Hit the Road, Manny: A Manny Files Novel (9 page)

The RV was really quiet for a little while, until the manny started teaching us road games. We played alphabet, where you look for the letters of the alphabet in order on roadside signs and license plates. We all got stuck on
Q,
but then Lulu won because she saw a Quality Inn. She also got the
Z
in Sizzler steak house.

We played a game where we took turns singing songs with certain words in them. The manny picked words like “rain” and “love,” and we had to sing songs with the words in them. Mom won the rain one because she knew tons. “Over the Rainbow” by Judy Garland. “Rainy Days and Mondays” by the Carpenters. “It’s Raining Again” by Supertramp. I’d never heard of half of them. I think she might have made them up.

When we got bored with the games, the manny asked Lulu what she wanted to be when she grew up.

“I am grown up,” Lulu corrected him, and then went on. “I want to be a state senator so I can debate and get paid for it.”

Lulu opened her mouth to say more, but Belly interrupted her, “HER WANTS TO BE A CHEERLEADER WHEN HER GROWS UP.”

Belly practiced yelling cheers all the way to Mount Rushmore. We didn’t have to listen to the rest of Lulu’s story about wanting to become a senator.

“HER NAME IS BELLY! HER CHEERS! HER LIKES TO CHEER! HER NAME IS BELLY!” Then she went, “WOO-HOO!”

None of Belly’s cheers made much sense, and they didn’t rhyme, so I came up with one: “Hello! My name is Belly! I have no friends! ’Cause I am smelly!”

Belly didn’t like the cheer that I made up. She started doing her fake cry and said, “Keats is being mean.”

Mom turned around and cheered, “My name is Keats! I think I’m
smart
! But I am just…a great big
fart
!”

Then all sorts of cheers started flying around the RV.

The manny sang, “My name is Lulu! And I don’t bark! But I will give you a conduct mark.”

India laughed really loudly, so Lulu sang, “I-N-D-I-A! She kisses boys and makes them pay! Go, India! Hey, hey! Go, India!”

“All right. That’s enough,” Dad said, looking in the rearview mirror.

India ignored Dad and yelled even louder, “Dad, Dad! He’s our guy! But don’t tease him! ’Cause he will cry!”

Mom covered her laugh with her hand.

Dad didn’t get mad, instead he turned to Mom and sang, “Gimme an
M
. Gimme an
O
. Gimme an
M
. What’s that spell?” And then he made siren noises like the police did when they pulled Mom over.

“Hey, nobody’s done one about the manny,” Mom complained. The RV got quiet while we all thought of cheers about the manny.

Finally I yelled out, “People think the manny’s weird! Just because he is a
queer
!” I put extra emphasis on the word “queer.”

I laughed at my cheer, but I was the only one. Everybody else was silent, and Lulu even gave me the look that she usually does when she calls me an idiot. She doesn’t call me an idiot anymore because she got in trouble from Dad, but she still gives me the look sometimes, and I know she’s secretly calling me an idiot in her mind.

The manny broke the silence. He laughed and said, “Hey! That was a good one!”

But the game stopped, and we pulled into the parking lot at Mount Rushmore. Nobody talked, only the manny. I stood close to him while he read a plaque out loud that explained why each president had been chosen to be carved into the side of the mountain. Washington had been chosen to represent the struggle for independence. Lincoln for his views on the equality of people. Jefferson for his belief in government by the people. And Roosevelt for bringing the United States into world affairs.

Belly listened to the manny and practiced her jumps and screamed, “Go, Lincoln! Go, Washton! Go, Rosewell! Go, Jetson!” India and Lulu pretended to be with another family who was dressed preppy and wore sweaters tied around their shoulders.

When we left Mount Rushmore, Dad climbed into the backseat with us while the manny climbed into the passenger seat to keep Mom company while she drove. The manny said that really he was up there to copilot in case Mom got out of control and started a police chase. He said that he had experience with car chases and had once been trapped on a bus that would blow up if it went below fifty miles per hour.

“That wasn’t you,” said India. “That was Sandra Bullock in
Speed
.”

“Oh, it happened to me, too,” the manny said. “
And
I’ve won a congeniality award in a beauty pageant too. Sandy and I lead parallel lives.” Then he snorted when he laughed.

Mom snorted as she laughed too. Mom and the manny get along like Sarah and I do. I bet if they were in the same class, they’d get each other in trouble. I accidentally got Sarah into trouble last year by saying something funny. She got sent to our principal Mr. Allen’s office because she couldn’t stop laughing in class. I had showed Sarah how to cut the pickle. Uncle Max and the manny are always making each other cut the pickle. One of them puts his index fingers together and says, “Cut the pickle.” The other one doesn’t have a choice and breaks the two fingers apart with his hand. The one who had the pickle yells, “Tickle, tickle!” and starts tickling the pickle cutter.

Sarah laughed so hard when I tickled her that Mrs. House sent her to the principal’s office. Sarah came back and said that she would never do anything to get sent to Mr. Allen’s office again, because when he gets serious, he takes off his toupee. She said that while he talked to her about respect for her teachers and adults, he stood there with double-sided tape stuck to the top of his bald head. I’m not sure if it’s true or not because Sarah has a great imagination. She wants to be a writer.

The manny and Mom started talking about grown-up things like relationships and credit card bills. The manny still owes a little bit on his college loan. I didn’t even know the manny went to college. He told Mom that he had a degree in biology because when he was little, he wanted to be a park ranger because he loved animals and dark green, which is the color of the uniforms.

Mom and the manny didn’t know I was listening to their conversation. I had my iPod earbuds in, and everybody else was asleep. The manny and Mom didn’t think I was paying attention to them, but I wanted to hear more about the manny in case I ever had to write a biography about somebody fascinating for school.

Mom asked the manny what his family was like, and I closed my eyes and inched my head closer to hear, even though I had my earbuds in my ears and was shaking my head to an imaginary beat.

The manny started talking. “They’re great parents. They’ve always known I wasn’t interested in ranching and farming like they are. Most of the kids from my school started their own ranches or help on their family’s, but I never wanted that. It wasn’t that I didn’t fit in. I loved playing football, but I also wanted to be in the plays and in the art classes and wanted to visit big cities.”

The manny loved playing football? I almost blew my cover when he said it. I almost whipped my head around and screeched, “Football?!” But I caught myself before I did. He was still talking.

“My mother and father didn’t stop speaking to me or disown me or anything when I told them I was gay, but it did change our relationship. We
never
talk about my personal life, especially my father. I don’t think he’s ashamed. I just think that it’s something he doesn’t know much about, so he doesn’t talk about it. I sent him a letter a few months ago telling him all about Max and how happy I was, but I never heard back and he’s never mentioned or asked about Max on the telephone…and I don’t want to force anything.”

The manny was quiet for a moment, and the moment turned into a really long one. He looked like he was thinking about something sad. I wanted to make him feel better, but I didn’t know how to do it without letting him know that I was listening. When I was sad about Grandma dying, the manny hugged me and said that Grandma was so lucky to have had a grandson like me.

Then the manny said, “It’s hard, though, because I want to be able to share my life with them, and I know that they’d really love Max. When I was growing up, my mom and dad dreamed that I would someday get married and have grandchildren for them. Now, I think, they’re still trying to get used to the idea that the kind of life they wanted me to have probably isn’t going to happen. You know. No big wedding. No grandchildren.”

“You could still have kids. You and Max could adopt,” Mom suggested.

“I already feel like I have kids—yours,” the manny said. “Getting to be a part of your kids’ lives is the best gift you could have ever given to Max and me. And we don’t have to pay for their college,” he added, laughing.

I laughed too, but not out loud. The manny says something funny even when he seems like he’s sad. It’s always hard to tell if he’s really laughing or just trying to lighten the mood. I heard India say that once.

I wanted to rip off my seat belt and jump in the manny’s lap and apologize for the way I acted in the convenience store and for calling him a queer. I wanted to tell him that his dad probably loves him very much but is embarrassed about the way
other
people act. Sometimes it’s just easier to fit in than it is to stick up for people.

At school one time a bunch of kids were teasing Craig and saying that he had body odor. They kept calling him “stinky” and “BO boy.” I pretended like I didn’t hear them teasing him even though I knew it was onions that they were smelling and not Craig’s armpits. Craig’s mother had put onions on his turkey sandwich, and he had taken them off and gotten the smell all over his hands. I should have stuck up for him, but instead I just ignored it and let the kids keep teasing him.

I didn’t rip off my seat belt and jump into the manny’s lap. I stayed in my seat and turned my iPod on and started listening to “Seasons of Love” from the
Rent
sound track. I didn’t want to eavesdrop on the manny anymore. I just wanted to love him no matter what, even if he did wear his pajamas and attract attention in convenience stores and have kids call him names. Mom calls this kind of love “one-conditional love,” because when you love somebody, you think they’re number one.

I had just finished listening to “One Song Glory” when Mom pulled the RV into a 7-Eleven so the manny could get a Diet Coke. He calls Diet Cokes “DCs.” Everybody else stayed asleep, but I jumped up and walked into the store with Mom and the manny. Mom put her hand up on the manny’s shoulder as we walked through the automatic doors.

Mom picked up a few bags of chips and some Snapples. The manny grabbed a DC, and I grabbed a couple of Slim Jims to eat while Lulu was still asleep. She says she hates the smell of processed meat and threatened to give me a wedgie if I ate beef jerky, Slim Jims, or those red pickled meat sticks that come in the fiery package. I love those. I hate wedgies.

The manny put his snacks on the counter to pay and then asked the clerk behind the register for ten lottery tickets. Mom asked for some too.

“If we win big, we could go off to Los Angeles together this fall and have plastic surgery. I could get hair plugs, and you could get a full-body chemical peel,” the manny joked with Mom.

The salesclerk overheard and rolled her eyes at the manny without a smile.

I looked at the clerk and pounded my fist on the countertop so hard that it shook the three bottles of Snapple that Mom had gotten for the girls. India’s Guava Mania almost fell over. The slam of my fist was so loud that Mom was too shocked to scold me.

I yelled, “He’s
GAY
! There’s nothing wrong with it. He can get hair plugs if he wants! He’s still the most fun person you’ll ever meet!” The entire store was staring at us. Even more than they had when the manny wore his pajamas into the convenience store.

“Okay…,” the confused salesclerk said carefully, like I was a grizzly bear that she was backing slowly away from. My fist was still clenched on the countertop.

Mom paid, and then we walked out of the store. The manny grabbed ahold of me and heaved me up and put me on his shoulders even though I’m kind of big for that.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve never been outed in a 7-Eleven before.”

Mom laughed, and I drew an invisible heart on the top of the manny’s head with my finger.

We didn’t win the lottery.