“You need to be more careful, Brett,” Joe finally says. “Those lies you’re telling are getting you into serious trouble.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, “but sometimes I just can’t help it.”
“Why’s that?” Joe asks.
“People don’t notice me unless I’m talking big,” I say. “I can’t get anything done by telling the truth.”
“Uh huh.”
Joe finishes eating the popsicle. He tosses the empty stick an impossible distance towards the trash bin. I think sure it will land on the sidewalk, but it flies through the air, turning end over end, and lands neatly in the trash.
Why can’t I beat Joe at anything?
“I guess I’m just afraid of being ignored,” I say.
“Getting beat up is a lousy way to attract attention,” Joe says. “Besides, you might get so afraid of being ignored that you develop obsessive ideas.”
Obsessive ideas? Joe sure likes to try to impress me with big words.
“What’s an ‘obsessive idea?’” I say. “Is that like when you have a bag of Halloween candy stashed away in the closet and it’s all you can think about, especially at dinner time?”
Joe looks surprised.
“Yeah, something like that,” he says. “An idea gets deep into your mind and takes over. Then you start believing all sorts of fantastic things. Pretty soon you’re off in your own twisted little world.”
“How so?”
“Well ... you could get to thinking that you’re not worth much,” Joe says. “So you start building this fake personality based on lies. Before you know it, you’re this fake person that nobody likes or respects.”
“Like that guy we bought our car from?” I say. “He looked pretty phony.”
“Yeah,” Joe says, “something like that. You need to build up your self confidence, Brett.”
“Thanks for the free advice, Joe,” I say. “I’m sure it’s worth every cent.”
He laughs. “Any time, bro!”
Two: The Quest Begins
6. Amazing Tales
I’m glad that at least one of us is having a good time.
Across the street, in front of an appliance store, somebody is having a lot less fun. He is wearing this stupid cardboard crown and waving a sign:
Come on in for KING SIZED savings!
The poor guy must be really embarrassed – I know I would be. He looks young, like some high school kid stuck in the world’s most terrible weekend job. Behind him, scowling out through the big display window, stands the boss of the store.
The boss is kind of mean looking – bald and skinny. He looks like he just bit into a lemon sandwich. Behind him lurks stoves and refrigerators, like prehistoric monsters waiting to devour anybody who walks into the store.
But then the situation changes drastically. A huge truck comes rumbling by. It’s so heavy that we feel the ground tremble under out feet. It’s like this earthquake on wheels. The truck is carrying a folded-up carnival ride, of all things.
Maybe some church is having a fair this weekend, or maybe they just need to move the ride someplace to store it until the summer. Whatever.
Anyway, a gust of wind whirls down the street after the truck. It’s filled with dirt and old leaves – a sort of mini tornado. It blows the crown right off the guy’s head. When he chases after it, the wind grabs the sign and carries it off, too.
I thought Joe would find this hilarious, but he just watches the scene real thoughtful and quiet, studying all the details and filing them away in his first-class brain. He doesn’t even chuckle when the boss runs out of the store and chases after the guy who is chasing after the sign and cardboard crown.
“Get back here!” the boss yells. “I’m not paying you to run down the street!”
I kind of feel sorry for the poor worker, I know what it’s like to have people chasing you. Besides, how much is the boss paying anyway? He looks like a cheapskate type person, all skinny and crabby. Then Joe says something so unexpected that I scarcely know how to reply.
“You know, Brett,” he says, “your problem is as bad as being afraid of hurricanes.”
I turn away from the disaster going on across the street and gape at Joe for a while.
“Come on, Joe,” I finally say. “What could ‘my problem’ possibly have to do with hurricanes?”
Joe puts on his superior face.
“I thought that would be obvious,” he says, “but I guess you’ll need to have it explained.”
Oh please, I think, not again!
I just know he’s getting ready to tell another of his amazing tales. Joe thinks of himself as this great writer (the ‘new Hemingway’) and he’s always trying out his latest ideas on me.
Okay, some of them aren’t too bad, but I’m in no mood to be entertained. And if he tries to con me into doing something I don’t want to – well, he can just forget about that.
Joe smiles. “It’s sort of complicated, Brett, maybe you won’t be able to follow along.”
“I can follow it!”
I know he’s trying to get me mad so that I’ll insist on hearing the full story, but I’m not going to play that game. I just wait patiently.
“All right, Brett,” Joe says, “but listen carefully because I won’t repeat anything.”
“Fine.”
He takes a drink from his water bottle and checks his watch. Then he adjusts his sunglasses to make sure they still look cool. Then he starts talking . . .
7. The Greedy King
“It all began with a king who was afraid of losing his fortune,” Joe says.
Wait a minute, something is wrong here I suddenly realize. Joe is getting ready to tell one of his fantastic stories. Didn’t I just get into trouble twice for doing the same thing?
But I don’t have time to think this through. Joe is rattling on and, despite myself, I begin to listen.
“King Crabbeus had plenty of gold,” Joe says, “but he was terrified of losing it all. He was so worried that he could barely sleep, and when he did sleep, he had nightmares about people stealing his money.”
“It wouldn’t bother me,” I say. “I’d spend everything so fast there wouldn’t be enough time to get worried.”
Yeah, like maybe I’d buy myself a new bike – one without flames.
Joe gives me a sharp look.
“Do you want to hear the story or not, Brett?”
“Sure,” I say, “go ahead, shoot.”
The Tale of the Greedy King continues:
***
King Crabbeus cared nothing about ice cream, bike rides, or any other fun stuff. Gold was the only thing that clinked around in his twisted old brain.
gold ... Gold ... GOLD!
In his kingdom, many people were poor and hungry, but he never thought about them, not even for a second. The treasure that could have brought prosperity to his people just sat unused in the castle dungeon. He could have built roads, schools, Speedy Marts, but he couldn’t bear to spend any of his money. He would have rather had a tooth pulled than give up a single dime.
“You old tightwad,” the Queen scolded him. “Give me a few coins to buy chocolate.”
But he wouldn’t do it.
“You’re too fat already,” he snapped. “Lay off the candy, you old hag!”
That was really mean. And far from being “an old hag,” the Queen was beautiful, with long yellow hair and ruby lips. But Crabbeus hardly noticed that she existed.
He kept every single gold coin in a huge pile which he counted day and night. When he finished counting them all, he’d start over again. It was like a terrible hobby for him, a madness. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to, and he sure didn’t want to.”
[This guy sounded even worse than the man across the street with his car-washing hobby.]
More than one castle servant was sentenced to having his head chopped off when coins disappeared. The Queen always rescued these unfortunate servants, though, because they had
really taken the gold for her.
The Queen lived alone in a small wing of the castle. She was very unhappy and just sat around all day eating chocolate. The King didn’t even notice that she’d moved out of the main castle. Her golden hair simply could not compete with the gleam of his coins.
The King lived scarcely better than his poor, hungry people. Crabbeus dared not spend enough money to buy decent food for himself. In the winter, his chambers were dark and cold.
As time went on, he just got thinner and meaner and more frightened. His hair started to fall out until he was quite bald. The gold pile grew, but the king shrank, until he was barely more than skin and bones.
Finally, he couldn’t stand the thought of his gold lying around where other people might see it. What right did anybody else have to look upon his treasure? It would only give them bad ideas.
So, he dug a pit in the deepest, darkest part of the castle basement and shoveled every gold coin down into it. He planned to bury the coins, then construct a secret tunnel to the treasure where only he could go.
But, unknown to Crabbeus, a giant underground crack was traveling by just then. Right after he dumped in the last gold coin, the ground began to tremble horribly – like the end of the world was coming!
Then the crack arrived under the castle and broke into the treasure pit. Crabbeus watched in horror as his precious gold coins slipped away, like sand in an hour glass.
“Help!” he shouted.
But nobody could hear him, and nobody would have come to help the greedy old bum anyway.
He jumped onto the disappearing pile of gold but could do nothing to save it. The crack slammed shut as soon as the last coin fell through, almost pinching off Crabbeus’ fingers. In fact, it did pinch off the tip of one finger. The King howled with pain, but the loss of his gold was much worse than the loss of the finger tip.
The gold tumbled down into a sea of lava. Soon afterwards, on the far side of the world, a volcano poured out melted gold. When the gold cooled and became solid again, the local people grabbed it all for themselves. They got rich and a had a really good time.
***
“So,” Joe says, “the very thing that Crabbeus feared the most happened to him because he was so afraid of it!”
I shake my head. What a load of hot air this story is, even for Joe!
“Don’t you get it?” Joe says. “The King’s own actions brought the disaster – like a man throwing a boomerang and forgetting to duck when it comes back.”
“Uh ... right,” I say.
“His obsessive idea turned him into a lousy person,” Joe says. “His life was based on a lie, and nobody could stand him anymore.”
And the grown ups blame us younger kids for making up stuff. Go figure!
8. I Refuse to Get Sucked in
I’m curious about the Greedy King’s fate, though.
“What happened to him?” I ask.
“King Crabbeus was completely ruined,” Joe says. “He didn’t even have a change of clothes to his name.”
“Why didn’t he use a charge card to buy clothes?” I say. “Like the one Mom has at the department store.”
Joe ignores my remark.
“The king was so broke that he had to sell the castle,” he says.
“Tough break,” I say.
“The new owner turned it into a theme park called Castle Land,” Joe says. “Everybody got jobs running the place. Even Crabbeus worked at the park and enjoyed himself for the first time in his life. He finally got rid of his obsessive idea.”
“What about the Queen?” I say.
“She liked the King, now that he was over his obsession,” Joe says, “and he finally realized how hot the Queen was. They got back together.”
“Well, hooray for them,” I say. “See you later.”
I jump on my bike and start pedaling. Joe looks stunned. He probably expects me to be super grateful for the chance to listen to him. Instead, I’m showing him some grit.
Hey, maybe I’m getting some self confidence after all!
“Aren’t you curious about that giant crack?” He calls after me.
I slow down.
“If you leave now, you’ll never know where it came from!”
Without meaning to, I actually stop moving. I’m still on my bike but have one foot on the pavement. Okay, this is just a dumb, little-kid story, but I’m still curious about the crack.
I know Joe will tell me about it sooner or later, though. Once he gets talking about something, he won’t quit, even if you want him to. Better to keep going, show my new self confidence.
I start pedaling again. Of course, Joe will have to follow. Mom would be really mad at him if he let me come back alone, not that I really need him.
Yeah, speaking of cracks, Mom would crack down on Joe pretty hard if he didn’t come with me. Ah, pay back time for the empty ice cream box!
But then I see two kids approaching on bikes – Tommy and Ken. Just what I need! They’re probably still mad about the ice cream ‘robbery’ and would love to get even.
I turn back toward the Speedy Mart. Joe is waiting for me with a little smirk on his face.
“All right, tell me about the giant crack,” I say.
Joe crosses his arms and waits a few seconds, sort of milking the moment for the greatest dramatic effect.
“It has to do with a man named Buxtable,” he finally says.
“That’s an unusual name.”
“Mr. Buxtable was a very unusual man,” Joe says.
He notices Ken and Tommy. They are across the road from us now, waiting for the light to change.
“It’s getting kind of crowded around here,” Joe says. “Let’s go.”
He takes off down a side street.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Around,” Joe says. “It’s too nice to go home yet.”
I look back toward the road. Ken and Tommy are half way across now. They are probably coming to the Speedy Mart to buy ice cream, and to work me over. I can almost feel their fists pounding on me.
“Wait up, Joe!” I call.
9. The Giant Hill Arrives
He has a good head start, and I’m getting winded chasing after him.
“Hey, wait!” I yell.
“Come on, Brett,” Joe calls back over his shoulder. “You got me out here, so quit complaining.”
“I’m not complaining,” I say, “but I don’t have a fancy bike.”
Joe shifts gears and slows down. I finally catch up with him.
“Sorry, bro,” he says, “sometimes I forget how fast this machine is.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” Joe says. “Let’s get a move on.”
***
More of the usual routine – me bumping along the sidewalk while Joe zips up and down the street. He races to a corner, then peddles back to my position. Or else he just waits at the cross street for me to catch up.
I’m getting tired, and there isn’t enough shade around. I am feeling embarrassed, too. I’m glad that nobody is around that I know.
The sidewalk ends toward the edge of town, and I have to go out on the road. The heat is really bad, now. The black top seems hot enough to melt my tires. Well, maybe not that hot. I wouldn’t want to have any obsessive ideas about it.
There is very little car traffic. Maybe everyone is staying home to take care of their lawns. I could never figure out why people cut their grass so often. All those roaring, stinky machines polluting the air.
Grandpa says that people years ago didn’t have gasoline engines on their lawnmowers.
“You didn’t see so many guys with pot bellies back then,” Grandpa said between puffs on his pipe. “Pushing a manual lawnmower is good, healthy exercise!”
My own belly is beginning to tighten. I suspect that something bad is coming my way. Joe is cooking up some diabolical plan, and I’m not going to like it – whatever it might be.
Then
we come to the big hill at the edge of town. I slam on my brakes and move under the shade of a scraggly tree. Hills and bikes definitely don’t mix, in my opinion.
Joe pulls the water bottle off his bike and tosses it to me.
“Drink up,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“We’ll rest a few minutes,” he says, “then we’ll tackle this hill.”
I practically choke on the water.
“What do your mean ‘tackle’ this hill?” I say. “Like ... ride down it on our bikes?”
“Yeah,” Joe says.
I roll to the edge of the hill and look over. Below me, the road shoots straight down for a long, long way. Then it swoops through a wicked curve and down again through a second curve. Finally, it levels out by the new park.
The park is big and open with baseball diamonds. I’ve been there to watch Joe play. The road down to it is like a roller coaster, except you wouldn’t be traveling in a nice safe car. You’d be flying down on two skinny bike tires.
“Go right ahead, Joe, but leave me out of it,” I say.
“What’s the matter?”
“This hill is what’s the matter! I’d fall for sure.”
Joe gives me the Older Brother Look that says I’m being a frightened little baby.
“Listen, Brett, if you expect something bad to happen, then it will.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Now you’re getting the picture.”
“But if you expect a good result, then you’ll get that instead,” Joe says. “You have to believe in yourself, Brett.”
“I do believe in myself,” I say. “I believe that I can fall on this hill.”
Joe waves his arm, like Moses in the Ten Commandments movie.
“From up here we can see everything,” he says. “The road is nice and wide, and we can try it when there’s no traffic.”
“That’s great,” I say. “Have a good time.”
“I know you can make it, Brett. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Oh, no?” I say. “How about turning into ‘the human basketball’ and bouncing down the pavement?”
“If you believe in yourself more, you won’t have to make up so many big stories,” Joe says.
Easy for him to talk. People listen to the ‘New Hemingway.’ When I say something, people tune out quick, unless I have some big story.
“The next time you’re tempted to tell a whopper, you can remember the day you conquered this hill,” Joe says. “Then you’ll know that you’re a person of substance, and you’ll stick to telling the truth.”
“‘Person of substance’ – what the heck does that mean?” I ask.