just watches TV.”
“What’s Ellison do?”
“I don’t really know. Certainly nothing boring like driving fork, I can tell you that. It has something to do with business deals. He’s always got something exciting going on. And he drives a classic old Corvette Stingray. He’s given me a ride in it a few times. That’s a wow experience. Compared to my dad in his old Ford Taurus? Ellison knows how to live. Dad just barely gets by.”
“You like Ellison a lot?”
“He’s only my favorite person in the whole world,” Gertie said.
“You said earlier that you’re planning to run away?”
“’Course. It’s the only reasonable way to deal with a childhood like mine. And don’t tell me not to.”
“Because it’s like cigs,” I said. “Life experience requirement for teenagers?”
“Good memory.” She looked uncomfortable.
“What’s your dog’s name?” I asked.
“Scruffy. But mostly I call him Scruff Boy.” She picked him up and scratched his head like she was scrubbing a dirty dish.
“What will happen to Scruff Boy if you run away?”
“I don’t know. I might take him with me. I haven’t decided yet.” Gertie sucked on her cigarette, then spoke as she exhaled smoke, “So what’s the big message from my mom?”
“She’s just...” I hesitated, unprepared for the question. “She’s concerned for your safety. The whole latchkey thing. You’re home alone while your dad is at work. You keep the doors locked, right?”
“Don’t need to. I’ve got Scruff Boy. He’s little, but he’s ferocious. Like, if you grabbed me right now? He would be all over you. And his teeth are sharp. I’ve learned the hard way.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I reached out and gave him a pet. “Do you like school?”
“That’s a joke, right? School is stupid. I’ve done some research. Did you know that David Lean was a high school dropout?” she said.
I must have looked puzzled.
“The director?” she said. “Lawrence of Arabia? Dr. Zhivago?”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “David Lean, huh?”
“And Quentin Tarantino? He was a dropout, too. Same with John Huston and Peter Jackson and Walt Disney. All great directors. None of them bothered with high school. Instead of going to school, I could be formulating my debut.”
“What’s that mean?”
She flicked another ash, took another drag. “Formulating means coming up with a concept for a film. And debut is your first film. I got it from Tarantino. He has a big vocabulary. I heard him interviewed about film making. I had to write down nine different words to Google. I’ve learned all of them. Do you know what a parody is?”
“What is it?” I said.
“It’s one of the film types that Tarantino makes. An art film that makes fun of something. Only most viewers don’t get it unless they’re in-the-know. Like Tarantino. He’s in-the-know.”
“No doubt,” I said.
“It’s not just directors,” she said. “The actors I respect the most were high school dropouts, too. It’s practically a requirement to be an actor. I’ve memorized a bunch of actors who’ve won Academy Awards and were also high school dropouts. Wanna hear? Angelina Jolie, Bob Hope, Nicolas Cage, Lee Marvin, Julie Andrews, Marlon Brando, Ellen Burstyn, Michael Caine, Hilary Swank, Sidney Poitier, Charlie Chaplin, Russell Crowe, Groucho Marx, Patty Duke, Greta Garbo, Whoopi Goldberg, Maurice Chevalier, George Burns...”
I waved my hand to try to let her know that she’d made her point, but she kept going.
“Cary Grant, Cuba Gooding Jr., Catherine Zeta Jones, Heath Ledger, Sophia Loren, Clark Gable, Cher, Peter O’Toole, Al Pacino, Joe Pesci, Anthony Quinn, Frank Sinatra, Charlize Theron, Robert De Niro, Sean Connery, Humphrey Bogart, Gene Hackman.” She paused to take a breath before continuing.
I put my hand palm-out like a stop sign in front of her face.
“I can keep going,” she said.
“I’m sure you can. Probably, those actors became educated in
“What’s Ellison do?”
“I don’t really know. Certainly nothing boring like driving fork, I can tell you that. It has something to do with business deals. He’s always got something exciting going on. And he drives a classic old Corvette Stingray. He’s given me a ride in it a few times. That’s a wow experience. Compared to my dad in his old Ford Taurus? Ellison knows how to live. Dad just barely gets by.”
“You like Ellison a lot?”
“He’s only my favorite person in the whole world,” Gertie said.
“You said earlier that you’re planning to run away?”
“’Course. It’s the only reasonable way to deal with a childhood like mine. And don’t tell me not to.”
“Because it’s like cigs,” I said. “Life experience requirement for teenagers?”
“Good memory.” She looked uncomfortable.
“What’s your dog’s name?” I asked.
“Scruffy. But mostly I call him Scruff Boy.” She picked him up and scratched his head like she was scrubbing a dirty dish.
“What will happen to Scruff Boy if you run away?”
“I don’t know. I might take him with me. I haven’t decided yet.” Gertie sucked on her cigarette, then spoke as she exhaled smoke, “So what’s the big message from my mom?”
“She’s just...” I hesitated, unprepared for the question. “She’s concerned for your safety. The whole latchkey thing. You’re home alone while your dad is at work. You keep the doors locked, right?”
“Don’t need to. I’ve got Scruff Boy. He’s little, but he’s ferocious. Like, if you grabbed me right now? He would be all over you. And his teeth are sharp. I’ve learned the hard way.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I reached out and gave him a pet. “Do you like school?”
“That’s a joke, right? School is stupid. I’ve done some research. Did you know that David Lean was a high school dropout?” she said.
I must have looked puzzled.
“The director?” she said. “Lawrence of Arabia? Dr. Zhivago?”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “David Lean, huh?”
“And Quentin Tarantino? He was a dropout, too. Same with John Huston and Peter Jackson and Walt Disney. All great directors. None of them bothered with high school. Instead of going to school, I could be formulating my debut.”
“What’s that mean?”
She flicked another ash, took another drag. “Formulating means coming up with a concept for a film. And debut is your first film. I got it from Tarantino. He has a big vocabulary. I heard him interviewed about film making. I had to write down nine different words to Google. I’ve learned all of them. Do you know what a parody is?”
“What is it?” I said.
“It’s one of the film types that Tarantino makes. An art film that makes fun of something. Only most viewers don’t get it unless they’re in-the-know. Like Tarantino. He’s in-the-know.”
“No doubt,” I said.
“It’s not just directors,” she said. “The actors I respect the most were high school dropouts, too. It’s practically a requirement to be an actor. I’ve memorized a bunch of actors who’ve won Academy Awards and were also high school dropouts. Wanna hear? Angelina Jolie, Bob Hope, Nicolas Cage, Lee Marvin, Julie Andrews, Marlon Brando, Ellen Burstyn, Michael Caine, Hilary Swank, Sidney Poitier, Charlie Chaplin, Russell Crowe, Groucho Marx, Patty Duke, Greta Garbo, Whoopi Goldberg, Maurice Chevalier, George Burns...”
I waved my hand to try to let her know that she’d made her point, but she kept going.
“Cary Grant, Cuba Gooding Jr., Catherine Zeta Jones, Heath Ledger, Sophia Loren, Clark Gable, Cher, Peter O’Toole, Al Pacino, Joe Pesci, Anthony Quinn, Frank Sinatra, Charlize Theron, Robert De Niro, Sean Connery, Humphrey Bogart, Gene Hackman.” She paused to take a breath before continuing.
I put my hand palm-out like a stop sign in front of her face.
“I can keep going,” she said.
“I’m sure you can. Probably, those actors became educated in
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