gray's bidets - ch. 3

7/31/2019 Gray's Bidets - Ch. 3

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Chapter Three

Im trying to put it all together. I had this unusual dream last night and when I woke up, I

couldnt make sense of it. It could have been because I watched Hamlet on BBC before going to

bed, but I dreamt that Paul, the man from the funeral, killed my dad and that I was the only person

who knew about it. Eventually, Paul turned into Michael Jackson and I ended up beating him up

with a PVC pipe onstage in front of a huge crowd of fans, but thats neither here nor there. Every-

one thought Hamlet was crazy, but his dad appeared to him and showed Hamlet how Claudius

killed him, so I knew Hamlet wasnt crazy. Im not crazy either. I know someone killed my dad,

and I think it was Paul. Ive just got to put it together.

When I got to school that day, I found Simone at her locker. I noticed Jackson Skinner was

at his locker too, so I made myself look unsuspecting and pedestrian. I stood behind the door of Si-

mones locker, blocking my view of Simone from the waist up.

Wheres your chem notes? Simone asked, still rooting through her locker.

I shrugged, even though she couldnt see me. Jackson shut his locker across the hall and

made eye contact with me.

What are you staring at, queer?

Thats Jacksons way of insulting me. I doubt he actually thinks Im gay, but thats what he

calls me. Id have at least a little respect for him if he threw some real insults my way. Insults that

required thought and planning.

Simone turned around and looked at Jackson. I looked down at the ground.

Youre staring too, Simone said. But she didnt sound mean at all.

I glanced up to see if Jackson had responded, but hed already walked away from us down

the hall with several huge, stupid friends. Jackson Skinner is one of those guys whos not very

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good looking, and hes not nice or funny or smart. Yet, somehow, everybody likes him. Or tolerates

him. In middle school he was just as scrawny as I was, but now he makes it a point to show me

how strong he is. Usually by threatening to break my nose. But I dont care. Im much smarter than

he is, and Im going to have a better career, family, and sense of moral priorities, so I dont let any

of that bother me.

Henry. The locker in front of me slams shut.

I looked at Simone. Her eyebrows seemed glued to her eyelids, like a permanent scrunch-

ing frown.

What? I asked.

I need your notes, man! Simone ran her hands through her hair, her fingers got caught at

the top of her head, so she shook her head and sighed with her teeth clenched together. Mr. Vargas

hates me and I have to ace this final if I dont want to take him again next year.

The bell rang with little click-clacks. It sounded more like a rattle than a bell because it

broke over Christmas break when it rang for two weeks straight without anybody noticing. I rested

my head against the locker next to Simones, letting my forehead slide over the cool, raised slits.

Im trying to figure it out.

Simone stopped fidgeting in her bag and looked at me. Figured what out?

I shook my head. Ill tell you when were in Spanish.

No, dude. Simone yanked on her zipper and shut her backpack closed. I cant afford to

not pay attention. Seora Eisenberg is telling us all the questions from the final today.

Fine, I said. Skip your bus then and just walk home with me after school.

Simone nodded. Righto.

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School went by rather quickly today. I dont even remember whether I had any lunch. All

through my classes, I made and studied lists instead of making notes. Im a smarter than average

student. In fact, Im very smart. Im just not very studious, which is very different. When people

hear I have ADHD, they automatically associate me with pogo-stick-jumping little boys who say

everything that comes to mind and cant pay attention to anything because theyre crazy. Thats a

common misconception. I dont have problems paying attention, the problem is, I have problems

not paying attention. I see everything. I know that the tiles on the floor of our nurses room are

cracked and painted over in the corner next to the water cooler and the stack ofPeople maga-

zines. Nobody reads those magazines except for the nurse because shes divorced. I heard her men-

tioning it to our receptionist once when I was waiting for my dad to come pick me up from school.

Our receptionist has coral colored nails that she keeps manicured. I think theyre fake because they

sound very sturdy when she drums them against her desk, unless she takes vitamins to make her

nails stronger. I know that the clock in our cafeteria is slow because sometimes the hands take two

or three seconds to tick instead of the necessary one second (hence, a second hand). I know that

Simone chews watermelon-flavored gum and that she bites her nails because she has hangnails all

the time. They dont look that bad, though, especially because she paints them, but I can still see

her hangnails. The problem is that I usually think about things all at once when I notice them, un-

less I take my medication. That helps me stay focused, thus allowing me to think about only one or

two things at a time. However, sometimes I forget to take my medication, or Im having a bad day,

and I cant focus on anything, so I think about everything. My teachers would say Im a bad stu-

dent, but I guarantee that theyd all say Im smarter than average.

Today, Id taken my medication, so I could focus. But I didnt want to focus on math or

physics or literature or P.E. even though finals were this week. I know I could pass all my classes

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without much time devoted to studying; there were more important things to worry about and I

needed to move while the trail is fresh.

When school was finished, I waited for Simone by her locker, still looking over my lists

and notes.

- Newsies hat: Eccentric? Time spent abroad? Fan ofNewsies?

- College engineering program: Methodical, scientific, inventive(?)

- Businessman at Angel Soft: More interested in money than engineering?

- Knows Uncle Tom and me as a baby: Old family friend? Old family enemy?

- Angry conversation with Tom: Quick-tempered? Guilty?

The hallway got quieter. Most people had left for their buses or cars. Soon I heard skidding

shoes walking across the tile floor in my direction. That was Simone. She always skidded her

shoes, scuffing black marks onto the floor because she never picked up her heels. Ive told her that,

but she still does it all the time.

Ready? I looked up at Simone with my notebook hugged against my chest.

Simone nodded. Sorry, I had to talk to Mr. Vargas about extra credit. Lousy bastard.

We walked through the football field, cutting through groups of runners as they ran around

the track. I looked around to make sure no one was watching us, then walked closer to Simone.

I think that guy at the funeral mightve killed my dad.

Simone stopped talking. She almost stopped walking, but I didnt stop because I didnt

want to look suspicious to anyone who might be spying on us. I waved Simone to keep walking, so

she kept pace with me, but she still stayed silent.

I opened my notebook. Im trying to see a motive. Theres always a reason people murder

other people, right?

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Unless theyre crazy. Simone shook her head.

I pointed to her, nodding. Right. I thumbed through the pages, looking over my notes.

Maybe if I talked to Tom, or even my mom?

Simone frowned. I dont know if your mom would want to talk about the guy who killed

your dad.

We came to the crosswalk in front of my neighborhood, waiting on the corner after Simone

pushed the button.

She doesnt think my dad was murdered.

Simone shrugged. Still.

Nah, youre probably right, I said, turning back to the lists. He said he worked at Angel

Soft.

Thats a toilet paper company.

I stopped, staring at Simone. She looked back without moving any part of her face.

What?

Yes! I didnt even think about it! I stared hard at the ground, putting my hand to my cheek

and patting it. I pat it faster and faster, buzzing my lips to drown out the sounds of the cars and

their radios playing through their windows.

Henry, what? Simone grabbed my wrist. I looked at her, smiling.

Think about it. Remember my dads company he wanted to patent?

Simones face lit up. Grays Bidets! she said, hitting her forehead.

He was this close to starting his own line, I said, pinching my fingers together.

Simone nodded, laughing. Trust your A with a Gray.

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My dad is a plumber, but hes also a fantastic engineer and inventor. He lived in Argentina

for two years before he married my mom and when he was there, all the people he lived with

owned bidets because nobody used toilet paper. When my dad came back to the States, he was

hooked. He bought a mobile bidet and used it everywhere. He installed bidets in our house so that

wed never have to buy toilet paper. Eventually, he started constructing newer bidets of his own in

the basement. He told me bidets were better than toilet paper for three reasons: cost-effectiveness,

water efficiency, and sanitation. He tells me all the time, Henry, bidets are the future. When he

gets the patent, he says, every American home will have a bidet from Jason Gray.

Of course. It all made sense. Paul works for Angel Soft, a toilet paper company that would

lose significant revenue in the U.S.one of the few first world countries that relies predominantly

on dry paper sanitation, by the wayif bidets replaced their household market.

A car horn sounded right next to me, making me jump.

Henry! Simone pulled on my arm.

I turned and saw a man in a Toyota Tercel with his blinker on, turning. I looked down at the

crosswalk Id stepped in, then took a step back.

Whoops. I smiled.

Simone exhaled sharply, sounding like a jet of water spraying from a hose. You need to

look where youre going.

The crosswalk sign turned green and I kept walking onto the road. I turned to look at Si-

mone, who was a few steps behind me. Simone, I said, this is a conspiracy.

She raised her eyebrows. You mean like Watergate?

I nodded. Something like that.

Paul, you slimeball.

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gray's bidets - ch. 3

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