Comb City

I am not…

A)  Black.

B)  Good at Donkey Kong.

C)  Living at the Argyle Hotel any longer.

D)  A stick like my sixteen year old brother, Timmy.

E)  Jewish.

F)  Afraid of Gargamel.

G)  Sure if I’ll find any cool friends around here.

I’m Philip Winston.  I’m almost ten.  I have blonde hair, I have two birthmarks on my arm, I have a loose tooth I can twist around all the way.  Since the start of summer, we’ve been living in Massachusetts (which is hard to spell because of the double S’s and twin T’s).  Our new house is in a town called Leominster (sounds like Lemon-stir).  Just so you know…it’s not that great.  It’s not that rad to me.  But my father needed to leave California.

Today is Saturday and I’m watching TV, chugging on Tang.  The Smurfs is almost over.  It’s the one where evil Gargamel creates Smurfette.  He brews a potion of crocodile tears and bird brains.  His cat, Azreal, helps too.  They send Smurfette to the village, hoping she’ll destroy everything.  But Papa Smurf discovers Gargamel’s plan.  He saves her with ‘plastic smurfery’ and, in the end, they all start to sing their La La song.

A thousand Chinese names cover the fingerprinted screen.

After a Fruit Roll-Up, maybe I’ll try to find those Smurfs.

I like…

A)  Those boxes of french fries you can heat up in the microwave.

B)  Playing house with Jenn Carr in the hotel lounge.

C)  Summer vacation.

D)  Being the monkey in the middle.

E)  Making scary faces at the people who take my dad’s picture.

F)  Snap Pops.

G)  Hugging my Hefty Smurf figures.

Now I’m bored, though.  There’s nothing left to do here.  My brother’s at the mall and I can’t find any cartoons on cable.  It’s hot, but we don’t have a pool (like a real one, not those dumb baby kinds).

I decide to go looking for their village.  I sneak through the backyard, jumping over booby traps and trip wires.

Bet you didn’t know…but I’m an expert on the Smurfs.  Once, my father called a man named Big Wig and he sent every episode to our suite.  So I know almost all of them are blue.  I know they live in a big secret mushroom patch.   I know Azreal is always lurking, I know Brainy is a jerk, I know Papa is 543 years old.

As I search bushes and weeds, I hear Jokey Smurf laughing.

“Afternoon, Phil.”

It’s my dad.  He stands on the banking.  He wears a plastic jumpsuit, sunglasses, and his favorite hat from Burberry.  Dad carries a large green can while he sprays each apple tree.  I can still see the new stitches on his neck.  My father looks like an alien, I think (close to the one from that space movie he did).

“How’s you cuts, dad?”

He shrugs.  “Fantastic, Phil.  I told you before.  Just a few incisions here and there.  Ten years gone.”

“Okay then.”

“In a few weeks, you’ll see.  Sure, I look like somewhat of a ghoul now, but at least no one from the studios can see my recovery.”

“Well, I can see you.”

My dad looks like he’s frowning on the inside.  “What are you doing anyway?” he asks.

“I’m not doing anything,” I tell him.

“Looks like you’re up to something.  Did you get your beauty rest last night?”

“Not so much.  I unpacked my room, though.”

“If you don’t sleep you’ll go bonkers, pal.  Why can’t you get any Z’s?”

I give him a nasty face.  “Aint my fault.”

“And did you do your jumping jacks today?”

“Yes.”  I’m white-lying.

“Good.  It’d be nice if you lost some of that gut.”

I can see that metal discs are tied to the tree branches.  They’re swinging, shining and hurting my eyes.  So I blink a lot.  “What are those thingys?” I ask and point.

“They’re pie pans.  They keep those damn birds away.  I guess the light scares them.  Mr. Tremaine from across the way told me about it.  Thought I’d give them a try.”  He sprays more.

In my head, I think, “That looks silly.”  But I just tell my dad, “Oh.”

He says, “We’ll have the best trees in town.”

“Why you wetting ‘em?”

“This stuff…its poison.  Gets rid of the bugs that munch on apples.”

“But we don’t have any apples.”

“Not yet.  But soon.  Bugs will eat the leaves too.”

“Well, kill ‘em all,” I say, “Because I hate bugs.”

He squirts a few leaves with white liquid.  Dad says, “That kid Lee came over.  But I told him to come back later.  I know you’ll have a tantrum if anyone comes between you and your toons.  Why don’t you go find him, pal?  Lee wants to be your friend.”

Just so you know…Timmy says that Lee’s mother must be an alcoholic.

I tell my dad, “Lee’s always spying on me.  I don’t want to play with him.”

My dad sprays more.  “Then what’s your plan, Phil?”  He sounds like he could be a little mad.

“I’m looking for mushrooms.”

“They’re not the kind from restaurants.  They’re not the kind from the Ivy.  If you eat them, you’ll have to go to the hospital and get your stomach pumped.  It’ll hurt probably and the photogs will be there,” he says, all snappy.

I Kung Fu kick the brownish lawn.  “I’m not going to eat them.  I’m trying to find the Smurfs.”

“They’re not real, Phil.  We already talked about this, maybe a million times, back in California.”

“Like you know.”

“Don’t get smart.”

Climbing the hill, I dodge deep quicksand.  “Dad?”

“Don’t come too close.”

My father drops the can.  He shakes off his gloves and slow-pokes over to me.  “Go find something to do, Phil.”

I give him a meaner look.

“What’s up your crack?  None of those faces.”

In my brain, I say, “I miss Jenn Carr.”  In my mind, I say, “I miss Mr. Shaw and his multiple choice pop quizzes.”  In my head, I yell, “I’d go to sleep if I could ride in mommy’s limo at night like I always did!”  In real life, I just sort of tell my dad, “I hate it here.”

“Hate is a pretty strong word.  Maybe say, ‘I don’t like it.'”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Well…‘cause it’s stupid.  It’s boring.”  I can smell the Erickson’s BBQ’ing next door.  Just so you know…they’re getting divorced.

My dad crouches down and his suit squeaks a little.  “It’s not so bad,” he says.  “It’s great here.  And, for now, no more movies.  No more meetings.  No more of mom’s old stuff lying around.  This place is…fabulous.  Everything’s just new.”

“Everything’s wacko.”

“I don’t think so,” he tells me.

“Everything’s weird.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Everything’s nutty,” I say.  “Completely nutty.”

“I don’t think so.”

I let out a long, half-whistling breath.

My dad picks up a glass filled with cubes and brown liquid.  He dunks his middle finger in, stirring it.  After, he takes a long sip.  Dad bends down near me and his suit screeches more.  “You’ll love it here, Phil.  I promise.  It’ll be everything you’ve ever wanted.”  He pinches at my round belly.

“What’s so great about Leominster, anyway?” I ask.  “I bet you didn’t know…but Timmy calls it Lame-inster.”

He tells me, “Timmy’s always being a wise ass.  He’s a punk.”

“No, he’s not!”

“Don’t listen to him.  There are lots of wonderful things about this place.”

Dad says that Leominster, Massachusetts is…

A)   “Pant loads of fun.”

B)    “A blast.”

C)    “The town where Johnny Appleseed was born.  He went around planting apple trees and maybe he planted the ones in our yard.”

D)   “A nice place to take a breather.”

E)    “Called ‘Comb City’ because of all the plastic factories that make combs and pens.”

F)    “Not full of demons like Los Angeles.”

G)   “100% just fine for us.”

I watch another boy from down the street.  His name is Levi and he’s hopping around.

Dad says, “So, Phil, Leominster’s really the place to be.”  He squeezes my shoulder.  “Hey…you have an eyelash hanging.  Close it up.”

I shut my eyes.  Dad then blows.  It’s hot.  His breath smells like sweet Crown Royal and a sneaked cigarette.

He says, “Okay.  Unlock ‘em.”

I open my eyes.

“No surgery needed,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“So…you feel better?”

“No.”

“You will.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear…but Timmy says that Leominster’s full of retards ‘cause of all the smoky air from the factories.  Timmy says they’re killing everyone.  And soon, we’ll probably be dead too.”

“Timmy’s a dipshit, Phil!”

I give him a nastier face than before, just like Grumpy Smurf.

“Sorry.  Sorry,” he says.  “If you stop acting this way, I’ll get you a Happy Meal later.”

In my skull, I tell him, “I really really miss mom.”  In my noggin, I say, “I’d blow up our new house if I could.”  In my head, I cry, “This is a nightmare.”  But when I start to speak, I tell him, “Fine.  But I want a cheeseburger Happy Meal.  And make sure they put the toy in the box.  Sometimes they forget and that makes me steamed.  I don’t like to get steamed, dad.  And anyways, you’ll just have to go back.”

“Okay, Phil.  Now scram.”

“Dad?”

“What?”

“Don’t feel bad about losing all your jobs.  I bet you’d still be a great movie star.”

He sprays more poison and I think his face might look a little sad.  “Alright,” he says.    “Thanks, pal.”

I’m in the backyard.  I watch for enemies.  I search for the giant named Bigmouth, hunting for Hogatha, the evil witch.  There’s danger everywhere.

“Smurfy,” I whisper.

Skipping over trap doors, I see one.  It’s a small, brown, spotted mushroom.

I call out, “Papa Smurf?  Vanity?  Clumsy Smurf?  Lazy?  Hefty?  Can you hear me?  Can you see me?  I’m a good guy, guys.  I’m here to help.”

An orangy cat zings by.  Flashing his teeth, he hisses.

I gasp.  It must be Azreal.  “You.  I know what you’re up to.”

I hear Gargamel shouting in the forest.  I think he’s coming closer.

“I’ll stop you both.  You won’t find the Smurfs and you won’t hurt them.”  I pick up dad’s canister and begin to spray Azreal.  I wet his eyes, but he quickly jumps away.  Chasing the cat, I soak his mouth, his ears and his dirty paws.

He tries to crawl away.

“Beware!  Beware!  I’ll save you all.”

My father has stuck Band Aids on his stitches.  Our neighbor, Ms. Minx, is standing on the front lawn with her son, Jeffy.  Jeffy boo-hoos and points at me so I give him silly faces.

Ms. Minx screams, “Our cat collapsed in the driveway!  He crawled up two streets and puked blood in the fucking driveway.  Pepper’s dead!”

My father claps his big hands once.  “How do you know my son did anything?”

The lady says, “Lee from Stearns Ave. came and told us.  He told us that your boy killed Pepper!”

Dad looks at me.  “What did you do, Phil?”

I tell them that…

A)  “I didn’t kill Pepper.”

B)  “I killed another cat.”

C)  “His name is Azreal and he’s evil.”

D)  “I’m a good guy, not a bad guy.”

E)  “If you cry too much, you’ll throw up.

F)  “Maybe your cat will show up soon.”

G)  “But Gargamel might get him.”

My father yells, “Get in the house, Phil!  Now!”

I sit on my new mattress and I’ve stopped crying.

The door opens half way and then, all the way.  It’s Timmy.  His mohawk points at the cobwebs that hang from the yellowy ceiling.  Bet you didn’t know…but Timmy has secret tattoos.

He asks, “So, you killed someone’s cat?”

“No.  I guess, but…”

“I always knew you hated pussy,” he says and laughs.

“It’s not funny.  Not funny.  He was evil.  Don’t you believe me?”

“I don’t know.  You’re always making stuff up.  But don’t have a shit fit, Phil.  Who cares?  You’ll get away with it.  People forget about stuff.  They’ll forgive you ‘cause you’re a kid.  So…raise hell while you can.”

My brother gets blurry because of my tears.  “I feel…not good,” I say, sort of quiet.

“I feel not good too.”

“I want to go back home.”

He smiles.  “Yeah.  But this dump is where we live now.  Hey…I think it’s sucky just as much as you.  Dad wants to disappear so he can make a dumb fucking comeback someday.  Loser.  He’s washed up.”

“What are we gonna do, Timmy?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter.  The fumes from the factories will make us stupid soon anyhow.”

I can hear the neighbor’s sprinkler go click, click, click.

Timmy shakes his head like he’s saying ‘no’ and he tells me, “Some old lady asked for my autograph today.  Must have seen our picture in a magazine or something.  She said she thought mom was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen on TV.”

“What did you do?”

“I told her mom was gone.  Then I signed her arm.”

“That’s nice.”

“I wrote ‘suck balls’.”

It’s after six and the sky looks like strawberry frozen yogurt.

My dad comes in.  I know he’s still mad.  I know he might spank me.  I know he apologized to Ms. Minx, I know he took pictures with her, I know he wrote a check. Dad’s tossing an apple from hand to hand.  On his neck, a row of wet brown stitches ooze blood and dad’s skin is shiny, puffy and pink.  He looks like a zombie to me (close to the ones from his first monster movie).  I feel scared.  In my head, I shout, “Go away!”  In my thoughts, I tell him, “Everyone hates me now.”  In my brain, I yell, “I’m trapped in heck!”

“No Happy Meal, Phil.  I brought you a snack, though” he says, holding out the fruit.

I hug my Hefty Smurf figures.  “I don’t want it.”

“Alright.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Fine, Phil.”

“Mom would never have brought us to a place like this!  Never!”

He quietly says, “Well, she’s the one who overdosed.”

“Stop talking please!”

“She did this to me too.  It’s not just you.  I should still have a wife.  And a People’s Choice Award too.”

My dad slams the door.

But I crawl inside a big moving box with Hefty Smurf.  I touch his round bicep and his hat.  I rub my finger between his legs. I lick him. I kiss his nose and his heart tattoo, over and over.