two big dolls without heads, some empty orange crates, a chair with three legs, the heads of the two dolls — a Raggedy Ann and a Raggedy Andy — stuck on the ends of two poles.
“Entrez vous,”
Darwin said, holding open the screen door. It was French and meant “Come in, you.”
“I’m
not
colored,” I said again. He shrugged and said, “Well, all right, then,” and opened the door wider, and even though I sort of didn’t want to, I followed him inside.
The house was dark and Darwin told me I had to be very quiet because his grandfather was taking a nap. We went upstairs to Darwin’s bedroom. He shut the door behind us.
“So you’re the boy in the minstrel show,” he said.
I said, “Not this year,” but that next year maybe I would be.
He smoothed down the front of his Ban-Lon shirt, then stuck his hands in the pockets of his Bermuda shorts. I looked down at his shoes. He was wearing penny loafers without socks. “I was told you were already the one,” he said. “Can you dance? Let’s see you dance. I won’t even ask you to sing.”
I said I didn’t have to show him anything. Then I asked when were Darla and their mom coming back, anyway? Then I said I was leaving. He scooted over to block the door.
“Don’t go,” he said. “Never mind. Just kidding. You don’t have to dance. I don’t care, anyway. You can be in the minstrel show. Why should I care? We’re moving to Hollywood as soon as we get out of here and I’ll probably be in the movies.”
I said, “Maybe Hollywood,
Florida,
” which was down near Miami.
He started to say something and I could tell it was going to be prissy, but he stopped himself and asked me if I wanted to play a game. “They’ll be back in a little while. Darla went to ride her stupid pony. We can just play until they get back. You have to play.”
I wasn’t used to somebody wanting me to be around like this, even if it was somebody so weird like Darwin Turkel. “OK,” I said. “What?”
“It’s a game I made up called Turn Off the Lights.”
“That’s a dumb name.”
“Well,” he said, “if you win, you can make up a new name that I’m sure will be better.”
The game was that we closed the blinds and turned off the lights, and one of us tied up the other one and blindfolded him. The one that was tied up had to sit on the floor, and no matter what happened he wasn’t allowed to say anything for five minutes. If he did, he lost. If he didn’t, he won. It sounded pretty stupid to me.
By the time he finished tying me up, I couldn’t see anything, even when I opened my eyes under the blindfold. I heard a scratching sound, which was a record player, then the Beatles’ “She Loves You.” I heard Darwin’s voice singing the “yeah, yeah, yeah” part, and his feet every now and then creaking a loose floorboard. I was sitting in the middle of a big rug and figured once he was on it, I wouldn’t be able to hear him, which turned out to be true, because when he poked me in the ribs the first time, I just about jumped up off the floor.
Now it was just the Beatles singing.
He poked me again, this time in the stomach, and then he grabbed both of my sides and tickled me. I squirmed to get away from him, but clamped my jaw tight to keep from making any noise. I wanted to win so I could rename the game “This Is Stupid.”
I felt something on the back of my neck, I think a feather. Then something in my ear, which must have been the feather again. That didn’t tickle so much. I couldn’t believe how black it was under the blindfold, and I got that kind of panicky feeling of being claustrophobic. I wanted to ask him how I was supposed to know when five minutes were up, but figured that was probably a trick of his to get me to say that so he would win.
He grabbed one of my shoes and pulled it off, and I almost said, “Give it back,” but didn’t. He grabbed the other shoe, too, and then I felt the feather again, this time across my face.
“Entrez vous,”
Darwin said, holding open the screen door. It was French and meant “Come in, you.”
“I’m
not
colored,” I said again. He shrugged and said, “Well, all right, then,” and opened the door wider, and even though I sort of didn’t want to, I followed him inside.
The house was dark and Darwin told me I had to be very quiet because his grandfather was taking a nap. We went upstairs to Darwin’s bedroom. He shut the door behind us.
“So you’re the boy in the minstrel show,” he said.
I said, “Not this year,” but that next year maybe I would be.
He smoothed down the front of his Ban-Lon shirt, then stuck his hands in the pockets of his Bermuda shorts. I looked down at his shoes. He was wearing penny loafers without socks. “I was told you were already the one,” he said. “Can you dance? Let’s see you dance. I won’t even ask you to sing.”
I said I didn’t have to show him anything. Then I asked when were Darla and their mom coming back, anyway? Then I said I was leaving. He scooted over to block the door.
“Don’t go,” he said. “Never mind. Just kidding. You don’t have to dance. I don’t care, anyway. You can be in the minstrel show. Why should I care? We’re moving to Hollywood as soon as we get out of here and I’ll probably be in the movies.”
I said, “Maybe Hollywood,
Florida,
” which was down near Miami.
He started to say something and I could tell it was going to be prissy, but he stopped himself and asked me if I wanted to play a game. “They’ll be back in a little while. Darla went to ride her stupid pony. We can just play until they get back. You have to play.”
I wasn’t used to somebody wanting me to be around like this, even if it was somebody so weird like Darwin Turkel. “OK,” I said. “What?”
“It’s a game I made up called Turn Off the Lights.”
“That’s a dumb name.”
“Well,” he said, “if you win, you can make up a new name that I’m sure will be better.”
The game was that we closed the blinds and turned off the lights, and one of us tied up the other one and blindfolded him. The one that was tied up had to sit on the floor, and no matter what happened he wasn’t allowed to say anything for five minutes. If he did, he lost. If he didn’t, he won. It sounded pretty stupid to me.
By the time he finished tying me up, I couldn’t see anything, even when I opened my eyes under the blindfold. I heard a scratching sound, which was a record player, then the Beatles’ “She Loves You.” I heard Darwin’s voice singing the “yeah, yeah, yeah” part, and his feet every now and then creaking a loose floorboard. I was sitting in the middle of a big rug and figured once he was on it, I wouldn’t be able to hear him, which turned out to be true, because when he poked me in the ribs the first time, I just about jumped up off the floor.
Now it was just the Beatles singing.
He poked me again, this time in the stomach, and then he grabbed both of my sides and tickled me. I squirmed to get away from him, but clamped my jaw tight to keep from making any noise. I wanted to win so I could rename the game “This Is Stupid.”
I felt something on the back of my neck, I think a feather. Then something in my ear, which must have been the feather again. That didn’t tickle so much. I couldn’t believe how black it was under the blindfold, and I got that kind of panicky feeling of being claustrophobic. I wanted to ask him how I was supposed to know when five minutes were up, but figured that was probably a trick of his to get me to say that so he would win.
He grabbed one of my shoes and pulled it off, and I almost said, “Give it back,” but didn’t. He grabbed the other shoe, too, and then I felt the feather again, this time across my face.
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