The Chicken Dance Page 7

  Anyway, when we were waiting at the checkout counter, people passed by me and said, “Hi, Don,” or, “Congratulations, Don,” or just pointed at us and whispered. My mother bent down, grabbed my shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said, “I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I was the youngest boy to ever win the chicken-judging contest at the Dairy Festival,” I told her.

  Before I could say any more, the cashier said, “Hi, Don.”

  Her name tag said “Amelia” and she had on a denim vest with “Horse Island Food and Furniture—Tomatoes, Tables, and More” written in rhinestones on the back. On the front she had a big button that said “Ask me how to save with food-and-furniture combos.”

  My mother let go of my shoulders, stood up, walked up to Amelia, and asked, “How do you know my son?”

  I started taking the groceries out and putting them on the counter and then Amelia said, “Everybody knows Don Schmidt. He’s the little boy that won the chicken-judging contest.”

  My mother stared at Amelia like she was still waiting for an answer, and then the telephone by the cash register rang and Amelia picked it up.

  “This is Amelia Angelo.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds and then said, “Okay.”

  She handed me the phone and I put it next to my ear and said, “Hello?”

  It was Mr. Bufford, and he said, “Don, my boy, turn around and look above you.”

  “Who is that?” my mother asked.

  I turned and saw Mr. Bufford on a platform waving to me and then he said, “My boy. I want to talk to you. I’ll meet you at the foot of the stairs.”

  I gave the phone back to the cashier, and then my mother asked again, “Don! Who was that?”

  I wondered if I should tell her the truth; that it was Mr. Bufford and that he had stolen a chicken for me and now wanted to sell my eggs in his store. I looked down at the ground and decided to tell her the half-truth and said, “It was Mr. Bufford, the owner of the store. He wants to talk to me about buying our eggs.”

  “This is insane and getting out of control,” my mother said.

  I saw Mr. Bufford at the bottom of the stairs and I didn’t want him to come over and tell my mother about KC, so I asked her, “Can I go talk to him? He’s right over there.”

  My mother turned and looked at him, and then let some air out of her mouth and said, “Go ahead while I pay, but don’t make any deals with him until I get there.”

  I walked over to Mr. Bufford, who was wearing a long white coat like I’d seen doctors wear. He rubbed the top of my head and said, “I just wanted to pay you for those eggs you gave me and remind you that I need a lot more than five dozen a week.”

  I told him, “Yes, sir. I know. I need to buy some more chickens but I don’t have the money to.”

  He smiled and said, “Well, you do now.”

  He gave me an envelope and inside there was a hundred dollars. When I saw it, I looked up at Mr. Bufford, then down at the money again, and then put the envelope in my pocket real fast.

  “Is everything okay, my boy?” Mr. Bufford asked me.

  “Yes, sir, but you gave me too much money,” I told him.

  He smiled and said, “It’s an advance, my boy, so you can buy some more chickens and get me some more eggs.”

  I didn’t know how to tell Mr. Bufford that I didn’t think I was going to get some more chickens. So I put my head down and said nothing. When I did that, Mr. Bufford cleared his throat and asked me, “That’s your momma over there, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir,” I told him.

  “Well, let’s see if we can persuade her to get you some more chickens,” he said. “Leave the talking up to me, my boy.”

  He closed his eyes a little and pushed his lips out and stood straight up and smiled a little. My mother pushed her grocery cart up to us and said really loud, “Mr. Bufford, I’m Mrs. Schmidt, Don’s mother.”

  Mr. Bufford tilted his head a little and said, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Schmidt. You must me very proud of your son.”

  When he spoke to my mother, his voice was a little different. It was deeper, and he spoke kind of slow. I thought it was weird and I think my mother did too because she stepped back a little and said, “Yes.”

  She said it like she was answering a question she wasn’t sure of. Then she said, “I am,” like she’d just realized the answer.

  The two of them stood for a couple of seconds smiling at each other until my mother cleared her throat and said, “Now what’s this I hear about you wanting to buy some of our eggs?”

  Mr. Bufford kept using his new voice, and said, “Well, Mrs. Schmidt, I’m interested in selling your eggs in the store.”

  “Now,” my mother said, and then stopped talking for a few seconds. She pushed her shoulders back and then put her hands on her hips and then said in a real slow and soft voice, “You know, Mr. Bufford, we only keep our chickens because we like fresh eggs. We’re not chicken farmers.”

  “Oh yes,” Mr. Bufford said, and then he stopped talking for a few seconds and folded his arms and said, “Mrs. Schmidt. I know that you like having your chickens around because it gives your farmhouse a certain cottage feeling, but I think you and I can both agree that it doesn’t hurt if they can provide you with a little extra cash each month.”

  My mother took a handkerchief from her purse and wiped her neck and said, “Well, Mr. Bufford.”

  He interrupted her and said, “Please call me Bobby.”

  My mother smiled and said, “Well, Mr. Bufford, I can assure you that my husband and I needn’t worry about having extra cash. His career provides more than enough for us.”

  Mr. Bufford tapped his foot like a chicken did when she was dancing. Then he looked back up at my mother and said, “I’m sure you and your husband are financially stable, Mrs. Schmidt. It’s obvious that you enjoy the finer things in life. Anyone in this town can tell that you have a certain style that you find only in the upper class. However, you’d be helping me out a lot by selling me your eggs, and I am very grateful to people who help me out, Mrs. Schmidt.”

  My mother put her handkerchief back in her purse and then asked, “What are you saying, Mr. Bufford?”

  Mr. Bufford smiled and then unbuttoned his long white doctor’s coat and said, “What I’m saying, Mrs. Schmidt, is if you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

  My mother put her right leg forward and asked, “And how can you scratch my back, Mr. Bufford?”

  He blinked his eyes and asked, “How would you like your back scratched?”

  My mother’s face turned red and she giggled a little and then turned her back to Mr. Bufford, but then turned her head toward him.

  “Well, I’ll have to think about that. Let’s get going, Don, before our groceries melt. Oh, and Mr. Bufford. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

  My mother walked out the door and I followed with the grocery cart. Before the automatic door shut, my mother said, “Unbelievable! Can you believe that man? I think he was flirting with me.”

  Then my mother laughed a little and said, “How would I like my back scratched? Can you believe the nerve of some people?”

  I loaded up the trunk with the groceries and got into the car wondering what flirting was and what Mr. Bufford meant when he said that he would scratch my mother’s back. I figured that he didn’t really mean that he was going to scratch her back, but something else. I didn’t know what, but I was just happy he didn’t tell my mother about Henrietta.

  My mother sang along to the radio the whole way home and didn’t stop until a chicken ran across the road, right in front of our car.

  “You see what I mean?” she said. “There’s one right there. A chicken. They’re all over the place. Why do people want our eggs? Our eggs? Why do people want them? I don’t understand.”

  And then she started laughing again and said, “How would I like my back scratched?”

  Then my mother put her foot on the gas again and drov
e home. When she pulled into our driveway and stopped the car, she grabbed my arm. I jumped a little because it was the third time she’d touched me that day. She squeezed my arm a little and said, “Wait a second, Don. Do you think your winning that bird-judging contest has anything to do with people suddenly wanting our eggs?”

  Ten

  Every day, the week after my mother and I went to Horse Island Food and Furniture, I’d wake up in the mornings real quick like someone had scared me. I’d be covered in sweat and I was real nervous, and my body felt like the time my babysitter had let me drink coffee. I was that way all morning until I’d find Leon waiting for me outside my house. When I’d see him, I wasn’t so nervous anymore, and I think it was because I knew that the day would be okay and that kids would want me to have lunch with them and that we’d chase the stray dog and pig. And then the Saturday after my mother met Mr. Bufford, things started to change and I didn’t think things were going to be okay anymore.

  You see, that Saturday, a truck from Chance Chandler’s Chicken Chow and Saddle Salon pulled up to our house. My father was on a business trip and my mother was in the bathroom, so I was the first one to see it. When I did, I went outside and Mr. Chandler stepped out of his truck and walked toward the front of our house. He took a bandana out of his pocket and wiped his face and then smiled and said, “Good morning, Don.”

  “Good morning,” I told him.

  Mr. Chandler pointed his finger at me and said, “Now, didn’t I tell you to study the chicken Bible?”

  I nodded my head up and down and said, “Yes, sir,” and then he asked, “Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

  I nodded my head again and said, “Yes, sir,” and then he slapped me on the back and said, “I bet you are, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered.

  He folded his arms and said, “Well, good, good. Now, where’s your momma? I have some chickens for her.”

  Before I could answer, I heard our screen door open, and then my mother say, “Mr. Chancler, thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  Mr. Chandler tilted his head to the side like he didn’t understand my mother and then said, “Not a problem at all. I got you seventy-five of the best egg-laying chickens there are. And by the way, ma’am, my name is Chandler, not Chancler.”

  My mother smiled and said, “Okay. You can just drop them over there in the chicken yard, and I’ll get my checkbook.”

  My mother walked back into the house, and then Mr. Chandler asked me, “Don, you want to help me unload these chickens?”

  I nodded and smiled. I didn’t know why my mother had ordered all those chickens, but I almost didn’t care because it meant there would be seventy-five more hens I’d get to take care of. I realized that I would be able to give Mr. Bufford all the eggs he wanted.

  Anyway, after Mr. Chandler and I unloaded all the chickens, my mother came outside carrying a check and said, “Thanks again, Mr. Chandler.”

  He took the check, told us good-bye, and drove off, and before he even turned onto the road, my mother said, “What a strange man.”

  She opened up a little makeup mirror and looked at her face and then said, “Okay, Don, I need six dozen eggs by this afternoon, so go collect them.”

  My mother walked back into the house and I walked to the chicken yard. I knew there was no way I could get six dozen eggs by that afternoon, but I figured I’d collect as many as I could before I told her that. While I was collecting the eggs, I realized something else and that was that our coop wasn’t big enough for all the new chickens because it had only thirty nests in it. I didn’t want chickens laying eggs all over the yard, so I figured I’d need to build some more nests.

  Before I thought about that any more, though, I collected the eggs, which came out to a dozen, put them in a carton, and then walked into our house and into the living room. My mother was sitting down reading a magazine and when she saw me, she put it down and asked, “Well, where are my eggs?”

  I picked the carton up so she could see it, and I said, “The chickens only laid a dozen eggs this morning.”

  My mother stood up from her chair and walked over to me.

  “Don,” she said. “You mean to tell me that a hundred chickens only laid a dozen eggs? Now I find that hard to believe.”

  I looked down and said, “The new chickens didn’t lay any eggs. These are from the old ones.”

  “What do you mean the new chickens didn’t lay any eggs?”

  “They’re going to need some more time to get used to the yard before they start laying,” I told her.

  “Oh, please,” she said. “You expect me to believe that?”

  I looked up at her and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  My mother looked at me and tapped her foot a little and then asked, “Well, how long before we have five more dozen?”

  “I don’t know,” I said

  Then my mother asked, “Didn’t you win that chicken contest? Why don’t you know these things?”

  I thought about this for a second and answered, “I can get them to start laying faster if I can build some nests for them but I need some lumber and help.”

  My mother spread out her arms, kind of like a chicken spreads out its wings, and then she said, “Lumber and help. That sounds expensive. Can’t you use something else?”

  “Maybe I can make some nests out of cardboard boxes,” I told her. “Do you have any I can use?”

  My mother said, “Yeah, sure. There’s a bunch in the pantry. Take whatever you want.”

  I walked toward the pantry, but then I really started to wonder why all of a sudden my mother had bought all those chickens, so I turned to her and asked, “Mother, why did you buy all those chickens?”

  She looked at me and said, “Don, don’t question your mother. Dick, tell him not to question his mother.”

  We both looked around when we didn’t hear him answer, and my mother said, “Oh, I forgot he’s not here. Anyway, if you must know, we’ve had so many offers for those eggs that I decided it’s an opportunity we just can’t afford to pass up. I mean if we’re going to be stuck here in this armpit, we might as well take advantage of the little things it has to offer.”

  She walked to her room and came back carrying her purse.

  “I have an errand to run,” she told me. “I’m hoping when I get back, you’ll have five dozen more eggs for me.”

  She took the dozen eggs from me, walked out of the house to her car, and then drove off. I watched her from the living room and then realized when her car pulled onto the road that it was the first time she’d ever left me alone. I took a couple of steps toward the front door to chase after her, but then I stopped because I didn’t know why I had to chase her. I wasn’t scared and I didn’t want to go on her errand with her and I wanted to build some nests for my new chickens.

  When I couldn’t see her car anymore, I turned away from the window. There was a moth flying around the living room and I watched it until it landed on the music box on top of the bookcase. This made me think of the little ballerina that was inside. Like I said before, when I was a kid, I thought it was a fairy like Tinker Bell and I thought the only way it could fly away was if I wound up the music box as tight as I could and then whispered, “Fly.” I never did because my mother was almost always in the living room. But she wasn’t there then and even though I knew the ballerina wasn’t real and wouldn’t fly away like a fairy, I still wanted to wind up the music box.

  Before I could do anything, though, I saw my mother’s car coming up the driveway from our front window. I walked out into the yard because I thought that she was coming back to get me. My mother stopped the car and got out.

  “I forgot something,” she said, and then walked past me and went into the house.

  She came back outside about a minute later and got in her car and drove off. I forgot about the music box and went back in the house to get some boxes for the nests. I found some in the pantry and then decided to look in the kitc
hen cabinets for some plastic bowls.

  I didn’t find any, but I did find something that was kind of weird. It was an envelope with some checks that were about eleven years old and were made out to a bunch of different places like the grocery store and electric company. They all had the word paid stamped on them, so I figured that the people who they were made out to had gotten their money. One of the checks, though, was made out to Ray Munson. He was the man that my parents argued about all the time.

  At the bottom of the check near the word Memo, it said “Dawn.” I didn’t understand what that meant because my mother usually used that space to write down what she bought. I wondered if maybe she had bought some dishwashing liquid from Mr. Munson because there was a brand called Dawn and it didn’t make sense that she had bought my sister from him. But the check was for two hundred dollars so I knew it couldn’t be for dishwashing liquid unless it was for a whole lot of it and I’d never seen a whole lot of it around the house. I thought about asking my parents what it meant, but I figured that my mother would yell at me, so I just put the check back in the envelope and put it back where I found it and then went out to the chicken yard to make nests in the coop.

  The coop was a barn with three walls. Inside there were shelves with wooden nests filled with hay. About four hours later, I had built three new shelves from some old planks and seventy more nests. They weren’t like the wooden nests that were already in the coop, though. These new ones were made out of shoe and small appliance boxes, wicker baskets, a few casserole dishes that my mother never used, and an old Crock-Pot that didn’t work anymore. I filled them with hay, weeds from around the house, leftover Easter egg grass, and old cloth diapers that my mother had never thrown away.

  While I was staring at the new nests in the coop and trying to figure out how to make them better, my mother drove up and ran to the fence.