Mercy on These Teenage Chimps (12 page)

Jessica was a good listener. She cut her eyes to Joey when he pontificated with expressive gestures, and then she swiveled her attention to me when I bragged about our culinary skills.

"You guys are so much fun," Jessica praised. We blushed. "You are two of a kind."

"That's right!" Joey blared. He went on to talk about our bad side, such as when we had written our names in wet cement.

But for me the conversation stopped when I caught sight of a cinder, red as evil, floating through the air and settling on the wood-shingled roof of the Rios house. The cinder had floated from the backyard, where the grill was.

"I got to go do something," I told them.

"What?"

I remembered Joey. I remembered the awards banquet and how he had leaped to his feet and become a hero. Couldn't I do the same? Would some cute girl see me?

"Something," I answered vaguely. I slithered down the rope ladder and ran to the house with Tammy on my heels. I looked for a way to boost myself up and saw a wooden ladder lying in the bushes. I pulled, dragged, and set the ladder against the house. I was up on the roof in a flash. As I waved at Joey and Jessica in the tree, I realized that both their names began with a J. Was it a coincidence? Or cosmic? Would I find a Rebecca or a Rachael?

But I had no time to ponder my future love life because a breeze had breathed on the cinder, setting a shingle on fire. It was sort of like a small campfire—flames leaping but not high. I started stomping, jumping up and down on the flames, rubbing them with the soles of my shoes and even spitting at them.

After I crushed the fire, I stood on that shingle to smother it for good. I could feel some heat in my shoes, but I was determined to conquer that trouble spot on the roof.

"What's going on up there?" Joey's mom was gazing up at me. She was holding a skewer of vegetable shish kebab—how sweet she was to remember that Joey and I were vegetarians.

"It's a small fire, Mrs. Rios," I yelled. "Don't worry. I put it out already." I felt like a hero and even envisioned my photo in the newspaper. I saw myself being presented with a gift certificate and a bronze plaque. And was that me at the wheel of Pinkerton's fire engine?

To further demonstrate my heroics, I started stomping on the smoldering shingle, a mistake because I lost my balance, fell on my rump, and started skidding off the roof.
Yikes,
I whimpered.
Here I go
again.
Once again, I saw my life flash past me—Joey and I in our strollers, the day at the zoo with Mom and my deadbeat dad, my trike, my first bike, a heaping pile of Sacagawea dollar coins, my two years in Little League, my one year of really bad soccer, again my trike, bowls and bowls of bananas and apples, again my first bike but this time in the back of that mean teenager's truck. I saw my life whiz past and in those seconds I realized that maybe Mom was right when she said that life is short. But could it be this short?

As I flew off the roof, I caught sight of Tammy. She was gnawing at a flea on her shoulder and seemed indifferent to my possible demise. I had time to see Joey and Jessica in the tree, their mouths open as I fell. I had time to see Mrs. Rios who was holding up that skewer of vegetables—my reward for a flight more dangerous than gymnastics, perhaps even more gutsy than a thirteen-second pin in wrestling. I gulped. I winced. I sucked in a lungful of air, and realized that I had done at least one thing memorable in my thirteen years: I had brought Joey and Jessica together.

Like a cat, I landed on my feet. But like a gymnast I then dropped and rolled, gathering up grass and creating a dizzy spin inside my head. Tammy barked and wagged at my accomplishment.

"Ronnie, are you okay?" Mrs. Rios asked.

I staggered to my feet, brushed myself off, and let Tammy lick my fingers, which burned with pain from splinters.

"Yeah, I'm talented at falling off roofs."

Mrs. Rios handed me the skewer and disappeared into the house for rubbing alcohol and tweezers to yank out my splinters with.

I sat down on the lawn, where I nibbled the middle goodies on the skewer—the roasted tomatoes first, followed by what I discovered were chunks of zucchini—and then jerked out of that tasty experience when I heard Joey cry, "Are you okay?"

I got to my feet, churning the food in my mouth. I swallowed. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Was that a fire?" Jessica asked.

I could see her pants legs but not the rest of her. She and Joey were still way up in the branches.

"Yeah, it was."

Joey told me that I was really brave and announced that he would be coming down from the tree.

"Take your time." I needed to enjoy that skewer. As I devoured the tasty veggies, I came to understand that I had matured. I dabbed the corners of my mouth with the napkin Mrs. Rios had handed me. When I burped, I said, "Excuse me." I was a boy who had crawled out of the muddy swamp of childhood.

"That was hard," I mumbled. I thought about what it had taken to get Joey to want to come down. I sighed, wiped my greasy hands on the grass, and began to pluck at a sliver.

I was going to wait for Joey and Jessica to rappel down the tree. There was no hurry. I had just graduated from being a sloppy boy into adolescence. I wasn't even worried about my chimp looks. I felt happy. It was late Sunday afternoon, and shadows were lengthening where only a few minutes ago our town of Pinkerton had been bathed in spring light.