Chapter Two
A Boogie A Day Keeps
Miguel was
sitting at the kitchen table. He had just finished eating a bowl of Fruit-Loops
and was trying to figure out how to assemble the toy he had fished out of the
cereal box. It was supposed to be some kind of secret decoder, but to Miguel,
the real secret was how to put the thing together.
“Mickey.”
Miguel’s mother came into the kitchen. “Is your bed made?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Did you brush
your teeth?” she asked as she checked her purse for something.
“Yes, Mom.”
Miguel turned his head and flashed her a big, toothy smile.
“See?”
His mother
took his face in her hands and leaned down to inspect his teeth.”Hmmmm. I can
smell the toothpaste, alright.” She smiled and kissed his forehead, tussling
his short, black hair. “Okay, kiddo. Good job.”
“Wait, you
missed somethin’” Miguel smiled wider and stretched his neck up.
“What did I
miss?” His mother asked. She bent over again to look more closely.
When Miguel
thought she was close enough, he wiggled the loose tooth he found this morning,
with his tongue. “Thish.” He giggled.
“Eewww! Ech!” His
mother jumped back while Miguel burst out in laughter.
“Gotcha, Mom!”
he laughed.
His mother
turned to the counter and a fresh pot of coffee. “Honest to God, Mickey, I
don’t know where you get your sense of humor.” She was trying not to laugh.
“You are so…so..gross sometimes.”
“I’m nine
years old. I’m supposed to be gross.” Miguel turned back to his secret decoder
toy.
“Ah..” his
mother replied, “..but tomorrow you’ll be..” And she didn’t get a chance to
finish. Miguel finished for her.
“Ten! I’ll be
ten!” he yelled.
His mother
turned to look at him in her best pretend serious face. “So, does that mean you
won’t be gross anymore?”
Miguel
contemplated, trying to look as serious as his mother was pretending to be.
“Hmm. I think…that…I’ll probably be even grosser!” He punctuated this statement
with an enormous belch, followed by a re-wiggling of the tooth while his mom
watched.
She rolled her
eyes and turned back to her coffee. “Lord, Mickey. Excuse yourself.” It was
difficult for her to sound serious. There was a moment of silence while Miguel
stifled his own need to laugh.
He then
quietly replied with “Ex-squeeze me.” That was enough to get them both giggling
aloud.
When the
laughter started to fade, Miguel’s mother picked up her coffee mug and took a
sip. She eyed Miguel. Miguel met her gaze until it started to feel
uncomfortable and turned back to his cereal box prize. He almost felt like his
mother wasn’t seeing him at all, but someone else.
Without
turning around, he spoke. “Mom?” There was no immediate response, and before he
could speak again, he heard her say “You remind me so much of your father.”
She reached
out with her free hand and ran it through his hair. This was something Miguel
could never get used to. He was never comfortable when she brought up his
father or any resemblance he may or may not have to him. He wanted to tell her
he didn’t care if he looked like his Dad or not. That it didn’t matter. Dad was
dead. Gone. And he wished she would just shut up. He wished she would never mention
him again. Ever. Thinking these things, feeling these things, always made
Miguel want to cry.
She finally
withdrew her hand from his hair and cleared her throat. She could tell he was uncomfortable.
He always was when she mentioned his father. Someday she hoped to find the
strength to ask him why.
“Well, Mr.
Mickey,.” She said, “it’s time to get you to school and me to work.”
Miguel jumped
from his seat to grab his book bag from the handle of the kitchen pantry door.
As he pulled it off the doorknob, his mother asked “Are we picking Tye up on
the way, or is his father taking him to school?”
Miguel turned
and looked at his mother. Tye’s father drank. Miguel knew it. His mother knew
it. Most of the town knew it because the police had been out to Tye’s house
more times than Miguel could count.
“His father
can’t take him, Mom. I think Tye’s Dad lost his license. Probably for good this
time.”
“Oh.” Miguel’s
mother forced a smile. “Well, we better hurry then so we can get both of you to
school on time.” She looked around the kitchen. “Where did I put my car keys?”
she asked more to herself than to Miguel.
As she
searched for the keys about the kitchen, Miguel’s mind began to wander. He thought
about Tye and Tye’s Dad, then his own father, then school, then about being
ten, and then about absolutely nothing at all. Which Little boys are best at.
Just letting their minds roam away to wherever and whenever. More often than
not, when a little boys mind starts to stray like this, his finger, any finger
at all, finds it way to his nose.
Miguel’s
mother noticed when he would ‘blank out’ like this. She accepted it as normal
behavior. At first. But then, it seemed to her that he did it a little too often.
She asked him once where his mind was when he was ‘drifting ‘ like that. She
asked him quietly once when he actually was ‘somewhere’ else. And the answer
gave her a chill.
“ ‘ Miguel?’
she had whispered.
‘Huh?’ he
muttered.
‘Miguel, where
do you go when you ..you..daydream?’
‘Huh?’
‘When you
daydream, Miguel? Where do you go?’
To her, he
seemed almost trance like. She thought not to push any further when he replied.
“You mean..you
want to know…”
“Yes, mommy
wants to know.”
“You want to
know…where I am right now?”
‘Right now?’
she thought. Why he’s here with me in the living room watching TV. What does he
mean ‘where he is right now?’
“Miguel, I
know where you are, silly. Where do your thoughts go?”
There was a
long pause. The calm expression on Miguel’s face changed ever so slightly to
one of contemplation. Almost as if he was hearing what his mother said in
another language.
“Miguel?”
“My thoughts.”
He whispered. “My thoughts go where I go.”
She wanted to end
this conversation ‘now. She had goose bumps. But she couldn’t help herself.
“Okay, Miguel. Then where do you go…with your thoughts?”
And very
slowly, he turned his gaze towards her. Only, when their eyes met, she knew in
her heart and gut that he was not seeing her at all. His gaze was a million
miles away. ‘A universe away.’ She thought.
“I go to
…Everland.”
The hairs on
her arms stood straight up. The breath went out of her and she didn’t really
know why. She was sure of one thing. She didn’t want to know anymore. It was
scaring her. “Creep me out, why don’t you, kiddo?’ she thought to herself. As
she wandered how to proceed, she watched as he slowly raised his right index
finger..and..and..
“Mickey!” she
snapped.
Miguel
started. He looked around the room as if he wasn’t sure where he was. Just the
way he had when his mother had snapped at him when she was questioning him
about…about…’What?’ he thought.
She was
standing in the kitchen staring at him. ‘No, not at me.’ He thought. ‘At my
nose’ and he realized that half his nose was occupied by a quarter of his right
pinky. He quickly removed the finger. “Sorry, mom. Just me bein’ gross again”
He tried to smile but could only fake half a smile.
His mother
walked past him to reach for her purse. “Honestly, Mickey, one of these days
you are going to pick your own brains out.” Grabbing the purse, she shook it
and heard the keys jingle inside of it. “They’re always in the last place you
look.” She said as she fished them out. She turned back to Miguel. “Besides, “
she said, “do you want someone other than me to catch you doing that? I know
how cruel kids can be. Someone at school see’s you doing that and they will
start calling you the ‘Boogie-Eater” or ‘Boogie Man’ or something. Do you want
to go through life being known as the Boogie Man?”
A light came
on in Miguel’s head. A giant light. An enormous flood light. Bright. Almost
blinding him from inside his own head. An explosion of light that carried with
it a word that echoed in his mind like the whisper of a steady wind through the
trees outside his window. The word was ‘Boogie Man’.
‘It couldn’t
have been real?’ he thought. ‘It was just a dream.’
“Mickey!” his
mother urged from the front door. “let’s go.”
“Coming!” He
walked towards the front door. ‘It was just a dream’ he kept thinking to
himself. As he followed his mother out the door and down the sidewalk to the
car he thought to himself. ‘Besides, there is no such thing as the Boogie Man.’