jeans.
Onstage there are six empty chairs and a long table. Representatives from various state agencies appear from behind the velvet theater curtains. They have polite stacks of paper and shiny silver pens. When I see Dan Benecke at the microphone, I’m not exactly shocked. Of course he’s here. He has to keep an eye on things. He has to protect Mareno Chem’s good name.
“Why is he here?” There is panic in Cornpup’s voice. “Why is an industry guy standing up there with the same government people who are supposed to be slapping him with fines? This is wrong. This is so wrong.”
Dan Benecke welcomes everyone. He cracks a few jokes. He talks about green initiatives. He talks about jobs. Then he opens the floor for questions and public comments.
“I have a question,” Charlie says. “When are you gonna dump more of that cool chunky stuff in the creek? The stuff that smells real sweet like radiator fluid? Because lately you’ve only been dumping orange foam that smells like cheese. It’s been kind of boring.”
I elbow him. Hard.
Dan Benecke looks over at us, but he plays it cool. I’m not sure he recognizes me. Does he remember telling Dad to keep his mouth shut or else? Is he proud of how he buried Mom in legal papers, how he forced her to strike a deal? Maybe he doesn’t think about us at all. We were loose ends for him to tie up, and now he’s planning his next vacation.
Good. Fine. I want him to underestimate me.
I borrow a pen from the lady sitting next to Cornpup. I tear the lid off Charlie’s donut box and flatten it, white side up. I begin to draw pictures of giant creek serpents with chemical venom and fangs of broken glass.
There is talk about uranium. Toxic sludge in the creek. They say human exposure is not expected to occur. They say our backyards are safe, but we shouldn’t dig holes greater than four feet in depth. They say we shouldn’t eat stuff from our gardens. When Dad was alive, he ate tomatoes straight off the vine.
This meeting is full of words. I try to shut it all out, but my ears catch little pieces:
“… no one really knows … into the creek … birth defects … You people are monsters …”
“… get rid of the waste … Why are you ignoring us … outrageous … hundreds of barrels a day …”
“… poisoned innocent people … Please help us … I’m not a good public speaker …”
“… We can’t leave our homes … can’t give up our jobs … This town is all we have …”
“… You’re hiding something … many years ago … We’re sick … most of the facilities …”
“… vacant now … hazardous waste … Don’t turn your backs on us … People are dying …”
People are dying
.
I draw a second creek serpent. This one is wearing armor made from exhaust pipes and bike chains. I don’t have room to draw a creek serpent battle, so I have to close my eyes and imagine it. Blood and broken fangs and the horrible roar of a serpent warrior.
Cornpup is moving up in line, closer and closer to the microphone. He could say anything. He could say too much.
CHAPTER 13
BUMP SHOW
IT’S Cornpup’s turn to speak. They have to lower the microphone for him. I’m running out of blank space on this donut box. I draw a few mud demons, a hawk melting in a puddle of chemical venom, fireworks exploding over a dead serpent’s skeleton.
Fireworks. Fourth of July. Sturgess
.
I think of Kevin Thompson’s empty eyes. Bloody geese. Decapitated ravens. I’ve got one week till he tries to kill me.
Suddenly I’m not drawing pictures anymore. I am scribbling a solid black patch of ink. I am stabbing tiny holes into the box with the pen tip.
I think about Mom’s false start, how she bought produce at the store two weekends ago, even though she’s never really been a vegetable eater, even back when she was skinny. I noticed the lettuce right away, a bunch of unfamiliar green stuff. There were tomatoestoo, a bag of
Onstage there are six empty chairs and a long table. Representatives from various state agencies appear from behind the velvet theater curtains. They have polite stacks of paper and shiny silver pens. When I see Dan Benecke at the microphone, I’m not exactly shocked. Of course he’s here. He has to keep an eye on things. He has to protect Mareno Chem’s good name.
“Why is he here?” There is panic in Cornpup’s voice. “Why is an industry guy standing up there with the same government people who are supposed to be slapping him with fines? This is wrong. This is so wrong.”
Dan Benecke welcomes everyone. He cracks a few jokes. He talks about green initiatives. He talks about jobs. Then he opens the floor for questions and public comments.
“I have a question,” Charlie says. “When are you gonna dump more of that cool chunky stuff in the creek? The stuff that smells real sweet like radiator fluid? Because lately you’ve only been dumping orange foam that smells like cheese. It’s been kind of boring.”
I elbow him. Hard.
Dan Benecke looks over at us, but he plays it cool. I’m not sure he recognizes me. Does he remember telling Dad to keep his mouth shut or else? Is he proud of how he buried Mom in legal papers, how he forced her to strike a deal? Maybe he doesn’t think about us at all. We were loose ends for him to tie up, and now he’s planning his next vacation.
Good. Fine. I want him to underestimate me.
I borrow a pen from the lady sitting next to Cornpup. I tear the lid off Charlie’s donut box and flatten it, white side up. I begin to draw pictures of giant creek serpents with chemical venom and fangs of broken glass.
There is talk about uranium. Toxic sludge in the creek. They say human exposure is not expected to occur. They say our backyards are safe, but we shouldn’t dig holes greater than four feet in depth. They say we shouldn’t eat stuff from our gardens. When Dad was alive, he ate tomatoes straight off the vine.
This meeting is full of words. I try to shut it all out, but my ears catch little pieces:
“… no one really knows … into the creek … birth defects … You people are monsters …”
“… get rid of the waste … Why are you ignoring us … outrageous … hundreds of barrels a day …”
“… poisoned innocent people … Please help us … I’m not a good public speaker …”
“… We can’t leave our homes … can’t give up our jobs … This town is all we have …”
“… You’re hiding something … many years ago … We’re sick … most of the facilities …”
“… vacant now … hazardous waste … Don’t turn your backs on us … People are dying …”
People are dying
.
I draw a second creek serpent. This one is wearing armor made from exhaust pipes and bike chains. I don’t have room to draw a creek serpent battle, so I have to close my eyes and imagine it. Blood and broken fangs and the horrible roar of a serpent warrior.
Cornpup is moving up in line, closer and closer to the microphone. He could say anything. He could say too much.
CHAPTER 13
BUMP SHOW
IT’S Cornpup’s turn to speak. They have to lower the microphone for him. I’m running out of blank space on this donut box. I draw a few mud demons, a hawk melting in a puddle of chemical venom, fireworks exploding over a dead serpent’s skeleton.
Fireworks. Fourth of July. Sturgess
.
I think of Kevin Thompson’s empty eyes. Bloody geese. Decapitated ravens. I’ve got one week till he tries to kill me.
Suddenly I’m not drawing pictures anymore. I am scribbling a solid black patch of ink. I am stabbing tiny holes into the box with the pen tip.
I think about Mom’s false start, how she bought produce at the store two weekends ago, even though she’s never really been a vegetable eater, even back when she was skinny. I noticed the lettuce right away, a bunch of unfamiliar green stuff. There were tomatoestoo, a bag of
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