The Small Adventure of Popeye and Elvis (5 page)

Three times.

There was the same sloppy handwriting.

The same blue colored pencil.

The boys read out loud together:

 

“Princess . . . Queen . . . T-Bone”

“Y'ALL ARE IN TROUBLE.”

“Y'all are in trouble.”

Prissy and Calvin and Walter and Willis and Shorty danced around Popeye and Elvis, their faces beaming with delight.

Popeye's stomach clumped up into a knot, and worry fluttered around him like a moth around a flame.

Elvis, on the other hand, looked like worry was meant for anybody else but him. He waved off those kids with an annoyed flap of his hand, like swatting at gnats.

Prissy skipped after them as they made their way up the side of the gravel road.

“Your grandmamma was gonna call the police,” Prissy said to Popeye, pronouncing the word
POleese
, loud and dramatic.

“Yeah, and she was banging on our door and hollering in our windows,” Walter said.

“What was she saying?” Popeye said. His voice came out quiet and whiny and worried.

All the kids took turns hollering like Velma.

“You in there, Popeye?”

“Get out here right now, Popeye.”

“I'm gonna skin you alive, Popeye.”

“You got till the count of three, Popeye.”

“So what?” Elvis said.

So what?

Why hadn't Popeye thought of saying that? It was the perfect I'm-not-one-bit-worried kind of thing to say.

So he said it, too.

“So what?”

Only, when he said it, it didn't sound nearly as not-worried as when Elvis said it.

“And Mama is mad as a hornet at you, Elvis.”

Prissy galloped in circles around them. “You were supposed to help Daddy fix that tire jack.”

Elvis shoved her aside. “So what?” he said.

“Yeah, so what?” Popeye said.

“Where y'all been, anyways?” Calvin said.

Elvis stopped and glared into Calvin's face. “Nowhere.”

“Yeah,” Popeye said. “Nowhere.”

Elvis pushed his way through all the kids, and Popeye followed him. When they got to the motor home, Elvis climbed up the ladder on the back and sat cross-legged on the roof. Popeye stayed below, trying hard to push his worry away and look like somebody who says “So what?” and means it. But he was pretty sure it wasn't working. He was pretty sure he looked like someone scared to go home and face the wrath of Velma.

wrath:
noun
; extreme anger

That had been one of Velma's words a few weeks ago.

Popeye had learned it, and now he was going to go home to face it.

Velma's wrath had been swift and mighty.

She had met him at the door with arms crossed and foot tapping, her lips squeezed together into a hard line.

Popeye's feet had felt like cinder blocks as he made his way up the front steps and into the house.

The clock ticked.

A couple of flies buzzed around a half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table.

Boo flopped down on his bed by the woodstove with a grunt.

And then Velma let her wrath fly.

“. . . been calling you and calling you . . .”

“. . . told you not to go . . .”

“. . . that hooligan hippie boy . . .”

“. . . got my hands full with Dooley and now you go and . . .”

Popeye sat on the couch, staring down at the dirt on his knees and letting the wrath swirl around him.

Finally, it stopped.

The clock ticked.

Boo snored.

Velma dropped into her easy chair and turned on the television.

Popeye went out on the porch and sat on the top step. Velma's wrath still hovered in the air like a swarm of hornets.

Popeye let out a big heaving sigh and propped his chin in his hands. He and Elvis had made plans to go back to the creek later that day.

Elvis could waltz out of the Holiday Rambler and trot on back to the creek without a care in the world.

But not him.

He was stuck here under a swarm of hornets, listening to the clock.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

ONE OF THE BEST THINGS about having Dooley for an uncle was that he was very good at diverting the wrath of Velma.

divert:
verb
; to cause to change course or turn from one direction to another

Not five minutes after Popeye had gone out on the porch and Velma had dropped into her easy chair, the phone rang.

It was someone named Sergeant Greeley from over at the Anderson County Sheriff ‘s Department.

Popeye knew this because here is what he heard from his spot on the porch:

“Sergeant who?”

“Greeley?”

“I don't know any Sergeant Greeley.”

“Sheriff ‘s department?”

“What sheriff ‘s department?”

“Anderson County?”

“Well, what in blazes . . .?”

Then Velma's voice went from grouchily irritated to whopping mad.

“I wish to sweet heaven above I
didn't
know Dooley Odom,” she yelled into the phone.

After a few more lines like “Oh, for criminy's sake” and “I need this like I need a hole in the head,” Velma slammed a few doors and muttered some nasty things about Dooley and came out on the porch with her purse and car keys.

When she told Popeye to stay in the house while she was gone, he didn't say “yes, ma'am.”

He didn't nod.

He didn't move a muscle.

But in his head, his thoughts danced.

Anderson County?

Thirty minutes to get there.

Thirty minutes to get back.

One hour.

He had one whole hour to waltz out of the house and trot on back to the creek without a care in the world.

Like Elvis.

Popeye sent a silent message of thanks to Dooley as he watched Velma go roaring out of the driveway and up the road, dirt and gravel flying.

“Calvin and them are gonna try and follow us,” Elvis said. “I just know it.” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Maybe we shouldn't go back there now,” Popeye said.

“We got to.” Elvis pushed through the tall weeds and jumped over a log.

“We could go tomorrow,” Popeye said.

“No way.” Elvis turned to face Popeye. “Look,” he said. “If you don't want to come, that's fine by me. Go on home. But my dad is gonna get that motor
home out of the mud any time now and I want to find out where them boats came from.”

Popeye looked down at the ground. Why did he have to be such a baby about stuff? he wondered. Why was he so scared of Velma and her wrath? What had happened to all that waltzing and trotting he had planned on doing not ten minutes ago?

Why couldn't he be more like Elvis?

They followed the fern-lined path into the woods. The air felt cool and damp. Popeye breathed in the earthy smell of it.

As soon as they got within sight of the creek, Popeye could see the boat, floating there in the little pond created by the dam.

“Hot dang!” Elvis raced toward the creek. “Another boat!” he hollered.

Popeye ran after him, the flutter of worry in his stomach turning to a flutter of joy and excitement. When they got to the creek, Popeye darted in front of Elvis and leaped into the water, shoes and all.

Elvis looked a little annoyed, but Popeye grinned at him as he stood in the creek with minnows darting
around his ankles and held the boat up proudly in the palm of his hand.

“Is there a note?” Elvis said.

Popeye peered into the boat. “Yep.”

He climbed out of the creek, set the boat down on the mossy bank, and unfolded the note.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The boys read the note out loud together:

 

“Float like a butterfly.
Sting like a bee.”

 

qualm:
noun
; an uneasy feeling of doubt, worry, or fear, especially about one's own conduct

Popeye had been having a lot of qualms lately. Yesterday, he had qualms about going so far into the woods where he wasn't supposed to go.

Then he had qualms about leaving the house when Velma told him not to.

And he had qualms about looking for whoever was sending those little Yoo-hoo boats like Elvis wanted to.

So many qualms.

Popeye's stomach didn't feel too good.

He finished his milk and went into the living room to lie to Velma.

Another qualm.

“Can I go over to the ball field behind the school?” he said, keeping his eyes on the faded green rug.

Velma put down her crossword puzzle and looked over the top of her glasses at Popeye. “What for?” she said.

Popeye shrugged.

Velma narrowed her eyes. “With who?”

Popeye glanced at Velma's stack of crossword puzzle magazines.

He glanced at the lady on television mopping her floor and singing about how much fun it was.