Read The Bear in a Muddy Tutu Online
Authors: Cole Alpaugh
The Bear in a Muddy Tutu
Seattle, WA
Published by
Camel P
ress
PO Box 70515
Seattle, WA 98127
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover design by Sabrina Sun
Contact: [email protected]
amel
press.com
Copyright © 2011 by Cole Alpaugh
ISBN
(Paper)
:
978-1-60381-825-4
ISBN (Cloth):
978-1-60381-826-1
ISBN (eBook):
978-1-60381-827-8
For Tylea, Kat, and Regan.
And for my amazing wife, Amy,
whose dancing would be
the envy of Gracie.
Special thanks to the editing talents of Catherine Treadgold, and to the energy of my agent, Dawn Dowdle. And to Stephanie Nebel for showing so many people what is possible.
“From the first page to the last, Cole Alpaugh had my attention. His zany and
colorful characters and style of writing put me in mind of one of my favorite
authors, John Irving. I suspect that I have found my next new favorite
author.
”
—Michelle Hessling, Publisher,
The Wayne Independent
“Pick up The Bear in a Muddy Tutu if you enjoy taking a literary journey that is twisted, peopled by characters who are social misfits, caught up in events that range from bizarrely tragic to merely sad. Reminded me in a way of
A
Confederacy of Dunces
.
”
—Molly Rodgers, Library Director, Wayne County Public
Library
“Reading
The Bear in a Muddy Tutu
is like
running away with the circus.
You won’t regret the emotional ride or the fantastic people you meet, but you might regret not getting to stay longer.
”
—Regan Leigh, writer/blogger
“A deftly written story driven by raw and vivid characters and rich with evocative language and colorful
descriptions. With every page another layer is peeled back as this fascinating, magical tale unfolds—sad or humorous, but always
thoughtful. Alpaugh’s writing does not rely on cheap tricks or predictable plot points, but slowly pulls you in and compels you to stick around for a while. Rest assured, in
The Bear in a Muddy Tutu
, you will constantly be surprised by what happens next.
”
—Rhiannon Ellis, author of
Bonded In Brazil
Contents
1
Billy Wayne felt like he’d grown wings,
a couple of
bone and feath
er things ready to fly him away
from
this lousy place. His head ached a little, like it always did. But it wouldn’t for much longer, not when he got these wings working.
“You walk out that door and you ain’t never allowed back in, Billy Wayne Hooduk
!
”
his mother shouted, the recliner under her bottom groaning from the massive weight. But
Billy Wayne
knew better
. He
was all too familiar with the mumbled pleadings in her tortured dreams.
For
a thousand nights
he had
cring
ed
at the far edge of her bed
,
which reeked of the talcum powder she used on the sores under her breasts. He’d listened in the dark to her fear of him ever leaving, each word another pound of burden pressing down on his chest.
Who
would
do the laundry and the shopping? Who
would
use the pumice stone on her corns? Who
would
help her out of bed to the toilet and wipe
up
her mess?
“I’m a fat old lady and I’m going to die alone in my own filth!
”
Billy Wayne
—
who had baked his own birthday cake and bought his own thirtieth birthday present two weeks earlier
—
stopped on the top step, just on the other side of the storm door. He turned and squinted into the darkness. He could see the back of his mother’s chair, her blubbery right arm draped over one side, a wad of tissues dangling. A soap opera flickered beyond the lunch tray he’d left for her. Billy Wayne
r
ecognized
that the moment he dared turn his back and walk down the cracked front steps of his mother’s house in Asbury Park, New Jersey,
his life
would
change forever. He swore it would. It was his time
. Once he had gone, n
othing could bring him back,
especially
not his mother’s threats.
Billy Wayne put down the small green Samsonite suitcase he was carrying to open the book
that
had caused these turn of events, this new chapter in his life. The book was due back at the library in three days, but the nice lady behind the library desk would just have to order a new copy. Libraries must get all their books for free since they let you read them for nothing. And this book had become Billy Wayne’s bible, more precious to him than it would be to anyone else. Billy Wayne needed it. It had surely been written for him.
How to Become a Cult Leader in 50 Easy Steps
had caught his eye
as he was browsing in
the Religion
S
ection. He’d fumbled the skinny book off the shelf, knowing right away
that
he
ha
d been meant to find it. He opened to the first chapter, and there it was in black and white:
“How do you know you are the Chosen One?
”
Billy Wayne read on.
“Do you hear voices in your head when nobody else is around?
”
“Yes!
”
Billy Wayne was alone
between
the stacks, shaking his head. “Almost all the time.
”
“Have you noticed that people have come to rely on you more and more?
”
“The bed pan,
”
Billy Wayne said with a mixture of
wonder
and disgust.
“Do you feel the suffering of the sick on your back?
”
“Oh, God.
”
Billy Wayne was almost in tears of ecstasy and revulsion. “I have to sponge her privates.
”
“Have you been persecuted for your beliefs?
”
“She threw all my
Screw
m
agazines in the trash and said I was a dirty sinner boy,
”
said Billy Wayne in
a
hushed voice.
“Are you ready to rise from the ashes and take your place as the Chosen One?
”
Billy Wayne’s hands were shaking as he closed the book
and
clasp
ed
it to his thumping chest, letting the epiphany take
full
hold. Sweat dripped down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin.
“I am ready
.
”
All these books about Islam, Christianity, Judaism
,
Buddhism and the Rastafari
an
movement
were
stupid fakes, Billy Wayne thought
. He
r
an
his hand over the shiny cover of this marvelous book
as he turned it
over and over. He didn’t expect to find an author’s photo and
so
he
wasn’t disappointed. Did the Bible have
photographs
?
He opened back up to the first chapter. “Repeat these words: I am God.
”
“I am God.
”
Coming from his mouth t
he words sound
ed
hollow and whiney.
He tried again, deeper, with more authority: “I am God.
”
Better
, he thought,
m
uch, much better
.
“How does saying those words make you feel?
”
he read.
Billy Wayne squinted
in concentration
, making an all-out effort to
come up with
an honest answer.
H
e was overwhelmed with the
notion that
he must answer sincerely, not taking the usual shortcuts. His mother had nagged him about shortcuts
—
how he never finished anything he started, if he even got around to starting in the first place. Having
enough
money to supplement her disability checks was all she’d
ever aspired to
.
As a teenager, Billy Wayne had written down all the names of the neighbors he was going to approach about cutting their lawns
—
all little square plots of grass that would take a few minutes each. He
copied
three dozen names from mailboxes and the phone book, but then
he was distracted by
a toy store flyer.
Billy Wayne’s new list was for all the cool new toys he planned to buy with at least some of the money he was going to earn. A day later, he grew bored of the toys he thought he had wanted. And the whole idea of waking up on Saturday mornings and mowing lawns seemed like so much work.
W
hat was in it for him, anyway? Billy Wayne spent
his
weekends behind sticky bowls half filled with brightly colored milk and a few remaining soggy bits of sugary cereal,
entertained by
violent cartoons.
Billy Wayne was barely a teenager when he came to accept his mother’s assessment regarding the hill of beans he was destined never
to
amount to. Billy Wayne liked beans, especially smothered in catsup and honey, so the abuse rolled right off his plump back.
How did speaking the words
“I am God
”
make him feel? Standing am
id
all
the
shelves
of books
—
dispensing
advice on dieting, having better sex, and making tons of cash selling real estate with no money
down
—
Billy Wayne came
up with
what he considered an accurate
assessment
: “They make me feel big.
”
Billy Wayne Hooduk dug through his jeans pocket
, found
his library card,
and handed
it to the nice lady at the front desk. He stood nervously in front of the circulation computer as she scanned the bright yellow card and the bar code on the book.
Tucking
the receipt inside the front cover
, she
handed it back with a smile.
“It’s due back in two weeks,
”
said the kind library lady.
“Go
d
bless yo
u.
”
The
words caught in his throat
as he took the
extraordinary book from her. What was supposed to
be his first loving
benediction
came out
a mumbled
thank
you,
for
all of his
newfound confidence had
already
wash
ed away. Billy Wayne turned
from wha
t was surely
now a
disparaging
smile and ran for the door
, head
ing
home to pack his Samsonite and try out his new wings.