Dump Trucks and Dogsleds: I'm on My Way, Mom! Page 8

  Frankie must have grabbed the phone back because he said to me, “Call us back in five minutes. Let’s give McKelty a chance to call his dad and prove himself.”

  Then the phone went dead.

  “What happened?” my dad said.

  “McKelty thinks he can help us. We’ll know in five minutes.”

  Boy, it was a long five minutes we waited there in Stein’s bakery. I was so nervous, I had another piece of butter cake and didn’t even taste the butter.

  At exactly five minutes, we called.

  “It’s a done deal,” Frankie said. “Guido is the driver and he’s on his way. He’ll take you right to the hospital.”

  “Wow,” I said. “This is great. More than great. This is fantasmagoric.”

  I hung up the phone and shook my head in amazement.

  “What is fantasmagoric, Hank?” Emily asked. “Spill it!”

  “You’re not going to believe this, guys. Nick ‘the bully’ McKelty is sending a limousine for us.”

  I couldn’t believe it myself. The guy who makes my life miserable actually came through. That was the good news. The bad news was that he was going to hold this over my head for the rest of my life, or even longer.

  CHAPTER 24

  We stood outside Stein’s bakery to watch for the limousine. It wasn’t hard, because very few cars were going by at all. In fact, there were fewer than few, as in zero.

  “Do you think it will be a black stretch limo?” Emily asked. “Or a white one?”

  “I hope it’s not a white one,” I answered, “because it will be hard to see it in the snow.”

  “This is awfully kind of your friend Nick McKelty,” my dad said. “You’ll have to be sure and write him a thank-you note.”

  The thought of writing a thank-you note in general makes me sick to my stomach. But add to that the fact that the note was going to Nick the Tick . . . well, my stomach started to do flip-flops right there in the Bronx. I felt my belly button smash against my belt buckle several times.

  We waited in silence, watching eagerly for the limo. After a while, I saw a vehicle approaching. It was hard to make out exactly what it was because snow was falling again.

  “Do you think that’s him?” Emily asked.

  I squinted into the distance, and now I could make out the shape of the vehicle. It was a garbage truck and it looked like a huge, blue, snow-eating beetle crawling its way toward us. When it pulled up alongside where we were standing, the driver rolled down his window and shouted out to us.

  “Yous guys waitin’ for me?”

  “Oh no, sir,” my dad said. “The only garbage we have is these empty hot chocolate cups.”

  “We’re waiting for a limousine,” I added, “to take us to the hospital.”

  “Yeah, that’s where I’m going,” the driver said. “Lenox Hill Hospital, right?”

  “You’re not Guido by any chance, are you?” I couldn’t imagine that his answer would be yes.

  “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he said.

  In my mind, I replayed the conversation that I had with Nick the Tick. As I reviewed it, I realized that he hadn’t actually said he was sending a limousine. What he said was that his father’s friend was head of transportation for the city and he would send a vehicle. How typical of McKelty to make it sound like something it wasn’t. I’ll bet his dad’s friend was the head of the garbage pickup and, naturally, the vehicle he sent for us was a dump truck!

  Just another example of the McKelty Factor at work, folks.

  I’m sure my dad saw the disappointment on my face. After what we had been through that day . . . the horse car, the acrobats’ van, the dogsled . . . I was really looking forward to sitting on a soft seat with a heater and okay . . . maybe a moon roof and bottled water.

  “We have to be grateful to have any ride at all,” my father warned. “And remember, we’re almost there.”

  Guido opened the door of the truck cab.

  “Climb aboard,” he said. “It’s going be tight, but hey, we’re all practically relatives, right? If you’re close with McKelty, you’re all right with me.”

  The reason it was going to be so tight in there was that two girls about four years old who looked exactly alike were sitting next to Guido, each one strapped into a car seat. They took up almost the whole front seat.

  “These are my twins, Ratchlet and Colette,” he explained. “The babysitter didn’t show up so they’re riding with me today. They love my truck, don’t you, girls?”

  “No!” Ratchlet said.

  “It stinks,” Colette pointed out.

  And boy were they right. The cab was filled with the smell of years and years of people’s garbage. I can’t really describe it, but if you’re ever in the neighborhood of a trash dumpster and want to give it a sniff . . . you might come close to the aroma that was curling my nose hairs.

  “How about if the girl and the dog ride up here with us,” Guido suggested. “You’s guys can ride in back.”

  I looked toward the back of the truck. All I could see was plastic trash bags filled with who-knows-what, mixed in with piles of assorted tin cans and scraps of every kind of metal you could ever think of.

  “Excuse me, Guido,” I said, “but I don’t see any seats back there.”

  “You don’t need seats,” Guido said. “Use the handles. Just hang on. The fresh air will do you good. We have to go slow in this weather, so don’t worry, it’s not dangerous.”

  Emily climbed into the front seat. Cheerio settled right into her lap and closed his eyes. Lucky dog. I sure wished I could take a nap in the front seat.

  “Have a nice ride,” Emily said. “Hope it’s not too cold back there. Too bad you can’t sit up here.”

  “That’s okay. At least I won’t have to sit next to you.”

  “Can I pull your pig tails?” Ratchlet said to Emily.

  I saw her reach her little hand up to Emily’s dangling hair.

  “Me too!” echoed Colette. “I want a turn.”

  They were laughing like goons and, as I climbed down from the cab, I heard Emily screaming.

  “Not so hard, girls. Those things are attached.”

  The twins laughed even louder, and I heard Guido say, “Hey, ladies. I taught you better than that. Act your age.”

  My dad and I went to the back of the truck and found two little metal platforms that were welded on to the sides. Above each one was a handle for the garbage collector to hold on to while he was standing on the platform, so he could jump on and off the truck to empty each trash can on the route.

  “Hold on tight,” my dad said, as he helped me climb up onto my platform.

  “Maybe you should take your hat off,” I suggested to him. “You don’t want to get your pom-poms caught in the trash compactor.”

  And so we were off, bumping and thumping our way into New York City.

  I wish I could tell you that the ride was really fun and interesting, but those aren’t the first two words that spring to my mind. The first word that pops into my head to describe the ride is smelly. And the second one is stinky.

  Just as a general rule, you don’t want to be riding downwind of a garbage truck. As I hung onto the handle in the back, the combined smell of all the garbage wafted right up into my nose. Because I’m a nice guy, I’m going to spare you all the gory details, but let’s just say that my nose got a major workout that afternoon. By the time we got to the hospital, about forty-five minutes later, my poor little snout was totally exhausted.

  “There it is!” my dad shouted as we rounded the corner onto 77th Street. “Hank, have you ever seen such a beautiful hospital?”

  It was just a plain average building with a blue sign out in front, but I could really and truly understand why my dad thought it was so beautiful. Inside, my mom was waiting for us, about to give birth to a brand-new Zipzer.

  Then suddenly it hit me. What if she already had?

  CHAPTER 25

  The very second Guido
stopped the truck, my dad and I were on the street, running to the door of the hospital. Suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks. We had forgotten something.

  Someone, that is.

  Emily, to be exact. And Cheerio.

  We both realized it at exactly the same moment. As we ran back to Guido’s truck, Emily was climbing down from the front seat, clutching onto a still sleepy Cheerio, with Guido holding her hand for support. The twins were a giggling mess, and shouting their little heads off.

  “Good-bye, pig tails!” Ratchlet screamed.

  “Toodle-oo, piggy hair!” giggled Colette.

  Then they collapsed into laughter. Boy, four-year-olds sure are easily amused. Were they ever annoying. It made me think that the good thing about my new brother was that first off, he was a boy, and second off, there was only one of him.

  We all shook Guido’s hand and thanked him.

  “It was so kind of you to come for us,” my dad said.

  “No problem,” he answered. “Happy to do a favor for McKelty. We go way back, him and me.”

  “Do you know his son Nick?” I asked him. I just couldn’t resist.

  “Yeah,” Guido said. “He’s kind of a bum. Not really nice to my girls. Keeps taking their dessert. Maybe he’ll shape up some day and be more like you. You gotta hope for that.”

  I knew there was something I really liked about this Guido: The man had good taste in people!

  Guido waved good-bye and the three of us took off running for the hospital door. A receptionist was sitting at the front desk, and she told us we could find my mom on the third floor. We didn’t even want to wait for the elevator.

  “Where are the stairs?” my dad asked her.

  “They’re right next to the elevators,” she said, “but I hope you’re not planning to take that dog upstairs. We only allow animals that are service dogs or therapy dogs in the hospital.”

  “Cheerio is a therapy dog,” I said. “He makes my mom feel really good.”

  We didn’t wait for her answer, just bolted up the stairs like our feet had wings. On the third floor, a nice janitor directed us to the Maternity Waiting Room, which was behind a glass door at the end of the lime green hall.

  We burst into the room, gasping for air like we were the ones having a baby. The room was empty except for one man sitting on a sofa reading the newspaper. We couldn’t see his face because he was holding the newspaper up in front of it.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said to him. “Do you know where the babies are born?”

  When he lowered the newspaper, I realized the man was Papa Pete, my grandpa and the best person any of us could have seen at that moment.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, giving Emily and me his usual bear hug.

  “Am I too late?” my dad asked.

  “She’s in there,” he said, pointing to a set of glass double doors. “You better hurry!”

  After my dad went racing through the double doors, Emily, Papa Pete, and I sat there in the waiting room, waiting. I’m not so good at waiting, or sitting, but I am a good walker, so I got up and paced around the room making a batman design on the carpet with the soles of my sneakers.

  “Hank,” Papa Pete said. “Relax. Sit down. I brought you a snack. Your favorite. A crunchy dill.”

  “Thanks, Papa Pete, but this isn’t exactly a pickle moment. I’m kind of worried about Mom. Will she be okay?”

  “She was okay when she had you,” Papa Pete said. “And she was okay when she had your sister. I think she’s pretty good at having babies by now.”

  Frankie’s mom arrived from a coffee run she had made for Papa Pete. She was very relieved that my dad was in there with my mom.

  “I’ll leave you all to be a family now,” she said.

  We asked her if she would take Cheerio home. Poor guy. He was totally passed out under a chair, snoring louder than even Papa Pete does. He needed to be home in his doggy bed.

  Mrs. Townsend hugged us, wished us luck, and left, carrying Cheerio in her backpack. We settled in to wait some more. Emily just sat there doing a crossword puzzle. Papa Pete had brought her a book of crossword puzzles and a new, pink mechanical pencil because she doesn’t like pickles much. That shows how much her tongue knows.

  I couldn’t believe she could even try to come up with a seven-letter word for penguin toes at a time like this. Holy macaroni, she was turning into my dad right in front of my eyes. Someone toss a bucket of water on her, quickly, and stop the transformation! I saw that happen once in a horror movie where a guy was turning into a giant blood-sucking mosquito. The water dissolved him just in time.

  I went back to tracing Batman in the carpet, and had just finished his cape when my dad came bursting through the double doors. I froze in my tracks. Batman was going to have to wait for his tights.

  Sorry, Batman. Hope you don’t catch a cold.

  Papa Pete stood up, and even Emily dropped her new, pink mechanical pencil. You know something big is about to happen when that girl lets go of a mechanical pencil.

  “First let me say,” Dad boomed, not realizing his voice was so loud. “Mom is fine and so is your brother. And I am so glad we got here in time because that little guy was not waiting one more second.”

  “Hooray!” I screamed, my voice even louder than my dad’s. “And, guess what? I’ve come up with the perfect name.”

  “Hank . . .” my dad interrupted, but I wasn’t waiting for him. When you have an idea as sensational as I had, it’s got to come out right away.

  “We should name him after each person who helped us get here in time,” I said. “So, let me announce the name of my little brother. It’s Trigger Chin Harley Guido Zipzer. Is that the best name or what?”

  “That is the stupidest, dumbest name I have ever heard,” Emily said. “For sure, we should name him Isaac after the world’s greatest scientist, Sir Isaac Newton.”

  “That dude with the apples dropping on his head?” I said. “No way, Jose.”

  “Well, we’re not naming him Trigger, I can tell you that,” Emily shot back.

  “Hank! Emily! Both of you!” my dad said. “Can I please get a word in here?”

  “Let your dad finish his sentence,” Papa Pete said. “This is very exciting. I’d like to know what he has to say.”

  “Sure, Dad, but make it fast because I want to go meet Trigger.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to save the name Trigger for your next pet spider,” my dad said. “It’s an excellent spider name.”

  “I don’t know, Dad. It’s really hard to picture putting a saddle on a spider. But I guess you could do it if you got a really little saddle. I mean, we’re talking itty-bitty.”

  “Hank, stop and listen,” my dad said.

  “I’m back,” I said. “I’m right with you, Dad.”

  “Good, because this is important. Your mother and I have decided to call your brother Harry, after my father.”

  I was back, but was I ever sorry.

  “You’re kidding, Dad.” The words just fell out of my mouth. “You have the chance to give this kid the name of the century, and you stick him with Harry?”

  “Harry Irving Zipzer is a fine name.”

  “Dad, if you don’t mind, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “Well, hear it, because that’s his name.”

  “Harry is a short man who probably wears a bow tie.”

  “Harry is also a prince in England. A name is what you bring to it, Hank. And this Harry is our Harry who will bring the Zipzer attitude to whatever name we give him.”

  And then it hit me, all at once, and clearer than ever before. Harry Irving Zipzer was coming home with me, into my room, to mess up my things, to leave his poopy diapers in my wastebasket.

  “Dad,” I said, before I could stop my mouth. “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think I want a brother. Is it too late to send him back where he came from?”

  “Of course it is, moron,” Emily said.r />
  “Well, then,” I went on, “maybe we can exchange him for an alien. That would be interesting. And they don’t wear much. I could get my drawers back.”

  “Hank,” Papa Pete said, putting his big hand on my shoulder. “Before you know it, you are going to having such a good time with Harry. He’s going to look up to you for everything. Who’s going to teach him how to zip up the zipper on his jacket?”

  “I’m not very good at that myself,” I said. “I keep getting my shirt caught in the stupid thing.”

  “Who wants to go say hi to your new brother?” my dad asked, finally untying the mask that was hanging around his neck. By the way, did I mention that he was still wearing his pom-pom hat? Well, he was.

  “I do!” Emily said. “Katherine and I even made him a ‘welcome to the world’ card.”

  “One thing I know for sure,” I said. “This baby is not interested in communicating with reptiles.”

  “Why don’t we go ask him?” my dad said. “Come on, children.”

  Emily skipped after my dad as he pushed open the double doors that led down the hall to the hospital rooms. I hung back in the waiting room and just looked at Papa Pete. To be honest, I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about meeting this kid.

  “You have to trust me, Hank,” Papa Pete said. “Having a little brother is going to be the greatest thing in the world.”

  I trusted Papa Pete’s taste in pickles, that’s for sure. But when it came to his advice about little brothers, I was having a really hard time digesting his idea.

  CHAPTER 26

  Papa Pete and I followed my dad and Emily down the hall to my mom’s room, which, in case you’re ever at Lenox Hill Hospital, was 5011. I was pretty nervous about going in and I stopped at the entrance. My feet felt like I had a cement block on each of my shoes. But Papa Pete gave me a little push in the small of my back, and before you could say Harry Irving Zipzer, I was in.

  “Hank, honey,” my mom said. “Come give me a hug. I really need one from my big guy.”

  My mom actually looked great. A little tired, but she seemed really happy. I gave her a hug, and then another one. Wow, she was in a hugging frenzy. The only bad thing was that she was hugging Emily, too, and on the third hug, our hair touched. That put an end to my hugging.