said, “Use your wings to fly away, then use them again to come back.”
I opened Grandma’s gift next. It was her canasta jar full of dollar bills.
Grandma’s pills kicked in: “I thought you could use the money to buy some car insurance.”
I counted it later. There were twenty-seven one-dollar bills in it. A few weeks later I asked the manny to take me to Saks Fifth Avenue to spend my new money. I bought a pair of red cashmere socks. I thought the money would have gone further than that. The manny pulled out his American Express and bought a matching pair of socks for himself and a pair for Grandma’s cold feet.
“Plastic goes a lot further than cash,” he said, signing his receipt.
The last gift that I opened was wrapped in bright red wrapping paper and was tied in white ribbon. The card said, “To: Keats. You’re starting to look old. I love you. The manny.”
I tore off the wrapping paper and saw a red Saks Fifth Avenue box. I carefully opened the box because I wanted to save it to keep pictures in.
Inside the box was a silver money clip with my initials engraved on it.
“That’s so your money doesn’t get mixed up with your pocket trash,” said the manny, smiling.
I hugged and kissed everyone and thanked them for the gifts. Uncle Max and the manny left in the same car. They were going to a late movie.
The manny said, “See ya round town, clown,” and they left.
I ran to my room and hung my clothes for thenext day on my new valet. I put the cards from Uncle Max and the manny in the Saks Fifth Avenue box and put it in the top drawer of my dresser. I took out the dollar bills from the jar of money that Grandma had given me. I folded them neatly and placed them in the silver money clip.
At bedtime I turned out all the lights in my room except for the reading lamp by my bed.
I began to write in my journal.
June 1
I had the best birthday. Sarah told me that there are ten people in her Keats Is a Cool Kid club. Craig told me that he thought he had food poisoning from my Dutch babies. Scotty said it was probably from chewing on his dirty fingernails. During our last recess of the school year I went to my secret crying spot behind the Dumpster. I didn’t cry. Instead I wrote my name with a pen on the edge at the bottom of the Dumpster.
Tonight when I blew out the candles, I wished that the manny could be part of my family forever, like Uncle Max.
Born on this day: Keats Dalinger
15
I’m Melting, I’m Melting
The summer light shines through the window and in on Grandma every evening. It reflects off her metal bed and makes little dancing lights across the ceiling. The sun makes her face look like she had a makeup artist prepare her for a
Vanity Fair
photo shoot.
Vanity Fair
is a glossy magazine that has full-page photos of movie stars and politicians. Mom bought a subscription to
Vanity Fair
over the telephone. She told me that 12 percent of her money went to help the Special Olympics. We go to cheer at the Special Olympics every year. Sarah’s cousin Roger competed in the hurdles last year. He got second to last, but he jumped up and down and celebrated like he had gotten first.
Grandma closes her eyes and smiles until the sun is completely gone. She plays Puccini on the CD player, and Belly always climbs up onto the pillow next to her and watches the lights dance across the ceiling. It makes you forget that Grandma is lying in a hospital bed and has cold feet.
Grandma always sings a song about froggies going to school to Belly. Belly stares at her mouth and touches Grandma’s lip with her finger while she sings.
“‘Twenty froggies went to school….’”
When I was Belly’s age. Grandma used to babysit me. She’d put an afghan around me that smelled like she did, like Estee Lauder perfume and freshly cut grass. She’d rock me back and forth in her chair and sing my favorite song, “Little Joe the Wrangler.” It’s about a little cowboy who ends up getting crushed by
I opened Grandma’s gift next. It was her canasta jar full of dollar bills.
Grandma’s pills kicked in: “I thought you could use the money to buy some car insurance.”
I counted it later. There were twenty-seven one-dollar bills in it. A few weeks later I asked the manny to take me to Saks Fifth Avenue to spend my new money. I bought a pair of red cashmere socks. I thought the money would have gone further than that. The manny pulled out his American Express and bought a matching pair of socks for himself and a pair for Grandma’s cold feet.
“Plastic goes a lot further than cash,” he said, signing his receipt.
The last gift that I opened was wrapped in bright red wrapping paper and was tied in white ribbon. The card said, “To: Keats. You’re starting to look old. I love you. The manny.”
I tore off the wrapping paper and saw a red Saks Fifth Avenue box. I carefully opened the box because I wanted to save it to keep pictures in.
Inside the box was a silver money clip with my initials engraved on it.
“That’s so your money doesn’t get mixed up with your pocket trash,” said the manny, smiling.
I hugged and kissed everyone and thanked them for the gifts. Uncle Max and the manny left in the same car. They were going to a late movie.
The manny said, “See ya round town, clown,” and they left.
I ran to my room and hung my clothes for thenext day on my new valet. I put the cards from Uncle Max and the manny in the Saks Fifth Avenue box and put it in the top drawer of my dresser. I took out the dollar bills from the jar of money that Grandma had given me. I folded them neatly and placed them in the silver money clip.
At bedtime I turned out all the lights in my room except for the reading lamp by my bed.
I began to write in my journal.
June 1
I had the best birthday. Sarah told me that there are ten people in her Keats Is a Cool Kid club. Craig told me that he thought he had food poisoning from my Dutch babies. Scotty said it was probably from chewing on his dirty fingernails. During our last recess of the school year I went to my secret crying spot behind the Dumpster. I didn’t cry. Instead I wrote my name with a pen on the edge at the bottom of the Dumpster.
Tonight when I blew out the candles, I wished that the manny could be part of my family forever, like Uncle Max.
Born on this day: Keats Dalinger
15
I’m Melting, I’m Melting
The summer light shines through the window and in on Grandma every evening. It reflects off her metal bed and makes little dancing lights across the ceiling. The sun makes her face look like she had a makeup artist prepare her for a
Vanity Fair
photo shoot.
Vanity Fair
is a glossy magazine that has full-page photos of movie stars and politicians. Mom bought a subscription to
Vanity Fair
over the telephone. She told me that 12 percent of her money went to help the Special Olympics. We go to cheer at the Special Olympics every year. Sarah’s cousin Roger competed in the hurdles last year. He got second to last, but he jumped up and down and celebrated like he had gotten first.
Grandma closes her eyes and smiles until the sun is completely gone. She plays Puccini on the CD player, and Belly always climbs up onto the pillow next to her and watches the lights dance across the ceiling. It makes you forget that Grandma is lying in a hospital bed and has cold feet.
Grandma always sings a song about froggies going to school to Belly. Belly stares at her mouth and touches Grandma’s lip with her finger while she sings.
“‘Twenty froggies went to school….’”
When I was Belly’s age. Grandma used to babysit me. She’d put an afghan around me that smelled like she did, like Estee Lauder perfume and freshly cut grass. She’d rock me back and forth in her chair and sing my favorite song, “Little Joe the Wrangler.” It’s about a little cowboy who ends up getting crushed by
Similar Books
