keys. "Let's go."
*¤* nihua *¤*
Chapter 23
Gayson got the Krimpets all right. He bought a whole box of three-packs. With ten packs to a box, that was thirty butterscotch Krimpets. Maniac thought he must have climbed out of that buffalo pen right into Heaven.
Then Grayson took Maniac home. Home for the old man was the Two Mills YMCA. He lived in a room on the third floor. But he didn't take Maniac up there. He took him downstairs to the locker room. He got him a towel and a cake of soap, told him to take off his rags, and pointed the way to the showers.
Maniac stayed in the shower for an hour. He hadn't done this since his last bath with the little ones. He smiled at the thought of them shrieking and splashing. The shower needles stung his scratches, but it was a good, welcome-back-to-town stinging.
When Maniac finally forced himself from the shower, he found the old man waiting with clothes. Grayson's clothes. "I called the U.S. Army in to haul them buffalo rags away," he said. "They come in with gas masks on, and they used tongs to pick 'em up and put 'em in a steel box, and they took the box away to bury it at the bottom of the first mine shaft they come to."
Maniac couldn't stop laughing. Neither could Grayson, especially when he got a load of the kid drowning in his clothes.
An hour later, after a minor shopping spree, Maniac had clothes of his own.
For the rest of the afternoon, they cruised around town, talking and eating Krimpets.
"So," said the old man, "now what're you gonna do?"
Maniac thought it over. "How about a job? I could work for the park, like you."
Grayson didn't answer that. He said, "Where you think you're gonna stay?"
Maniac's answer was prompt: "The baseball room. It's perfect."
A tiny idea was beginning to worm its way into Grayson's head; he could barely feel it as it brushed by all the claptrap in his brain. He ignored it. He said, "What about school?"
Maniac was silent. Some butterscotch icing had stayed behind on a wrapper. He scooped it up and mopped it from his finger, wishing it were Mrs. Beale's, and not his own.
Grayson, who was not comfortable asking questions, was even less comfortable waiting for answers. "I said, what about school?"
Maniac turned to him. "What about it?"
"You gotta go. You're a kid. Ain't ya?"
"I'm not going."
"But you gotta. Doncha? They'll make ya."
"Not if they don't find me."
The old man just looked at him for a while with a mixture of puzzlement and recognition, as though the fish he had landed might be the same one he had thrown away long before. "Why?" he said.
Maniac felt why more than he knew why. It had to do with homes and families and schools, and how a school seems sort of like a big home, but only a day home, because then it empties out; and you can't stay there at night because it's not really a home, and you could never use it as your address, because an address is where you stay at night, where you walk right in the front door without knocking, where everybody talks to each other and uses the same toaster. So all the other kids would be heading for their homes, their night homes, each of them, hundreds, flocking from school like birds from a tree, scattering across town, each breaking off to his or her own place, each knowing exactly where to land. School. Home. No, he was not going to have one without the other.
"If you try to make me," he said, "I'll just start running."
Grayson said nothing. What the kid said actually made him feel good, though he had no idea why. And the brushing little worm of a notion was beginning to tickle him now. He kept on driving.
*¤* nihua *¤*
Chapter 24
They got back to the band shell just as they finished the last of the Krimpets. Grayson looked at his watch. "Guess it's time to quit the job I never did today. Time for dinner, too."
Grayson was joking, but Maniac was serious when he piped, "Great! Where to?"
Dumbfounded, the old man drove back out of the park
*¤* nihua *¤*
Chapter 23
Gayson got the Krimpets all right. He bought a whole box of three-packs. With ten packs to a box, that was thirty butterscotch Krimpets. Maniac thought he must have climbed out of that buffalo pen right into Heaven.
Then Grayson took Maniac home. Home for the old man was the Two Mills YMCA. He lived in a room on the third floor. But he didn't take Maniac up there. He took him downstairs to the locker room. He got him a towel and a cake of soap, told him to take off his rags, and pointed the way to the showers.
Maniac stayed in the shower for an hour. He hadn't done this since his last bath with the little ones. He smiled at the thought of them shrieking and splashing. The shower needles stung his scratches, but it was a good, welcome-back-to-town stinging.
When Maniac finally forced himself from the shower, he found the old man waiting with clothes. Grayson's clothes. "I called the U.S. Army in to haul them buffalo rags away," he said. "They come in with gas masks on, and they used tongs to pick 'em up and put 'em in a steel box, and they took the box away to bury it at the bottom of the first mine shaft they come to."
Maniac couldn't stop laughing. Neither could Grayson, especially when he got a load of the kid drowning in his clothes.
An hour later, after a minor shopping spree, Maniac had clothes of his own.
For the rest of the afternoon, they cruised around town, talking and eating Krimpets.
"So," said the old man, "now what're you gonna do?"
Maniac thought it over. "How about a job? I could work for the park, like you."
Grayson didn't answer that. He said, "Where you think you're gonna stay?"
Maniac's answer was prompt: "The baseball room. It's perfect."
A tiny idea was beginning to worm its way into Grayson's head; he could barely feel it as it brushed by all the claptrap in his brain. He ignored it. He said, "What about school?"
Maniac was silent. Some butterscotch icing had stayed behind on a wrapper. He scooped it up and mopped it from his finger, wishing it were Mrs. Beale's, and not his own.
Grayson, who was not comfortable asking questions, was even less comfortable waiting for answers. "I said, what about school?"
Maniac turned to him. "What about it?"
"You gotta go. You're a kid. Ain't ya?"
"I'm not going."
"But you gotta. Doncha? They'll make ya."
"Not if they don't find me."
The old man just looked at him for a while with a mixture of puzzlement and recognition, as though the fish he had landed might be the same one he had thrown away long before. "Why?" he said.
Maniac felt why more than he knew why. It had to do with homes and families and schools, and how a school seems sort of like a big home, but only a day home, because then it empties out; and you can't stay there at night because it's not really a home, and you could never use it as your address, because an address is where you stay at night, where you walk right in the front door without knocking, where everybody talks to each other and uses the same toaster. So all the other kids would be heading for their homes, their night homes, each of them, hundreds, flocking from school like birds from a tree, scattering across town, each breaking off to his or her own place, each knowing exactly where to land. School. Home. No, he was not going to have one without the other.
"If you try to make me," he said, "I'll just start running."
Grayson said nothing. What the kid said actually made him feel good, though he had no idea why. And the brushing little worm of a notion was beginning to tickle him now. He kept on driving.
*¤* nihua *¤*
Chapter 24
They got back to the band shell just as they finished the last of the Krimpets. Grayson looked at his watch. "Guess it's time to quit the job I never did today. Time for dinner, too."
Grayson was joking, but Maniac was serious when he piped, "Great! Where to?"
Dumbfounded, the old man drove back out of the park
Similar Books
