The Bear in a Muddy Tutu (4 page)

“Jim Bob
wouldn’t never have found out about the baby if it weren’t for the sand that caused him to crash and lose his you
-
know
-
whats,
”
his mother confided.

Billy Wayne was confused, trying to figure out what important things his father had lost, and wh
y
no one
had gone out and searched for them.

Quiet again, and Billy Wayne craned his neck toward where Momma sat spread out on a chair at the kitchenette table, the long black phone cord coiled like a skinny snake around her arm.

“I just don’t wanna go on livin’ most of the time
,
”
she said.
His
mother
’
s words
scared the little boy. Who would take care of him if she wasn’t livin’? His dad
had
n’t even answer
ed
the phone when Billy Wayne got the nerve to call him. Even a dad that yells at you
wa
s better than one that never wanted to see you.

After
the baby
came
, and then die
d
right before its first birthday, Billy Wayne watched his mother go from chubby t
o really fat. She stopped doing
things outside and always told him she was too tired to play.
She had been making Billy Wayne a grilled cheese when the baby slipped under the
soapy
water in
one
plugged-up side of the kitchen’s double sink. The other sink was jammed with greasy pans, dirty dishes, and an old rubber duck
that
had gotten away from the baby
. His mother had been
rushing
from the kitchen to the living room
and back
;
some real important
event
had been
going on in her soap
,
enough
that she kept shushing Billy Wayne.

Billy Wayne
had been
confused
by
his mother’s screams and crying
but did manage to pull a chair over to the stove and twist the knob to
“
off
”
before the smoldering sandwich caught fire. He wanted to tell his mom it was okay, that he’d help her make another, but she just kept crying and rocking his wet naked little brother
,
all squeezed up tight in her arms.

Late that night, Billy Wayne’s mom
dragged
him out of his bed, and the site of her wild hair and puffy face scared him badly enough that he didn’t dare ask any questions.

“Come,
”
was all she said, and he pulled on his dirty jeans and sweatshirt from
the
clothes pile as she turned and walked out of his room. He was tugging on one sneaker at a time, hopping on one foot then the other, as he watched her scoop up a wrapped bundle of rags from the kitchen table. She headed out the side door without looking back to see if he was done dressing.

Billy Wayne followed her down the dark, narrow sidewalk along
Second
Avenue.
A
s they crossed Emory and Grand, Billy Wayne was glad there were no cars because she didn’t seem to bother looking anywhere but straight down. They crossed Heck and Bergh streets before coming to the light at Kingsley. She never broke stride, stepping in front of a big black sedan that had to swerve
to miss
them, the driver hammering his horn and swearing something out his open window. His mom just kept going, and Billy Wayne could now hear the waves and see the low clouds that were lit by the reflecting street lights along Ocean Avenue.

Clutching the bundle of rags to her chest,
Allison Hooduk led her son across the last patch of pavement and
on
to the deep sand
.
Halfway to the water, she dropped to her knees with a whimper
.
Billy Wayne sat down next to her, frightened for his mother, still n
ot knowing what she was holding, but knowing it must be mighty important to have made her come down into the sand. Mighty important.

“Dig a hole, Billy Wayne,
”
his mom finally said in a voice he didn’t recognize. It was like
the
croaking
of a
frog, all thick and wet. But Billy Wayne obeyed
. With his small hands, he
pull
ed
sand toward him
in great scoops
between his legs
.

A half-hour later
, exhausted, his hands burning and stinging from the coarse sand,
Billy Wayne could
dig
no
deeper
.
H
e’d reached wet clay about four feet down.

“I can’t go no more,
”
he whispered through dry lips,
as he
st
ood
in
a
hole up to his shoulders. He was thirstier now than he’d ever been in his life, and his back ached like crazy.

“Come on out.
”
H
is
mom
re
ach
ed
to pull him up. Allison Hooduk laid the bundle gently in the sand in front of her
and slowly peeled back the layers of baby blankets to expose the impossibly white face of her youngest son.

“
Is he dead
, Mom
?
”
Billy Wayne
asked
in a hushed voice, crowding against her shoulder to look down at his brother. His throat
was
raspy and dry
,
and
it hurt to swallow. His brother looked like a sleeping doll, except th
at
his eyes were open just a little bit. Billy Wayne had a sudden urge to reach down and push them closed
but was afraid to touch him.

“Yes,
th
at’s right,
”
she answered
. A
pair of seagulls circled overhead,
probably
ch
ecking
to see if there might be an early breakfast down there.

“You want me to put him in the hole?
”

“Yes, put him in
the hole.
”
S
h
e co
ver
ed
the baby’s face back up. “Put him all the way down
,
re
al
careful.
”

Billy Wayne did as he was told, laying his baby brother at the bottom of the hole, on top of the wet clay, small avalanches of sand cascading over the sides as he worked. The baby fit
perfectly at
the bottom, without any cramming, and Billy Wayne was relieved
about
that. He’d feared having to bend his little brother to make him fit.

“Go ahead.
”
H
is mother indicat
ed
she wanted him to push the sand down and fill the hole.

“
What do we do now
?
”
Billy Wayne asked, but she was already turning away, struggl
ing
to her feet. “Momma?
”

“You just finish up
.
”

Billy Wayne hurriedly pushed the sand into the hole, not wanting to be left alone out there by that dark ocean and all that sand. He was almost in a panic
as
he swept the last bit flat, jumped to his feet and started running back toward where he thought his mom would be. His feet kicked up sandy rooster tails as he made his legs go as fast as
they
could. The feeling of sinking started to
overwhelm
him. The sens
ation
of being pulled down by the sand, or something underneath the sand,
drew
ye
lping cries from the little boy,
who was
terrified
of
be
ing
sucked down and buried like his brother.

The seagulls continued circling overhead.

Whenever Billy Wayne was forced to endure sand, unpleasant visions of that night came back to haunt him. The mature,
grown
-
up Billy Wayne, who knew sand was just sand, pushed thoughts of that dark night away, as he trudged through the deep white granules toward the lone figure of a boy he’d spotted on today’s new mission.

“You got a dollar,
mi
ster?
”

Billy Wayne had parked his Dart in the sandy lot of the Barnegat Light at the very northern tip of Long Beach Island. He wore his best suit and carried an important looking yel
low legal pad
recommended in
step number seventeen
of his book. The pad was to
convey
a sense of importance and substance to a prospective disciple.
If not
for some important reason, why else would someone be carrying a legal pad? A pen or pencil was optional.

“Fifty cents?
”
the boy tried again. Billy Wayne steered toward him, fishing in
his pockets
as he slowly approached,
legal pa
d
tucked beneath
his double chin
. B
ut the only money he had on him was
the
wad of tens in his wal
let and whatever was stuffed one sock
, sometimes cramping
the
muscles in the
arch of his foot
. His heart raced at this unexpected opportunity, and he could feel the sweat glands in his armpits
go
into overdrive. He’d studied up on suggestions for peeling what the book called Odd Ducks away from the pack,
but
had
only had time to glance at the section on Lone Ducks. He had read that even though loners might seem like easier targets, they tended to have their guard up in anticipation of fending off the mean people who were always
just around the next corner preparing
to hurt them. People at the edges of larger groups, trying but failing to fit in, were much more approachable. They wanted more than anything to be accepted into just about any
group
.
These people m
ight
seem a bit dim, but their eyes were wide open,
and they were drawn to
any smile
that welcomed
them like moths to a bare bulb. These people
longed
to be pulled into something bigger than
themselves
;
they were ready.

“Relax,
”
Billy Wayne whispered to himself, holding the legal pad tightly in his left hand while attempting to keep his right hand dry by
wiping
it
on
his pant leg as he walked.

The boy sat in the shade of the enormous lighthouse. The
lower third of the
Barnegat Light was painted white
;
the rest,
up to the metal crow’s nest that surrounded its large windows
, a rich burgundy
. The sand walkway leading to the base of the building was deep and white, with an old, sun-bleached split rail fence to keep visitors off the dunes. Small trees and grasses held the dunes together
,
despite
th
e
harsh
weather this exposed area
endured
. Most of the vegetation was a healthy green, showing new growth from the mild spring and recent rains.

“I have a ten dollar bill if you’d be willin
g
to hear me out for a few minutes
.
”
Bill Wayne
offered his
hand for a shake. The boy,
no older than
fifteen, looked up at him
, scoping out
the best escape route
at the same instant, but held fast.

“My name’s Reverend Billy Wayne.
”
H
e
di
splay
ed
his whitest and brightest smile, pulling his hand back casually to show there was no offense taken. “I
s
’
pose
in this day and age a young person needs to be especially vigilant
’
bout who he lets near, am I right?
World’s gettin’ crazier and crazier, it seems.
”