Egg-Drop Blues (2 page)

"Not nearly as much. Do you remember when you had those tubes put in your ears?"

Tubes? I pictured a tube like a tube of toothpaste sticking out of my ear.

"No, I don't remember tubes."

She told me I was four when I had them inserted. Apparently they helped, because I had less ear infections after the tubes.

"So I have tubes in my ears?"

"Had. One popped out on its own and the other one was removed."

I guess it was comforting to know that I wasn't still walking around with tubes in my ears.

I tried to listen to what Ms. Hennessey was saying about the Einstein Rally, not because I thought
I'd want to be in it, but because I knew Angela, Faye, and Tommy would. I might not share their grade point averages, but I'm their friend, so I try to show some interest in the stuff they do. Ms. Hennessey was saying that the rally was being held at the Southwest Kentucky Teacher's College, which is a campus near my house that's a great place to hang out. If nothing else, I figured Jury and I would go down there and cheer on the rest of the posse. As it turned out, nothing could've been further from the truth.

I didn't give the rally or the meeting with Mrs. Norville any more thought until suppertime. My grandparents came over for dinner—they come every other Friday—and Jury brought up the rally. When I heard him mention it, I knew he was just buttering them up, or "fattening frogs for snakes," as he would say; most of his conversation centers around one cliché or another.

"It sounds like something my brother and I would really enjoy. It's time Plank had another winning team, wouldn't you say, Judge?"

He couldn't have sounded phonier if he'd spoken with a British accent. "Yes, I believe you're right, Brother," I answered. I called him brother because I know he hates it. Our mother and father have a habit of calling us both brother, especially when they're not sure which one they're addressing. My grandparents aren't
stupid—they know Jury—but they seemed pleased to know that he cared enough to dream up a lie for them.

Not only could I not lie to them, I hadn't even remembered that they were coming for dinner. Maybe poor memory is another symptom of this dyslexia thing. Jury thinks I talk too much, but a lot of times the only way I can remember something is when I hear myself saying it out loud. If my mother knew I'd forgotten about the dinner, she'd say, "Didn't you see our good china on the table?" She just can't understand how I could come in the house and not notice the dining room table made up. But I can't understand how somebody
could
walk into a house and notice something like that.

"Which segment of the rally interests you, Judge?" my grandmother asked. She has a twinkle in her eye, at least that's what my daddy says. He says his mother has a way of looking at you that makes you wonder if she's laughing at you or with you.

"I have a couple of ideas about it, Grandma, but I'm going to let Jury decide ... since he's so excited about it." I looked at Jury, like I was expecting him to make his choice right then. I could see Grandma looking at Jury out of the corner of her eye.

"I was planning to talk to our science resource teacher about it Monday," Jury said, grinning like an idiot. "I'm sure she'll be able to direct us."

"Your science resource teacher is the young one, right? Looks kind of like a teenager?" Mama asked.

"I wouldn't say that."

"Neither would I," I agreed. I knew Jury hated her, but he hated most of the teachers at school. I liked Ms. Hennessey all right, but she didn't look that young to me.

"She does, Ma. Looks just like one of the kids. She reminds me of how old I'm getting," Mama said.

"Nonsense," my grandfather said. He loves to point out nonsense wherever and whenever he finds it.

Jury started laughing. It always cracks him up when Grandpa says "nonsense."

"You still look like a teenager to me, Ilean," my grandmother told my mother.

I guess they know how much my mother worries about getting old. Since she broke up with her last boyfriend, she spends a lot of time in front of the mirror using skin creme and plucking chin hairs or smoothing back the gray hair in front of her ears. It's really kind of silly because, as mothers go, she's not bad-looking. She
looks good for her age, but that doesn't seem to be enough.

"We missed you in church Sunday, Ilean."

"I went to Macedonia, over in Gerber. I know everybody at First already."

My grandmother made a little moan that I recognized as her "I know what you mean" moan. When both of my grandmothers are here, at some point they seem to stop talking in English. They use a kind of shorthand language, a lot of moans and grunts and raised eyebrows and words that don't mean what they're suppose to. I think it's fascinating, but Jury thinks it's boring, as apparently do my grandfathers, because Jury leaves before long and both grandfathers usually end up asleep in their chairs.

My mother and father grew up together on the same street in Plank. They always say they were like sister and brother for most of their lives. My mother told us that, before the wedding, she came to know she shouldn't marry my father, but she didn't have the heart to hurt my grandparents, both sets. It's funny to see my father and mother together now; they get along so well. If you didn't know, you would never suspect they were divorced. It's nothing like the arguing that went on before the divorce. Jury and I rarely talk about anything that happened during our fourth-grade year, the year they split up. I don't know about Jury, but all I remember is the arguing and then the silence after Daddy left. There were things that we could say that would make our mother cry, but we never knew what those things might be, so whenever she was home the house was silent.

"That's nonsense," my grandfather said, a little too loud. I think he's losing his hearing.

I don't know who said what, but Jury was dying across the table from me. I tried to kick him under the table, but it was too wide and I couldn't reach him.

"Would you like some dessert, Judge?" my mother asked.

"When doesn't he?"

"When
you
buy it or make it,
Brother,
" I told him. Sometimes I have to get him off my case early or he'll start capping on me all night. My mother shot me "the look," the one that used to come before she thumped me on the head when I was younger. She'd use her middle finger and thumb and just thump, like you would if a ladybug was crawling on you. Not hard enough to hurt you or the ladybug, but it sure was embarrassing if we were out somewhere. Plus you never knew if it was going to be the look and the thump or just the look.

"Remember how close the boys used to be?" my grandmother asked nobody in particular. "I'd never seen two such loving brothers."

"That's nonsense, they always fought."

Jury had to get up he got so tickled.

My grandparents didn't stay long, even though they only live about five miles away, because Grandpa doesn't like to drive at night anymore. The bad thing about these Friday dinners is the dishes afterward. We don't have a dishwasher like the rest of the kids I know. I've asked my mother if she would get one and she says, "Why should I? I've got two already." That's supposed to be funny. I've since heard her tell somebody on the telephone that she's going to have one put in when we get the kitchen redecorated this summer.

"Do you think Grandpa might be losing his hearing?" I asked Jury as we were doing the dishes—or maybe I should say, while I was doing the dishes and
he
was sitting at the kitchen table watching me. I knew he was wondering why I didn't say something to him or yell upstairs to Mama, but I had my own plan.

"I don't think about stuff like that. If you think about stuff like that, the next thing you know, you'll be thinking about how old he's getting and how one day he won't be here any more and then
you'll get all bummed out thinking about how there's no guarantee about any of us being here. The next thing you know, I'm walking around with a serious expression on my face and people will think I'm you!"

I took a handful of suds and tried to smash him in the face with it. He dodged and I ended up getting suds all over the curtains.

"Why don't I sign us up for the rally on Monday, save you the bother?" I said.

"You better not, unless you've got somewhere else to live."

"But Brother, didn't I hear you tell our grandparents how much you were looking forward to it?"

"This is serious business, Judge. Don't bring up that rally again in front of Mama. She'll have forgotten about it by this time next week."

I put the last dinner plate in the rack and stepped away from the sink.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to bed. I'll see you later." I heard him asking me about the pots and pans and drying the dishes, but I kept on walking. He knew he couldn't say it too loud because our mother would have heard and she'd be curious about what was going on. I felt no guilt. I took all the plates and stuff into the kitchen, made the water,
washed everything except the pots and pans, and put them in the drying rack—he could do the rest.

By Monday, I'd forgotten all about the rally; I had other things on my mind. When I got to school, a little early so we could play a quick game of pom-pom tackle, Mrs. Norville was hunched over Miss Hoffer's desk. They were so intense, Miss Hoffer didn't even look up to say to me, "God Bless you with a good morning." Most teachers won't let you put your junk down on your desk before the first bell, but our door is always open and Miss Hoffer will always greet you with a blessing. She mumbles the "God bless you with" part so that most people think she's just saying good morning. It took us (the posse) a long time to figure out what she was really saying. When we finally figured it out we decided that she mumbles the first part so she won't get in trouble with the district for talking religious stuff to us. She's a born-again Christian. She doesn't try to sell you literature or convert you, she just seems to be happy, and you want to know why. Sometimes she'll talk to you about it if you're away from school. Last year I was at the mall with her selling candy for a school project and I asked her why she was happy all the time.
Angela and Faye had already set me up to ask. They told me that they talked to her about it one day and they thought she made God and religion sound so logical. I might talk a lot to adults, according to my brother, but I don't usually ask them about their feelings. To be honest, I had to get to be ten and catch my mother crying a few times before I even knew they had feelings. Anyway, Miss Hoffer explained a little and she did make it sound—not logical like the girls said, but real. The next time I went to church I really paid attention because, for the first time, it was real.

Monday morning, I got a gut feeling that Mrs. Norville was
not
hunched over Miss Hoffer's desk talking about the New Testament. When the bell rang, I realized Miss Hoffer and Mrs. Norville had been talking about me. Miss Hoffer was looking at me like my goldfish had just died. When it was time to read aloud, she didn't call on me but she came over and stood next to me and put her hand on my shoulder. When she did that, my heart started beating really fast. I was afraid she could hear it so I was glad when she finally started walking away. It's hard for me to read out loud, but something told me that I would have been better off trying to struggle through a few minutes of reading aloud than
whatever those two women were planning for me.

I didn't have to wait long to find out what it was all about. That afternoon during science, Ms. Hennessey called everybody up to the desk, one at a time, to give us our grades. Since she has to travel around to different rooms, she can't post the grades next to our student numbers on the door, like Mr. Fritch, the phys. ed. teacher, does. There were three weeks left until the end of the trimester and we still had one big test. Her thinking was that it was best to let us know what we needed to get on the test to pass. She went in alphabetical order, so I had a chance to study the faces of the kids that came before Jenkins. I could tell I wasn't the only one in trouble, but that didn't comfort me too much when I realized that I was one of only two whose grades
my
mother cared about.

"Judge Jenkins."

I knew I was next, but for some reason I got some limited pleasure out of burying my head in my book and making her call me a second time.

"Judge Jenkins." There was attitude in her second call. I don't think Ms. Hennessey is cut out for this kind of work. Jury gave a little nod when I passed his desk. I don't know why he did it; maybe he knew I was scared. Sometimes he can
be supportive when I least expect it. I glanced over at his desk. His science book was opened and standing up like a barrier and he was playing a game of dots with somebody. The look on Wayne DeVoe's face, the boy who sits in a wheelchair at a table directly behind Jury, told me that it was Wayne. I really wanted to see how they were passing the paper back and forth, but I was afraid I would bust them by staring. Both Jury and Wayne have more nerve than I believe is healthy.

"Judge, things don't look good."

No, they didn't. What was I supposed to say?

"If I had to give you a grade today, I would be hard-pressed to give you a D, even a D-minus."

"Hard-pressed" is one of those expressions I have trouble with. Does it mean it would be difficult or easy for her to give me a D? My brother uses a lot of expressions like that and it's not just annoying, it's confusing.

"What are your feelings about the trimester so far?"

"It's been difficult."

"How so?"

"I think I know what's going on and then we have a test and I end up failing it. The stuff you talk about is actually fairly easy." Why did I say
that? Teachers hate it when you call their stuff easy. "But then you ask those trick questions on the tests."

"Did Mrs. Norville explain to you that they're not really trick questions?"

She saw the shock on my face. How could Mrs. Norville have explained that to me when I hadn't said anything to her about Ms. Hennessey's trick questions?