Jim & Me (3 page)

WHENEVER I WANT TO IMPRESS MY TEACHERS AT SCHOOL
, I use the word “ambivalent.” It's a great word because most kids don't know what it means.

Well, I'll tell you what it means so you can use it at school and impress
your
teachers. It means having mixed feelings. Like when you can't make up your mind about something and it really tears you apart. This is a problem I seem to have a lot.

When Bobby Fuller asked me to take him back in time to meet Jim Thorpe, I promised him I'd think it over. So I did.

Before I made any decision one way or another, I figured I'd better get some information. The Louisville Library is just a couple of miles from my house, so I hopped on my bike the next day after school and rode over there.

Yeah, I know the Internet is easier. I could have
just Googled “Jim Thorpe” and found a zillion websites about him. But I like to look through books. I like the feeling of paper on my fingers. Maybe I'm old-fashioned. And I get sick of staring at a screen all the time. It hurts my eyes.

Anyway, there's only one number in the Dewey Decimal System that I know by heart—796. That's the number for sports. If you walk into any library in America and go to 796 in the nonfiction section, you'll find a shelf or two of sports books.

I scanned the shelves until I found some books about the greatest athletes of all time. If Jim Thorpe was as amazing as Fuller said he was, he should be in there, right?

Well, what I found was a little bit suprising. Not only did Jim Thorpe play major-league baseball, but he also played professional football. So I was right! In fact, he was one of the original members of the Football Hall of Fame. But the most interesting thing was that Thorpe didn't become famous for playing baseball
or
football. He became famous because, in the 1912 Olympics, he won gold medals in the decathlon and the pentathlon.

I didn't even know what those events were at first, so I looked them up in a book about the Olympics. In the decathlon, it said, athletes compete in ten different track-and-field events, everything from sprinting to pole vaulting to throwing the javelin. So the winner of the Olympic decathlon is considered to be the best all-around athlete in the
world. The pentathlon, which isn't in the Olympics anymore, was made up of five other events. Thorpe won that too.

These days, hardly any pro athletes play more than one sport. Most of them specialize, and many even specialize
within
their sport. Like in baseball they've got “closers,” whose job is to come in and pitch just one inning. They've got designated hitters who don't have to play the field. In football they've got guys who
only
punt, or do nothing but return punts.

But Jim Thorpe did it
all
—baseball, football, plus all those track-and-field events. He must have been like Superman in his time.

I know a lot about sports, but I had no idea how great Jim Thorpe was. It didn't make sense that somebody who was that good wasn't more famous. Why hadn't I heard about this guy before?

Then I got to a part in the book that caught my eye:

What?! The guy was the greatest athlete in the world and they took his Olympic medals away because he made a few bucks playing baseball? Wow.
That was unbelievable. Jim Thorpe really got screwed over.

Maybe I'm dumb or something, but I didn't even know there was a day when professional athletes weren't allowed to compete in the Olympics. I mean, pros are in the Olympics all the time now. You see NBA “dream teams” playing Olympic basketball. You see NHL stars playing Olympic hockey. You see Olympic athletes in TV commercials. They have to be getting paid. How else could they afford to train so hard for four years if they don't get paid? What are they supposed to do for money, deliver pizzas?

I always thought the Olympics were about being the
best
, not being the best amateur or the best professional. It shouldn't matter who you are.

There was an old newspaper article about Jim Thorpe printed in the book. I made a photocopy in case I might need it later.

All kinds of thoughts were running through my head as I sat down with the book. Maybe Bobby Fuller was hoping he could warn Thorpe about what was going to happen to him. Maybe he was hoping he could save Jim Thorpe's reputation, and make his great-grandfather a hero again. Return the glory to his family, and to all American Indians. Maybe Bobby wanted to go back in time and change history.

And I was the only one who could help him.

I was feeling…well, ambivalent. And when I'm feeling ambivalent, I'll tell you what I do. I take a sheet of paper and put a line down the middle. I write PRO on one side of the line and CON on the other. Then I try to figure out which side of the paper deserves to win.

I thought about that last point on the PRO side. It was a long shot, but maybe if Bobby went back in
time and met his great-grandfather it would turn him around as a person, help him solve his personal problems. Maybe he wouldn't be so angry at the world. And then maybe he wouldn't be so angry at
me
.

I looked over my sheet of PROS and CONS and asked myself if one side outweighed the other. There was no clear winner. I was leaning toward the CON side, but I was still ambivalent.

“The library will be closing in 15 minutes,” the librarian announced over the loudspeaker.

I put the books away and rode my bike home.

 

My mother was putting dinner out when I opened the kitchen door. Uncle Wilbur was at the table waiting to eat. He's really old, even older than Flip.

“Wash your hands, Joey,” said Uncle Wilbur.

“Where were you?” asked my mother.

“At the library,” I told her.

“Doing homework?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted.

After I washed up, I told them what I'd learned about Jim Thorpe. Uncle Wilbur said he remembered Thorpe as a football player, but even
he
was too young to remember the 1912 Olympics.

“I don't trust that Fuller boy,” Mom said as she put some vegetables on my plate. “What if you two go back in time and he steals your baseball card? You'll have no way to get home. You'll be stuck in the past forever. Did you think about that?”

She was right. And it hadn't crossed my mind.

“I wouldn't put it past him,” I said.

Uncle Wilbur sighed and we looked at him. Oh yeah. If I didn't have the power to travel through time, I wouldn't even
have
an Uncle Wilbur.

You see, a year ago, my Uncle Wilbur didn't exist. It's true! I was always told that he died as a child in an influenza epidemic that killed millions of people back in 1919. But when I went back to that year to meet Shoeless Joe Jackson, I also met Wilbur when he was a boy. I had some flu medicine with me and I gave it to him. When I came back to the present day, Uncle Wilbur was alive. So I guess the medicine saved his life. It was a happy accident.

“What do I always tell you to do when you get a lemon?” Uncle Wilbur asked.

“Make lemonade,” I replied.

“Right,” he said. “And what do I always tell you to do when life throws you a curve?”

“Hit it,” I replied.

“That's right,” Uncle Wilbur said. “Hit it
hard
.”

At some moment in time you have to stop
thinking
about whether or not you should do something and just
do
it. So I decided I would take Bobby Fuller back in time to meet Jim Thorpe. I would do it for Bobby's sake, even though he was a world-class jerk. My good deed for the day. For a lifetime, really.

After dinner, I cleared off the table and helped my mom wash the dishes. Then I looked up Bobby
Fuller's phone number in the school directory and called him.

“Did you think about what I asked you?” Bobby said as soon as he recognized my voice.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Come on over.”

WHEN BOBBY SHOWED UP AT OUR FRONT DOOR A FEW
minutes later, he had a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Look,” I told him, “this isn't going to be an overnight thing, okay? We're going to meet Jim Thorpe and come right back. It will be 15 minutes, tops. In and out. You got that?”

“Relax, Stoshack,” Bobby said. “I like to have my stuff with me in case of an emergency.”

I poked his backpack. “What've you got in there, anyway?”

“Hey, get your paws off!” Bobby said. “It's my meds, okay? Yeah, I'm ADD. I'm screwed up in the head. Are you happy now, Stoshack?”

Well, I
knew
he was screwed up in the head, but lots of kids have ADD without being psychos.

“The backpack will be a dead giveaway that
we're from the future,” I told him. “Kids didn't have backpacks in the old days. We'll want to blend in, not stand out like a couple of freaks.”

“You said it would be 15 minutes,” Bobby argued. “What's the big deal?”

Man, I hate Bobby Fuller. Something about him always brings out the worst in me. Everything he says just makes me mad. It's the same for him about me, I suppose.

I led Bobby into the living room. My mom was still puttering around the kitchen and I could see her peeking at us through the doorway.

“A little privacy, please?” I said.

Instead of doing what I asked, Mom came and plopped right in the middle of the couch, patting the cushions on either side of her. Bobby and I sat down.

“I just want you boys to know that I expect you to be on your very best behavior,” she said. “That means no fighting, no swearing, no drinking, and nothing illegal. You've got to try to get along with each other. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom,” I said.

“Yes, Mrs. Stoshack,” Bobby said.

“And be
careful
!”

“We will,” we promised.

She was probably remembering the time I took her back to 1863 and we landed in a graveyard, with bullets and shells exploding all around us. She wasn't too happy about that.

Mom went back to the kitchen and returned
holding two brown paper lunch bags. One was marked
BOBBY
and the other was marked
JOEY
.

“In case you need a snack,” she said before hurrying upstairs.

It was quiet in the house. Uncle Wilbur had already gone to sleep. Bobby and I sat on the couch. I put my mom's silly lunch bags aside. No way was I taking them with us.

“What do I have to do?” Bobby asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I do the work. You got the card?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket. I had him put it on the coffee table instead of in my hand. As soon as I touch a card, it sets the wheels in motion for me to go back in time. I wanted to be sure I was ready.

“Okay,” I said, “hold my hand.”

“What?!” Bobby exclaimed. “Are you kidding? Forget it, Stoshack! I'm not holding hands with you.”

“What's your problem?” I said, not really wanting to know the answer.

“I'm not holding hands with a
guy
,” he said.

“Look, I don't particularly want to hold hands with you either,” I said. “But I can only take somebody with me if we're holding hands. It's sort of like completing an electrical circuit.”

“It's
stupid
, is what it is,” Bobby said.

“Fine,” I told him. “Don't hold hands. I guess we're not going to meet Jim Thorpe after all.”

“Okay, okay,” said Bobby.

He took my hand like he was picking up somebody's used tissue.

“Oh, wait a minute!” I said, pulling it away.

Suddenly I realized I had forgotten something crucially important—a pack of new baseball cards. Just as an old baseball card would take me to the past, I would need a new baseball card to get me back to the present day. If I went back in time without some new cards, I would have no way to get home. I'd be stuck in the past forever.

I bounded upstairs two steps at a time and fished around in my desk until I found a new pack of cards. Then I went back down to the living room. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Our return ticket,” I said, showing him the cards before sticking them in my back pocket.

“You ready now?” Bobby asked. “Let's blow this pop stand.”

Bobby took my hand again and I picked the Thorpe card up off the table. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't even checked the year of the card. I usually try to research where I'm going before I get there. No time for that now. Oh, well, it would only be 15 minutes anyway.

“What's supposed to happen?” Bobby asked.

“Be patient.”

“Nothing's happening,” Bobby said after a few seconds.

“Close your eyes,” I instructed him. “You'll see.”

“How can I see if I close my eyes?” he asked.

“
Shhhh
,” I said. “Relax. I need to concentrate.”

I closed my eyes and thought about Jim Thorpe. Soon I started feeling the slightest tingling sensation in my fingertips.

“Hey, I think I feel something,” Bobby said.

“That means it's working,” I whispered.

The tingles buzzed the fingers of my left hand, which were holding the card. I held it tightly so I wouldn't drop it. After a few seconds, I could feel the tingling sensation moving up my wrist and along my arm. It reminds me of a cat's purring.

It was getting stronger, like a wave moving toward the shore.

The tingles washed across my chest and down my legs.

There was no stopping it now.

I couldn't drop the card if I wanted to.

I could feel my body getting lighter.

Molecule by molecule, I was vanishing from the present day.

My whole body was vibrating.

I wanted so badly to open my eyes and watch myself disappear, but I didn't dare.

And then, finally, the wave crashed against the sand. We were gone.