The Smell of Other People's Hou - Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock Page 0,10
you want to grab some socks or something nice for yourself.” I don’t tell George that this is the Salvation Army, so finding something nice for myself is probably a long shot. Besides, my mother would absolutely know if I got cash credit and didn’t give it to her.
When I walk back past Second Avenue in the bunny boots, all Crazy Dancing Guy says to me is, “What didn’t you fail at today? Five, four, ten, thirty-seven.” He does not stop dancing. Arms and legs flying, cars honking, him smiling and waving. He says it twice more, “Five, four, ten, thirty-seven,” so that the numbers stick in my head like a song. Just when I think he’s done he yells, “I like your boots.”
Dumpling runs up from behind and links my arm with hers, completely ignoring Crazy Dancing Guy.
“Hey, Dora.”
“Hey, Dumpling.”
She swings her braid around and smacks me in the face with the red ribbon that she wears every single day.
“Where you off to?” she asks, looking at my boots and of course not mentioning it.
I flash the five-dollar bill in my mittened hand and she knows that I’m on my way to the Sno-Go to give my mother her change.
“Bunny was named for those boots,” she says.
“What were you named for?” I ask.
“Some dish one of the priests made for my mom when she was pregnant with me, chicken and dumplings? It’s the only time my mom had chicken. She said it’s just like ptarmigan, but not as tender.”
We laugh at the utter practicality of Dumpling’s parents, which makes me feel all warm inside until I get a whiff of something dark and smoky, like burnt toast, which I recognize as the smell of my family compared to hers. I wonder if a person can ever really shake where they come from.
“Want me to come with you to the Sno-Go?” she asks.
“Oh, you don’t have to. I know you can’t stand all the smoke.”
She turns and presses her face close to mine.
“Please don’t make me go home. Bunny and Lily are driving me mad with the TV. They don’t even watch the shows; they just wait for the commercials and then turn the volume up to about a million.”
It’s just like Dumpling to act like I’m doing her a favor by letting her come with me to the bar. “All right, if it means so much to you,” I say. The truth is, I kind of have a soft spot for the Sno-Go, because it was there that my father lost his temper and shot up the bathroom with a rifle. And that’s why he got thrown into the slammer. He didn’t hurt anyone; he just went in there drunk and decided to remodel the bathroom with a gun. So now he’s in jail for “reckless endangerment” and I can sleep at night—more or less—as long as I’m at Dumpling’s and her dad makes sure to bolt the front door.
—
It’s only four p.m. but the Sno-Go is packed. I secretly love the way the cigarette smoke billows out the door and mixes with the ice fog. When we step inside, nobody knows who we are for half a second while the air settles. Then they all see us. There’s a few high-pitched whistles, lots of laughter. Dumpling’s parents never come to the bar, but my mom is here every single day with her loud-sister pals.
“You got a credit from George,” I tell Mom, once we make our way over to where she sits with Paula and Annette. “Can Dumpling and I have a couple dollars, though, for a Dairy Queen?” She grabs the bill from my hand with a big, dimpled grin and I know it’s as good as spent.
But I made sure to ask within hearing distance of Paula. “Wait, it’s on me, you two,” she says right on cue, whipping out her beaded wallet. Paula can be very generous after a few drinks, which makes me think she’s had an okay childhood.
I will never touch booze and I hope to God that’s a promise I can say I didn’t fail at.
“Thanks, Paula,” I say as she gives me a wadded-up bunch of bills and a messy, pungent kiss on the cheek.
Nick is behind the bar and calls us over. My mom dated Nick for a while after Dad left. I liked him more than the others. Even though he tends bar, he never came home drunk. And he’s got nice teeth, which you don’t see every day.