Free Guy Wire by Sarah Weeks Page A

‘Which came first, the chicken or the egg?’” Buzz asked.
    “Not really.”
    “Well, think about it. Which are you—a chicken man or an egg man?”
    “Egg, I guess.”
    “Yeah, me too,” he said. “Did you ever think about that question ‘How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?’”
    “That’s not a question,” I said. “It’s a tongue twister.”
    “It’s both; part tongue twister, part question. So what do you think, how much could he chuck?”
    “That depends,” I said.
    “On what?
    “Mostly on what chucking means andwhether or not he can actually do it,” I said.
    “Why wouldn’t he be able to do it?” Buzz asked.
    “Well, remember the end of that thing goes: ‘ if a woodchuck could chuck wood.’ That’s a big if,” I said.
    “You’re a big if,” said Buzz.
    “Oh yeah? Well, you’re a big gum wad.”
    “Takes one to know one,” Buzz said.
     
    Two weeks later, on July fourteenth, I turned eight. I had a party. My mother made one of her famous birthday cakes. It had a picture of me on the top, dressed as a shrub. For party favors she gave out the shamrock boxer shorts. We all got silly and wore them on our heads instead of party hats, and Buzz led us around the house in a wild bunny hop that ended with all of us laughing and rolling around on the floor. I wasn’t sure what to wish for when I blew out the candles. I came up with something at the last minute though— Please, let things stay exactly the waythey are with Buzz and me .
    When it came time to open presents, I saved Buzz’s till last. I don’t even remember what it was. But I remember the card. I still I have it stuck to the bulletin board over my desk. There’s a picture of a fat, bald baby drinking a bottle on the front, and inside it says, “Happy BURP-day!” It’s signed—
    …your best friend,
  Buzz

Chapter Seventeen
    A fter they took Buzz back into surgery, eventually I must have gone to sleep, because when I opened my eyes, bright sunlight was pouring in the window. At some point in the night someone had moved me into another waiting room where there was a couch. My father was sitting in a chair next to me wearing a suit and tie. He’d been away on a business trip all week. It was sort of shocking to see him dressed up like that after having just spent so much time reliving the old days in my head, back before he realized his pants were too short and white socks and loafers looked dorky.
    “When did you get here?” I asked, sittingup and rubbing my eyes.
    “Your mom left me a message. I came straight from the airport.”
    He gave me a big hug and ruffled my hair. I didn’t realize until then how much I’d missed him.
    “Where’s Mom?” I asked, looking around.
    “Actually,” he said, flashing me a big smile, “she’s at home baking a cake.”
    “What?” I was wide awake now. “Baking a cake?”
    “Uh-huh,” said my father, “a great big one. It’s for a certain somebody who gave us all quite a scare last night but who’s going to be just fine now.”
    I looked at him carefully. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I asked.
    “Buzz is going to be fine,” my father said.
    I threw my arms around him and yelped with joy. “You should have woken me up to tell me,” I said.
    “I didn’t see the point. Buzz is still sleeping and probably will be for a while.”
    Suddenly it dawned on me why my mother was baking a cake. It was Buzz’s birthday. It seemed like a million years ago that he and I had been riding along talking about fate and birthday wishes, but in fact it had been only the day before. My head felt tired from the journey backward, but my heart felt full and grateful for the happy place where I’d finally arrived. Buzz was going to be okay.
    Mr. and Mrs. Adams said it was okay for me to wait in Buzz’s room until he woke up. Finally around noon he began to stir and blink his eyes. His mother stood over him, helping him sip water through a straw and wiping his