Junebug in Trouble
One
Early in the morning--well, not too early--Rev--erend Ashford and I are walking along Bellmore Avenue on our way back from the corner store, where we bought a newspaper and two Tootsie Roll pops. We used to buy his cigarettes there, too, but he quit smoking and now he wears a nicotine patch on his arm.
"Guess what. I'll be starting fifth grade next week," I tell him.
"Fifth grade. Hmm. Can't say I remember it at all," he says.
It's the Friday before Labor Day weekend, and Mama has the day off. My mom is the resident supervisor at a home for some elderly people who need medical help. We all live together in a group of little apartments. She doesn't get too many days off, the way I see it.
The weather today is beautiful, with puffy whiteclouds and a little breeze to keep things cool. The breeze is tugging at my T-shirt.
"You want to come to the beach with us?" I ask as we turn onto Robin Lane.
"The beach?" Reverend Ashford stops walking and glares at me. "Nope. Too hot," he mutters. "Way too hot."
He always says that. Too hot. Reverend Ashford has emphysema. He likes to sit in his La-Z-Boy recliner and watch game shows while the fan blows on his head. But my mom wants him doing activities. She's the one who made us start taking walks together.
Reverend Ashford and I sit on the bench in the small grassy area at the end of Robin Lane. In June, I planted a little maple tree here, the size of a tall twig. I've been watering it like crazy, but it's taking its time growing.
Reverend Ashford takes the classifieds and folds me a hat, then makes one for himself. We put on the hats and chew our lollipops.
With that breeze, today would be a perfect boatyard day. Great for sailing. I worked at the Fair Haven boatyard all summer, but my friend Ron down there doesn't want me hanging around in September. That's the time everyone is trying to get his boat hauled in and set up on big sawhorses for the winter. I guess Ron's afraid I might get bonked on thehead by a boat. Or maybe he knows I don't want to scrape barnacles every weekend.
Mama's best friend, Harriet, will be driving us to the beach. Harriet lives at the Auburn Street projects, the place we used to live, the place Mama won't let me even visit anymore.
Harriet will be here any minute, but Mama's still rushing around getting ready. Why does it always take my family an hour to get out of the house? I like to do things fast. I check Reverend Ashford's gold pocket watch. It's already nine-thirty. I want to get going now. My buddy Robert's going to be at the beach today, and I can't wait to see him!
I don't have to look in the house to know what Mama's doing. She's shoving everything in the world into our beach bag--towels, flip-flops, sunglasses, radio, lunch, and two packs of chocolate cupcakes, one pack for me and Tasha and one for Robert. The cupcakes are his favorite kind, with creamy goop inside. Robert's got a cupcake thing.
"My mother sure is slow." I sigh.
"She may be slow, but she's one determined woman. She knows how to get her way."
He's talking about how Mama makes him get out and about--the library, a baseball game, picnics, walks with me. She is pretty bossy, with me, too.
She wouldn't let me visit Robert once all summer.
Not once! She thinks I might get caught in themiddle of some fight or shooting or drug deal. I don't know.
Mama wants me to make friends here. But the only kid nearby is Brandon, and he went to live with his grandmother for a while because his mom's in the hospital. Anyway, I won't ever forget about Robert. She shouldn't be choosing my friends for me. That's not right. I feel as if she doesn't trust me or something.
Reverend Ashford opens the sports page and checks for news of the NBA. He's looking for players' sports contracts. He wants to complain about their enormous salaries.
My six-year-old sister, Tasha, has come outside to wait. She's got headphones on and is wearing a limegreen bathing suit. She's bopping around barefoot on the grass as if she doesn't have a care in the world, singing some hip-hop song at the top of her lungs. I bet she's been watching MTV. I thought she wanted to be a ballerina. Ballerinas usually dance to weepy old violin music.
Wait a minute! Is she using my Walkman? How did that happen? Well, I guess I can let her borrow it, at least for a few minutes. "Yo! Tasha! Ask next time," I holler.
She points to the earphones to show me she can't hear me. She's probably got the volume on blasting. I run over, pull one earphone off, and lean forward.
"Ask me next time!" I shout.
"Okay! You got it!"
She dances away, jerking her shoulders and doing hand moves with her index and pinky fingers pointed out like a rap artist.
When did she get like this? I swear she's taller, too. Her legs are longer, and her two front teeth are coming in fast, even compared to the other day. She looks sort of normal for a change. I glare at her and shake my head.
Boy, I can't wait to see Robert again. It's been months since we got together. And that whole time, I've been hanging around Tasha for company. Or Reverend Ashford. I mean, I like him, but he is an old guy who needs oxygen.
I go to the door to try and hurry things up. "Mama!" I yell, peering through the screen door. "Did you remember your driver's license?"
"Oh, shoot," she says, and disappears into her bedroom. Harriet thought today would be a good chance for Mama to practice her driving.
Finally Harriet's old green Hornet turns the corner and pulls up in front of our sidewalk. She gets out, and right away she looks at me with a very strange expression on her face.
Huh? I wonder what's up. Something's going on, that's for sure, and it's about to set me off on an asking frenzy. I am always curious, to the point of driving people crazy with my questions. I go after answers like a noisy, stubborn junebug. I am also ajunior--Reeve McClain, Jr. So my nickname Junebug is stuck to me like glue.
"What happened, Harriet? Why are you looking at me funny?"
"I have a secret. A huge secret. And don't even try to guess it, Junebug, because you never will. You'll find out in due time."
Harriet's grinning. I glance at Mama to see if she knows anything about this, but she shrugs as if to say, Don't ask me.
Oh, man. I truly hate secrets. When I don't know something, it bothers me nonstop.
Harriet pats the top of my head. "Sorry, Junebug. You'll have to wait on this one," she says.
"Wait? Till when? Next year? Next century?"
"No. Late this afternoon, maybe."
Hmmm. Afternoon. That's a clue. Maybe she made a cake. Or a batch of brownies.
"Is it a cake? Hey, Harriet, is the secret a chocolate cake?"
"Oh, Lord," my mother says. "Don't let him start."
"You can tell me, Harriet. Is it a cake?"
"No. It is not a cake. Now, don't ask me any more. And don't make your mama nervous while she's learning to drive."
Like a chauffeur, Harriet stands by the car door and helps my mother into the driver's seat. Tasha's standing behind me with a doubtful look on her face.Mama hardly ever drives, which is no wonder considering we don't have a car.
"Are you sure Mama can drive okay on the highway?" Tasha asks Harriet.
"Of course she can. She'll do just fine."
We pile into the backseat. Tasha's got Theo, her favorite teddy bear, with her. Right away, she unzips a plastic bag full of doll stuff and starts putting a girl doll's bathing suit on him. Poor Theo.
I sit directly behind Mama so I can help navigate. I crane my neck around to look out the back window. "All right. Go ahead. No one's behind us," I call out.
Mama keeps looking in her mirrors.
"Go ahead now. Back right on out. You're doing great."
I am pleased to notice that I sound just like Ron, who's been teaching me to sail.
"Junior, will you please hush up," Mama says, slowly backing into the street. "I've got this made in the shade."
But she must have turned the wheels too soon. The front tire hits the curb, and we lurch over it. Kerthud.
"Oops!" Tasha and I yelp.
Harriet turns around. "That's enough, you two! Now, I mean it. No backseat drivers."
Once we finally get going, Mama drives better, except when she's making turns. Then she drives asslow as a turtle. People behind us honk like mad because they want to get through the lights before they turn red. If I had a horn, I'd honk it right along with them. I want to get to the beach so I can play in the waves with Robert. Just me and Robert all day long.
Copyright © 2002 by Alice Mead