go.
“In a great big sturdy chair? Are you ready for this?”
“What? Reni, I’m sitting in a trolley seat. Yes, I’m ready,” I say.
“Oh my gosh, I was vacuuming the hallway upstairs when we came back from the café. I went into Henderson’s room and I’m standing there and suddenly I look on his shelf and I see this curly clown wig and this red clown nose and a clown jacket.”
“What???” I say. “A striped jacket with big yellow pockets?”
“Yes,” says Reni.
“Oh my gosh. Henderson has gone completely off the wall. I mean, what is he doing? That writer’s camp has caused him to seriously go bananas. I don’t know this kid anymore and he was, like, my best friend.”
“I thought I was your best friend,” she says.
“Oh, well, you were both my better than best. I mean, I could always tell Henderson anything. I mean, he knows everything. And now he has become a total lunatic. Look what he did when Benny was at my door with the pizza.”
“I know,” says Reni. “This spy thing keeps popping up. Well, to be fair, I guess he’s major stressed. I have to say, he was nice today and mailed out two hundred invitations to Annais’s opening celebration and he ended up helping my mom contact The Pottsboro Shopping Guide for a possible review. We’re renting a microphone to have there. My mom loves testimonials and people getting up and talking and reading poems and stuff.”
“It’s gonna be great,” I go. “I can’t wait.” And then an enormous gust of wind rushes across the sky and shakes every tree and building and it must have shaken all the air waves and signals that make cells work, cause Reni and I get cut off again. Honestly, is it me or do all cell phones die when you need them the most?
I spend the rest of the rainy, windy trip home thinking about Henderson wearing that clown suit and following us that day. Was he being protective and supportive in his old Henderson way? Or was he being demented and weird and looking for material for his next novel? Reni’s right, he is always listening and watching for ideas to put in his books. He pauses in stores to listen to conversations. He watches people. He writes notes on a pad. On the other hand, maybe he was just being good old Henderson from planet Good Guy. It kind of makes me feel special that I have someone who would protect me like that. It feels kind of nice in a weird sort of way.
The trolley stops and I get out into the wind and rain and run down the street to our condo building. To be quite honest, I feel suddenly like I am in Henderson’s latest novel. There are two guys in white puffy moon suits, wearing space helmets with breathing tubes, coming out of the basement door of our condo. They have on great big white gloves and they are carrying this little metal box. A lot of people from our condo are out on the street even though it’s raining. My grandma is standing there in her vintage coat with her arms crossed, talking at a distance with one of the astronauts.
Have I been transported to some other planet? “What is going on?” I say. “What’s with the Star Wars stormtrooper dudes?”
Grandpa leans over toward me, and under his breath and out of the side of his mouth like some old-time detective in one of Henderson’s old 1940s movies, he says, “Well, pal, your grandma won the battle. They’re testing those wrappings around the furnace pipes for asbestos. If it is asbestos, it’s been there for fifty years, so now we’re going to disturb it and everyone living here. Your grandma’s a pro.”
The woman from downstairs comes at my grandpa with the pointed end of an umbrella. “Mr. Terrace,” she says, “you do nothing but bungle things. These condos are our investment. What have you done now and why are these spacemen here?” He gives her a very sheepish smile and takes off into the crowd.
Me, I just sit down on the wet curb and watch the moon men waving their moon-suit arms around, and then in their big
“In a great big sturdy chair? Are you ready for this?”
“What? Reni, I’m sitting in a trolley seat. Yes, I’m ready,” I say.
“Oh my gosh, I was vacuuming the hallway upstairs when we came back from the café. I went into Henderson’s room and I’m standing there and suddenly I look on his shelf and I see this curly clown wig and this red clown nose and a clown jacket.”
“What???” I say. “A striped jacket with big yellow pockets?”
“Yes,” says Reni.
“Oh my gosh. Henderson has gone completely off the wall. I mean, what is he doing? That writer’s camp has caused him to seriously go bananas. I don’t know this kid anymore and he was, like, my best friend.”
“I thought I was your best friend,” she says.
“Oh, well, you were both my better than best. I mean, I could always tell Henderson anything. I mean, he knows everything. And now he has become a total lunatic. Look what he did when Benny was at my door with the pizza.”
“I know,” says Reni. “This spy thing keeps popping up. Well, to be fair, I guess he’s major stressed. I have to say, he was nice today and mailed out two hundred invitations to Annais’s opening celebration and he ended up helping my mom contact The Pottsboro Shopping Guide for a possible review. We’re renting a microphone to have there. My mom loves testimonials and people getting up and talking and reading poems and stuff.”
“It’s gonna be great,” I go. “I can’t wait.” And then an enormous gust of wind rushes across the sky and shakes every tree and building and it must have shaken all the air waves and signals that make cells work, cause Reni and I get cut off again. Honestly, is it me or do all cell phones die when you need them the most?
I spend the rest of the rainy, windy trip home thinking about Henderson wearing that clown suit and following us that day. Was he being protective and supportive in his old Henderson way? Or was he being demented and weird and looking for material for his next novel? Reni’s right, he is always listening and watching for ideas to put in his books. He pauses in stores to listen to conversations. He watches people. He writes notes on a pad. On the other hand, maybe he was just being good old Henderson from planet Good Guy. It kind of makes me feel special that I have someone who would protect me like that. It feels kind of nice in a weird sort of way.
The trolley stops and I get out into the wind and rain and run down the street to our condo building. To be quite honest, I feel suddenly like I am in Henderson’s latest novel. There are two guys in white puffy moon suits, wearing space helmets with breathing tubes, coming out of the basement door of our condo. They have on great big white gloves and they are carrying this little metal box. A lot of people from our condo are out on the street even though it’s raining. My grandma is standing there in her vintage coat with her arms crossed, talking at a distance with one of the astronauts.
Have I been transported to some other planet? “What is going on?” I say. “What’s with the Star Wars stormtrooper dudes?”
Grandpa leans over toward me, and under his breath and out of the side of his mouth like some old-time detective in one of Henderson’s old 1940s movies, he says, “Well, pal, your grandma won the battle. They’re testing those wrappings around the furnace pipes for asbestos. If it is asbestos, it’s been there for fifty years, so now we’re going to disturb it and everyone living here. Your grandma’s a pro.”
The woman from downstairs comes at my grandpa with the pointed end of an umbrella. “Mr. Terrace,” she says, “you do nothing but bungle things. These condos are our investment. What have you done now and why are these spacemen here?” He gives her a very sheepish smile and takes off into the crowd.
Me, I just sit down on the wet curb and watch the moon men waving their moon-suit arms around, and then in their big
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