Jimmy Roberts died one week after he learned how to defrost meat. I know so because he told me the last time we met. You just put it in water, like in a plastic bag or something, and wait. He knew about beans too. Said you take the dried ones and soak ’em overnight. Then in the morning, boil until soft. Then use them like they came out of a can.
Too bad he didn’t know anything about bladder infections, because that’s what killed him.
He was a funny guy, old Jimmy. Always telling stories about his cousin. Like he used to say his cousin had this condition that makes him have an orgasm every time he takes a pee. “So we never see him anymore because now all he does is stay home and drink water!”
Another time he told us his cousin bought himself a blow up doll. “He says it works great—already filled up one leg!” Jimmy was always telling funny stories like that. Dirty ones, you know. So he didn’t tell ’em around women. But they were still pretty funny.
One time he rented a hooker ’cause he wanted to take a good look down there. Got her to lay down naked and open up her legs. He started poking around trying to identify all the pieces when he came upon something he didn’t know. Said, “what’s this?” and she goes, “that’s my Libya.” He goes, “No way, you got your own country!” Then he looks up at us and says, “Maybe that’s where that word comes from. Maybe it means little country.”
He was a horrible person. He really was.
His father was our school principal. Of course Jimmy stayed on and finished. I think he even went to college. His dad was a smart man, always trying to teach you something. Like he talked about Plato. Figured he was the best man in history. And then he’d tell us about Socrates, who Plato thought was even better. Aristotle was another one Mr. Roberts liked. Said he was smart too but in a different sort of way.
I never understood much about what teachers were trying to tell you. None of it made sense to me. Sure I liked counting and ABCs, but I never got the part about science or real math. I liked geography and one time got an A on an assignment. I never felt more proud than when I got that A. For days I figured they got the wrong kid, but no one said anything so I guess it was me.
Another time Jimmy told us about Hitler. Said during the fall of Berlin he married his girlfriend. Then twelve hours later he shot himself. “Now there were other things going on at the time but she was probably driving him crazy!”
Oh, he was bad.
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Mrs. Roberts was a nice lady who had wonderful penmanship. I know so because she was always leaving Jimmy notes. “Baseball at 5:00” or “Don’t forget your lunch.” Some of them just said “I love you.” What a nice thing to say. Some kids know it and some kids don’t. I figure it can’t hurt for adults to say something nice. (One time I stole an “I love you” and kept it in my room.)
My mother never said things like that. It’s like she didn’t know the words. Sometimes she’d say “pass the salt” without yelling at you, so I guess that was her way. But she sure didn’t put herself out for anyone. Then I’d go to Arturro Matzurro’s house or Jimmy’s and see what a real woman was like. Boy, what a difference. Then I’d wish they could be my mom.
Yes, Mrs. Roberts was a nice lady but her little dog wasn’t. That mutt must have bit half the kids in Alderside. I remember being chased by that thing for more than a mile. Man, what a shit mutt.
Back then people used to let their dogs run wild. They were part of the scenery, you know, with positions of power. Dogs had almost as many rights as people. It’s why you had to work things out. But me and that mutt never agreed. Maybe we had difficulties in a past life. I don’t know. Tried to kill it once. I did. Sharpened a stick and waited for it in the field behind Jimmy’s house. But on that particular day it never came. Next time I saw it I didn’t have the stick. Eventually we worked it out, but I never trusted that dog.
Jimmy used to call it Ipsa. Said that was Swedish for I pissa-shitta anywhere I wanta. People used to ask what kind of dog you got, and Jimmy would say a carpet shitter. Two parts carpet, ten parts shitter. “And it’s a dumb dog. You say roll over – it plays dead. You say shake paw – and it shits on the carpet.” God, I hated that thing.