time because, see, he’s got to go it alone to keep free.
The problem with that book, which we called
RALPH, THE FREE
, was that we began to believe it. We were always believing things just because we wanted to believe them. It was a habit that lingered on a lot longer—two years anyway.
Maybe we thought the real Ralph was holding out on us, so we had to create another Ralph to make up for it. Of course, it never crossed our minds that the real Ralph was teaching two grade school kids strictly for the salary involved. You don’t think like that in the fifth grade. You don’t want to.
We even seriously discussed the idea of presenting Ralph with a hand-recopied edition of
RALPH, THE FREE
as a token of friendship. But since he never said anything to us but “keep your head down,” and “kick out of the water,” and “only one of you on the board at a time,” and like that, we decided we’d better not.
But the urge grew that summer to get through to the real Ralph. We figured if we said the right thing—the magic word or something—he’d become our friend. I see now we wanted to
be
him. I see now too that it was something like the way Elvan wanted to get through to us, but I didn’t see that in time.
So on the tenth lesson—when Flip and I were about as good a pair of swimmers as Ralph could make us, we both realized that this was our last chance. To get through to him. We were pretty depressed. Not only was school about to start again, but Ralph was about to disappear from our lives.
On the last lesson, he put us through everythingwe’d learned, and supervised without even getting into the pool himself. By then, he knew we could save ourselves if need be. It was a short lesson. Or maybe it seemed short because we wanted it to last. Always before, when the lesson was over, Ralph would send us off to the showers and stay in the pool for a solitary swim. On the last day, though, he was anxious to leave early himself.
So we all three turned up in the big shower room together. This was our one last chance. Flip and I were on one side—lathered up with Lava soap—and Ralph was under a spigot on the other side—minding his own business. I had the discouraging feeling that not only was he not sorry the lessons were over, but that he didn’t even notice we were there.
Flip—who was only about four-foot-eleven at the time—was soaping up slowly—and thinking. Well ahead of time, I knew he was going to come up with something to say to Ralph—silent Ralph, Ralph, the Free—something that would leave a big impression on him. And then he said it.
Flip was a soprano at the time, and I can still hear how his voice rang out on those tile walls. “Hey, Ralph!” This made Ralph jump a little and turn around. “Listen, Ralph, me and Bry, we were wondering something.” That put both Ralph and me on our guard. “What me and Bry were wondering is—when do you suppose we’ll be getting hair on us like you got all down your front?”
Ralph’s mouth kind of fell open. And while this question was still bouncing around the room, Ralph swallowed hard, and his face turned pink. He actually pulled his arms around the front of him to cover himself up. Then he whirled around, facing the wall. He jammed the faucets off and was out of that showerroom in a flash. No slow and easy catlike movement like Ralph the Free.
So we were alone in there, with the Lava soap running off us in pink rivers. And the crazy part was, the tears started down my face, so I backed in under the shower head to hide them. Finally, I said, “Well, you’ve done it. You ran him off, and that’s the last he’ll ever have to do with us.” It was too.
“What’d I say?” Flip said, bewildered. But he knew he’d scared our hero off for good.
We talked it over between ourselves later. Like why Flip’s comment had had this electrifying effect on Ralph. I happened to remember that once my mom had said it was bad etiquette to make personal
The problem with that book, which we called
RALPH, THE FREE
, was that we began to believe it. We were always believing things just because we wanted to believe them. It was a habit that lingered on a lot longer—two years anyway.
Maybe we thought the real Ralph was holding out on us, so we had to create another Ralph to make up for it. Of course, it never crossed our minds that the real Ralph was teaching two grade school kids strictly for the salary involved. You don’t think like that in the fifth grade. You don’t want to.
We even seriously discussed the idea of presenting Ralph with a hand-recopied edition of
RALPH, THE FREE
as a token of friendship. But since he never said anything to us but “keep your head down,” and “kick out of the water,” and “only one of you on the board at a time,” and like that, we decided we’d better not.
But the urge grew that summer to get through to the real Ralph. We figured if we said the right thing—the magic word or something—he’d become our friend. I see now we wanted to
be
him. I see now too that it was something like the way Elvan wanted to get through to us, but I didn’t see that in time.
So on the tenth lesson—when Flip and I were about as good a pair of swimmers as Ralph could make us, we both realized that this was our last chance. To get through to him. We were pretty depressed. Not only was school about to start again, but Ralph was about to disappear from our lives.
On the last lesson, he put us through everythingwe’d learned, and supervised without even getting into the pool himself. By then, he knew we could save ourselves if need be. It was a short lesson. Or maybe it seemed short because we wanted it to last. Always before, when the lesson was over, Ralph would send us off to the showers and stay in the pool for a solitary swim. On the last day, though, he was anxious to leave early himself.
So we all three turned up in the big shower room together. This was our one last chance. Flip and I were on one side—lathered up with Lava soap—and Ralph was under a spigot on the other side—minding his own business. I had the discouraging feeling that not only was he not sorry the lessons were over, but that he didn’t even notice we were there.
Flip—who was only about four-foot-eleven at the time—was soaping up slowly—and thinking. Well ahead of time, I knew he was going to come up with something to say to Ralph—silent Ralph, Ralph, the Free—something that would leave a big impression on him. And then he said it.
Flip was a soprano at the time, and I can still hear how his voice rang out on those tile walls. “Hey, Ralph!” This made Ralph jump a little and turn around. “Listen, Ralph, me and Bry, we were wondering something.” That put both Ralph and me on our guard. “What me and Bry were wondering is—when do you suppose we’ll be getting hair on us like you got all down your front?”
Ralph’s mouth kind of fell open. And while this question was still bouncing around the room, Ralph swallowed hard, and his face turned pink. He actually pulled his arms around the front of him to cover himself up. Then he whirled around, facing the wall. He jammed the faucets off and was out of that showerroom in a flash. No slow and easy catlike movement like Ralph the Free.
So we were alone in there, with the Lava soap running off us in pink rivers. And the crazy part was, the tears started down my face, so I backed in under the shower head to hide them. Finally, I said, “Well, you’ve done it. You ran him off, and that’s the last he’ll ever have to do with us.” It was too.
“What’d I say?” Flip said, bewildered. But he knew he’d scared our hero off for good.
We talked it over between ourselves later. Like why Flip’s comment had had this electrifying effect on Ralph. I happened to remember that once my mom had said it was bad etiquette to make personal
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