haven’t yet had my growth spurts , which if you ask me sound like something that’d come out of water guns. Some kids have the spurts all in one summer so when they come back to school it’s like they’re strangers. Candy Currington hadbosoms when she came back for fifth grade. Ever-one knew she got her period that year too because Mason Brawders—who was named after a mason jar because when they filled in his birth certificate his momma looked up at his daddy drinking sweet tea from a mason jar, and that was that. Ever-one called him Jarhead. Anyway, Mason Brawders found evidence of Candy’s menstration in the purse Candy hugged close to her chest. I never knew whether she slumped that way because of the bosoms or the period evidence . I won’t walk that way when I get bosoms or my period, which I hope I never do.
Today I’m gonna grab even more packets than yesterday. I’m trying to get through thirty-five ketchups in four minutes which I bet is some world record or at least I pretend it is. Most I’ve done so far is thirty-one. I have to cup my hands around my eyes to be able to see clearly through the glass and near as I can tell it’s good and busy right now so I might could get a handful of olives this time. Maybe even some of those crunchy little bread cubes. But the ketchup’s what makes paper taste like it could be real food so it’s got to be the first order of business . Like my daddy used to say when he’d come in from being away from home. He’d walk in the door and, before Momma even, he’d hug me and say “getting a kiss from my little princess is my first order of business .”
The Burdocks get loads of free catalogs in the mail and what they do is they leave the ones they’ve already gone through on the front desk. That way, if you happen to want anything from Plus Size Woman or Gander Mountain or Johnny T-shirt, all you’ve got to do is stop by the front desk and the catalog’s yours for the taking.
“Now what on God’s green earth would you want with Orvis?” Mr. Burdock says when I ask him if I can have it.
“I like the pictures” is all I can come up with.
“Have at it,” he says, laughing at a joke I guess I’m too young to understand.
It’s true, I do like the pictures. But not the way he thinks. Here’s what I do. I take the catalog to the room and when Momma’s in her whiskey sleep, I cut out pictures with scissors I borrow from Mr. Burdock. Then I swish them around with my finger in a cup of water, until the paper gets to where it almost tears. Then I eat each picture. One by one. It sounds weird I guess but it fills up an empty belly as good as anything else I’ve tried. When I cut enough pictures out, I mean. With the Orvis catalog I start with the fish. I pretend each picture is a real fish, cooked in a cast-iron skillet like Momma used to fry up catfish. I pick it out of the water gently and flatten it and cut it into tiny pieces, like I’m cutting bites for a baby. That way I can fool my brain into thinking it’s a real plate of food. The trick is to chew real slow. Last week I squeezed ketchup on every bite I could and I swear it tasted so good. I try not to do that every time, though, because I don’t want to get to where I need the ketchup for the paper to taste good. I’ve decided that adding ketchup will be a special treat. Like going out to a restaurant like I will someday I bet.
There are plenty of Burdock catalogs that don’t have pictures of things I’d like to eat so lately I been having a problem training my brain to pretend I’m not eating a Plus Size Woman. Or Needlework. Paper is paper, I tell myself. Today I noticed the only catalog on the front desk is something called ExpressURWay, so I better get extra ketchup in case the pictures are super-gross. And this time I remembered to bring the plastic bag I fished from the trash so I can load it up with olives and fried bread cubes. If no one’s looking.
CHAPTER NINE
Honor
“Cricket,
Today I’m gonna grab even more packets than yesterday. I’m trying to get through thirty-five ketchups in four minutes which I bet is some world record or at least I pretend it is. Most I’ve done so far is thirty-one. I have to cup my hands around my eyes to be able to see clearly through the glass and near as I can tell it’s good and busy right now so I might could get a handful of olives this time. Maybe even some of those crunchy little bread cubes. But the ketchup’s what makes paper taste like it could be real food so it’s got to be the first order of business . Like my daddy used to say when he’d come in from being away from home. He’d walk in the door and, before Momma even, he’d hug me and say “getting a kiss from my little princess is my first order of business .”
The Burdocks get loads of free catalogs in the mail and what they do is they leave the ones they’ve already gone through on the front desk. That way, if you happen to want anything from Plus Size Woman or Gander Mountain or Johnny T-shirt, all you’ve got to do is stop by the front desk and the catalog’s yours for the taking.
“Now what on God’s green earth would you want with Orvis?” Mr. Burdock says when I ask him if I can have it.
“I like the pictures” is all I can come up with.
“Have at it,” he says, laughing at a joke I guess I’m too young to understand.
It’s true, I do like the pictures. But not the way he thinks. Here’s what I do. I take the catalog to the room and when Momma’s in her whiskey sleep, I cut out pictures with scissors I borrow from Mr. Burdock. Then I swish them around with my finger in a cup of water, until the paper gets to where it almost tears. Then I eat each picture. One by one. It sounds weird I guess but it fills up an empty belly as good as anything else I’ve tried. When I cut enough pictures out, I mean. With the Orvis catalog I start with the fish. I pretend each picture is a real fish, cooked in a cast-iron skillet like Momma used to fry up catfish. I pick it out of the water gently and flatten it and cut it into tiny pieces, like I’m cutting bites for a baby. That way I can fool my brain into thinking it’s a real plate of food. The trick is to chew real slow. Last week I squeezed ketchup on every bite I could and I swear it tasted so good. I try not to do that every time, though, because I don’t want to get to where I need the ketchup for the paper to taste good. I’ve decided that adding ketchup will be a special treat. Like going out to a restaurant like I will someday I bet.
There are plenty of Burdock catalogs that don’t have pictures of things I’d like to eat so lately I been having a problem training my brain to pretend I’m not eating a Plus Size Woman. Or Needlework. Paper is paper, I tell myself. Today I noticed the only catalog on the front desk is something called ExpressURWay, so I better get extra ketchup in case the pictures are super-gross. And this time I remembered to bring the plastic bag I fished from the trash so I can load it up with olives and fried bread cubes. If no one’s looking.
CHAPTER NINE
Honor
“Cricket,
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