Free Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume Page B
Authors: Judy Blume
able to climb much faster now. I have learned by watching and imitating Wolf. My hiking boots are comfortable on my feet, as if they belong there.
At the bottom we rest on a rock. “Remember the time you told me I have sad eyes?” I say.
“I remember.”
“It’s because my father’s dead.”
Wolf looks at me, shakes his head slowly, and says, “We have a lot in common, Tiger … because mine is dying.”
L ater, when it is time to leave the canyon I say, “I didn’t make you laugh today.”
And Wolf says, “I didn’t feel like laughing.”
I ride home feeling very sad. I wish I could talk to my mother. But when I get back she is sound asleep again, the shades in her room pulled down, making it as dark as night. Sometimes I feel she has vanished from my life. And I miss her.
A few days later Walter presents me with a small card. “Keep this in your wallet, Davey. Now that you’re a member of this family there’s a space reserved for you in a bomb shelter.”
“A bomb shelter?” I say and I begin to laugh, half out of nervousness, half out of disbelief.
But Walter looks very serious and says, “Yes. The numbers are printed on the card. Try to memorize them.”
“Are we going to have a war?” I ask. “Are we going to be bombed?”
“No,” Walter says. “At least I hope not. But it’s always better to be prepared. The problem with this country is we never act until it’s too late. The Russians, on the other hand, have anoutstanding civil defense program. If they’re attacked, chances are, they’ll survive. I wish I could say the same for us. It’s just like the energy crisis. This country is waiting until the lights go out. Then we’ll see how fast we accept nuclear energy. But by then it will be too late. Too late. Anyway, keep your card … chances are you’ll never need it.”
Walter is full of gloom tonight. And he is on his third glass of brandy.
SEVENTEEN
There are more than 250 clubs in this town and Bitsy belongs to nine of them, not counting morning walk, twice a week Jazzercise and batiking class. Her calendar is so full it looks like a doctor’s appointment book. Still, she always has time for the family, especially Jason, who is growing closer and closer to her and Walter. One night I hear Bitsy telling Walter that Jason reminds her of Adam, when he was a boy. I think Bitsy misses my father more than she lets us know.
There are a lot of clubs and associations at the high school, too. Danielle, a girl in my American Cultures class, is trying to get me to join the Society for the Preservation of Creative Anachronisms. She dresses in a toga and medieval type sandals that lace up her legs. She wears a fuzzy, hobbit-like creature pinned to her shoulder. During class she knits. I’ve never seen her take a note, yet I know that she is a straight A student.
“We have jousting matches,” she tells me on Wednesday after class. She stands so close I can smell the garlic on her breath.
I have no idea what creative anachronisms areor why anyone would want to preserve them. But I say, “Look … I’m not really into jousting.”
She shakes her head, clearly disappointed, and drops an arm around my shoulder. “You could give it a try.”
I inch away, wondering if she is gay. “I’m overextended now,” I tell her. This is an expression I have picked up from Bitsy, who uses it on the phone whenever she is asked to volunteer for this or that community activity.
“How so?” Danielle asks, fingering the fuzzy creature on her shoulder as if it is alive. She is not one to give up easily.
“I’ve got a lot of family responsibilities,” I tell her. I don’t know why I am bothering to make excuses since I don’t owe her an explanation.
“Go on …” she says.
“And I’m a candy striper at the hospital.” This is not exactly true, but Jane has been after me to join with her and now, on the spot, I decide that I will. Anything to get rid of Danielle.
Danielle
At the bottom we rest on a rock. “Remember the time you told me I have sad eyes?” I say.
“I remember.”
“It’s because my father’s dead.”
Wolf looks at me, shakes his head slowly, and says, “We have a lot in common, Tiger … because mine is dying.”
L ater, when it is time to leave the canyon I say, “I didn’t make you laugh today.”
And Wolf says, “I didn’t feel like laughing.”
I ride home feeling very sad. I wish I could talk to my mother. But when I get back she is sound asleep again, the shades in her room pulled down, making it as dark as night. Sometimes I feel she has vanished from my life. And I miss her.
A few days later Walter presents me with a small card. “Keep this in your wallet, Davey. Now that you’re a member of this family there’s a space reserved for you in a bomb shelter.”
“A bomb shelter?” I say and I begin to laugh, half out of nervousness, half out of disbelief.
But Walter looks very serious and says, “Yes. The numbers are printed on the card. Try to memorize them.”
“Are we going to have a war?” I ask. “Are we going to be bombed?”
“No,” Walter says. “At least I hope not. But it’s always better to be prepared. The problem with this country is we never act until it’s too late. The Russians, on the other hand, have anoutstanding civil defense program. If they’re attacked, chances are, they’ll survive. I wish I could say the same for us. It’s just like the energy crisis. This country is waiting until the lights go out. Then we’ll see how fast we accept nuclear energy. But by then it will be too late. Too late. Anyway, keep your card … chances are you’ll never need it.”
Walter is full of gloom tonight. And he is on his third glass of brandy.
SEVENTEEN
There are more than 250 clubs in this town and Bitsy belongs to nine of them, not counting morning walk, twice a week Jazzercise and batiking class. Her calendar is so full it looks like a doctor’s appointment book. Still, she always has time for the family, especially Jason, who is growing closer and closer to her and Walter. One night I hear Bitsy telling Walter that Jason reminds her of Adam, when he was a boy. I think Bitsy misses my father more than she lets us know.
There are a lot of clubs and associations at the high school, too. Danielle, a girl in my American Cultures class, is trying to get me to join the Society for the Preservation of Creative Anachronisms. She dresses in a toga and medieval type sandals that lace up her legs. She wears a fuzzy, hobbit-like creature pinned to her shoulder. During class she knits. I’ve never seen her take a note, yet I know that she is a straight A student.
“We have jousting matches,” she tells me on Wednesday after class. She stands so close I can smell the garlic on her breath.
I have no idea what creative anachronisms areor why anyone would want to preserve them. But I say, “Look … I’m not really into jousting.”
She shakes her head, clearly disappointed, and drops an arm around my shoulder. “You could give it a try.”
I inch away, wondering if she is gay. “I’m overextended now,” I tell her. This is an expression I have picked up from Bitsy, who uses it on the phone whenever she is asked to volunteer for this or that community activity.
“How so?” Danielle asks, fingering the fuzzy creature on her shoulder as if it is alive. She is not one to give up easily.
“I’ve got a lot of family responsibilities,” I tell her. I don’t know why I am bothering to make excuses since I don’t owe her an explanation.
“Go on …” she says.
“And I’m a candy striper at the hospital.” This is not exactly true, but Jane has been after me to join with her and now, on the spot, I decide that I will. Anything to get rid of Danielle.
Danielle