The Dark Days of Hamburger Halpin (10 page)

“Jacks are pretty desirable too,” Devon writes. “I think all the face cards are at the head table. A.J. was going to be a jack, but he ticked Pat off somehow. Get this: I heard Pat joking about giving it to Kevin Planders. Ha-ha.”

Pat is assigning values to human beings. Travis is a jack, Leigha is a queen, Gabby Myers would be a solid six, and Devon would be a negative twelve. Can’t we all just be tens, like me?

“What are you thinking about?” Devon writes. But before I can answer, I see Pat stand up. All eyes are on him, including Leigha’s, whose gaze is burning with a surprising intensity. Even the adults—Porkrinds, The Dolphin, Arterberry, Mrs. Stepcoat (who volunteered to chaperone, to Marie’s eyeball-rolling horror)—are watching. Is Pat going to make some sort of announcement?

I feel confident that I can turn around and make no secret that I am reading his lips.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “As you know,
my fiesta is fast approaching. Forty-eight of you have been lucky enough to receive your playing cards. But what of the remaining four? I have been saving four aces, four aces up my sleeve. If you, Will …”

I can’t believe it! I am getting an ace! I start to stand up. Then Devon gives me a really sharp look and yanks me down. Pat reaches into his sleeve and pulls out four invitations, which look exactly like oversize playing cards. Possibly he was saying “If you will”? Oops.

“The first ace goes to … Derrick Jonker! You didn’t think I’d forget you, buddy!” Pat starts laughing like this is hilarious.

Devon writes, “Pat kept telling Derrick that he wasn’t getting one.” The chair. The cafeteria. A kitty playing with his mousie.

Even though he is sitting right next to Pat, Derrick stands up to receive his invitation. He waves to everyone and wipes pretend sweat off his forehead in mock relief. While Travis cracks up, I notice Leigha look out the window. We are passing a farm, and something about the look in her eyes tells me that she wishes she was there, or anywhere, instead of here.

Devon writes, “I knew Jonker would get one!!”

I write, “Duh.”

Pat slowly pulls out the next playing card invitation. “The second ace goes to … Mindy Spark. Come on over here, Minder.” Mindy Spark’s eyes open so wide I think they are going to fall out of their overwhelmed sockets. She hugs her seat-mate, Marie Stepcoat, who cringes at this horrifying display of enthusiasm.

Mindy composes herself enough so she can make it down the aisle without bursting into flames. She does, however, almost fall over when Jimmy Porkrinds accelerates for no reason at all on a long stretch of open road. Good timing, J.P.!

Mindy literally curtsies to Pat as she accepts her card. I keep sneaking glances at Leigha, who is now looking like she is going to puke. She mouths something, but I can’t make out the words. Her lips seem puffy and heavily lipsticked. Did she fall? Was she in a fight?

It takes a lot of energy to not miss a word, but I am getting madder and madder. I write another note to Devon: “Did you see in history class the other day when Spark was telling everyone how cool Pat is and how his dad is ‘way famous’?”

“Totally low-class to campaign,” Devon writes back, but he is distracted as he writes, looking past me to the back of the bus to see how the rest of the ceremony plays out. Does he wish he had launched a full-scale campaign? Am I any better?

“Now for the third ace …,” Pat says, pausing for dramatic effect. “
(Something something)
age over beauty?” he asks. What? “Well, what if someone has both? To make sure that the party is educational as well as a blast, the third choice goes to our mistress of math, Miss Prefontaine.”

I am pretty sure that a stunned silence is sweeping the bus. Heads swivel from Pat to Prefontaine. Quizzical glances are shared. Giggles are stifled.

“We have to have a chaperone,” Pat says, winking. “Come get your ace, Claire.”

Miss Prefontaine is blushing, embarrassed, yet obviously
excited. I try to check Leigha’s reaction, but she has turned her head and buried her face in her hands. My poor baby.

Pat gives the ace to Derrick, who walks it over to “Claire.” She clutches it like it’s a rare and delicate flower. Mrs. Stepcoat looks appalled. Mr. Arterberry is sort of giggling but then composes himself and forces a disapproving glare.

Before the impact of this improbable choice sinks in, without a pause or dramatic speech or anything, Pat holds up the final card and says, “The fourth and final ace goes to Chuck Escapone.”

Escapone, zoning out with his headphones on, has to be jostled awake by his default trip buddy, Dwight Carlson. At first he seems annoyed and confused, like a napping toddler startled out of slumber. Then Dwight explains what is going on, and Chuck grins and in true Escapone style actually climbs over the seats in giant, loping steps. Why would Pat choose Escapone for the final card?

I shield the page in my notebook from Devon. This is just for me: (1) DOES PAT KNOW ESCAPONE CAN BE COUNTED ON TO BRING THAT CERTAIN SOMETHING SURE TO MAKE THE PARTY EXTRA-PHARMACEUTICALLY-SPECIAL (AND I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT HIS SPARKLING PERSONALITY)? OR (2) DID PAT INTENTIONALLY PICK THE WEIRDEST PERSON HE COULD THINK OF TO MAKE IT CLEAR TO A.J. HOW FAR HE HAS FALLEN? Hey, with that logic at work, maybe Devon and I were closer to being invited than we thought! If spiting A.J. was the goal, we might have honestly been considered. And isn’t that the true unspoken story of
the ace ceremony? That A.J. has
not
received an invitation? I reread my notes on the subject, tapping my pencil in thought. Just a few weeks ago, they were something like best friends, and now Escapone is laughing with an ace in his hand while A.J. stares out the window at the sign indicating that the coal mine is a quarter of a mile ahead.

Jimmy Porkrinds takes about a quarter of a second to go a quarter mile, and so we are there in the blink of an eye. Let the Happy Memories begin.

The first weird thing
that happens at Happy Memory Coal Mine is this: Jimmy Porkrinds is coming on the tour! Did his pod parents have to sign a permission slip? After the back-of-the-bus cool kids depart, Jimmy Porkrinds hops off like a happy field tripper. He just closes up the bus and joins the end of the line, waiting patiently with his hands in his pockets like it is totally normal. But it
isn’t
totally normal. I write in my notebook: IS JIMMY PORKRINDS A SECRET SCHOLAR? A COAL BUFF FASCINATED BY THE HISTORY OF EARLY MINE LIFE? Let’s find out, shall we?

The second weird thing that happens is this: Chuck Escapone licks a rat. They have these stuffed rats on barrels as you walk into the visitors center that very much remind me of Derrick Jonker. Escapone makes a big show out of licking one
on the nose. Why? Why, newly popular psycho, why? A placard explains the purpose of the rats:

Devon stands next to me reading the sign. He gives me a commiserating look, as if to apologize for the cave-in. I want to say, “It’s OK, Dev. You didn’t cause Dummy Halpin’s death.” Is he going to give me a hug? Zoinks. I step back, acting suddenly really interested in the tour guide who has emerged to lead our group.

“Miner Carl” is dressed in real period garb, with old-timey overalls, a miner’s lantern helmet, and coal grime on his face. He shows us to a bin so we can each take a piece of coal for ourselves. The girls don’t like that it messes up their hands. There is a nervous energy in the room. It is clear that
something
is going to happen, and everybody is waiting for “the moment.”

Carl hands out miner helmets for everyone and then starts his speech.

“The history of coal mining is interesting and enlightening,” he says, looking like he might weep from boredom. Is that
a pun?
En-light-ening
because coal powers lamps? Is this going to be one of those tour guides who try to be funny? Then M.C. turns his back to me and speaks the rest of the tour into a little microphone. I am left, as it were, in the dark. My mind wanders, thinking about how Leigha looks beautiful even in a coal miner hat and Pat’s too-big jacket. Would she be hot dressed as a nun? A lunch lady? A crossing guard?

This diverting train of thought is interrupted when I suddenly feel about seventy eyes turning on me at once. Despite the cool chill in the subterranean air, I am flushed. Then Pat Chambers raises his hand and says something like, “Excuse me, Miner Carl. I didn’t realize ghosts could be, like, weird fat kids.”

What the hell did I miss? Why can’t ghosts be fat? And why is everybody … Oh crap. Miner Carl must’ve said something about the ghost of William Halpin, prompting Pat’s brilliant comment. Leigha sort of covers her mouth like she knows she isn’t supposed to laugh at the poor deaf kid. It is obvious that the highlight of this trip, the thing everyone will talk about afterward, is how funny Pat is, how ballsy and awesome it was that he actually raised his hand and made that crack about Halpin to Miner Freaking Carl. Hilarious!

With Arterberry’s help, Miner Carl regains order and leads us to what literally is the end of the line. The path dead-ends where a wall of rock forms a cavernous room. Here stands a boulder so thick that even dynamite was useless. It is the spot where, all those years ago, the coal company couldn’t go any farther in. They decided the only way to go was down, blasting precipitously into the nether reaches of the now-abandoned
shaft. It is off-limits these days, carefully roped off, deemed way too dangerous. I see Pat leave his buddy on the other side of the room so he can teeter close to the edge with a smirk and pretend to lose his footing. Leigha has a weird look on her face as she watches him across the crowd. Panic? Fear that her ex might hurt himself? Why does she still care? C’mon, Leigha, there are other dudes, other options.

I lose her in the milling crowd.

A sick grin cracks the fake grime on M.C.’s face as he turns off the light on his helmet and introduces the finale. “Now it is the
(something something something)
to please shut your lanterns off on the count of three. I’ll keep the light
(something something)
—-just one minute will feel like an eternity. Imagine what it was like for these men every day of their lives (
blah blah blah)
. Your eyes play tricks with you down here.” I shut my light off early in case I can’t pick up his count. I don’t want to be the only one standing stupidly with mine on. A. J. Fischels does the same. … Hmm. Devon fiddles with his camera, then signals to me that he is going to climb one of the boulders jutting out of the side so he can get a good angle for his photo
of total darkness
. The rest of the class spreads with their buddies to the corners of the large, spooky room, milling around in excited anticipation.

“It will be the darkest thing you have ever seen or ever will see,” Miner Carl declares.

Poof. There is a flash from Devon’s camera and then total blackness. A chunk of time gone, like coal ripped from the earth.

The lack of light
immediately lowers the temperature. When the lights come back on, I am shivering under my sweater and gloves but feeling charged up. Even though the trip has not been good for me, the experience of standing in the dark was actually exciting. I am realizing that light itself is a gift, that I am lucky to live where I live, when I do. What hell those miners lived through. Everything looks different after seeing nothing at all. I think I can see this realization in the gaze of some of my classmates—even Travis Bickerstokes seems subdued, looking around in squinty brightness, whispering about the lack-of-light show.

Miner Carl lets us soak it in for a few moments, then leads us back to the top of the path, where a strategically placed gift shop beckons. Most of the souvenirs are tacky pieces of crap like
I SAW THE DARK
T-shirts and pieces of coal labeled
FUTURE
DIAMOND
. Since they already gave us those magnificent lumps at the beginning of the trip, why would anyone spend money on something like that?

Devon buys two.

After we pay for our stuff, Arterberry and Prefontaine gather us up for the bus. We say a deeply heartfelt “Thank you, Miner Carl,” and start to line up in the parking lot. The mood seems calm, maybe quieted by the cool and the dark. The weather is cooperating too. The sun ducks behind long bars of cloud, effectively letterboxing the sky. A bipolar breeze alternately whips us with frozen northern air and then suddenly turns as soft and warm as a kitten.

“Does everyone have their buddy
(something something something)?”
Miss Prefontaine is asking. Yes, Devon Smiley is standing so close that he’s basically in my hip pocket. He is smiling and wearing his I SAW THE DARK mesh trucker hat. But it seems that two half sets of buddies are missing. Purple Phimmul indicates that Leigha Pennington is AWOL, and Derrick Jonker issues a similar report about Pat Chambers.

Devon nudges me with a suggestive elbow and wiggles his eyebrows beneath his dumb hat. I pick up on whispers, giggles, oohs and aahs. Planders blurts out, “No sex on game day!” Yeah, Planders, they are totally off doing it in the bottom of the mine. I had been hoping that the school’s most famous on-again, off-again romance would remain off forever. Did Pat reseduce Leigha in the thrilling darkness? Jimmy Porkrinds—who knows why?—is grinning like a happy pumpkin. Even Chuck Escapone nods his hairy head as if in silent agreement with the crowd. This is
news
.

Prefontaine crosses her arms sharply and hangs her head like a toddler in time-out. Hmm … Then her eyes light up, and she points “There!” She actually signs it (although not on purpose—the real sign for “there” is just pointing at something). Indeed, Leigha is coming around the corner from the back of the gift shop. A sort of pale green and shifty embarrassment masks her face, and also … What is it? Her lipstick—when did she start wearing so much makeup?—is smeared.