STAND BY ME: Chapter 3
Chapter 3
MAKING PLANS
“You’re really lucky,” I say. “They would have killed you if they knew you were listening,” Teddy says. “I know the Back Harlow Road,” he continues. “It ends at the river. I used to go fishing there.” “Could the Brower kid have walked all the way from Chamberlain to Harlow?” I ask. “That’s really far.”
“I think so,” Chris says. “if he was following the railway tracks. It’s easy to walk on them, and he probably thought the tracks would lead him out of the forest. And then in the dark, a train comes along and…bang!” “Anyway,” Vern says, moving around excitedly, “do you want to go and see it?” “Yes,” Chris says, throwing his cards on the table. “And listen, we could get our pictures in the paper. We could be famous.”
“What?” Vern says. Teddy smiles. “We can find the body,” Chris says, “and report it.” “I don’t know,” Vern says. “Billy would guess that I heard him and Charlie talking, and he would beat me.” “No, he wouldn’t,” I say. “He wouldn’t have to worry any more about the stolen car.” “But what about our parents?” Teddy says. “If we find the body, they’ll know we weren’t camping in Vern’s field.”
“We’ll just tell them we got bored in the field,” I say, “and decided to camp in the forest instead. Then everyone will be too excited that we found the body. They won’t punish us then.” “OK,” Teddy says. “Let’s all meet here after lunch. What can we tell them about dinner?” “You and me and Gordie can say we’re eating at Vern’s house,” Chris says. “And I’ll tell my mother I’m eating at Chris’s,” Vern says.
This plan will work unless something goes wrong, or if our parents contact each other. None of us has a telephone at home, so our parents cannot easily check. None of us comes from a rich family. Vern’s father works in a factory. My father has stopped working. Teddy’s mother rents a room when she can. Chris’s father does not have a job and is often drunk.
Chris does not talk much about his father, but we all know he hates him. His father beats him often. One year earlier, some money disappeared at school. Chris was accused of taking it. He said he did not take it, but no one believed him because of his family. He was not allowed to go to school for two weeks. His father beat him badly and sent him to the hospital with a broken nose and wrist.
Chris comes from a difficult family. His older brother Dave is in prison, and his other brother, Eyeball, spends time with dangerous boys in town. “I think that will work,” I say. We are too excited now to keep playing cards. We leave the treehouse and go home to get ready.
When I get home, my mom is out. My dad is in the garden, watering the dry plants. “Hi, Dad,” I say. “Is it OK if I camp out tonight in Vern Tessio’s back field with some of the guys?” “What guys?” he asks. “Vern, Teddy Duchamp, Chris.” Sometimes he complains about my friends, but today he does not care.
“I suppose it’s OK,” he says. He does not argue. He just looks sad and tired. He is sixty-three years old. He’s old enough to be my grandfather. My mother is fifty-five. When they got married, they tried to have a baby, but nothing happened. A few years later, a doctor told them they would never have children. Then, five years after that, Denny was born.
The doctor said it was amazing. He said my parents should thank God and be happy with Denny. Because he would be their only child. Seven years later, I was born. For my parents, one gift from God was enough. I will not say they were cruel to me, but I was not important to them. I was a surprise, and they did not want a surprise. Most of the time, they acted like I was not there. They acted like I didn’t exist. I felt like an invisible person.
At the dinner table, they always talked to Denny. “Denny, how was school?” “Denny, who are you taking to the dance?” “Denny, we need to talk about that car.” If I said something, they did not hear me. One night, when I was nine, I said, “Jesus, these potatoes taste like garbage.” I wanted to see what would happen. My mom just said, “Denny, your aunt called today and asked about you.”
I did not hate Denny, and I did not think he was perfect. We did not spend much time together. He was seven years older than me, and he lived in a different world. So I didn’t have strong feelings about him. Sometimes he took me to the park or read to me, and I liked that. But most of the time, I was alone.
That is why I started reading books. A lot of books. Later, I started writing stories. I guess that’s why I’m a writer now. Like many writers, I use the people and places from my childhood in my stories.
After Denny died, my parents broke down completely. Five months have passed, but they are still not the same. They left Denny’s room exactly the same. They did not touch anything. That room frightens me. Sometimes I think dead Denny is still there. I imagine him in the closet, waiting for me. I imagine his face after the accident. I imagine him reaching out to me and whispering, “Why wasn’t it you, Gordie? Why wasn’t it you who died?”
