CHAPTER THREE

Owen True – The Overdressed

 

 

UGH, I THINK MY BLADDER’S going to burst. I quickly throw on a t-shirt and head (very carefully) down the steps. In my boxers. Good thing there aren’t any girls around.

Did I mention it’s uncomfortable? Kind of like torture? Did I also mention the bathroom is in the basement? That’s two flights away.

I tip-toe through the kitchen, the mud room, and down the cement stairs that lead to the “dungeon”.

The cold cement steps bite my feet. Dang. I forgot my slippers again. Cold feet and a full bladder equals not good.

Al-most. There.

Pull the string hanging from the ceiling that turns on the light.

Ahh. Relief.

Okay, now I can focus.

Oh, yeah, I’m in the dungeon. This room scared the eebie jeebies out of me when I was a kid. It’s still kind of eerie. Low unfinished ceilings and small windows that barely let in any light because they are grimy and full of cobwebs. My lungs fill with the musky smell of rotting wood and dried up potatoes left in the cellar. A work bench is covered with old fashion tools. The shelves along the side wall are mostly empty now since Gran died. When I was little, they were full of canned stuff.

Anyway, it’s why I don’t use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Gramps is brewing coffee when I get back to the kitchen. I grab a bowl and empty a box of cereal into it.

“We’re out of cereal, Gramps,” I say.

“I noticed.” He joins me at the table. “We’re out of a few things. Maybe you could make a run to Don Chan’s for me today?”

Don Chan runs the General Store. Yup, the General Store. No big box stores in Haywire. No Ralphs, no Shop N Save, no Barnes & Noble, nada. Haywire only has one gas station for Pete’s sake.

“Sure, Gramps,” I say. Not like I have anything exciting planned for day two of my exile. In fact, saying “hi” to Mr. Chan will likely be the most exciting moment of my day.

“How’d you sleep?” Gramps asks.

That’s when I remember the crazy fog train and the thing that popped out of the caboose.

Did that really happen last night?

Or was it a dream?

The whole thing feels kind of fuzzy. I’m not sure. I decide to wait on telling Gramps.

“Yeah, slept like a rock.”

Gramps nods then takes a sip of his coffee.

 

Okay, so I’m at the General Store. I have Gramps’ list in one hand and a plastic basket in the other. I don’t know where anything is in this store. I don’t know where anything is in any store—my mom does the shopping! But, it’s just a few things. How hard can it be?

I look at Gramps’ shaky handwriting. I can barely make it out. Box of cereal, my choice (he told me this as I walked out the door), carton of milk, peanut butter, jam, bread.

The milk’s easy since the coolers are at the back wall. I grab a small carton, enjoying the blast of cold air that rushes out when I open the door. The rest of the items seem to disappear in the mass. I find myself in front of the candy rack. I remembered to bring my wallet this time. I toss a couple candy bars in my basket and a pack of Gummi Bears.

A bell rings over the door. An actual bell hanging from a string that gets knocked by the door when it opens. This is how Mr. Chan knows he has customers. I figure a lot of time can go by in between.

I turn and my stomach pinches a bit. Mikki, aka, Mikala, is pulling a wagon through the door. Her little sisters are sitting in it, back to back. She’s having trouble getting them over the door jam. No modern automatic doors here. I step over to hold it open for her.

“Hi Mikala,” I say, once she’s got everyone in safely.

She tilts her head. “Hello, Owen True.” Then she pulls her wagon down an aisle. “Opal, Ruby, don’t touch nothin’.”

I don’t mean to follow her. It’s not like the store’s exactly huge or anything, but Mikala keeps looking over her shoulder giving me dirty looks. I step back to keep my distance.

The peanut butter and jam are beside each other (thankfully) and then I spot the cereal. See, this shopping business is easy peasy.

When I get to the counter, Mikala is already there. She pushes a tin of tuna toward Mr. Chan who rings it in. He tells her the price, she hands him a fist full of coins.

Somehow I imagine her digging through their sofa looking for change.

She gives me a sideways glance as Mr. Chan counts pennies, nickels and dimes. Her gaze lands on my basket settling on the candy bars.

She wrinkles her nose like I’m disgusting. Mr. Chan thanks her for coming and she pulls on the door. I drop my basket and rush to hold the door open for her.

Mikala doesn’t say thanks. I wonder why I bother being nice to her.

When I get back to the counter, I realize I’d forgotten the bread.

“Just leave your basket here, Owen,” Mr. Chan says. He sees something out the window. I look outside to see what he’s looking at. It’s the guy in the box. He’s crossing the street. “I’ll be right back,” Mr. Chan says.

I finally find the bread aisle. I can see out the front window from where I stand. Mr. Chan and the guy in the box are talking. Then Mr. Chan hands him a bucket, turns and walks back in. I quickly turn around so Mr. Chan can’t tell that I’d been spying on them.

I take time to squeeze the loaves—that’s what they do on the commercials—and watch the guy in the box. He has the bucket and takes out a wet sponge. He starts to wash the windows. I’m much closer to him than I was yesterday when I spotted him on the street. His skin is tanned and deep lines fan out from dark eyes. His arms look strong and I wager a guess that he used to work at the mill. His nails are rimmed black with dirt.

The guy in the box spots me through the glass. Our eyes meet.

A weird little nervous ripple shoots through me. I spin around and grab the first loaf of bread my hand touches and march to the till.

I pay for my basket of stuff, which fills two plastic bags, then say goodbye to Mr. Chan. I make sure not to make eye contact with the guy in the box when I leave.

These bags are heavy! A stupid burn runs through my forearms to match the stupid burn in my gut. Man, why does that guy in the box bug me so much? Maybe it’s because I’m afraid he’ll stare at me and my stupid new clothes the same way that Mikala stared at my candy bars. The way she looked at me, made me feel like a freak, like it’s a crime to eat a candy bar now? And why do I care what they think anyway?

I puff heavily through my nose like a dragon. I wish I were a dragon. Then I could fly the heck out of Haywire and scorch the sky with my “outta here” smoke signature.

Gramps sees me coming and opens the patio door. I drop the bags dramatically on the kitchen floor.

“Mission accomplished?” Gramps asks. He empties the bags, putting the milk in the fridge and leaving the other items out on the counter.

“Yeah.” I shrug like it was no big deal.

“That’s good.”

I wash up and we make lunch together. I spread the peanut butter, he spreads the jam.

“Do you want to sit outside, Gramps?” It’s just too nice to stay in this warm stuffy room.

“Lead the way.” Gramps holds the door open and lets it shut with a squeak behind us.

We sit in a couple old lawn chairs, the kind with wide strips of plastic weaved together and wrapped around an aluminum frame. Some of the strips are fraying and torn, but Gramps doesn’t look worried about falling through or anything. We face the creek as we eat and I’m tempted to tell him about my weird fog, slash, train, slash, ghost experience. Will he think I’m nuts? Or maybe he’s seen it too. I swallow the last bit of my sandwich. I decide to risk it, but then Gramps suddenly stands up.

“Nature calls,” he says with an embarrassed grin. “When you get to be my age, it’s like she never stops calling.”

Just as the squeaky door slams shut behind him, Mikala comes bounding into the yard.

“Owen True!” Her face is flushed red. “Ruby’s choking!”

I don’t wait another second before running beside her back to the Sweets’ house.

“You know what to do, right?” Mikala puffs. “They teach you these things in the city, don’t they?”

I just nod. My mind is frantically flipping through the class at school where the community nurse visited and gave us instructions on basic first aid. What to do about choking was one of her lessons. The Heimlich manoeuvre. I remember it.

Of course, this all goes through my mind in a few seconds. It doesn’t take that long to get from Gramps’ to the Sweets’, especially when you’re full out running.

Mason is in their living room smacking Ruby on the back. His face is twisted with worry, a sort of helplessness I’d never seen on him before. He’s always so proud and confident. At least that’s the way it seems with the way he looks down his nose at me.

I move in between Mason and Ruby—he hands her over without argument—and reach my arms around her back. I cup my hands together making one large fist and place it under her ribs in the middle. Then I thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Come on, Ruby! Spit it up!

My heart is racing and I really don’t know what I’d do if Ruby up and died right here in my arms.

Maybe throw up.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Finally, something pops out of her mouth. It arches across the room onto the floor and when it stops spinning we can see what it is.

A penny.

Ruby coughs and sputters and turns on the water works. I didn’t know a little girl could cry so loud. Mikala and Mason surround her, checking her out.

Now that the crisis is averted, I notice the state of the house. Kinda messy. Like Mrs. Sweet moved out or something. Dirty dishes are piled high in the sink, and although the vacuum cleaner is out like a jumbled snake in the corner, the room has its share of dust bunnies.

Opal is crying now too. Way too much emotion in this place for me. I slip out unnoticed.

There’s a skip to my step as I walk back to Gramps’. I shove my fists into the pockets of my shorts and whistle one of Gramps’ tunes.

Ruby’s alive because of me. I’m Owen True, The Hero, and it feels good.