B Is for Beer (6 page)
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“Gracie, you won’t remember this, but when you were an infant, six long years ago, I used to read the encyclopedia to you. It always lulled you to sleep. Especially the volume containing the
Z
’s.
“I don’t know if I’m exactly gaga over children, but I do respect them. I respect their deeper feelings and deeper thoughts, layers to which many adults, even the most doting of parents, too often seem oblivious. At any rate, my dear—and this is the point—I’ve never ever talked down to you, and I have no intention of starting now.
“Here ’s the deal. Madeline Proust and I have fallen passionately, wildly, crazily in love. A great many birthdays will surely come and go before you’ll experience anything remotely resembling this. Indeed, some people never experience it, although they’re pretty good at fooling themselves that they do. I can’t explain this love, I couldn’t explain it to you even if you were twenty-six or thirty-six. The fact that it ’s totally irrational is part of its appeal.
“This much I can tell you. We ’re so nuts for each other that Dr.
Proust is abandoning her medical practice and I’m skipping out on my apartment—although the postcard collection I’m leaving behind should more than compensate the landlord for 54
b is for beer
any back rent—and in less than an hour we ’ll be flying off to Costa Rica, where we ’re intending to permanently reside.
“Costa Rica is downstairs from Mexico. With your mother’s help, you can locate it in Volume C of that old encyclopedia that used to provide your bedtime stories. What the map won’t tell you is that Costa Rica has done more to preserve its natural environment than any country on Earth, and that it has no army. No navy. No air force. It ’s hard to believe, isn’t it, that any modern government could be that enlightened or any modern population that civilized? Since their government also guarantees free health care, and since it ’s reasonable to assume that they aren’t tying their shoes too tight down there, Madeline ’s business prospects may be limited, but, hey, it ’s personal freedom not hundred-dollar bills that lights the soul’s cigar, and I hope they’re teaching you that in kindergarten.
“There ’s a lot more to say, Gracie, but we ’ll be boarding any minute and I’ve got a pint of Redhook to finish. Obviously, I won’t be escorting you to Redhook’s brewery tomorrow. Truth is, pumpkin, I’m unsure if I’ll ever see you again. Whatever happens, I want you to know…”
Click. Whom-hom-hom-hom.
Silence. Apparently, the voicemail recorder had reached its limit. There were no other messages.
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Gracie backed away and began to wander around the empty house.
In the kitchen, she was turning in circles, like a dog looking for a soft place to lie down. Her tummy felt like a washer set on Spin Dry. Her heart felt like a balloon from which the air was leaking. Her brain felt like her gums feel after a visit to the dentist.
She was too hurt to stamp her feet or throw things, too angry to weep. She knew she had to do
something
, though, or else she would just curl up in a knot and die.
Eventually, she found herself standing at the refrigerator.
Yanking open the door, Gracie suddenly was face to face with a beverage shelf fully stocked with Pepsi cola and beer. She reached in and pulled out a can. She stared at it. She popped its tab. It wasn’t Pepsi.
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Through the lips and over the gums
Look out belly here it comes.
G
lug glug glug.
The golden liquid was so cold it gave Gracie ’s teeth a sleigh ride.
Glug glug glug.
It was so bitter it made skunky hair sprout on her tonsils.
Glug glug
glug… buurrp!
It was so bubbly it caused her to belch like a Puget Sound ferryboat on a foggy morning.
Glug glug.
Kids! Listen up! Don’t try this at home. It will upset your parents, upset your tummy, and take your brain to places that, guaranteed, will not be as interesting as the places it was eventually to take the brain of Gracie Perkel. For better or for worse, Gracie ’s experience was a special case. You will see for yourself. But first…
After practically chug-a-lugging the entire can of brew, the six-year-old just stood there in front of the refrigerator, as if guarding its ice cubes from roving gangs of international ice cube thieves. For some reason, her spirits seemed rather rapidly to be improving. In fact, a sense of delicious mischief overtook her, enveloped her to the degree that she suddenly snatched another can of beer out of the refrigerator and, with 57
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a whoop, hurled it at her birthday cake, giggling as chocolate frosting splattered from one end to the other of the dining room table.
Borrowing a couple of CDs from her parents’ collection (which was strictly against the rules), she carried the discs upstairs to her room, where she shoved one of them, an Aretha Franklin album as it turned out, into her player. Soon she was jumping up and down on the bed (also against the rules), using her hairbrush as a microphone, belting out duets with Aretha.
When the bed began to protest too loudly, to appear on the brink of collapse, she hopped down and commenced to prance, skip, and spin about in what Uncle Moe once called “Gracie ’s monkey dance of life.”
Unfortunately, when the album ended and she paused to rest, she discovered that everything around her was still spinning.
The bed, the dresser, and the desk were doing their own monkey dance of life and the walls were lurching and whirling in circles like some kind of theme park ride. The next thing Gracie knew, she was on her hands and knees, throwing up on the Hello Kitty polyester rug: she hadn’t even been able to make it to the bathroom.
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In a pitifully weak voice, she cried out for her mommy, but Mrs. Perkel was still gabbing in the yard, and anyway, would have been as angry as a chain saw when she discovered the reason for her young daughter’s condition. So, using one of her fluffy fuzzy bunny slippers, Gracie wiped clots of chocolaty upchuck from her lips and chin. Then, with a helpless moan, she pulled herself onto the bed.
As you are surely aware, our planet is turning on its axis around and around in space. It turns slowly, however, making one complete rotation only every twenty-four hours; and that ’s a good thing—isn’t it?—because if our world turned as fast as Gracie ’s room appeared to be turning, the sun would be either rising or setting every fifteen minutes, astronomers would be as woozy as rodeo clowns, and it ’d be nearly impossible to keep our meatballs from rolling out of our spaghetti.
Gradually, though, the wallpaper slowed down to regulation Earth speed, and Gracie fell deeply, peacefully asleep. It was a primitive, timeless sleep, free of restless dreams, and she might have slumbered that way for hours had she not been awakened by a gentle but persistent scratching or tapping sensation just below her throat.
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When she could focus normally, she saw that a small winged creature of some sort was perched on her upper chest. At first, it looked to be a dragonfly, standing on its hind legs, if dragonflies can be said to have hind legs, but it was pacing to and fro and anybody who’s paid attention knows that dragonflies can’t walk. Furthermore, it was tapping steadily, purpose-fully, on Gracie ’s breastbone with a front leg—or something resembling a leg—as if to get her attention. The thing was only slightly taller than a birthday candle, and had translucent wings that shimmered like moonlight on a barrel of rainwater.
More fascinated than alarmed, Gracie wondered aloud, “What in the world are you?”
Obviously, she wasn’t expecting an answer. Obviously.
Imagine her intense amazement, therefore, when in a tiny, tinkly but plainly understandable human voice, the creature spoke. “What do you think I am, a Jehovah’s Witness? Do I look like I might be selling Girl Scout cookies?” Before a startled Gracie could even attempt a response, it went on to say,
“What I am is the Beer Fairy, for crying out loud.”
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Tasting the stale barf in her mouth, Gracie was pretty sure she wasn’t dreaming. She rubbed her eyes and stared harder. Sure enough, upon closer inspection, the teeny-weeny creature resembled in almost every detail the fairies whose pictures she ’d seen in books. You’d probably agree. In addition to the silvery wings, she (it was definitely female) had flowing red hair, sparkly oversize eyes, a wise, mysterious smile, and a slender, perfectly formed body draped loosely in a strange billowy material that constantly changed color and glittered like diamond dust. She was barefoot, bedecked with a scalloped crown that noticeably resembled a bottle cap, and carried a black leather wand, apparently the instrument with which she had prodded Gracie awake. Gracie was awed, to say the least.
“Are you really the Beer Fairy?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’ve never heard of a Beer Fairy.”
“You have now.”
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“Hmm. Well, you’re very pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Next door.”
Gracie ’s mouth flew open. “You live at the McCormicks’?!”
That ’s where her mommy was. More or less.
The fairy laughed. “Not at your neighbor’s house, silly. I mean the world next door to this one.”
Gracie nodded. She vaguely understood. “How did you get here?”
“Why, through the Seam.”
“The Seam?” Gracie was even more vague about that (just because a person turns six doesn’t mean they have to know everything), but she decided to ignore it. “Are you a kind of angel, then?”
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“No, no, no. Angels don’t do beer. They’re into the fine wine and cognac, angels are. They tend to be seriously sophisti-cated—and if you want my opinion, seriously snootered-up and pucky-wucked. You’ll never catch an angel at a kegger, believe me.”
“My Sunday school teacher says beer is the Devil’s drink.”
“Ha! Shows how little she knows about that old boogeyman.
For her information, and yours, the Devil drinks Shirley Temples.”
“Really!?”
“You can take my word for it.”
“Hmm. That ’s funny. But
you
, Beer Fairy? You’re the fairy for beer?”
“Put two and two together, did you? Let me state it this way: if a substantial quantity of beer is being consumed, you can usually expect to find me flitting about the scene.”
“Does nobody see you?”
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“Yeah, when they drink too much they do, although they don’t remember it later. Or if they do remember, they aren’t brave enough to admit it.” With a soft whir, the fairy flew up then and landed on Gracie ’s shoulder. “So, what do
you
think of beer, little lady?”
Gracie screwed up her face. “It made me sick.”
“That ’s right. You drank too much too fast and you’re way too young.”
“When people drink too much beer do you help them?”
“Oh, if they’ve become pleasantly glad and dizzy, I might take steps to ensure that no real harm befalls them, I might enhance or even participate in their celebration; but should they happen to turn aggressive or nasty or stupid, which isn’t uncommon, I’m more likely to kick their butts. Believe me, kiddo, there ’s not a tough-guy beer guzzler alive whose butt I cannot kick.”
“Are you gonna kick my butt?”
Gently shaking her head, the fairy smiled. “No, Gracie Perkel.
You’ve been kicked quite enough today. I’m here to satisfy your 64
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unusual curiosity and to reveal to you the origins and myster-ies of beer.”
“Why?”
“Let ’s just say that you’re a special case. Now, are you ready to take a little trip?”
“A trip? Where? How? My mommy…”
“Don’t worry. We ’re going far away, but we ’ll be back before you know it. Here. Hang on to my wand.”
Ever obedient, Gracie grasped the wand between her thumb and index finger, but it wasn’t easy to hold on to, it being not much bigger than a tadpole ’s tail. Nevertheless, she felt herself being pulled upright from the bed. Whoa! Easy now! With increasing speed, her body was rising toward the ceiling.
“Let ’s blow this pop stand!” shouted the Beer Fairy—and from the yippee and wahoo exuberance in her voice, anybody could tell it was one of the Beer Fairy’s favorite sayings.
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For a scary moment, Gracie was sure her skull was about to be smashed like a cantaloupe against the ceiling. She imagined her mother entering the room later and discovering, in addition to the pool of barf, Gracie ’s splattered brains all over the floor. But then, inches from a head-on collision, there occurred a
poof!
noise, she felt a strong rush of air, and the next thing she knew she was suspended somewhere in the atmosphere.