Jack on the Tracks (10 page)

I lowered my head and pulled up on the slouching panties. My ears felt red and raw with shame.

“Now tell me,” he asked, and turned the heater on. “Why is this all Betsy’s fault?”

‘Just drive around for a while so I can tell you my side of the story without Betsy butting in and twisting everything around,” I requested.

“Okay. You can make a case for yourself now. And I’ll be the judge as to who is right and wrong. But,” he warned me, “you have to tell me the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. If you lie, I’ll stop the car and make you walk home.” Then he backed out into the road.

“It all started five days ago,” I began, as he put the car in drive. “You know I haven’t won an argument with Betsy in my entire life so I’m always waiting for her to show some kind of weakness. Last Monday I was walking down the hall when she stepped out of the bathroom with a huge pimple on her forehead. It had a pussy yellow head like a piece of candy corn and looked like a volcano just waiting to blow. I knew she had been operating on it because I could see the red nail marks around the base where she’d been squeezing. But she hadn’t gotten it to pop. So when she passed by me I said, ‘Hey, Cyclops. Got something stuck in your third eye?’ And she just burst into tears and ran into her room. I thought she was faking me out until later, when I walked down the hall. I poked my head in her doorway. Her bed was covered with crushed-up tissues, and she was lying there with a pillow across her face as if she had suffocated herself. I told her I was sorry.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dad interrupted, peering down at me. “You were mean
first,
so at this point it looks like you started it.”

“True,” I said. “But you have to hear the rest and then you’ll see that I’m the victim.”

So while Dad continued to cruise up and down the tree-lined streets I continued talking. From my spot, crouched down next to the stereo, I sounded like an old radio drama. I used my hands as Jack and Betsy puppets and made bickering, yakking motions back and forth as I spoke.

“So Betsy sat up and looked at me with sad puppy eyes and said, ‘We are brother and sister and should be nice to each other.’ She was right and I felt even worse. Then she said, ‘So, let’s do something really important. Let’s be kind and respectful toward each other for a whole week. Be supportive, and not one bit nasty’

“I asked her if she was calling a truce. She said she wanted to set an example to the world that a brother and sister can exist in harmony under one roof.

“I said okay but asked what happens if one of us slips up and is nasty? She thought it over and said the punishment has to be severe, otherwise it would be too easy to slack off.

“I agreed. And we decided that the nasty person has to stand totally naked, buck naked, next to the tracks when the New England passenger train comes through. And we shook hands on it.”

Dad pulled up to a red light and glanced down at me. “I’m getting a pretty good picture of what happened next,” he said.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I cautioned. ‘Just hold your horses. Things started off really well,” I said proudly. “That first day I was totally nice. I made her fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast. I cleaned the trash in her room. Took her overdue books back to the library and paid the fines. I mean, I was saintly
nice.
And she didn’t even say thank you. Not once. On the second day I polished all of her shoes, cleaned out her fish tank, and crawled under her bed to find some missing earring backs. And still she didn’t say thanks. Not only that, she didn’t lift a finger to do one nice thing for me. But I was still trying. So on the third day I took all the little pieces of furniture and stuff out of her big Victorian dollhouse and repaired every piece. I Super-Glued all the teeny-tiny handles back on the teacups, I re wove the loose threads in the Oriental rugs, and even touched up the royal portrait paintings on the walls. And still, she didn’t say anything. On the fourth day I was running out of gas. I didn’t do a thing for her. I wasn’t nasty. I just didn’t go out of my way to be nice.”

“You know your sister was just setting you up,” Dad said. “You
do
know that? She was just waiting for you to crack.”

“Well, I didn’t know that,” I said reluctantly. “I was still trying to be a decent brother. So on the fifth day, today, I woke up and ironed all the clothes she had been putting off. And when I finished I said to her, ‘Don’t you think I’ve been a really good brother?’ And she said, really snotty like, ‘What do you want? A medal for being nice, when being nice is something that should come naturally and not be a special event?’ And that hurt my feelings. And you know how I get. I started to redden up and snivel. And Betsy jumped all over me.

“ Are you having an emotional emergency?’ she asked.

“I said yes.

“‘Then I’m going to call 911 and ask for a psychologist,’ she cracked.

“‘I don’t need a shrink,’ I yelled. I’m fine.’

“‘Well, if you are fine,’ she replied, ‘then
I
need a shrink.’

“‘I think you are being mean to me,’ I said. ‘We had a deal.’

“‘Since when,’ she said as sweet as a sugar cube, ‘is being concerned about my baby brother’s mental health so mean?’

“Well, after she said all of that I didn’t answer her, because I felt some ugly thoughts bubbling away in me and I knew if I stood there any longer with my mouth wide open horrid words would burst out and I’d lose the bet. So I stomped down to my room. And really, I tried to get my mind off Betsy. I started reading. I did some drawing in my diary, but my mind was not on my work. I had already slipped into a black mood and was planning my revenge. So I went into the back of my closet and that’s when I got out my gallon jar of homegrown monster-sized roaches.

“I thought maybe eating a roach would bring her down to size. On the back of the biggest of them, with red nail polish I had painted
Zippy.
I plucked it out of the jar and stared it right in its shiny brown eyes. ‘Okay, Zippy,’ I said. ‘You have been selected for a suicide mission. There is always a chance you might survive, but don’t count on it.’ Zippy didn’t seem to mind. He just wiggled his inch-long antennae.”

“Whoa,” Dad said. “Did you do what I think you were planning to do?”

“You bet,” I replied, and saw him smile, which made me think that he was definitely on my side and would pass judgment against Betsy. “Now imagine this,” I said, getting really excited because this was the best part.

“The problem with getting a live roach into Betsy’s mouth while she napped was not getting the roach into her mouth, but getting it in without her knowing I did it. Because as soon as the roach started running around on her tongue her eyes would flip open, and if she saw me standing over her she would kill me on the spot then throw my dead, naked body across the train tracks. And she could do it, too. She has wrestled me down into the ground and made me eat dirt more than once. But I was about to avenge all the wrongs she had done me.

“I waited until she went into her room to take a nap. I stood outside until she was sound asleep. Then I cracked open her door a few inches to where I had a good view of her. I had to wait until she was on her back.

“While I waited, I got ready. In one hand I had your 25-foot, spring-loaded, self-retractable tape measure. In the other hand I had Zippy. In the kitchen I had squeezed a drop of honey onto the tip of the metal tape, and when I put Zippy on he got busy slurping. And then my moment arrived. Betsy rolled over onto her back and her mouth opened into a beautiful round target. I pulled the stiff metal tape out of the case, keeping the tension just right so that the tape didn’t snap down and knock Betsy in the head. Zippy was busy with the tiny drop of honey and stayed right out on the tip as I pulled out more and more tape.

“Finally, I was ready. From where I was standing, it seemed to me that Zippy was directly over her mouth. I counted to three and then slowly turned the tape sideways. Just as Zippy lost his grip and slid down into her mouth, I released the lock on the tape and it snapped back into the case. As she screamed out loud I was already three steps down the hall and ducking into the coat closet.

“I stood there in the dark listening to her. First there was the scream, then the spitting, then I could hear a shoe hit the floor. It
was
a suicide mission for Zippy. Then I heard her in the bathroom brushing her teeth, then gargling, then taking a shower.”

I looked up at Dad to see if he thought it was as wonderful as I did. He was making a gruesome face and smacking his lips as if he had just swallowed a roach.

“My God,” he said, “what did she do next?”

“She stomped down to the living room and made an announcement. ‘I just want you to know,’ she hollered, ‘whoever you are, and I have a good idea who you are, that I don’t believe for a minute that a roach named Zippy just fell into my mouth by accident.’

“Suddenly my desire for revenge was replaced with fear for my life. I knew what I had done was wrong. I knew that I should just apologize to Betsy and beg for mercy. But I also knew that it was too late. She wouldn’t forgive me and in no time I’d be standing naked next to the tracks. So I figured I’d try a new strategy. I hid out for a while then went into her room. She was sitting on her bed. ‘I’m going down to the store,’ I said as nice as possible. ‘Anything I can get for you?’

“‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s my turn to empty out the cat box and I need some fresh litter. Will you get some?’

“‘You bet,’ I said. And when I left her room I thought she wasn’t mad at me at all and didn’t seem to blame me for the roach in her mouth. I figured I had gotten away with it and was in a pretty good mood now that I had released some revenge from my system. When I came back Betsy was by the kitchen back door next to the litter box. I handed her the ten-pound bag of litter and she smiled at me and then threw it down onto my foot. Then, as I hopped up and down, she twisted her fingers in my hair and jerked me forward. I fell over and she held my face just above the cat box. It was supposed to be self-cleaning but it still stank.

“‘I know you put the roach in my mouth. Now, confess or else.’

“‘Or else what?’ I said desperately.

“She lowered my face further. ‘Or else I’ll make you eat dinner right now.’ She dredged my face back and forth across the litter until I confessed. I told her I only did it because I was being so nice to her and she didn’t even say thank you.

“‘Is that the only reason you are nice?’ she said. ‘Are you only searching for a good-puppy pat on the head?’

“I said it’s good manners to return the favor when someone does something nice for you.

“‘It’s good manners to always honor your bets,’ she replied. ‘Now get naked. And wipe the litter off your lips.’ She looked at the kitchen clock. ‘The passenger train will be here in fifteen minutes and you better get ready to put on a show.’

“I went into the bathroom and undressed. When I came out, the back door was wide open.

“Betsy hollered, ‘To the tracks!’ and I ran directly for the toolshed, but it was locked. Then I ran a little farther and hugged the rubber tree. I reached up and grabbed a low branch and ripped it from the trunk. I held the thick, wide leaves against my privates and ran screaming toward the tracks. I got over the fence and climbed the gravel bank and stood there, waiting. I kept looking back at the house and hoping you would come home and rescue me, but you didn’t. Then, in a few minutes the passenger train rounded the bend to the north and headed toward me. I just stood there looking up at the windows filled with people. I figured the only fun I would get out of this whole deal was watching the look of surprise on their faces. With one hand I held the rubber plant leaves in place and with the other I waved as I did a little hula dance. Some people were shocked, others smiled, some looked really confused.

“After the train passed I ran directly back to the house. I tried to open the back door but it was locked. I desperately ran around to the front door. It was locked too. And all the windows were shut and locked. I returned to the back of the house. ‘Let me in,’ I hollered, and beat on the door. Betsy cracked open a window. She said I’d cheated and had to wait for the next passenger train to make up for my violation of our agreement.

“The next train was in four hours. I must have gone a little nuts,” I said, trying to get Dad’s sympathy on a temporary-insanity plea. “I needed to find some clothes. I looked over at Tack’s house and saw some things on their clothesline. I made a mad dash across our back yard to theirs. I was almost to their clothesline when the new Mrs. Smith opened her back door and started yelling at me. She called me indecent and said to go put some clothes on. So I did.

“I grabbed the first thing I could reach off her line and ran. As it turns out, I grabbed her undies, and as I hopped away on one foot while getting my other through the leg hole, she yelled out, ‘Pervert!’

“‘I’m not a pervert,’ I yelled. I’m just naked.’”

I turned toward Dad and delivered my final defense: “By then I had both my legs in the panties and I ran off and hid in the bushes and that’s when Jock came looking for me and now you know everything. So, don’t you think Betsy was wrong for what she did and should be punished?”

“I suppose you want some justice?” he said.

“Exactly,” I replied, relieved that he knew what I was going through. “I’m tired of being on the low end of the totem pole.”

“I’m thirsty,” Dad said. “Let’s go to the drive-through and get something to drink and that will give me time to sort this out and come up with a verdict.”

“Okay,” I said, a little disappointed that he didn’t immediately see that I was the injured party in this case.

After we got our drinks Dad finished about half of his before he pulled over by the side of the road. “Well,” he said gravely, “here is what I think. First, I’m disappointed that my oldest son is exposing himself to innocent people on trains and then running around the neighborhood dressed in women’s underwear.”

“I just told you,” I said, pleading. “It’s not all my fault. I’m the victim.”