What's eating Gilbert Grape? (34 page)

"Look at your momma." Momma says. "Only for that boy and this day. Remember that. Only for that boy and this day. ..." She sees me and she turns silent. "You probably hate my new hair, don't you, Gilbert?"

"No," I try to say.

Janice and Ellen come in from outside. They're talking at the same time about how wonderful "the girls" look. Janice suggests a haircut for me. "I've got the proper kind of scissors." She cuts all her boyfriends' hair, she says. Ellen talks about how maybe one day she'd like to open a beauty parlor. Janice looks concerned and Ellen assures her that she'd prefer to be a stewardess, but she does add, "Imagine the satisfaction."

"Of what?" asks Janice.

"Of making the ugly beautiful."

Everything stops for a second, awkward. Momma says, "And what do you mean by that?"

Ellen looks around. Even she realizes what she just implied.

Amy intercedes with, "She didn't mean anything by that. Momma. Nothing at all, right?"

Ellen says, "I didn't mean a thing."

Momma goes, "Hey, you think I don't know? This new hair is the biggest collective waste of time. I look like a ball of yarn!"

The girls protest, "No, Momma, you don't. "

Momma screams, "I LOOK WORSE AND WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT WAS POSSIBLE?"

What's Eating Gilbert Grape

I watch them, hear every word, but all my thoughts are of Arnie.

Momma gets situated in her blue chair. Janice suggests that she sleep upstairs and Momma mumbles something about this being her house and she sleeps where she wants and that even ugly people should get to pick where they sleep.

Janice goes, "You're not ugly."

"Yes, I am. I am most ugly. And nobody's gonna see me. Nobody."

Ellen and Janice say, "Oh, Momma," at the same time.

She says simply, almost with pride, "Nobody's gonna see me."

I escape into the kitchen where 1 find the new-and-improved Amy looking disappointed at the Food Land cake.

"Arnie got into it," I say, looking guilty.

"Wouldn't you know it?"

I want to tell Amy about what I did to him. 1 lost control, 1 beat up Arnie—what will I do next? I'm about to confess, when she says, "Do you like this new look on me?"

She doesn't look like the Amy 1 know. Her hair is feathered and frosted. Her upper eyelids are painted blue. She holds up a white bag. "Charlie sold us all these makeups and eyeliners and crud. Janice says they're all things we miist have, so of course we bought them."

Amy keeps on talking. I'm looking at the cake, only thinking about Arnie. "Gilbert, come back. You've drifted off."

"Oh, sorry."

"Something wrong?"

"No."

"Thanks for picking up the cake. Hey, you get Arnie clean?" she calls out.

I say nothing as I start up the stairs.

Ellen and Janice are on the porch, giggling. Momma sits in her chair, pulling at her hair.

"Shhh," 1 say to the girls, "he's asleep."

"Who is?"

"Arnie," 1 say.

Janice calls back, one of her brown cigarettes in her mouth, "Since when did you care so much about Arnie's well-being?" Ellen takes a drag from Janice's cigarette and coughs.

PETER HEDGES

Normally, I'd say something smart in return, I'd fight back. But tonight—and for the first time in a long time—I think Janice might be right.

"I was only joking," she calls out. And then to Ellen, 1 hear her ask, "What's up his ass tonight?"

1 sit in my room and wait for them all to go to sleep.

It's the middle of the night and my stomach is wrenched. I can't take it anymore. I had planned to prepare a breakfast treat and have it waiting for him in the morning. But there won't be any sleep until I apologize, until I beg his forgiveness. So I approach his room. I look at the sign on the door, "Arnie's place." I crack open the door. I step around his toys, his room is dark, my hand reaches for his mattress when I see his window open, wide open. He isn't in the top bunk or the bottom. He's not hiding in his closet. I look out the window. He's climbed out and down or else he fell.

Jesus. Arnie is gone.

I move to my room fast and get my shoes. Downstairs, Momma sits with the TV on. She is mumbling about something, talking in her sleep.

I move around our yard, whispering, "Arnie? Arnie?" I check the trampoline, the swing hanging oflf the willow tree.

I drive up and down the streets, checking the water tower. No Arnie. The Civil War cannon on the square. Back to the water tower. 1 call his name, but there is no answer except for a soft wind. My hands are trembling and I drive cilong the highway to see if he's trying to hitch a ride to the cemetery. One time we found him there—he was jumping up and down on our father's grave. He told us it was to "wake him up." There is no trace of him. I drive to the railroad tracks and the abandoned bridge.

I'm at a loss as to where to check. I picture all the things that could have happened. Hit by a car or maybe he fell oflf the water tower or maybe he's lost in a corn field.

At the south stoplight, I hear water sloshing. I get out of my

What's Eating Gilbert Grape

truck and run across the road, leaving the engine running and my headlights on. I'm fifty yards from the Endora town pool when I hear splashing and Arnie going, "No. No!"

There's a blue light that shines on the water. From the fence, I can make out Becky swimming in her undies and her bra. Arnie sits in the lifeguard chair. He's still in his Superman pajamas, but without his cape. Becky is splashing and treading water, her hair in a ponytail. They don't see me. I put my fingers in the chain-link fence and watch as Becky stretches out her arms. She says, "You can do it, Arnie. You can."

"No. Noooo."

"Remember what I told you?"

He nods.

"And we don't want that? Right?"

Arnie slowly stands, lets out a yelp. He tries to jump, but it's more like a fall. He makes a big splash when he hits.

He flails about and Becky applauds.

And as the remaining dirt on Arnie starts washing away, it begins. My eyes burn at first from the sensation. It feels like chunks of ice moving down my face. They roll and roll. I need windshield wipers, I say to myself.

I walk back to my truck, turn off the lights and the engine, and sit with the window down. I bite my lip and feel them streaming down, without effort, these tears. I listen to the splashing laughter and Arnie screaming, "I'm a fish. I'm a fish."

I stay in my truck and watch as Becky and Arnie climb back over the fence. She puts a towel on his head. He looks like a boxer after a fight. I drive my truck up, my eyes must look red and puffy, and say, "Need a lift?"

Becky looks surprised. It's maybe the first time I've caught her off guard. Arnie, his face and body cleaner than ever before, covers his mouth to hide his smile.

I open the passenger door, he leaps toward me, wrapping his arms around my back and kisses my neck.

"Gilbert. Gilbert."

PETER HEDGES

We hold each other—there's a battle to see who can squeeze the hardest. Either Arnie forgot or he forgives too easily.

He rides in the bed of the truck and Becky rides in the front with me.

"How'd you . . . how'd you . . . ?"

"He was running down Main Street. 1 was out walking."

"But . . . ?"

"But what?"

"How'd you get him ..."

"That was easy. 1 told him you'd leave Endora if he didn't ..."

"Oh."

"He loves you, Gilbert."

"Yep." I know this. Doesn't she know that 1 know this?

"And you love him."

1 press my foot on the brake and come to a stop. Arnie taps on the rear window. "Yep," I say. She rests her hand on mine.

"Thirsty!" Arnie shouts from the truck bed.

I stop off at ENDora OF THE LINE and get Arnie a root beer. He drinks it on the porch and falls asleep without finishing it.

"I'll be back," I say. I carry him upstairs to his bed, the way my father used to carry me.

Becky and 1 sit on the porch and she says that she's not sleepy. I say, "The sun will be coming up soon." She has one cigarette left in her pack. I go inside and borrow Momma's matches and we smoke it. We sit on my porch, everyone inside asleep, and it suddenly occurs to me. "It's Arnie's birthday."

"Yes." Becky says. "It's his birthday."

Part

Six

We talk for a while, Becky and me. I drive her home, and as the sun is rising, I sit on our porch.

I must have nodded off for a bit because I'm woken up by a rapid successions of pokes landing on my forehead. "Okay, I'm awake!"

I open my eyes and see him half smiling, smelling of aftershave, his hair still wet from a shower he must have taken at a nearby motel. He goes inside the house, calling out, "What's for breakfast?"

"I don't know, Larry. "

"Where is everybody?"

"Still asleep," I say, following him.

"Smells the same."

I can't tell if Larry means that to be a good thing or not. Surely the smell of our house, even though it might evoke some perverted nostalgia, is not a pleasant one.

It's early morning. Larry cases the downstairs, studies Momma, puflFs his cheeks full of air to indicate how big she's gotten. Then he says, "Help me unload the car." So we go out to his car and it is packed full of presents, different-shaped boxes, all nicely wrapped, expensively wrapped.

There must be sixteen, eighteen boxes now sitting in the family room.

I say, "You outdid yourself this year. Arnie is gonna die."

"Not funny."

"It's a figure of speech."

Larry squats. He wears brown polyester pants and brown shoes, a yellow shirt with a brown tie, a belt, brown. He cracks a smile looking at all the gifts. He must be picturing the look Amies face will make.

"The kid will squeal," I say.

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PETER HEDGES

Larry keeps looking around, as if I don't exist, as if he's alone in the house. I'm about to say "Yoo-hoo," when he stands, brushes down his pants, and heads out the house to his car. He drives away without so much as a good-bye or "Be back in a few."

I go out back and sit on the swing. Larry's swing. The one he built. 1 remember how he used to push me.

It's an hour later, at least, when Amy taps on the kitchen window. She waves me in.

"1 checked on Arnie. He looks so clean, I barely recognized him. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

I take Amy into the family room and show her the stacks of presents. "Larry was here."

"Christ. Go wake Arnie up."

"Let him sleep."

"Wake him up. This is his day."

"Let him sleep."

I am firm and Amy gestures a surrender. "You win."

Later, Ellen and Janice are on the porch. Momma is up. No TV today—she is supervising Arnie's restacking of the presents, Larry's presents, with which he will try to make up for a year's absence.

I'm decorating out back, when Larry's car returns. He stands in front of his car, his arms extended, expectant, and calls out, "Arnie. Arnie! It's your brother. Your favorite brother."

Arnie bounds out the porch and leaps into his arms. Arnie has been bought.

I hear Janice and Ellen oooing and ahhhing over Arnie and how clean and nice he looks. Momma, too. Momma is shrieking she's so happy.

I keep decorating, tying balloons to the edge of the trampoline. I pop a balloon and look around to see if anyone heard, if anyone noticed. No dice.

For the party, activities have been planned from one to three. At three, there will be cake and ice cream. At three-thirty, there

What's Eating Gilbert Grape

was to have been a dance to early Elvis songs, Amy's idea, but I suggested that a bunch of retards dancing in public would be quite a scene. One retard is fine. But a party load of them could cause quite the uproar.

Tucker calls to say he had hoped to stop over. "But with this being the Grand Opening week and my extra duties as assistant manager, I'm going to have to RSVP."

Momma went into the bathroom at about noon and she's still not emerged.

1 knock on the bathroom door. "All the retards are here. The parents, the neighbors. There are fifty people in our backyard. Momma. Amy says you want to watch from the house. Well, okay, whatever. The party has been a success, a rccil gem of an Endora event. Maggie Wilson took some pictures for the Endora Express. But the cake is beginning to droop in the sun. You've got to come out. Momma. Momma?"

She slides open the door, her eyes all red. I say, "Hey, you okay?"

"Gilbert, every day 1 prayed to God who 1 hate. I prayed for one thing. Keep my Arnie alive long enough for me to see this day . . ."

"I know."

"Let me finish. I prayed to that bitter bastard of a God, I said 'Let me see my boy turn eighteen and I'll forgive you.' Now, I've done my forgiving. And now, I'm ready for some cake." She pushes through the door and I move out of her way so as not to get squashed. She is breathing heavily, the back of her tentlike dress dripping in sweat, her feet in a pair of Larry's slippers. She shuffles to the back door and looks out at the party, which is in full swing. Momma won't go out in public but the people sense her watching. They know she's here. Even though they can't see her, they know Bonnie Grape approves.

I watch as she sees the kids bouncing on the trampoline, the parents chatting among themselves, and neighbor kids straddling their bikes. "Mr. Lamson just dropped by a gift. He's waving at you. Momma." She steps back farther into the house. I open the door and Ccill out, "Thank you, Mr. Lamson. My mother sends her

PETER HEDGES

regards!" He nods and smiles and gives Arnie a pat on the back. Mr. Lamson walks to his wife and their Dodge Dart.

I shout, "Cake! Cake!" and the kids come running. Hardly kids, I say to myself, seeing that some of them are older than me. One of them, Sonny, is thirty-five, and he's lost most of his teeth. He walks with a limp, and he has a facial twitch. His mother must be seventy—she yells at him to get over to the cake. "You love cake. Sonny," she says. "Cake is your favorite."

Sonny's mother is the only person other than family allowed into the house to see Momma. They are old friends from way back.