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Richard Bausch: IMG Why Literature Can Save Us



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    Before, During, After

    Richard Bausch 9780307266262

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1 Beaverton Literature- A to Z

The Book of Bright Ideas:

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The Book of Bright Ideas: Cover

ISBN13: 9780385338141
ISBN10: 0385338147
Condition: Standard
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Excerpt

1

I should have known that summer of 1961 was gonna be the biggest summer of our lives. I should have known it the minute I saw Freeda Malone step out of that pickup, her hair lit up in the sun like hot flames. I should have known it, because Uncle Rudy told me what happens when a wildfire comes along.

We were standing in his yard, Uncle Rudy and I, at the foot of a red pine that seemed to stretch to heaven, when a squirrel began knocking pinecones to the ground with soft thuds. Uncle Rudy bent over with a grunt and picked one of the green cones up, rolling it a bit in his callused palm before handing it to me. It was cool in my hands. Sap dripped down the side like tears.

“Heres somethin I bet you dont know, Button,” he said, using the nickname he himself gave me. “That cone there, it aint like the cones of most other trees. Most cones, all they need is time, or a squirrel to crack em open so they can drop their seeds and start a new tree. But that cone there, it aint gonna open up and drop its seeds unless a wildfire comes through here.”

“A wildfire?”

“Thats right,” Uncle Rudy said, scraping the scalp under his cap with his dirty fingernail. “See them little scales there, how theyre closed up tight like window shutters? Under- neath em are the seeds—flat little things, flimsy as a babys fingernails—with a point at one end. If a fire comes along, the heat is gonna cause those scales to peel back and drop their seeds, while the ground is still scorching hot. Then that tiny seed is gonna burrow in and take root.”

I was nine years old the summer Freeda and Winnalee Malone rushed across our lives like red-hot flames, peeling back the shutters that sat over our hearts and our minds, setting free our sweetest dreams and our worst nightmares. Too young to know at the onset that anything out of the ordinary was about to happen.

I was sitting on my knees behind the counter at The Corner Store playing with my new Barbie doll, her tiny outfits lined up on the scuffed linoleum. It was the first day of summer vacation, and Aunt Verdella was watching me because my ma was working for Dr. Wagner, the dentist, taking appointments and sending out bills and stuff like that. Aunt Verdella didnt work, like my ma, but shed been filling in at the store for Ada Smithy (who was having a recuperation from an opera- tion, because shed had some ladies troubles). It was Aunt Verdellas last day, then Ada was coming back, and we could stay at Aunt Verdellas while she looked after me.

Aunt Verdella was standing next to me, the hem of her dress like a blue umbrella above me. She was talking to Fanny Tilman about Ada, and Aunt Verdellas voice sounded almost like it was crying when she said, “Such a pity, such a pity,” and Fanny Tilman asked her what the pity was for, anyway. “Adas well past her prime, so seems to me that not getting the curse from here on out should be more of a blessing than a pity,” she said, and Aunt Verdella said, “But still . . .”

While they talked, I was trying to get Barbies tweed jacket on, which wasnt easy because her elbows didnt bend, and that tiny hand of hers kept snagging on the sleeve. While I was tugging, I was itching. I was looking at the little clothes spread out and trying hard to remember if she was supposed to wear the red jacket with the brown skirt or the green skirt. I cleared my throat a few times, like I always did when I didnt know what I was supposed to do next, and Aunt Verdella looked down at me. “Button, youre doin that thing with your throat again. Whats the matter, honey?” Aunt Verdellas voice was loud, so loud that sometimes it pained my ears when she wasnt even yelling, and her body always reminded me of a snowman made with two balls instead of three. The littlest ball was her head, sitting right on top of one big, fat ball.

I stood up. My knees felt gritty and I glanced down at them, hoping they werent getting too dirty, because I knew Mas lips were gonna pull so tight theyd turn white, like they always did when Aunt Verdella brought me home looking all grubby. “I cant get her jacket on,” I said.

I handed Aunt Verdella my Barbie, the tweed jacket flapping at her back. Aunt Verdella laughed as she took it. Fanny Tilman peered at me, her puffy eyes puckering. “Is that Reece and Jewels little one?” she said, like Aunt Verdella could hear her but I couldnt. I put my head down and stared at a gouge in the gray countertop.

“Yep, this is our Button,” Aunt Verdella said. She wrapped her freckly arm—stick-skinny like her legs—around me and pulled me to her biggest ball. It was soft and warm, not snowman-cold at all.

“She looks like Jewel,” Mrs. Tilman said, and she sounded a bit sorry about this. I saw her looking at my ears, which were too big for my head, and the face she made made me feel smaller than I already was. Aunt Verdella thought that long hair would hide my ears until I grew into them, but Ma said long hair was too much work to keep neat and she already had enough to do. Every couple of months, shed snip it short, thin it with those scissors that have missing teeth, then curl it with a Tony perm. When she was done, my hair was bunched up in ten or eleven little pale brown knots. I wanted hair long enough to hang loose past my shoulders and cover my ears when I was around people, and to put up in a ponytail that swished my back when I wasnt. But, shoot, I knew Id never have anything but those stubby knots.

Aunt Verdella finished dressing Barbie, then handed her to me. I stood there a minute, wanting to ask her which skirt matched, but I didnt want to talk with Fanny Tilman still looking at me, so I sat back down on the linoleum and stared at the two skirts some more.

Aunt Verdella had the door propped open with a big rock, because it was nice outside and the store was too hot with the sun beating through the windows. I was staring at the doll clothes when the sound of metal scraping on pavement filled the store.

“Uh-oh, somebodys losing their muffler,” Aunt Verdella said. The racket from the scraping muffler got louder and sharper before it came to a stop. Aunt Verdella got up on her tiptoes, the tops of her white shoes making folds like Uncle Rudys forehead did when she brought home a whole trunkload of junk from the community sale.

“Good Lord, look what the cats drug into town now,” Fanny Tilman said. “Just what we need, a band of gypsies.”

“Oh, Fanny!” Aunt Verdella said.

I heard a door creak open, then slam shut. A ladys voice started talking, but I couldnt make out what it was saying. I heard some banging and then, “Jesus H. Christ! Is anybody gonna come pump my gas or not?” Folks who got gas at The Corner Store pumped their own gas, except for a couple of old ladies and the outsiders. Aunt Verdella called out, “Ill be right there, dear!”

“Excuse me, Button,” she said as she stepped over me and hurried around the counter. I put my fingertips on the counter and pulled myself up to take a peek. Mrs. Tilman was standing in the open doorway, her purse clutched in her arms like she thought the “gypsies” were going to try swiping it. She was busy gawking, so I stood all the way up and peeked out between the handmade signs Scotch-taped to the window.

The bed of the red pickup truck at the pumps, and the wagon towed behind it, were piled high with junky furniture I knew didnt match and boxes stuffed with bunched-up clothes and dishes that spilled out over the tops.

My eyes almost bugged out of my head when I saw the lady who was standing next to the truck while Aunt Verdella pumped her gas. She had the prettiest color hair Id ever seen. Red, but like a red Id never set eyes on before: shiny like a pot of melted copper pennies. Not dark, not light, but somewhere in between, and bright like fire. She stretched like a cat, the sleeveless blouse tied at her waist riding up a belly that was flat and the color of buttered toast. She was made like my Barbie doll, with two big bumps under her blouse, a skinny waist, and long legs under kelly-green pedal pushers. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses with a row of rhinestones at the corners that shot rays into my eyes when she turned toward the store. There was something about the lady, too, that shined just as bright as her hair and those rhinestones. Not a warm kind of shining, but a sharp kind, like bright sun jabbing through the window and stinging your eyes.

Aunt Verdella cranked her head toward the store and yelled, “Button, bring Auntie the restroom key, will ya?”

I stepped up on the wooden stool and reached for the key, which was taped to a ruler so it couldnt get lost easy, and I hurried it outside. As much as I hated meeting new people, I wanted to see the pretty lady up close.

The Barbie lady took off her sunglasses and poked them into her fiery hair, which was piled high on her head in a messy sort of way. She had green eyes like a cats, and her eyelids were sparkly with the same color, clear up to her eyebrows. She had real nice ears too. Tiny, and laying flat to her head like ears are supposed to. I handed Aunt Verdella the key, and she gave it to the pretty lady, who was glaring at the truck, a crabby look on her face. “The ladies restroom is right around the west side of the building, honey,” Aunt Verdella told her.

The pretty lady tapped the ruler against her thigh. “Winnalee Malone, Im gonna blister your ass if you dont get out of that truck this instant and go pee. You hear me?” Id never heard a lady swear before, so I know my eyes must have stretched as big as my ears.

The windshield of the truck was blue-black in the sun, so I couldnt see who she was talking to. Aunt Verdella put the gas handle back onto the hook alongside the pump, then headed over to the drivers door where the Barbie lady was standing, still tapping the ruler on her leg. “Oh my,” Aunt Verdella said. “Aint you the prettiest little thing! Youve got a face like a cherub.” Aunt Verdella said “cherub” more like “cherry-up.” “Why dont you come out here and say hello? I got Popsicles inside. A free one for the first pretty little customer who uses the restroom today.” Aunt Verdella looked at the lady and winked, then turned back to the truck. “Come on, now, honey. We dont bite.”

The Barbie lady lifted her arms and slapped them against the sides of her thighs. “Ah, to hell with you, Winnalee. If youre gonna be stubborn, then sit there till your bladder bursts, for all I care. Im too tired to argue with you.”

“Winnalee? Now, aint that the prettiest name. Whered you get a pretty name like that?” Aunt Verdella asked.

“From my ma,” said a voice from inside the truck. “Its a homemade name.”

The lady cussed again, like ladies arent supposed to do, then she said, “Winnalee, Im not going to stand here and piss my pants waiting for you. You coming or not?”

Aunt Verdella cranked her head around. “You go on to the restroom, dear. I got a way with children,” she said, then she winked again. The pretty lady made a growly sound in her throat, then she headed toward the building, her heels clacking against the pavement.

It took a while, but finally Aunt Verdella coaxed Winnalee out. When I saw her, I could hardly believe my eyes: She had long, loopy hair the color of that stringy part inside a cob of corn, but with some yellow mixed in too, and it hung clear down to her butt. It didnt have any rubber bands or barrettes in it, so it floated in the breeze like a mermaids hair under water. Her face was round and pink, with little lips that looked like they had lipstick on them. She was wearing a ladys mesh slip, and it was rolled up at her round belly to keep it from falling down. She had on a white sleeveless blouse that belonged on a grown-up too. One side of it slipped down her arm and she crooked her elbow to keep it from falling all the way off. She didnt look at us but turned to reach for something on the seat. I scootched over by Aunt Verdella to see what the mermaid girl was getting.

“Well, my, what do you have there, Winnalee?” Aunt Verdella asked as the girl slid out of the truck holding a capped, shiny silver vase in her arms, cradling it like it was a baby doll.

“Its my ma,” Winnalee said.

“Your ma?” Aunt Verdella asked, suddenly looking a bit shook up.

It was like Aunt Verdella didnt know what to say—which I was sure was because she was thinking the same thought as me. That there wasnt a lady anywhere small enough to fit into that vase. Either Winnalee was funning us, or else she was just plain nuts. Instead, Aunt Verdella asked her about the thick book she had tucked under her armpit. “Button likes to read big books too, dont you Button?” she said, putting an arm around me.

“Its her Book of Bright Ideas,” said a voice behind us in the same tone that the snotty big kids who picked on us little kids at recess used. I turned and saw the pretty lady standing there, her hands on her hips, her legs parted. She was looking up and down the street.

It was like Aunt Verdella didnt know what to say again, so she said nothing except that if Winnalee was a good little girl and went potty, shed give her a Popsicle or an ice cream bar.

The lady grabbed a big black purse off of the seat of the truck and we all headed toward the store, Winnalees loopy hair dancing, her mesh slip flapping in the breeze like fins.

Fanny Tilman backed out of the doorway and slipped behind a grocery shelf, where I knew she was gonna stay hid, like a mouse waiting for somebody to drop some crumbs.

“Where you people from?” Aunt Verdella asked as she scooted behind the counter. The pretty lady took a bottle of RC Cola and one of root beer from the cooler, then set them down on the counter alongside her purse. Winnalee was behind her.

“Gary,” she says. “Gary, Indiana. We drove straight through.”

“Yeah,” Winnalee said. “We had to leave in the middle of the night. All because Freeda went dancing with some guy from the meat factory, when she was supposed to be Harley Hoffesteaders girl. Harley got so pissed he was coming after her with a shotgun. Probably would have killed both of us dead if we hadnt gotten out of there fast. It dont matter, though. Freeda wouldve moved us anyways. She always does.” The lady cuffed her on the top of her head and Winnalee cried out, “Ouch!” Aunt Verdella flinched and told Winnalee that maybe she should go potty now, and would she like me or her to go with her. Winnalees nose crinkled. “Im not a baby,” she said, then she grabbed the key from the counter and marched out the door.

“Oh my. Gary. Thats quite a drive. That must be, what, a good three fifty, four hundred miles from here?”

“I dont know.” Freeda shook her head so that wispy strands wobbled against her long neck. “Hell, I dont even know where we are.”

“Youre in Dauber, Wisconsin, dear. Population 3,263,” Aunt Verdella said proudly. “You thinking of settling here, or are you just passing through?”

Freeda shrugged. “I guess one place is as good as another. There any places to rent around here?”

I swear I heard Fanny Tilman (who was peeking up over the bread rack) gasp.

Aunt Verdella squeaked her tongue against her teeth as she thought. Then her puffy lips made a circle like a doughnut. “Ohhhh, well, actually, there just might be! Well, if you dont mind living in a place thats being fixed up, that is. You see, my husband, Rudy, and his brother, Reece, their ma passed away a couple a years ago, and weve been talking about renting her place out once Reece gets it fixed up. I keep saying that a house that sits empty falls to ruin fast, but you know how men are. Reece—thats Button heres daddy—he aint gotten around to the repairs yet, but if you dont mind him coming and going, I dont see why we cant rent it to you now.”

Winnalee came back in and held the key out to me, but looked at Freeda. “Hey, you said we were going to Detroit! She lies,” she said to me, her thumb jabbing toward Freeda. Then she leaned over and peered at the mesh slip she was wearing. “Can you see my undies through this thing?” I looked, saw a bit of white, and told her I could. She rolled her big, lake-on-a-sunny-day-colored eyes and sighed. “I tried to tell Freeda that I was in my underwear, but she went and packed up my clothes anyway.”

Freeda grunted. “Like it matters. Youre in dress-up clothes half the time, anyway, Winnalee.”

Aunt Verdella talked about Grandma Maes place, bragging about the nice closed-in porch with good screens (all but for the one a barn cat shredded) and about the flower garden that was already shooting up daffodils and hyacinths, while she went to the freezer so Winnalee could pick out a treat. She called me over to have something too.

“Oh dear, where are my manners,” she said all of a sudden. “I didnt even introduce myself yet. Im Verdella Peters, and this here is my niece, Evelyn Mae, but we all call her Button. Shes nine years old. How old are you, Winnalee?”

“Im gonna be ten on September first,” she said.

Freeda smiled for the first time, and her smile was as pretty as her hair. “Im Freeda Malone, and you already know the sassy one. Shes my kid sister.”

Things happened fast then. While Freeda Malone was paying for her gas and the pop, Aunt Verdella told her they could get something to eat at the Spot Café. “You girls come back after youre done eating,” Aunt Verdella said. “Im closin up in an hour, and you can follow me then.” While Aunt Verdella chattered, I watched Winnalee eat her grape Popsicle. She didnt seem to have one bit of worry about the purple dripping down her hand and streaking her arm. I had my wrapper cupped around my stick, like youre supposed to, so I didnt have to worry about getting all sticky and stained.

The minute the Malones left, Aunt Verdella got as light and floaty as bubbles. Fanny Tilman came out of her hiding place then, looking like a gray mouse in her wool coat, even though it was too warm for even a little jacket.

“Verdella! Jewel is gonna be fit to be tied, you offering Maes house like that! And to some gypsy drifters, to boot!”

Aunt Verdella waved Fanny Tilmans comment away. “Its gonna be real nice having people in that house, Fanny. I get so lonely when I look across the road and see that big, empty place. Mae didnt take to me much, but still, it was just nice knowing someone was there.” She looked down at me and grinned. “And Button here sure could use a little friend, couldnt you, Button?”

Mrs. Tilmans mouth pinched. “Good heavens, Verdella. Its not like bringing home a litter of abandoned kittens, you know. These are strangers, and most likely trouble, by the looks of them.”

When the Malones came back, Winnalee had ketchup splotched on her blouse, right over one of those points sticking out front like two witchs hats. Her eyes were a little red, and her cheeks had white streaks on them where a few tears had washed them. She didnt look unhappy at the moment, though, as she squatted to examine the tops of some canned goods where rainbowy shadows made by something shiny hanging in the window were flickering.

Aunt Verdella took her pay out of the till like she was told to—one dollar for every hour she worked this week—while I packed up my doll. She folded the envelope in threes and tucked it into her bra to take home and put in her jewelry box, where she kept all the money that was going toward the RCA color television set she wanted. A magazine ad of it was tacked to her fridge door, where it had hung since I was in the first grade. When she first came over with that ad, saying she was gonna save up and buy it even if it took her a lifetime, Ma had taken the TV Guide and showed Aunt Verdella how, at best, shed only get three hours of color TV time a day. Mom repeated this story whenever she wanted to make Aunt Verdella look foolish. “I told her, look here, on Mondays, youll only get forty-five minutes!” But Verdella just laughed and said, “Long as two of those hours are used up by As the World Turns and Arthur Godfrey, Ill be happy. Besides, by the time I save up $495, who knows, they might all be in living color! ” Aunt Verdella had no idea how much that TV set was gonna cost her once she finally saved up enough, but she still faithfully put away every spare dime she had to buy it.

Aunt Verdella locked up The Corner Store and we climbed into her turquoise and white Bel Air, which was cluttered with junk. A Raggedy Ann and Andy—bought from the community sale last summer, just because they were cute—were propped on the bag of romance magazines that somebody gave her weeks ago, and wadded-up candy and chip wrappers littered the floor. Aunt Verdella checked my door three times to make sure it was locked, so I wouldnt lean on it and fall out, then made me set down my Barbie case and climb over the seat to watch out the back window as she backed out, so she didnt run anybody over.

“Its okay,” I said.

Once we got going, I climbed back into the front seat. I sat close to Aunt Verdella, her arm warm against my cheek. Aunt Verdella kept looking in the rearview mirror, making sure that the Malones were still following us.

The shortest way home was down Highway 8, but Aunt Verdella wouldnt drive on the highway, so we kicked up dust down one county road after another, driving for what seemed forever. By the time we got out of the city limits the insides of my arms were splotched with the red, pimply rash that sprouted up on them whenever I got rattled. I knew Ma wasnt gonna be happy. Not about my dirty knees, and not about the Malones. I slid my jaw over a bit so my teeth could grab at the bumpy clump of skin inside my cheek, even though Dr. Wagner told me that if I kept up the nasty habit, I was gonna bite a hole clear through my face. Aunt Verdella wasnt worried like me, though. She sang lines from one of those country songs she always played on her record player and grinned like she was bringing home Christmas. The rash itchin my arms, though, told me that maybe this was a package we werent supposed to open.

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McGuffy Ann, March 2, 2011 (view all comments by McGuffy Ann)
The Book of Bright Ideas
by Sandra Kring

There are far too many "cookie cutter" books on the market. Ms. Kring wrote a book that has heart and soul. Reading this gem of a book took me back to my own childhood. It evoked memories, feelings, and ideas from days gone by. The characters felt like people I knew. Ms. Kring gave us people to care about and reasons to care about them. Their lives and their concerns were believable and honest. I couldn't wait to read what happened next, but I didn't want it to end.
"The Book of Bright Ideas" is memorable, the stuff classics are made of.
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kmkoenen, May 5, 2009 (view all comments by kmkoenen)
The Book of Bright Ideas is an enchanting novel of childhood, wonder, and a number of family secrets. Engaging from first to last, I was delighted to meet these people--particularly Aunt Verdella, who poignantly reminded me of one of my own aunts. Furthermore, as the book came to a close, I'd become so attached to Button, Winnalee, and all, I was sorry to see them go.
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Product Details

ISBN:
9780385338141
Author:
Kring, Sandra
Publisher:
Delta
Subject:
General
Subject:
Friendship
Subject:
Sisters
Subject:
Domestic fiction
Subject:
General Fiction
Subject:
Literature-A to Z
Copyright:
Edition Description:
Trade paper
Publication Date:
20060531
Binding:
TRADE PAPER
Grade Level:
General/trade
Language:
English
Pages:
320
Dimensions:
8.18x5.28x.69 in. .54 lbs.

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Related Subjects

Fiction and Poetry » Literature » A to Z
Fiction and Poetry » Literature » Family Life

The Book of Bright Ideas: Used Trade Paper
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$6.50 In Stock
Product details 320 pages Delta - English 9780385338141 Reviews:
"Synopsis" by , From the author of the "poignant [and] engrossing" ("The Washington Post") "Carry Me Home" comes a sweet and sharply drawn story of two young girls living in a world of their imagination, while lives around them are thrown into disarray.
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