Draanen Wendelin Van - Flipped

Besides, I didn’t want to make up some lame lie about it. I actually wanted to talk to Garrett. I mean, he was my friend, and a lot had happened in the last couple of months that was weighing on me. I thought that if I talked to him, maybe he’d help get me back on track. Help me to stop thinking about everything. Garrett was real reliable in that arena.

Luckily, in social studies our class got library time to do research for our famous historical figure report. Darla and Juli were both in that class, but I managed to drag Garrett into a back corner of the library without either of them noticing. And the minute we were by ourselves, I found myself laying into Garrett about chickens.

He shakes his head at me and says, “Dude! What are you talking about?”

“Remember when we went and looked over her fence?”

“Back in the sixth grade?”

“Yeah. Remember how you were down on me for wondering what a hen was?”

He rolled his eyes. “Not this again….”

“Man, you didn’t know jack-diddly-squat about chickens. I put my life in your hands and you dumped me in a bucket of bull.”

So I told him about my dad and the eggs and salmonella and how I’d been intercepting eggs for nearly two years.

He just shrugged and said, “Makes sense to me.”

“Man, she caught me!”

“Who?”

“Juli!”

“Whoa, dude!”

I told him about what I’d said, and how almost right after that she was out playing weed warrior in her front yard.

“Well, so? It’s not your fault her yard’s a mess.”

“But then I found out that they don’t even own that house. They’re all poor because her dad’s got a retarded brother that they’re, you know, paying for.”

Garrett gives me a real chumpy grin and says, “A retard? Well, that explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “What?”

“You know,” he says, still grinning, “about Juli.”

My heart started pounding and my hands clenched up. And for the first time since I’d learned to dive away from trouble, I wanted to deck somebody.

But we were in the library. And besides, it flashed through my mind that if I decked him for what he’d said, he’d turn around and tell everyone that I was hot for Juli Baker, and I was not hot for Juli Baker!

So I made myself laugh and say, “Oh, right,” and then came up with an excuse to put some distance between him and me.

After school Garrett asked me to come to his house and hang for a while, but I had zero interest in that. I still wanted to slug him.

I tried to talk myself down from feeling that way, but in my gut I was flaming mad at the guy. He’d crossed the line, man. He’d crossed it big-time.

And what made the whole thing so stinking hard to ignore was the fact that standing right next to him, on the other side of the line, was my father.

Sunday mornings are peaceful in our house. My father lets himself sleep in. My mother lets herself not fix breakfast. And if my brothers have been out late playing with their band, you won’t even know they’re around until noon.

Usually I tiptoe out to collect eggs while everyone else is asleep, then spirit a bowl of Cheerios back to my room to have breakfast in bed and read.

But that Sunday—after spending most of the night feeling upset or uneasy—I woke up wanting to do something physical. To shake off the confused way I was still feeling.

What I really needed was a good climb in my sycamore tree, but I settled for watering the lawn while I tried to think of other things. I cranked open the spigot and admired how rich and black the dirt looked as I sprinkled back and forth across the soil. And I was busy talking to my buried seedlings, coaxing them to spring up and greet the rising sun, when my father came outside. His hair was damp from a shower, and he had a grocery sack rolled closed in his hand. “Dad! I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t, sweetheart. I’ve been up for a while.”

“You’re not going to work, are you?”

“No, I… ” He studied me for a moment, then said, “I’m going to visit David.”

“Uncle David?”

He walked toward his truck, saying, “That’s right. I… I should be back around noon.”

“But Dad, why today? It’s Sunday.”

“I know, sweetheart, but it’s a special Sunday.”

I turned off the spigot. “Why’s that?”

“It’s his fortieth birthday. I want to see him and deliver a gift,” he said as he held up the paper bag. “Don’t worry. I’ll rustle us up some pancakes for lunch, all right?”

“I’m coming with you,” I said, and tossed the hose aside. I wasn’t even really dressed—I’d just pulled on some sweats and sneakers, no socks—but in my mind there was no doubt. I was going.

“Why don’t you stay home and enjoy the morning with your mother? I’m sure she would—”

I went over to the passenger side of his truck and said, “I’m coming,” then climbed inside and slammed the door back in place.

“But—” he said through the driver’s door.

“I’m coming, Dad.”

He studied me a moment, then said, “Okay,” and put the bag on the bench seat. “Let me leave a note for your mother.”

While he was inside, I strapped on the lap belt and told myself that this was good. This was something I should’ve done years ago. Uncle David was part of the family, part of my father, part of me. It was about time I got to know him.

I studied the paper sack sitting next to me. What was my father bringing his brother for his fortieth birthday?

I picked it up. It wasn’t a painting—it was much too light for that. Plus, it made a strange, muted rattling noise when I shook it.

I was just unrolling the top to peek inside when my father came back through the front door. I dropped the sack and straightened up, and when he slid behind the wheel, I said, “It’s okay with you, isn’t it?”

He just looked at me, his hand on the key in the ignition.

“I… I’m not ruining your day with him or anything, am I?”

He cranked the motor and said, “No, sweetheart. I’m glad you’re coming.”

We didn’t say much to each other on the drive over to Greenhaven. He seemed to want to look at the scenery and I, well, I had a lot of questions, but none I wanted to ask. It was nice, though, riding with my father. It was like the silence connected us in a way that explanations never could.

When we arrived at Greenhaven, my father parked the truck, but we didn’t get out right away. “It takes some getting used to, Julianna, but it does grow on you. They grow on you. They’re all good people.”

I nodded, but felt oddly afraid.

“Come on, then,” he said, taking the sack from the seat. “Let’s go inside.”

Greenhaven didn’t look like any kind of hospital to me, but it didn’t look quite like a house, either. It was too long and rectangular for that. The walkway had a faded green awning that covered it, and flower beds alongside with freshly planted pansies that looked muddied and slightly askew. The grass was patchy, with three deep holes dug near the building.

“The residents tend the grounds,” my father said. “It’s part of their occupational training program, and it’s therapeutic. Those holes are the future homes of Peach, Plum, and Pear.”

“Fruit trees?”

“Yes. The vote caused quite a commotion.”

“Among the… residents?”

“That’s right.” He swung open one of the glass double doors and said, “Come on in.”

It was cool inside. And it smelled of pine cleaner and bleach, with something vaguely pungent underneath.

There wasn’t a reception desk or waiting area, just a large intersection with white walls and narrow wooden benches. To the left was a big room with a television and several rows of plastic chairs, to the right were open office doors, and beside us were two pine armoires. One was open, with half a dozen gray sweaters hung neatly in a row.

“Good morning, Robert!” a woman called through one of the office doors.

“Good morning, Josie,” my father replied.

She came out to meet us, saying, “David’s up and about. Has been since around six. Mabel tells me it’s his birthday today.”

“Mabel is right again.” He turned to me and smiled. “Josie, it’s my pleasure to introduce my daughter, Julianna. Julianna, meet Josie Gruenmakker.”

“Well now, isn’t this nice,” Josie said, clasping my hand. “I recognize you from David’s photo album. You’re gettin’ ready to graduate into high school, isn’t that right?”

I blinked at her, then looked at my dad. I’d never really thought of it that way, but I could see that he had. “Yes, I… I suppose I am.”

“Josie’s the site administrator.”

“And,” Josie added with a laugh, “I’m not graduatin’ to nowhere! Been here seventeen years, and I’m staying put.” The phone rang and she hurried off, saying, “Gotta get that. I’ll meet up with you in a bit. Check the rec room, then his room. You’ll find him.”

My dad led me around a corner, and as we proceeded down a hallway, the underlying pungent part of the smell got stronger. Like the place had had years of Mystery Pissers, with no one quite neutralizing what had been tagged.

Down the hall was a small person hunched in a wheel-chair. At first I thought it was a child, but as we approached, I could see it was a woman. She had almost no hair, and as she gave my dad a toothless smile, she grabbed his hand and spoke.

My heart bottomed out. The sounds she made were choked and lost on her tongue. Nothing she said was intelligible, yet she looked at my father with such intensity—like of course he understood what she was saying.

To my complete surprise, he said, “You’re absolutely right, Mabel. It is today. Which is why I’m here.” He held up the grocery sack and whispered, “I’ve brought him a little gift.”

“Gwa-aaal,” she said. “How’d you know?”

She gurgled at him until he patted her hand and said, “I’m much too predictable, I’m afraid. But he enjoys them, and… ” He noticed her gaze shift in my direction.

“Hoo haa,” she said.

“This is my daughter, Julianna. Julianna, I’d like you to meet the extraordinary Miss Mabel. She can remember everyone’s birthday, and she has a real passion for strawberry milkshakes.”

I managed a smile and whispered, “Nice to meet you,” but all I got in return was a suspicious scowl.

“Well, we’re off to David’s,” my father said, then shook the bag. “Don’t spill the beans if he happens by.”

I followed him to a bedroom doorway, where he stopped and called, “David? David, it’s Robert.”

A man appeared at the door. A man I would never have picked out as my father’s brother. He was stocky, with thick brown glasses, and his face looked puffy and pale. But he threw his arms around my father’s chest and cried, “Wobbad! Yaw heew!”

“Yes, I am, little brother.”

I followed them into the room and saw that the walls were covered in a collage of puzzles. They’d been glued directly to the walls and even up on the ceiling! It was cozy and comfortable, and interesting. I felt as though I’d entered a quilted cave.

My father held his brother at arm’s length and said, “And look who I’ve brought along!”

For a split second David looked almost frightened, but then my father said, “It’s my daughter, Julianna.”

David’s face broke into a smile. “Ju-weee-an-na!” he cried, then practically tackled me with a hug.

I thought I was going to suffocate. My face was buried as he squeezed the air out of me and rocked from side to side. Then with a giggle he let go and flopped into a chair. “Is mooy bwuf-day!”

“I know, Uncle David. Happy birthday!”

He giggled again. “Fwank eoow!”

“We brought you a present,” my dad said as he opened the paper sack.

Before he had it out, before I saw the actual size, I remembered the sound it had made when I’d shaken it in the truck. Of course! I thought. A puzzle.

Uncle David guessed it, too. “A puwwwle?”

“Not just a puzzle,” my dad said as he pulled it out of the sack. “A puzzle and a pinwheel.”

Dad had wrapped the puzzle box up in pretty blue paper and had taped the red-and-yellow pinwheel on as a bow. Uncle David snatched the pinwheel right off and blew. First gently, then fiercely, in great spitty bursts. “Ownge!” he cried between blows. “Ownge!”

Very gently Dad took it from him and smiled. “Red and yellow do make orange, don’t they?” David tried to grab it back, but my father said, “We’ll take it outside later. The wind will blow it for you,” and pressed the puzzle back in his hands.