When Philip went downstairs next morning, his father greeted him with, “Emery’s called four times already. Here, have some cereal and then call him back.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“She and your aunt are out shopping already. I have to go pick up Becky in a few minutes.”
Philip rushed through his breakfast and went to the phone. Emery answered on the first ring.
“Philip, come to my house right away.”
“What’s so . . .”
“Just come!” Emery hung up.
Puzzled, Philip ran down the block. Before he could rap on Emery’s front door a second time, it opened, and Emery pulled him inside.
“I saw him.”
“Saw who?” asked Philip.
“The man in the truck. Mr. Sorino’s friend.”
“So?”
“He had satin pants!”
Philip frowned at his friend. “Was he wearing pants?”
“Of course he was. I just said he was.”
“What else is he supposed to sit in then?”
Emery gave Philip a puzzled stare. “No, no. He had satin pants!”
“So what? I’ve sat in pants. You’ve sat in pants. We go to school; we wear pants; we sit in pants.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about? I have sat in pants. You have sat in pants. In school. At home. Everywhere.”
“I don’t have satin pants.”
“You don’t have sat in . . . there you go not talking English again. Anybody who has pants has sat in them unless they never saw a chair in their life.”
“No, no, no. The truck man had satin pants. Don’t you understand?”
“Okay. So what did he sit on?”
“What did he sit on? He didn’t sit on anything. He had satin pants,” Emery shouted.
Philip’s voice went up to match Emery’s. “If he had sat in pants, didn’t he have to sit on something?”
“No! He stood in the yard, all by himself.”
“If somebody’s standing up, how could he have sat in pants or sat in swimming trunks or sat in anything?”
“Oh boy, Philip. Listen, we have to tell somebody he has satin pants. That’s all.”
Philip threw his arms into the air. “Who would care if he sat in pants or danced in pants or pooped his pants?”
“Philip, your Aunt Louise had satin pants, remember?”
“Remember? When she wears pants, she sits in them. What’s to remember?”
Emery took a turn throwing his arms into the air.
“Arrgghh! Can we go to your house, Philip? Don’t talk. Let’s go to your house.”
Philip and Emery hustled down the street tossing each other dirty looks. When they got inside Philip’s house, the house was empty.
Emery said, “Show me the pants your aunt gave as a present.”
“They must be upstairs. I think my mother wore them last night.”
The boys ran up the steps, and Philip led Emery into his parents’ bedroom.
“There, the red ones.”
Emery picked up the pants and shook them in front of Philip. “See, your mother has satin pants! Just like the truck driver had satin pants.”
“Emery,” Philip shouted at his friend, “my mother wore them last night, so of course she sat in them! They went to a restaurant. You think she ate standing up?”
“Not sat in them. Your aunt had satin pants and lost them.”
“My aunt lost her pants? How could she lose her pants if she was sitting in them?” Philip glared a challenge at his friend.
“Oh boy, don’t ever call me a dope again. Look, these are satin pants,” Emery screeched, shaking the red slacks in his hand even harder than before. He tossed them back onto the bed and grabbed a handful of the jeans Philip had on. “These are not satin pants.”
Philip took a breath. He lowered himself slowly onto the bed. “Are these sat in pants now that I’m sitting on them?”
“No, no, no. What is wrong with you?” Emery grabbed the red slacks again. “These are satin. Feel them. That’s satin. It has nothing to do with sitting anyplace. This is satin. This . . .” He touched his own jeans. “. . . is dungaree or cotton or whatever. Satin is this smooth stuff. I told you. My parents have bed sheets like this. Satin sheets. You don’t think they sleep sitting up, do you? Don’t you listen?”
“When you don’t talk nonsense I listen, and you just talked nonsense. You said the truck guy sat in his pants. You said my aunt sat in her pants.”
“I didn’t say that they sat in their pants.”
“You did.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No. Listen. You’re being even dumber than Leon could be.”
“Me! You . . .”
“Listen! Listen!”
Philip quieted and glowered at his friend.
“The man who drove the truck for Mr. Sorino was wearing satin . . .” Emery picked up the red slacks. “. . . black satin pants. Like the ones your aunt lost. Get it?”
“Are you trying to tell me the truck driver wore pants that looked like my aunt’s pants?”
“Ah, finally you get it! Yes, he must have stolen them from behind your house. He had black satin pants on. How many pairs of black satin pants you think there are in the neighborhood?”
“Why would he want to wear such stupid looking pants? I don’t think they’re even for men.”
“They must be. Your aunt gave them to your father. And who cares why he wore them? He had them on. I saw. And I saw your underwear, too.”
“He was wearing my Aunt Louise’s underwear?” Philip cried, flabbergasted.
“No, no, no.”
“So what do you mean you saw my underwear?” Philip spun around and tried to look behind him to see where his pants were torn.
“Stand still. Not the underwear you’re wearing. Your other underwear.”
“What other underwear?”
“The ones your aunt gave you, the ones with the red-haired girl on the butt.”
“You said he wasn’t wearing them.”
“Of course he wasn’t wearing them! How could I see his underwear if he was wearing pants? But I saw them.”
“Where’d you see them?”
“In the trash can at Mr. Sorino’s. They were still in the plastic.”
“What were you doing at Mr. Sorino’s?”
“I went over to tell him about the stolen television. I was going to ask him about giving the people back their old TV, but I never got a chance. I saw the truck guy in the backyard wearing your aunt’s pants.”
“Let’s go downstairs.”
Philip threw himself on the floor and leaned back against the sofa. Emery sat in a chair facing him.
“So, do you get it now?” asked Emery.
“Yes, yes, yes. I get it. You explained it so clearly.”
They sat quietly for a moment.
“What’ll we do?” asked Emery.
“You know, when we went to Mr. Sorino’s after Leon gave my stuff to him, we saw the white trash bag filled with my stuff in his garbage can. Remember? I think he just put everything back in the bag after I looked it over and threw it out.”
“Why would he do that? I thought he fixed broken stuff.”
“Maybe everything was too broken to fix.” Philip got to his feet. “Or maybe that’s why Pete said Mr. Sorino didn’t really give him very much stuff. Maybe Mr. Sorino throws everything away except the very good stuff that doesn’t need any fixing.”
“That’s not what he told us he did.”
“I know.”
Philip fell back onto the sofa.
Finally, Emery said, “What shall we do about the satin pants?”
“I don’t know. Let’s go sit in Mrs. Logan’s bushes and think this over.”