Chapter 26
TRUE CONFESSIONS
That night, as we’re helping Uncle Frankie lock up the diner, Gaynor has a confession to make.
“Mr. Frankie, sir?”
“Yes, Joey?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“I’m listening, my son.” (I think Uncle Frankie’s heard a priest say that to him a few times.)
“Well, you know that stuff about me stealing junk out of lockers?”
“Yes?”
“It’s true. I did it.”
“I know. Mr. McCarthy showed me the video from the school’s surveillance cameras.”
“It’s how come I had the money to treat everybody to the movies.”
“I had my reasons for doing it, sir.…”
“Go on.”
“Well, my mom wasn’t home. She was in the hospital. And my lame-o dad is down in Florida acting like he doesn’t even have a son or a sick wife. I mean, uh, ex-wife. And we don’t have any other family living here in Long Beach, and, well, I was hungry. I needed money for dinner.”
“Just for the record, Joey, you ever get in that type of situation again, you can always eat here. For free. We’ll work something out. Dishwashing or whatever.”
“Thank you, sir. But, well, the McRib sandwich was back at McDonald’s, and, well, you don’t have a McRib on your menu.…”
“Whoa. Hang on. You didn’t need to steal so much loot for one lousy McRib. You didn’t have to buy everybody’s movie tickets the other night. Why’d you burglarize so many lockers?”
“I dunno. I guess I was mad. At my mom for getting sick. At me for not being able to do anything to help her. At the world for being so unfair. I mean, why did my mom have to be the one to get cancer?”
“I see. Why not someone else’s mom?”
Gaynor thinks about what he just said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
“I guess I’m a pretty lousy kid, huh?”
“Nah, Joey,” says Uncle Frankie, following us out of the diner and locking the door. “You’re just a kid dealing with some pretty grown-up stuff. But always remember what Eleanor Roosevelt used to say.”
“Who?”
(Gaynor’s not really one for history. Maybe I can tutor him next.)
“She was FDR’s wife,” says Uncle Frankie.
“Oh. Cool. So who’s FDR?”
“That’s not important. Not now, anyway. What is important is a little bit of advice Mrs. Roosevelt passed out: ‘A stumbling block to the pessimist is a stepping-stone to the optimist.’ So we learn from this, we turn it into a stepping-stone, and we move forward.”
“Okay. Thanks. But, uh, where are we going?”
“Right now, home. You two need to hit the hay. There’s school tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” says Gaynor, sounding relieved. “Thanks for that.”
“Thank me after you take that math test in first period.”
“What?”
Frankie shrugs. “Hey, you missed math today. Mr. McCarthy gave me a heads-up. You also have ELA homework.”
“Okay.” Gaynor doesn’t look happy about it, but my guess is he’ll do his homework.
“So what’s ELA?” Frankie asks.
“What they used to call English,” I say.
“So why’d they change it to ELA?”
“Because… I guess it would be plain English to call it English. And if there’s one thing we learn in ELA… it’s how not to speak plain English.”
Frankie chuckles, and even Gaynor smiles. Not knowing the answer to a question is always a great opportunity to make a joke.
Gaynor and I share the spare bedroom in Uncle Frankie’s tiny apartment, which is in a five-story walk-up just down the block from the diner.
Fortunately for me, he lives on the first floor.
We’re both pretty beat, so the room gets quiet really fast. You can’t hear anything except the ocean crashing against the shore a block away. I’m drifting off to sleep when Gaynor whispers, “Thanks for everything, Jamie.”
“Well,” I say, “I didn’t really do anything except have a cool uncle. I hope I turn out to be as good a guy as Frankie when I grow up.”
“You’re already a great friend.”
“I’m not sure I’m all that great, but I am a friend with wheels. And don’t you forget it.”
Gaynor laughs. “I won’t.”
“Good. Because if you ever need me, I’ll be there faster than anybody else.”
