or her large, blue eyes. Only her family commented on her largest feature, which drew the most attention: her mouth.
Peter stared at his shoes as he entered the store and beelined down the cosmetics aisle to avoid the magazine rack in the front of the store. He took the milliseconds of silence as a good sign, glancing behind his shoulder once he was halfway down the aisle.
He reached the pharmacy department at the back of the store and saw Mr. Handley behind the counter. Mr. Handley was called the Wizard, though never to his face. From the elevated platform behind the counter, Mr. Handley looked like he was seven feet tall, but when he stepped down from the counter, usually to help a customer find a product, one could see that he was no larger than the tallest shelf in the store, providing an Oz-like moment.
“Hello, Peter. I was expecting you. Your mother called this morning,” Mr. Handley said, as he smiled behind the glasses that dangled from the edge of his nose.
Peter looked up at the Wizard. “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Handley handed Peter a stapled, small, white bag. “Your mother asked me to run a tab. I usually don’t do that, but for you . . .” He smiled at his joke and winked.
“Thanks, Mr. Handley.”
Peter stuffed the bag in his front pocket and raced back down the aisle with his head down. When he reached the exit doors, he let out a sigh of relief as he pushed, until he collided with Chipper entering the store.
“Howdy,” Chipper said, his usual greeting in its low, ominous tenor.
“Sorry,” Peter said, sliding fluidly around Chipper and out the door only to bump into one of the goons. The quick change of temperature, and Chipper, dizzied Peter. He quickly considered retreating into the store, saying he forgot something, but Chipper grabbed his shirt and ushered him down the sidewalk. The safety of the store aisles closed with the door.
“Maybe Nemo could help us out, guys. What do you think?”
The goon shook their heads eagerly. Peter didn’t like where this was heading. He concentrated on a crack in the sidewalk as Chipper and the goons formed a triangle around him.
“Hey Nemo, yoo-hoo! I’m up here,” Chipper said, trying to get Peter to look up.
No way, Peter thought. Just do what you’re going to do.
“Nemo, Jason here is working on his first aid merit badge. We need someone to practice splinting and slinging. Can you be our dummy?” Chipper said, which evoked an eruption of goon laughter.
“I have to go,” Peter said. The words fell limply to the ground with no force behind them.
“C’mon, Nemo. I promise no tourniquets.”
Peter shook his head and tried to walk away, but Chipper grabbed him firmly by the shirt with both hands. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“First step, immobilization,” Chipper said in a scholarly voice as one of the goons grabbed Peter from behind.
“Let me go!” Peter said, trying to sound forceful but failing miserably.
Chipper slapped him on the side of his head, the demeaning act more painful than the actual slap.
Chipper glanced down the block. “Oh, I see what the rush is all about, people are waiting for you. Why didn’t you say something?”
Like that would have mattered, Peter thought.
“Who’s that with your Looney Tunes sister, anyway?”
There was no way Peter was answering that question, but then Chipper grabbed Peter’s nipple and turned it like a volume dial.
“My uncle,” Peter said through clenched teeth.
Chipper let out a whooping laugh. “It just keeps getting better and better. What were you doing in Handley’s, buying him a drool bucket?”
The goons’ laughter was delayed, as if they first had to ignore or push down and bury something before rejoining the ridicule.
“You know, Nemo, you should save up and buy a little yellow bus for the entire family.”
Underneath the heavy layers of fear, Peter felt anger boil. He could take the personal attacks, but his uncle should be off limits. His face reddened and his vision blurred. A sudden bang startled them all. Peter felt the grips release him. Mr. Handley was pointing from behind his store’s window.
Chipper waved and smiled. He said under his breath as he waved, “Hi, Mr. Wizard. We’re just taking a stroll down the yellow brick road.” He looked at Peter with disdain. “First your druggie neighbor, now the wizard. You have some luck.”
Peter didn’t agree, but he had no plans to debate the issue. He made a break for it, dashing down the street.
“Run, Nemo, Run!” he heard Chipper mocking him.
Peter didn’t stop until he reached CJ and Uncle Herb. He hid his wet face as he loaded himself on his bike. Uncle Herb and CJ followed naturally.
Herb had seen the end of the altercation. At first, he’d hoped they were friends of Peter, but he was beginning to realize friendship might be a rare commodity for his nephew. Between Slocin Road and watching those boys torment Peter, Herb felt like day two of his vacation had already stripped him raw. He would have loved to rescue Peter, to make him feel protected while instilling a deep fear into those kids, enough to make them think twice the next time they decided to pick on Peter. The painful feelings of inadequacy rushed into Herb, emotions he hadn’t experienced since his own awful adolescence. He was a penguin cursing his flightless wings. He thought being around the kids was a good thing; now he wasn’t so sure.
Peter, CJ, and Uncle Herb traveled home in silence; only the sound of the wheelchair’s motor could be heard above their thoughts.
Night
The carcass of Peter’s air conditioner sat defeated on the carpet below his window, having burnt out over three weeks ago. Peter’s father had promised to fix or replace the AC right after returning from his Arizona business trip, but then it was the New Orleans trip, followed by the most recent trip to Texas. It was depressing for Peter to think of the endless number of cities and states in the country.
Things you can do with a dead air conditioner—a list by Peter Grady. One: stub your toe in the dark. Two: makes a suitable small table or chair. Three: use as an extra hamper.
The heat was relentless, nudging and crowding him. Peter lashed out in bed as if trapped in an invisible net. He peeled back the white elastic band of his underwear and kicked the lone sheet to the bottom of his bed as he sweated and stared into the darkness while imagining himself in an igloo, or making a snow angel in his bathing suit.
Then Peter heard the sound of a footstep, a hardwood plank wheezing in the hallway. Then another. Peter sat up and peered underneath his bedroom door for light. CJ and his mother had the habit of turning the hallway light on when they woke in the middle of the night. No light, but another footstep. Uncle Herb’s room was next to his, and he debated calling out just for show, to let whoever it was in the hall know he wasn’t sneaking up on anyone. It
