the backs of the shirts,” Spud’s getting a bit more enthused.
“Think they’ll make me get ‘Cooper’, like you? Or will they let me have ‘The Cool
Cooper’ and you ‘The Nerdy Cooper’?”

“Very funny. If you’re lucky, they’ll let you have ‘The Ugly Cooper’!”

We both laugh. Who knows what the names will be. Right now, it’s just fun.

Settling back into our chairs, Spud passes me the bag of Doritos he’s been munching
from, and I trade him the bag of Oreos I’ve been snacking. This is how we operate.

Singing out from the television in front of us is that catchy theme song from
Happy
Days,
and we switch gears to sing along.

“Rock around the clock tonight…” Spud croons, and we both glance at the clock behind
me on the wall. Three o’clock. We’ve been pretty lazy all day, and it’s only the
middle of the afternoon. Zoë actually made us some grilled cheese sandwiches for
lunch, as she likes to cook, and is good at it, since Mom works so much, so it’s
been all right. But a little bit of a boring afternoon. I was actually surprised
Zoë made us lunch, though, since Ma’s home, but I guess
she was letting Ma get some
things done and have some solo time. Plus, Zoë likes to make appearances when Spud’s
over, even if sometimes she gets huffy and aggravated. Typical teen girl, I guess.

You would think, as you’ve noticed our grammar slip ups and our use of slang, that
maybe we’d pick up a book and read. Take a trip to the air conditioned library, check
out some stuff to keep our brains sharp and get ready for next year. I already know
I’ll be reading
To Kill a Mockingbird
for English class, so maybe I should get a
first-read in. But no. Spud and I would rather watch TV or goof with music or follow
the Sox. But Zoë, she is reading a new book every other day. That girl. No wonder
she’s so smart. And starting high school this fall, she’s already read the required
To Kill a Mockingbird
. She tested out of English 1 and jumps right into the same
class I’ll be taking, English 2. Lucky me. Maybe she’ll help a non-reading brother
out? Doubt it.

Dad finally arrives from who knows where. Great timing, though, because we really
should move a bit and quit loafing in front of the screen. We’ve just been trying
to pass the time, while waiting for Dad to say we’re heading to Ned’s gathering.
Ma has cleaned all day, done the laundry, mopped the kitchen floor, washed windows,
as it was her day off from the gas station, and Pops is a trucker, so he’s off for
a few days, and finally the moment comes.

“Ned decided to keep the cookout at his place. Just too hot for the park. Be ready
in five, you all,” Dad says and goes out to the kitchen to ask Ma what they should
stop and pick up, while Spud and I head to my room upstairs to gather supplies for
the rest of the afternoon and evening.