Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы
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“Fine,” I said, thinking about my burglar alarm. “Great.”
“I got your letter,” he said.
“That’s good,” I said. I was so surprised by his call that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Then I asked, “Have you found another dog to take Bandit’s place?” I think what I really meant was, Have you found another boy to take my place?
“No, but I ask about him on my CB,” Dad told me. “He may be found.”
“I hope so.” This conversation was going nowhere. I really didn’t know what to say to my father. It was a shame.
Then Dad surprised me. He asked, “Do you miss your old Dad?”
I had to think a minute. I surely missed him, but I couldn’t say it. My silence bothered him because he asked, “Are you still there?”
“Sure, Dad, I miss you,” I told him. It was true, but not as true as it had been some time ago. I still wanted him to drive to our house in his big truck, but now I knew I couldn’t hope for it.
“Sorry I don’t visit you more often,” he said. “Is your mother around?”
“I’ll see,” I said. By then she was standing by the phone with her hair wet and a towel. She shook her head, because she didn’t want to talk to Dad.
“She’s washing her hair,” I said.
“Tell her that I’ll send your support payment next week,” he said. “Bye, kid. Keep your nose clean.”
“Bye, Dad,” I answered. “Drive carefully.” I guess he’ll never learn that my name is Leigh and that my nose is clean. Maybe he thinks that I’ll never learn that he drives carefully. He doesn’t really. He’s a good driver, but he speeds when he can. All truckers do.
After that I couldn’t think about Young Writers, so I took Ways to Amuse a Dog and read it again. I read harder books now, but I still feel good when I read that book. I wonder where Mr. Henshaw is.
Today is Saturday, so this morning I walked to the butterfly trees again. The grove was quiet and peaceful, and because the sun was shining, I stood there a long time, looking at the orange butterflies flying through the gray and green leaves and listening to the sound of the waves on the rocks. There aren’t as many butterflies now. Maybe they are going north for the summer. I thought I could write about them in prose, but on the way home I started thinking about Dad and one time when he took me along when he was hauling grapes to a winery and what a great day it had been.
Yesterday Miss Neely, the librarian, asked if I had written anything for the Young Writers’ Yearbook, because all writing should be handed in by tomorrow. When I told her I hadn’t, she said that I still had twenty-four hours to do it. So I did, because I really would like to meet a Famous Author. My story about the giant wax man went into the wastebasket. Next I tried to start a story called The Great Lunchbox Mystery, but I couldn’t make it into a story because I don’t know who the thief was, and I don’t want to know.
Finally I wrote a description of the time I rode with my father when he was hauling the load of grapes to a winery. I wrote about things like the road signs and how well Dad managed a long and heavy load on the curves. I wrote about the hawks on the telephone wires, how the leaves on the trees along the river were turning yellow and how good the grapes smelled in the sun. I didn’t write about the waitresses and the video games. Then I neatly copied the whole story and gave it to Miss Neely.
Mom said that I had to invite Barry to our house for supper because I now went to his house after school so often. We were working on a burglar alarm for his room which finally worked with some help from a library book.
I wasn’t sure if Barry would like to come to our house which is so small, not like his, but he said yes when I invited him.
Mom cooked a good supper. Barry said that he really liked eating at our house because he was tired of his little sisters. That made me happy. It helps to have a friend.
Barry says that his burglar alarm still works. The trouble is, his little sisters think that it’s fun to open his door to set it off. Then they giggle and hide. This makes his mother mad, so he finally decided to disconnect it. We all laughed about this. Barry and I felt good about making something that worked even if he can’t use it.
Barry saw the sign on my door that said KEEP OUT MOM THAT MEANS YOU. He asked if my Mom really stays out of my room. I said, “Sure, if I clean the mess.”
Barry said he also wanted a room which nobody ever went into. I was glad that Barry didn’t ask to use the bathroom. Maybe I should clean it after all.
I am thinking about Dad and how lonely he sounded. I wonder what happened to the pizza boy. I don’t like to think that Dad is lonesome, but I don’t like to think about the pizza boy either.
Tonight at supper I asked Mom if she thought that Dad would get married again. She thought for a while and then said, “I don’t see how he could do it. He will need a lot of money. But he still pays for the truck, and the prices of diesel go up all the time.”
I thought about this. “But he always sends my support payments,” I said, “even if he is late sometimes.”
“Yes, he does that,” said my mother. “Your father isn’t a bad man.”
Suddenly I was mad at the whole thing. “Then why don’t you two get married again?” I guess I wasn’t very nice when I said it.
Mom looked at me. “Because your father will never grow up,” she said. I knew that was all she would ever say about it.
Tomorrow we will get the Young Writers’ Yearbook! Maybe I will be lucky to have lunch with the Famous Author.