Chapter 14

WEEPING WITH THE WEEDWACKER

It’s night.

I’m all alone.

There’s no one here to laugh at my jokes.

And my garage bedroom smells like wet concrete mixed with motor oil.

I’m not all weepy like one of those black-velvet portraits of a bawling clown with tears streaking down his cheeks, but yes, I am feeling a little blue.

I’m sitting here thinking about my mom and dad, and my little sister, Jenny. And how the only family I have right now are the glum relatives who keep me tucked away in the garage with all the other junk that has wheels. It’s the snowblower, the lawn mower, and me.

Plus, I just spent several hours tutoring my psychotic cousin, whose favorite subject so far is history—specifically the Spanish Inquisition and Attila the Hun, who was famous for torturing his enemies by hooking up four horses to their limbs and shouting, “Giddyup!”

Okay. You’re right. I’ve also got Uncle Frankie. And if I had my choice, I’d be living with him. But it wasn’t my choice. It was the judge’s.

I guess this is why they say you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family.

But wait a second. What if you could?

That’s it. I’m opening up a fresh notebook and jotting this down.

I feel a comedy routine coming on!

What if there were a TV game show where you could “Choose! Your! Family!”

I’d go with, I don’t know, the Trumps. Then at least my wheelchair would be solid gold. Too heavy to budge, but classy.

No. The Hiltons! They own hotels. Hotels have swimming pools. I can’t kick, but I sure can float. Of course, that might mean that Paris Hilton would be my stepsister and she’d ask me stuff like: “Walmart? Do they like make walls there?” (Seriously. She really said that once. I kid you not.)

Wait. I’ve got it. The Mannings. Yes! Eli and Peyton Manning could be my brothers. How cool would that be?

I’d get to go to all their games and warm up with the team. It’d be a blast. Except that my warm-up would be stone cold.

But they wouldn’t care. Afterward we’d all go out for pizza and burgers and ice cream and strategize for the next week’s games. Or maybe we’d just talk about movies and girls and other normal “brother” stuff.

Because when you get right down to it, that’s what’s really eating me up tonight.

I have friends, and I’ve got Uncle Frankie. Heck, I’ve even got the Smileys. But I don’t have the closeness of a real family anymore.

And no joke will ever make that hole go away completely.