Charlie Bumpers vs. the Perfect Little Turkey (5 page)

Early on Thanksgiving morning, Chip bounded off the bed and landed right on top of me.

“Hey!” I said, only half awake. “Stop it!”

“Let’s wrestle, Charlie!” he said. “I bet I can beat you!”

“Get off!” I pushed him away. Ginger was hanging her head over the side of the bed, watching me be attacked.

“I’m Buck Meson!” Chip yelled.

“Buck Meson doesn’t attack sleeping people,” I muttered.

“He does now!” Chip said.

I headed to the bathroom. Chip followed me down the hall. I slipped in and shut the door.

“Can I come in?” he yelled.

“No,” I said. I did my business and washed my hands. Chip knocked really loud.

“Can I come in now?” he asked.

“No. I’ll be out in a minute.” When I saw the knob turn, I grabbed it so he couldn’t open the door. Then I heard him say, “Hey, the doorknob came off!”

I twisted the doorknob on my side and it came off in my hand.

Not again!

“Stick it back in so I can get out,” I said. “I can’t open the door!”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then he started to laugh. “You’re locked in the bathroom?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Open the door!”

“Hey, everybody! Charlie’s locked in the bathroom!” I could hear Chip dancing around outside, chanting, “Charlie’s locked in the bathroom, Charlie’s locked in the bathroom!”

“Chip!” I pounded on the door.

I heard him call down the stairs. “Aunt Gloria! Charlie’s locked in the bathroom!”

He was laughing his perfect little turkey head off. Finally, I heard Matt call from his bedroom, “Chip, shut up!” He was obviously still trying to sleep.

Then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Little footsteps.

The Squid.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Charlie’s locked in the bathroom!” Chip said. “He can’t get out and I have the doorknob.”

“Mabel!” I yelled. “Let me out! It’s not funny!”

“Yes, it is!” Chip crowed. “HEY, CHARLIE’S LOCKED IN THE BATHROOM!”

“We need to let him out,” the Squid said. “Give me the doorknob.”

“No,” Chip said. “This is fun. Let’s leave him in there a little longer.”

“Give it to me!” Mabel shouted. “I know how to do it.”

I heard the doorknob go in, so I put my knob
back on and opened the door. The Squid was standing there looking up at me. Chip was smiling. The Squid knew I was mad.

“You were locked in!” Chip said.

“Very funny.” I pushed past them and headed back to my room.

It was going to be a long day.

When I got downstairs, Mom and Aunt Sarah and Gams were in the kitchen cooking. Pops was there, too, chopping carrots at the kitchen table. The potatoes were already mashed, ready for Dad to make his famous mashed potato casserole.

It’s excellent—it has pounds and pounds of cheese in it.

I peeked into the dining room. Dad was setting up an extra table at the end of our big dining table. Mom always put two tablecloths over them so they looked like one really long table stretching all the way to the big picture window in the front of the house.

Uncle Ron was still asleep on the couch in the
family room. His left arm was hanging down, with his big, meaty hand lying on the floor. His snores sounded like the roars of a
Tyrannosaurus rex.

I stood staring at him for a while. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and he was still wearing the T-shirt he’d had on the night before.

One of his eyes opened, and he raised an eyebrow. He snorted and rubbed his face. “Quit bugging me, big guy,” he grumbled. “I need my beauty rest.”

And then, before I could say anything, he reached out and grabbed me by my waist. He pulled me over to him, rubbing my face against his whiskers.

“AAAAAAAAH!” I yelled. “Stop it, Uncle Ron!” But I didn’t really mind, even though his beard was really rough and scratchy.

Chip came running in. “Hey! What’re you guys doing?”

“I’m teaching him a lesson about bothering uncles,” Uncle Ron said, letting me go.

Chip leapt onto Uncle Ron. “Do that to me!” he shouted. Uncle Ron turned him upside down, gave him a big squeeze, then lowered him to the floor.

“Okay, you guys,” he groaned. “Leave me alone until I get some coffee.”

“Charlie and Chip,” my dad called. “Come eat your breakfast and let your uncle get dressed.”

Chip and I went back into the kitchen and ate some cereal. The Squid had already finished hers and was making little turkeys out of toilet paper rolls and construction paper feathers for everyone’s place setting at the table. When Uncle Ron came in and sat down, I hung around, hoping he would say we could build the rocket, but I could tell it wasn’t
going to happen soon, since he was barely moving. Still, we had plenty of time. Dinner wasn’t until three o’clock.

Over by the stove, I saw a bowl covered with a towel. I lifted the towel and touched the big gooey pile of dough with one finger.

“Are these the yeast rolls?” I asked.

Gams smiled. “You bet.”

“They’re my favorite,” I said.

Chip was right behind me, peering in. “They’re my favorite, too. Even
more
my favorite.”

“Glad you like them, boys,” Gams said. “I just punched the dough. You’d better put the cover back on or it won’t rise.”

I wished Chip was some dough, so I could punch him.

Uncle Ron was still sitting at the table, having a second cup of coffee and talking with my dad. The Squid was busy with her toilet-roll turkeys. Matt was still sleeping. Everywhere I went, Chip was right behind me.

Except when Mom told me to take out the garbage. Of course Chip wouldn’t want to help with that!

“But that’s Matt’s chore,” I said.

“Just help me out, Charlie. I need these bags out of the way now.”

I was coming back from the big garbage bins on the side of the garage when Chip stuck his head out the back door.

“Charlie, we’re coming out! Uncle Ron’s going to help us build the rocket!”

Us?

Chip burst out the door, with Uncle Ron behind him. “We’ll get started now,” Chip said, like he was in charge of everything.

In the garage, I saw that Uncle Ron had finished the launcher the night before. He’d joined all the pieces of plastic tubing together with little connectors to make a sort of platform—it looked really spectacular. Fabulous. Spectabulous.

“I’ve set everything out over here on the workbench,” Uncle Ron said, pointing to some large plastic soda bottles and a stack of cardboard. We cut the cardboard into fins, and then used some poster
board to make a pointy nose cone. Finally we cut up one of the bottles and put it on top of the other one. It looked like a rocket!

“Wait,” Uncle Ron said. “I forgot about paint. Hey, Charlie, hasn’t your dad got some around here?”

“I think so,” I said. “What kind do we need?”

“I know about different kinds of paint,” Chip announced like some kind of paint expert. “We need the kind that will stick to plastic.”

“Anything’s fine,” Uncle Ron said. “We’re just a bunch of morons setting off a water rocket.”

“Or bozos,” I said.

“Or bo-zons,” Uncle Ron said.

I laughed out loud. “Bozon” was a great word.

We looked through the shelves and found a can of black spray paint. “Let’s take this outside,” Uncle Ron said. “I’d better do the painting. If you guys get paint all over yourselves, your mothers will kill all of us.”

We watched as Uncle Ron sprayed the entire rocket. He sprayed the toe of his boot by accident.

But the rocket looked truly, completely stupific!

“Can we shoot it off now?” Chip said. “Can I shoot it first?”

“Not now,” Uncle Ron said. “We have to wait for the paint to dry.”

“But then can I go first?” Chip asked.

If I had had a large rocket that would hold a seven-year-old, I would’ve stuck my perfect little turkey cousin in it and sent him to a distant galaxy.

“We’ll see,” Uncle Ron said.

Why didn’t Uncle Ron just tell Chip no?

Why didn’t ANYONE ever tell him no?

I kept checking on the rocket to see if it was dry.

Chip kept following me.

I kept keeping my mouth shut.

Finally, after forever, the paint was dry. I went back inside with Chip right behind me and found Uncle Ron sprawled on one end of the couch.

Uncle Brandon was sitting on the other end, doing something with his phone. My dad was in the
big chair. They were all watching a football game. “Uncle Ron, it’s dry,” I said. “Can we shoot it off now?”

“Okay,” Uncle Ron said, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s put it in the car and we’ll head over to the school yard.”

“Yippee!” Chip said.

I tore through the kitchen and headed toward the back door.

“Where are you going?” Mom asked.

“To the school to set off the rocket,” I said. “It’s all ready.”

“Not now, Charlie. It’s time for you and your dad to go pick up Mrs. Walcott.”

“But Mom, can’t we shoot the rocket off first? It won’t take that long.”

Buck Meson would never have to get his mom’s permission to shoot off a rocket!

Mom shook her head. “I told Mrs. Walcott we’d pick her up early so she’d have time to visit with people before dinner. She’s probably already sitting
by the door waiting. And Charlie, you know how much she loves it when you come over.”

I like Mrs. Walcott, too. She has to use a walker, which she calls her “Maserati.” Dad cracked up the first time she said it because that’s the name of a fancy sports car. She has this great accent, since she’s from Jamaica. I love listening to her talk.

Once she asked me if I ever got in trouble at school and I told her about the time I accidentally hit Mrs. Burke in the head with a sneaker. She told me that she’d spent a lot of time in the principal’s office when she was a little girl.

“Why?” I’d asked her.

“De office more interesting dan de classroom,” she’d said, letting out her high-pitched little chuckle.

I liked Mrs. Walcott, but I really wanted to fire the rocket. “Please, Mom. Let us go shoot the rocket really fast,” I begged. “Then we’ll go get her right after.”

“The rocket can wait,” Mom said. “Mrs. Walcott cannot.”

Boogers.

I went back to Uncle Ron and told him we’d have to wait.

“No problem, Charlie.” He plopped back down on the couch. “That way I can watch the rest of the first half.”

Just as Dad and I were going out the door, Uncle Brandon called, “Hey, do you guys want to take Chip?”

NO!
I thought.

“Sure,” Dad said.

“Get your jacket, Chipster,” Uncle Brandon called. “You’re going with Charlie and Uncle Jim.”

Boogers. Boogers. Boogers. Boogers. Boogers.

Chip and I climbed into the backseat and Dad pulled out of the driveway. I just stared out the window while Dad explained to Chip where we were going.

“Why do we have to go get her?” Chip asked.

“Mrs. Walcott is one of Aunt Gloria’s patients,” Dad said. “She can’t drive herself.”

“Why is she coming over?”

“Because it’s Thanksgiving and she doesn’t have any family nearby.”

“Oh,” said Chip.

When we pulled up in front of Mrs. Walcott’s house, Dad got out. “Let’s go,” he said. “Chip, you stay in the car for just a minute. We’ll be right back.”

On the front porch, Dad let me ring the doorbell. Right away, the locks rattled on the other side and the door opened. Mrs. Walcott was wearing a blue hat that matched her blue coat.

“Well, I see you’re all ready!” my dad said.

“Me tek six hours fi get to de door!” she said. Then she grinned at me. “T’anks for coming, Charlie. Why you no carry de Maserati? Me sure you handsome papa will help de ol’ lady down dese stairs.”

While Dad was helping Mrs. Walcott into the front seat, I put the walker in the trunk and climbed into the backseat.

“She’s really old!” Chip whispered. He almost looked scared.

As soon as my dad got Mrs. Walcott settled and her seat belt buckled, she turned around and peered at Chip. “What you name, little man?” she asked him.

“Chip,” he mumbled.

“Nice to meet you, Cheep,” she said. Then she gave me a little wink. “You mind spending de evening wit de crabby ol’ lady?”

“Um, no,” Chip said.

“Dat’s good,” Mrs. Walcott said. “Because me no have a nice dinner in donkey’s years. And it look like I’m coming—unless Charlie’s father decide fi lef me at de animal shelter wit de other ol’ crittahs.” She winked at me and I smiled back.

“No chance of that,” said Dad.

Back at home, after we got Mrs. Walcott settled in the kitchen, I ran into the family room to tell Uncle
Ron we could go fire off the rocket. Before he could answer, the front doorbell rang and Ginger started barking.

“Somebody get it!” Mom yelled from the kitchen. “It must be the Gritzbachs.”

Not the Gritzbachs!

The Squid raced toward the door.

“Let’s go, Uncle Ron.” I pulled on his sleeve.

“Let’s go,” said Chip, the perfect little copycat.

“Wait a minute,” Dad said. “They’re already putting out the appetizers.” He looked at his watch. “We’re going to sit down and eat in an hour.”

“Come on, Dad,” I pleaded. “We’ll be right back. It won’t take very long. Right, Uncle Ron?”

“We could probably get there and back in half an hour,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Ron,” Dad said. “It’ll take you ten or fifteen minutes just to get to the school.”

“No, it won’t!” I shouted.

“Cool it, Charlie,” Dad said.

And then the Squid led Mr. and Mrs. Gritzbach into the room just as my mom came in from the kitchen.

Dad went to the stairs and yelled for Matt to come down.

Mrs. Gritzbach handed my mom a covered dish. “I brought one of my specialties—creamed brussels sprouts.”

Brussels sprouts! The smelliest, most disgusting vegetable on the planet!

“Thank you so much,” Mom said, giving Mrs. Gritzbach a little one-arm hug.

“They just need a little heating up,” Mrs. Gritzbach said.

They didn’t need a little heating up. They needed a little throwing away!

My mom went in the kitchen with the brussels sprouts and came back out with Mrs. Walcott, Gams, and Aunt Sarah, who was holding Tilly. Mrs. Gritzbach smiled at me and shook my hand. “Nice to see you, Charlie,” she said.

“Hi,” I answered. Then I turned to her husband. “Hello, Mr. Gritzbach.”

“Hello,” he grunted.

Suddenly, Chip stepped forward. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Gritzbach. I’m Chip—Charlie’s cousin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Mr. Gritzbach nodded. “You, too,” he said, shaking Chip’s hand. Then he looked at me like
I
was the turkey.

Grown-ups always thought Chip was soooo polite! But I had other things on my mind.

“Uncle Ron,” I said, “can we
please—?
”

“Charlie,” Mom interrupted. “It’s nearly time for
dinner. You and Mabel run upstairs and change into nice clothes.”

“But we’re going to launch the rocket!” I moaned.

“Upstairs. Get your clothes on now,” Mom said. “The rocket can wait.”

The rocket could not wait! The rocket was extremely tired of waiting!

“We’ll go to the school really fast,” I said. “We’ll be back in plenty of time to change.”

Mom gave me one of her don’t-push-your-luck looks.

“We’ll figure something out, Charlie,” Uncle Ron said. “Better do what your mom says.”

“I’ve already got my good clothes on,” Chip announced to the universe.