Blank Confession by Pete Hautman Page B

sister had found herself panting after a dog who was actually a nice guy.

20. MIKEY
    I had homework for this class called Cultural Studies where I had to analyze some aspect of American culture as compared to some other culture. I chose fashion for my cultural aspect and Haitian for my other culture. Then I made a list of every article of clothing I owned, and then I went over to Pépé and Mémé’s apartment to complete my research.
    Pépé and Mémé are my grandparents. Those aren’t really their names but that’s what they like me to call them. I think it means “grandpa” and “grandma” in Haitian.
    Pépé answered the door and gave me a bony hug.
    Mémé came running out from the kitchen and gave me a squishy hug, then she rushed back into the kitchen, her long red hair flying, and immediately started cooking. It was only a matter of seconds before I heard a handful of onions hit the hot lard. She thinks if I eat more rice and beans and pork fat, I’ll get taller. It hasn’t worked yet, but I’m willing to keep trying.
    I told Pépé about my school project and asked him what clothes he had when he was my age. He crinkled his eyes at me and got out the checkerboard.
    Pépé loves his checkers. I figured I’d have to let him kick my butt at least three games in a row to get theinformation I needed. We set up the board and six moves later I was down two men. I don’t know how he does it.
    â€œI was a very sharp dresser, your age,” Pépé said. “Like you.” Pépé has a strong accent. He didn’t speak much English until he was an adult so it came more like,
I beddy shop dressou, you aich. Lie gyoo.
But don’t worry—I will translate.
    â€œOnly we did not have suits and ties like you wear sometimes. Too hot and no money.”
    I should mention that I was not wearing a suit at that time. On weekends I prefer more casual outfits. That day I wore khakis, loafers, and a maroon crew neck sweater—what Marie calls my 1980s preppie look. Not that she was even alive back then. I don’t know where she gets that stuff.
    â€œYour age, I had only four shirts, but I always kept them very clean. One for church, white. One for school. One paisley. Do you know paisley?”
    I knew paisley, a strange, colorful, swirly pattern—very ugly, but I didn’t say that.
    â€œThat was for special occasions.” He moved one of his checkers forward, offering me a jump. I went for it, but of course it was a trap. He came back at me with a triple jump.
    â€œKing me,” he said with a yellow grin.
    I king’d him.
    â€œAnd one T-shirt the color of the Haitian flag—red, white, blue, and a little green. I wore that one a lot.”
    â€œWhat about pants?”
    â€œPolyester. Everything was polyester. Bell bottom.”
    I was disappointed. I’d been hoping he’d worn grass shirts or some sort of voodoo robes, which would have made my report more interesting. I tried to imagine Pépé at sixteen, with his purple-black skin, wearing a paisley shirt and polyester bellbottoms. He would be smiling—Pépé always smiled—and thinking about …what? Getting out of Haiti? No, he was probably thinking about girls. Pépé had an eye for pretty young girls, though he always said he’d never met one as pretty as Mémé.
    â€œWhat about other kids?”
    â€œMostly the same, only I always looked very sharp. Your grandmama could not resist me.”
    â€œI could have resisted easy,” Mémé shouted from the kitchen. “Only I saw how I maybe could fix you!”
    Pépé laughed. “You fix me good!” he said. As he jumped his way to an easy checkers victory, he told me more about his teenage years: fishing on the piers, how many girlfriends he’d had, and how a lot of his classmates got involved with the teenage gangs in