Julian's Glorious Summer (3 page)

“That kind of man,” I said. My words came out all white and thin, like a little skinny piece of spaghetti.

“I am
pretty, pretty
sure,” my father said, “that Gloria thinks I am mean, mean, MEAN!”

He raised his eyes to heaven again, as if he was saying: “Now, Lord, don't just
listen
to that one. Mark it
down
!”

I was standing practically under my dad's
chin. It seemed way too close, but still as far away as the moon.

“Now, since I don't re
mem
ber saying
any
thing to you about working day and night, all summer long, I was very tempted to ask Gloooooooooria
what
she was talking about. But I didn't. I decided to ask you first, Julian.”

Suddenly my dad bent his knees and slid down as fast as if he was sliding down an invisible firehouse pole, until he was sitting on his heels and looking up into my face. Tell-the-truth sparks were shooting out of his eyes.

“So now I'm asking, Julian.
What
was Gloria talking about?”

I was afraid I was going to swallow my spaghetti-string voice. I was afraid I'd never talk again.

“Just a minute,” I said. “I can explain.” And I told my brain to come up with something—fast.

I Get Lucky

“Gloria didn't understand,” I said to my dad. “I
did
tell her you had a lot of jobs around the house. But what I meant was, I
want
to work a lot this summer. I want to save money for when I am grown up,” I added.

My father got into one of his thinking positions. He spread his feet out. He curled his right hand up in a fist and stuck it between his knees and his chin, like a brace.

“Now, let me try to understand this,” he said. “You are seven years old. You want to work practically night and day, all summer long, to save money for when you are grown up?”

“Yes,” I said. “I want to save money for a race car.”

“Do you know how much a race car costs?”

“Not exactly.”

“But you want to work practically night and day, all summer long, to buy one?”

“Definitely,” I said.

I guessed what my father would say next. I guessed he would say he didn't have that many jobs for me. In my mind I practiced saying “That's okay, Dad. I don't mind.”

My dad said, “Well, Julian, you're in luck! I think I can keep you busy practically all day, all summer long. We'll skip the nights,” he said. “Well, what do you say, Julian?”

“Terrible!” I said. “I mean, terribly nice of you! I mean, work—wonderful! What luck!”

I raised my hands to heaven the way Dad does.

Then I collapsed on the grass.

I didn't get up for a long time.

To Each His Own

Right after lunch my dad offered Huey the same great opportunity he'd offered me—to work all summer. “No, thanks,” Huey said. “I'd rather go play at Gloria's house.” And he left.

“More sharp rocks for you, Huey!” I thought.

But pretty soon there was not even time to think about sharp rocks. My dad gave me my jobs.

To begin with, I polished twelve pairs of shoes, including two pairs my dad had been saving for a dog to chew, if we ever got a dog.

Then I swept the porch.

Afterward I brushed cobwebs off the porch
ceiling and under the eaves all around the house.

When I finished that, it was four o'clock. I sat down. My neck ached from reaching high to get all the spider webs. I pushed my head around with my hands to make sure it still moved as many ways as it used to. I wasn't sure it did.

At four thirty my dad came home from the shop. “Hello, Julian,” he called. He came over to check on the work.

“I think we're practically all out of jobs around here,” I said.

My dad looked at me. He had little orange sparks in his eyes.

“Don't worry, Julian!” he said. “I'd hate for you to be out of work! There are still plenty of jobs for you!”

And he got me started weeding the garden.

One good thing I noticed about weeding the garden: once my back started to ache, I forgot about how my neck felt.

“What luck!” I said to myself. “Maybe in a few days I'll just be numb. Nothing will hurt. And when the summer is over, I'll go to the hospital for a long vacation.”

Pretty soon Gloria pedaled up on her bike. She laid it carefully on the grass.

“Huey couldn't keep up with me, so here I am,” she said. “But I can't stay long. My mom is expecting me back.”

She stood with her thumbs in the belt loops of her blue jeans, staring at me. Then she whispered, “Julian! Your dad really is doing it? He really is going to make you work all day and all night, all summer long?”

“Only all day,” I said.

“He really is
mean,”
Gloria said.

“Well, not exactly,” I said. “Actually, I
want
to work. Actually, it was my idea.”

“Your idea?” Gloria said.

“Yes. I want to save money. To buy a race car.”

“You're going to work all summer? You
want
to?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

My forehead was sweaty. I wiped it with the back of my hand. Dirt from the weeds trickled down my neck. I thought, “Of all the not-quite-true things I have ever said, this is the not-quite-truest of all.”

“Well,” Gloria said, “to each his own.”

I didn't know what “to each his own” meant.

Usually I wouldn't ever have asked, because I don't want Gloria to know when I don't already know something. But I was living under emergency conditions. It was too much trouble to pretend I knew everything. I decided that if I wanted to know something, I would just go ahead and ask.

I asked.

“It's something my mother says,” Gloria answered.
“It means each person has his or her own way of doing things and his or her own things to do. It means if you want to work all summer—it's not for me to say you're crazy. You just might not be crazy. Even though I think you are.

“To each his own,” Gloria said again. And she left.

In a little while Huey came up.

“Julian,” he said, “may I help you weed?”

“Sure,” I said. I wondered why Huey wanted to help.

I have to give him credit. He worked hard. We got the whole garden done before supper.

“Thanks a lot, Huey!” I said when we put the tools away.

“It's nothing,” Huey said. “Anyway, Gloria told me I had to help you. She said I should be very kind to you. Because maybe your brain is out of order.”

“Oh, really?” I said.

My back was out of order. My neck was out of order. My fingers were out of order. My legs were out of order. On top of that, my best friend was insulting my brain.

“Come on, brain,” I said to it. “Lead me to dinner.”

And it did. Not only that, it advised me to sneak upstairs and take the sharp rocks out from under Huey's mattress so he wouldn't stop helping me.

The Beginning of Happiness

“Julian!” my mother said. “JULIAN!” she shouted.

My head jerked up. My eyes jumped open like electric-eye doors.

“Julian,” my mother said, “if you nod one more time, your chin is going to make a crash-landing in your creamed corn.”

“Julian is tired,” Huey said.

I was amazed. Huey sounded like he cared. He wasn't sounding like a brother. He was sounding like a friend.

“If you can't eat any more,” my mother said, “a nice hot bath might relax your muscles.”

“Okay,” I said. It sounded wonderful. It sounded like the next best thing to a year in the hospital.

“I'll put lots of bubbles in the water, and I'll get you a nice big clean towel,” my mother said. “You just wait till the water's ready.”

I listened to the sound of water running into
the tub. Then I ached out of my chair and pained my way to the bathroom.