“ARCHIE, I HEAR YOU’RE writing a story that you think is going to get published,” Dad said to me the next morning when I came down for breakfast. He sort of chuckled as if it was a joke.
“Who told you that?” I asked.
We were the only ones in the kitchen. Saturn was slow getting into orbit that day since we’d all been up so late the night before.
“Oggie was filling us in last night while you were at the store,” Dad told me. “He said you’ve been telling it to him, but now you’re writing it down. Something about moles?” He kind of chuckled again. “Can I read it?”
“No, you can’t,” I said.
“Well, that’s not very friendly.”
One of the problems writers have, in case you don’t know, is people always asking what you’re writing about. Then they want to read it, which is not a good idea. Nobody ever likes anything that somebody they know wrote, especially if it’s not published yet. The reason is, they don’t have any trust that you’ll be any good. Part of being a writer is getting people to trust you. When they finally do, they’ll relax and respect what you write with no problem at all.
I read someplace that Edgar Allan Poe’s family hated his stuff at first. They thought his mind was polluted. Hans Christian Andersen was considered a freak until he finally got published. Then people came to respect him.
“The story’s not finished yet, that’s why you can’t read it,” I said to Dad. I could tell by his voice that he probably wouldn’t trust me to write anything good in a hundred thousand years.
“Oh, I see, I see. Well, when will it be done?”
“Hard to tell. A year or two maybe.”
That put him off the track. He didn’t ask again. Cyndi and Oggie came downstairs, and we got out the Frosted Flakes.
On the way to school, I said, “Oggie, what were you doing telling Dad and Cyndi about The Mysterious Mole People? That’s our private story. It’ll get wrecked.”
He hung his head. He knew he’d messed up.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said.
“They got it out of you, I guess.”
“Yeah.” I could see he was sorry.
“Well, don’t worry about it,” I told him. “Sometimes when people put pressure on you, you get nervous and start telling all kinds of stuff that’s private, just out of self-defense. It can happen to anyone. You didn’t say anything about your wallet, did you?”
Oggie shook his head. “I’m trying not to,” he said.
“Good. Keep trying. I’m getting closer. I just need a few more days.”
Oggie nodded. He looked pretty sad, though, as if he didn’t believe me. After a minute, he said, “Archie? I forgot to tell you. I found out some more stuff about Dad and Cyndi last night.”
“Like what?”
“Like, Cyndi doesn’t want to get married.”
“What?”
“She told Dad she doesn’t want to, but she still wants to have the baby.”
“WHAT?”
“It’s a girl. She went and had a test.”
“Oggie! Are you sure?”
“I heard them talking. She wants to call it California.”
“California! The BABY?”
“Yup. Cyndi thinks California’s the best state in America. She lived there once. She’s going to name the baby after it.”
Well, I just about croaked. I hardly knew what to say to Oggie. I mean, he shouldn’t even KNOW about babies being born without people getting married. He’s too little. He shouldn’t know how a baby can be named after a state just because its mother liked living there once. He might think the world is going crazy.
“What did Dad say?”
Oggie shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing! I don’t believe it.”
“They got into a fight about what channel to watch, so they didn’t talk about it anymore.”
I looked at Oggie’s face, but I couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Little kids are sort of turtle-like that way. You can’t always tell on the outside if something’s upsetting them inside or not.
“Look, I’m sorry” I said when I dropped him off at kindergarten. “I’m sorry you have to go through all this. There’s bad stuff going down, don’t think I don’t know it. I guess we just have to get used to living with bad stuff for a while.”
Oggie shrugged again. “It’s okay,” he said. “They can name her California if they want. The only thing is, I need to get my wallet back.”
He gave me the hairy eyeball. I could see he really meant it.
“Listen, it’s coming,” I told him. “That’s the one thing you don’t have to worry about. I’m getting it. Soon. Maybe even today.”
“Good,” Oggie said, and walked into his classroom.