Tài năng thường bộc lộ trong những hoàn cảnh khó khăn và ngủ yên trong hoàn cảnh thuận lợi.
Horace
ePub
A4Bryce: Get A Grip, Man
I
t didn’t take long for me to realize that I’d traded in my old problems with Juli Baker for a wholenew set of problems with Juli Baker. I could feel her anger a mile away.
It was actually worse having her mad at me than having her harass me. Why? Because I’d screwed up,
that’s why. I had egg all over my face, and blaming it on her yard had done nothing to wash it off. The
way she ignored me, or so obviously avoided me, was a screaming loud reminder to me that I’d been
a jerk. A royal cluck-faced jerk.
Then one day I’m coming home from hanging out with Garrett after school, and there’s Juli in her
front yard, hacking at a shrub. She is thrashing on the thing. Branches are flying over her shoulder,
and clear across the street I can hear her grunting and growling and saying stuff like, “No… you…
don’t! You are coming… off… whether you like it or… not!”
Did I feel good about this? No, my friend, I did not. Yeah, their yard was a mess, and it was about time
someone did something about it, but c’mon – where’s the dad? What about Matt and Mike? Why Juli?
Because I’d embarrassed her into it, that’s why. I felt worse than ever.
So I snuck inside and tried to ignore the fact that here’s my desk and here’s my window, and right
across the street from me is Juli, beating up a bush. Not conducive to concentration. No siree, Bob. I
got all of zero homework done.
The next day at school I was trying to get up the nerve to say something to her, but I never even got
the chance. She wouldn’t let me get anywhere near her.
Then on the ride home I had this thought. It kind of freaked me out at first, but the more I played with
it, the more I figured that, yeah, helping her with the yard would make up for my having been such a
jerk. Assuming she didn’t boss me too much, and assuming she didn’t decide to get all gooey-eyed or
something stupid like that. No, I’d go up and just tell her that I felt bad for being a jerk and I wanted to
make it up to her by helping her cut back some bushes. Period. End of story. And if she still wanted to
be mad at me after that, then fine. That was her problem.
My problem was, I never got the chance. I came trekking down from the bus stop to find my
grandfather doing my good deed.
Now, jump back. This was not something I could immediately absorb. My grandfather did not do yard
work. At least, he’d never offered to help me out. My grandfather lived in house slippers – where’d he
get those work boots? And those jeans and that flannel shirt – what was up with those?
I crouched behind a neighbor ’s hedge and watched them for ten or fifteen minutes, and man, the
longer I watched, the madder I got. My grandfather had already said more to her in this little slice of
time than he’d said to me the whole year and a half he’d been living with us. What was his deal with
Juli Baker?
I took the back way home, which involved climbing two fences and kicking off the neighbor ’s stupid
little terrier, but it was worth it, considering I avoided the garden party across the street.
Again I got no homework done. The more I watched them, the madder I got. I was still a cluck-faced
jerk, while Juli was laughing it up with my grandfather. Had I ever seen him smile? Really smile? I
don’t think so! But now he was knee-high in nettles, laughing.
At dinner that night he’d showered and changed back into his regular clothes and house slippers, but
he didn’t look the same. It was like someone had plugged him in and turned on the light.
“Good evening,” he said as he sat down with the rest of us. “Oh, Patsy, that looks delicious!”
“Well, Dad,” my mom said with a laugh, “your excursion across the street seems to have done you a
world of good.”
“Yeah,” my father said. “Patsy tells me you’ve been over there all afternoon. If you were in the mood
for home improvement projects, why didn’t you just say so?”
My father was just joking around, but I don’t think my grandfather took it that way. He helped himself
to a cheese-stuffed potato and said, “Pass the salt, won’t you, Bryce?”
So there was this definite tension between my father and my grandfather, but I think if Dad had
dropped the subject right then, the vibe would’ve vanished.
Dad didn’t drop it, though. Instead, he said, “So why’s the girl the one who’s finally doing something
about their place?”
My grandfather salted his potato very carefully, then looked across the table at me. Ah-oh, I thought.
Ah-oh. In a flash I knew those stupid eggs were not behind me. Two years of sneaking them in the
trash, two years of avoiding discussion of Juli and her eggs and her chickens and her early-morning
visits, and for what? Granddad knew, I could see it in his eyes. In a matter of seconds he’d crack open
the truth, and I’d be as good as fried.
Enter a miracle. My grandfather petrified me for a minute with his eyes but then turned to my father
and said, “She wants to, is all.”
A raging river of sweat ran down my temples, and as my father said, “Well, it’s about time someone
did,” my grandfather looked back at me and I knew—he was not going to let me forget this. We’d just
had another conversation, only this time I was definitely not dismissed.
After the dishes were cleared, I retreated to my room, but my grandfather came right in, closed the
door behind him, and then sat on my bed. He did this all without making a sound. No squeaking, no
clanking, no scraping, no breathing… I swear, the guy moved through my room like a ghost.
And of course I’m banging my knee and dropping my pencil and deteriorating into a pathetic pool of
Jell-O. But I tried my best to sound cool as I said, “Hello, Granddad. Come to check out the digs?”
He pinched his lips together and looked at nothing but me.
I cracked. “Look, Granddad, I know I messed up. I should’ve just told her, but I couldn’t. And I kept
thinking they’d stop. I mean, how long can a chicken lay eggs? Those things hatched in the fifth
grade! That was like, three years ago! Don’t they eventually run out? And what was I supposed to do?
Tell her Mom was afraid of salmonella poisoning? And Dad wanted me to tell her we were allergic—
c’mon, who’s going to buy that? So I just kept, you know, throwing them out. I didn’t know she
could’ve sold them. I thought they were just extras.”
He was nodding, but very slowly.
I sighed and said, “Thank you for not saying anything about it at dinner. I owe you.”
He pulled my curtain aside and looked across the street. “One’s character is set at an early age, son.
The choices you make now will affect you for the rest of your life.” He was quiet for a minute, then
dropped the curtain and said, “I hate to see you swim out so far you can’t swim back.”
“Yes, sir.”
He frowned and said, “Don’t yes-sir me, Bryce.” Then he stood and added, “Just think about what I’ve
said, and the next time you’re faced with a choice, do the right thing. It hurts everyone less in the long
run.”
With that, poof, he was gone.
The next day I went to shoot some hoops at Garrett’s after school, and when his mom dropped me off
later that afternoon, my granddad didn’t even notice. He was too busy being Joe Carpenter in Juli’s
front yard.
I tried to do my homework at the breakfast bar, but my mom came home from work and started being
all chatty, and then Lynetta appeared and the two of them started fighting about whether Lynetta’s
makeup made her look like a wounded raccoon.
Lynetta. I swear she’ll never learn.
I packed up my stuff and escaped to my room, which, of course, was a total waste. They’ve got a saw
revving and wailing across the street, and in between cuts I can hear the whack, whack, whack! whack,
whack, whack! of a hammer. I look out the window and there’s Juli, spitting out nails and slamming
them in place. No kidding. She’s got nails lined up between her lips like steel cigarettes, and she’s
swinging that hammer full-arc, way above her head, driving nails into pickets like they’re going into
butter.
For a split second there, I saw my head as the recipient of her hammer, cracking open like Humpty
Dumpty. I shuddered and dropped the curtain, ditched the homework, and headed for the TV.
They handymanned all week. And every night Granddad would come in with rosy cheeks and a huge
appetite and compliment my mom on what a great cook she was. Then Saturday happened. And the
last thing I wanted was to spend the day at home while my grandfather churned up dirt and helped
plant Juli’s yard. Mom tried to get me to do our own yard, but I would have felt ridiculous
micromowing our grass with Granddad and Juli making real changes right across the street.
So I locked myself in my room and called Garrett. He wasn’t home, and everybody else I called had
stuff they had to do. And hitting up Mom or Dad for a ride to the movies or the mall was hopeless.
They’d tell me I was supposed to be doing the yard.
What I was, was stuck.
And what I wound up doing was looking out the stupid window at Juli and my grandfather. It was a
totally lame thing to do, but that’s what I did.
I got nailed doing it, too. By my grandfather. And he, of course, had to point me out to Juli, which
made me feel another two inches shorter. I dropped the curtain and blasted out the back door and over
the fence. I had to get out of there.
I swear I walked ten miles that day. And I don’t know who I was madder at – my grandfather, Juli, or
me. What was wrong with me? If I wanted to make it up to Juli, why didn’t I just go over there and
help? What was stopping me?
I wound up at Garrett’s house, and man, I’d never been so glad to see anyone in my life. Leave it to
Garrett to get your mind off anything important. That dude’s the master. We went out back and shot
hoops, watched the tube, and talked about hitting the water slides this summer.
And when I got home, there was Juli, sprinkling the yard.
She saw me, all right, but she didn’t wave or smile or anything. She just looked away.
Normally what I’d do in that situation is maybe pretend like I hadn’t seen her, or give a quick wave
and charge inside. But she’d been mad at me for what seemed like ages. She hadn’t said word one to
me since the morning of the eggs. She’d completely dissed me in math a couple days before when I’d
smiled at her, trying to tell her I was sorry. She didn’t smile back or nod or anything. She just turned
away and never looked back.
I even waited for her outside the classroom to say something, anything, about her fixing up the yard
and how bad I felt, but she ditched me out the other door, and after that anytime I got anywhere near
her, she’d find some way to skate around me.
So there she was, watering the yard, making me feel like a jerk, and I’d had enough of it. I went up to
her and said, “It’s looking real good, Juli. Nice job.”
“Thanks,” she said without smiling. “Chet did most of it.”
Chet? I thought. Chet? What was she doing, calling my grandfather by his first name? “Look, Juli,” I
said, trying to get on with why I was there. “I’m sorry for what I did.”
She looked at me for a second, then went back to watching the water spray across the dirt. Finally she
said, “I still don’t get it, Bryce. Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I… I don’t know. It was dumb. I should have. And I shouldn’t have said anything about the yard,
either. It was, you know, out of line.”
I was already feeling better. A lot better. Then Juli says, “Well, maybe it’s all for the better,” and starts
bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, acting more like her old self. “Doesn’t it look great? I
learned so much from Chet it’s amazing. You are so lucky. I don’t even have grandparents anymore.”
“Oh,” I said, not knowing what to say.
“I do feel sorry for him, though. He sure misses your grandmother.” Then she laughs and shakes her
head, saying, “Can you believe it? He says I remind him of her.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” she laughs again. “That’s what I said. But he meant it in a nice way.”
I looked at Juli and tried to picture my grandmother as an eighth grader. It was hopeless. I mean, Juli’s
got long, fluffy brown hair and a nose full of freckles, where my grandmother had always been some
variety of blond. And my grandmother had used powder. Puffy white powder. She’d put it on her face
and in her hair, in her slippers and on her chest…. That woman powdered everything.
I could not see Juli coated in powder. Okay, maybe gun powder, but the white perfumy stuff? Forget it.
I guess I was staring, because Juli says, “Look, I didn’t say it, he did. I just thought it was nice, that’s
all.”
“Yeah, whatever. Well, good luck with the grass. I’m sure it’ll come up great.” Then I totally surprised
myself by saying, “Knowing you, you’ll get ’em all to hatch.” I didn’t say it mean or anything, I
really meant it. I laughed, and then she laughed, and that’s how I left her—sprinkling her soon-to-be
sod, smiling.
I hadn’t been in such a good mood in weeks. The eggs were finally behind me. I was absolved.
Relieved. Happy.
It took me a few minutes at the dinner table to realize that I was the only one who was. Lynetta had on
her usual pout, so that wasn’t it. But my father ’s idea of saying hello was to lay into me about the
lawn.
“No sweat,” I told him. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
All that got me was a scowl.
Then Mom says to my granddad, “You tired tonight, Dad?”
I hadn’t even noticed him sitting there like a stone.
“Yeah,” my father tosses down the table at him. “That girl working you too hard?”
My grandfather straightens his fork on his napkin and says, “‘That girl’ is named Juli, and no, she
isn’t ‘working me too hard,’ as you so callously put it.”
“Callous? Me?” My dad laughs and says, “Developed quite a soft spot for that girl, haven’t you?”
Even Lynetta let her pout go for a minute. These were fighting words and everyone knew it. Mom
nudged Dad with her foot, but that only made things worse. “No, Patsy! I want to know why your
father has the energy and inclination to befriend a complete stranger when he’s never done so much
as toss a baseball around with his own grandson!”
Well, yeah! I thought. But then I remembered – I owed my grandfather. Owed him big-time. Without
thinking, I said, “Take it easy, Dad. Juli just reminds him of Grandma.”
Everyone clammed up and stared at me. So I looked at my grandfather and said, “Uh… isn’t that right,
Granddad?”
He nodded and rearranged his fork some more.
“Of Renée?” My father looked at my mother and then at Granddad. “She can’t possibly!”
My granddad closed his eyes and said, “It’s her spirit that reminds me of Renée.”
“Her spirit,” my father says. Like he’s talking to a lying kindergartner.
“Yes, her spirit.” My grandfather ’s quiet for a minute, then asks, “Do you know why the Bakers
haven’t fixed up the yard until now?”
“Why? Sure. They’re trash, that’s why. They’ve got a beat-up house, two beat-up cars, and a beat-up
yard.”
“They are not trash, Rick. They are good, honest, hardworking people—”
“Who have absolutely no pride in how they present themselves to the rest of the world. We’ve lived
across the street from those people for over six years, and there is no excuse for the state they’re in.”
“No?” My grandfather takes a deep breath and seems to weigh things in his mind for a few seconds.
Then he says, “Tell me this, Rick. If you had a brother or sister or child who had a severe mental or
physical handicap, what would you do?”
It was like my granddad had passed gas in church. My father ’s face pinched, his head shook, and
finally he said, “Chet, what does that have to do with anything?”
My grandfather looks at him for a minute, then quietly says, “Juli’s father has a retarded brother, and
—”
My father interrupts him with a laugh. “Well, that explains a lot, doesn’t it!”
“Explains… a lot?” my grandfather asks. Quietly. Calmly.
“Sure! It explains why those people are the way they are…!” He grins around the table at us. “Must
run in the family.”
Everyone looks at him. Lynetta’s jaw drops, and for once she’s speechless. My mother says, “Rick!”
but all my father can do is laugh a nervous kind of laugh and say, “It was just a joke! I mean,
obviously something’s wrong with those people. Oh, excuse me, Chet. I forgot. The girl reminds you
of Renée.”
“Rick!” my mother says again, only this time she’s mad.
“Oh, Patsy, please. Your father ’s being overly dramatic, trying to make me feel bad for criticizing
our neighbors because there’s a retarded relative someplace. Other people have family troubles and
still manage to mow their lawn. They should have a little pride in ownership, for cryin’ out loud!”
My grandfather ’s cheeks are seriously flushed, but his voice is rock-steady as he says, “They don’t
own that house, Rick. The landlord is supposed to maintain the premises, but he doesn’t. And since
Juli’s father is responsible for his brother, all their reserves go to his care, and obviously it doesn’t
come cheap.”
Very quietly my mom asks, “Don’t they have government facilities for that kind of thing?”
“I don’t know the details, Patsy. Maybe there are no government facilities nearby. Maybe they thought
a private facility was a better place for him to be.”
“Still,” my dad says, “there are government facilities available, and if they don’t want to go that route,
that’s their choice. It’s not our fault their family had some sort of chromosomal abnormality, and I
refuse to feel guilty for wanting—”
My grandfather slams his hand on the table and half-stands as he says, “It had nothing to do with
chromosomes, Rick! It was caused by a lack of oxygen at birth.” He brings his voice down, but it
makes his words seem even more forceful. “Juli’s uncle had the umbilical cord wrapped around his
neck. Twice. One minute he was a perfect little baby, just like your son, Bryce, and the next he was
irreversibly damaged.”
My mother was suddenly hysterical. In seconds she was bawling her eyes out, wailing, and my father
was all over her, trying to calm her down. It was no use. She basically dissolved right there on the
spot.
Lynetta threw her napkin down and muttered, “This family is a joke,” and took off. Then my mother
bolted out of the room, sobbing into her hands, and my father raced after her, throwing my
grandfather the wickedest look I’d ever seen.
That left Granddad and me and a table full of cold food. “Wow,” I finally said. “I had no idea.”
“You still don’t,” he told me.
“What do you mean?”
He sat there like granite for a minute, then leaned across the table toward me and said, “Why do you
suppose that upset your mother so much?”
“I… I don’t know.” I gave a halfhearted grin and said, “Because she’s female?”
He smiled, but just barely. “No. She’s upset because she knows that she could very well be standing in
Mr. Baker ’s shoes right now.”
I thought about it a minute and finally asked, “Did her brother have the cord around his neck when he
was born?”
He shook his head.
“Well, then… ”
He leaned forward even farther and whispered, “You did.”
“I did?”
He nodded. “Twice.”
“But… ”
“The doctor who delivered you was on the ball, plus apparently there was some slack in the cord, so
he was able to loop it off as you came out. You didn’t hang yourself coming into the world, but it
could very easily have gone the other way.”
If I’d been told years or even weeks ago that I’d come down the chute noosed and ready to hang, I’d
have made some kind of joke about it, or more likely I’d have said, Yeah, that’s nice; now can you
spare me the discussion?
But after everything that had happened, I was really freaking out, and I couldn’t escape the questions
tidal-waving my brain. Where would I be if things had been different? What would they have done
with me? From the way my dad was talking, he wouldn’t have had much use for me, that’s for sure.
He’d have stuck me in a nuthouse somewhere, any where, and forgotten about me. But then I thought,
No! I’m his kid. He wouldn’t do that… would he?
I looked around at everything we had – the big house, the white carpet, the antiques and artwork and
stuff that was everywhere. Would they have given up all the stuff to make my life more pleasant?
I doubted it, and man, I doubted it big-time. I’d have been an embarrassment. Something to try to
forget about. How things looked had always been a biggie to my parents. Especially to my dad.
Very quietly my granddad said, “You can’t dwell on what might have been, Bryce.” Then, like he
could read my mind, he added, “And it’s not fair to condemn him for something he hasn’t done.”
I nodded and tried to get a grip, but I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Then he said, “By the way, I
appreciated your comment before.”
“What?” I asked, but my throat was feeling all pinched and swollen.
“About your grandmother. How did you know that?”
I shook my head and said, “Juli told me.”
“Oh? You spoke with her, then?”
“Yeah. Actually, I apologized to her.”
“Well…!”
“And I was feeling a lot better about everything, but now… God, I feel like such a jerk again.”
“Don’t. You apologized, and that’s what matters.” He stood up and said, “Say, I’m in the mood for a
walk. Want to join me?”
Go for a walk? What I wanted to do was go to my room, lock the door, and be left alone.
“I find it really helps to clear the mind,” he said, and that’s when I realized that this wasn’t just a
walk – this was an invitation to do something together.
I stood up and said, “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
For a guy who’d only basically ever said Pass the salt to me, my granddad turned out to be a real
talker. We walked our neighborhood and the next neighborhood and the next neighborhood, and not
only did I find out that my granddad knows a lot of stuff, I found out that the guy is funny. In a subtle
kind of dry way. It’s the stuff he says, plus the way he says it. It’s really, I don’t know, cool.
As we were winding back into our own territory, we passed by the house that’s going up where the
sycamore tree used to be. My granddad stopped, looked up into the night, and said, “It must’ve been a
spectacular view.”
I looked up, too, and noticed for the first time that night that you could see the stars. “Did you ever see
her up there?” I asked him.
“Your mother pointed her out to me one time as we drove by. It scared me to see her up so high, but
after I read the article I understood why she did it.” He shook his head. “The tree’s gone, but she’s still
got the spark it gave her. Know what I mean?”
Luckily I didn’t have to answer. He just grinned and said, “Some of us get dipped in flat, some in
satin, some in gloss….” He turned to me. “But every once in a while you find someone who’s
iridescent, and when you do, nothing will ever compare.”
As we walked up to our front porch, my grandfather put his arm around my shoulder and said, “It was
nice walking with you, Bryce. I enjoyed myself very much.”
“Me too,” I told him, and we went inside.
Right away we knew we’d stepped into a war zone. And even though no one was yelling or crying,
from the look on my parents’ faces I could tell there’d been a major meltdown while my granddad
and I were out.
Granddad whispered to me, “I’ve got another fence to mend, I’m afraid,” and headed into the dining
room to talk to my parents.
I wanted nothing to do with that vibe. I went straight to my room, closed the door, and flopped
through the darkness onto my bed.
I lay there awhile and let the dinner disaster play through my mind. And when I’d totally burned a fuse
thinking about it, I sat up and looked out the window. There was a light on somewhere inside the
Bakers’ house and the streetlights were glowing, but the night still seemed really dense. Like it was
darker than usual and, I don’t know, heavy.
I leaned closer to the window and looked up into the sky, but I couldn’t see the stars anymore. I
wondered if Juli had ever been in the sycamore at night. Among the stars.
I shook my head. Flat, glossy, iridescent. What was up with that? Juli Baker had always seemed just
plain dusty to me.
I snapped on my desk lamp and dug the newspaper with the article about Juli out of the drawer where
I’d tossed it.
Just like I thought – they made it sound like Juli was trying to save Mount Rushmore or something.
They called her a “strong voice in an urban wilderness” and “a radiant beacon, shedding light on the
need to curtail continued overdevelopment of our once quaint and tranquil community.”
Spare me. I mean, what’s wrong with letting a guy cut down a tree on his own property so he can
build a house? His lot, his tree, his decision. End of story. The piece in the paper was gag-me gush.
Except. Except for the places where they quoted Juli. Maybe it was just in contrast to the reporter ’s
slant or something, but Juli’s parts didn’t come off oh-woe-is-me like I was expecting. They were, I
don’t know, deep. Sitting in that tree was seriously philosophical to her.
And the odd thing is, it all made sense to me. She talked about what it felt like to be up in that tree, and
how it, like, transcended dimensional space. “To be held above the earth and brushed by the wind,”
she said, “it’s like your heart has been kissed by beauty.” Who in junior high do you know that would
put together a sentence like that? None of my friends, that’s for sure.
There was other stuff, too, like how something can be so much more than the parts it took to make it,
and why people need things around them that lift them above their lives and make them feel the
miracle of living.
I wound up reading and re-reading her parts, wondering when in the world she started thinking like
that. I mean, no kidding, Juli Baker ’s smart, but this was something way beyond straight A’s.
A month ago if I’d read this article, I would have chucked it in the trash as complete garbage, but for
some reason it made sense to me now. A lot of sense.
A month ago I also wouldn’t have paid any attention to the picture of Juli, but now I found myself
staring at it. Not the one of the whole scene – that was more emergency rescue equipment than Juli.
The other one, on the bottom half of the page. Someone must’ve used a killer telephoto lens, because
you can tell that she’s in the tree, but it’s mostly from the shoulders up. She’s looking off into the
distance and the wind is blowing her hair back like she’s at the helm of a ship or something, sailing
into the sun.
I’d spent so many years avoiding Juli Baker that I’d never really looked at her, and now all of a
sudden I couldn’t stop. This weird feeling started taking over the pit of my stomach, and I didn’t like
it. Not one bit. To tell you the truth, it scared the Sheetrock out of me.
I buried the paper under my pillow and tried to remind myself of what a pain Juli Baker was. But my
mind started to wander again, and pretty soon I had that stupid paper out from under my pillow.
This was insane! What was I doing?
I made myself shut out the light and go to bed. I was slipping, man, and it was definitely time to get a
grip.
