The Gewgaws Adventure Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  About The Author

  THE GEWGAWS ADVENTURE

  (Perry & Arvin Adventures, Book 1)

  C.M. Bacon

  The Gewgaws Adventure

  (Perry & Arvin Adventures, Book 1)

  Copyright © 2016 C.M. Bacon

  http://www.cmbacon.com

  ISBN-13 (eBook): 978-0-9975786-0-7

  ISBN-13 (Print): 978-0-9975786-1-4

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. It may not be copied or given away unless the original copy is destroyed/deleted. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. For permissions and inquiries, please write to the author at [email protected].

  First Edition 2016 (Previously released as Gewgaws: A New Adventure with an Old Friend)

  Dedicated to all my family and friends.

  Thank you, Nico. I couldn't have done it without your support.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Arvin is Back!

  “But Mom, I’m almost on level 7,” I said, pushing buttons on the control pad. My bed let out a high-pitched SQUEAK as I leaned over to my left. “Mom, I can’t see.”

  Mom stood blocking my view of the TV, forcing me to hit A-BB-A over and over again to stay alive. She was wearing her white Saturday dress and scowling at me as I played my favorite game. Her polished purple fingernails drummed a familiar motherly tune on the matching purple belt around her waist.

  “Perry! You promised me you’d meet with Arvin today.” The blonde dragon sounded more annoyed than usual. “The sun is out. The birds are singing. And you haven’t seen your best friend in almost two years. You were supposed to meet him at the Shelby Lane Pool 5 minutes ago.”

  “I don’t want to go swimming with Chipmunk,” I said, trying to avoid eye-contact with the dragon. “I have other friends now. What will they think?”

  “Arvin’s a little ‘odd.’ Since when is being odd a crime? You used to be like birds of a feather, two peas in a pod, the dynamic duo, two sides of a --.”

  “Mom,” I said, interrupting her favorite clichés, “two years is a long time. What if he’s changed? Or even worse, what if he’s the same?”

  Mom crossed her arms, shook her head, and made a rapid “tsk, tsk, tsk” sound behind clenched teeth. “I hoped you’d matured past all that nonsense. Now that he’s back, it’d be a pity for you not to see each other.”

  “Mom, Arvin actually looks like a chipmunk, and he used to swim with his shirt on.”

  She quickened the “tap, tap, tap, tap” against her purple belt. “Boys can swim with their shirts on. It’s perfectly normal.”

  “Yeah, if your skin is whiter than snow,” I said, scratching at mom’s idea of a “summer” haircut with one hand and pushing alphabet buttons to slay a dragon with the other. I didn’t want my English class crush to see me. “What if Emilia Wren is there? What if she sees me with my shirt off? What if she sees me with Chipmunk?”

  “If little Miss Wren has a problem with either you or Arvin, remind her a ‘Wren’ is a little brown-feathered bird like her,” Mom said, her finger-drumming coming to a quick end, “and tell her to fly off.”

  I could never tell Emilia to “fly off.” I first saw Emilia Wren after Christmas vacation when she moved to Shelbyville from Hawaii. She was almost my height with long, straight brown hair and matching brown eyes. Under her left ear, she had seven little black freckles, nestled together like a star constellation. Even in winter she wore a bright sun dress under her parka and used words like “Kahoolawe” to talk about places she’d been. Once she said “hi” as we passed in the hall. I swear I smelled coconuts, and I threw up on her shoes.

  “Perry! What are you waiting for?” Mom asked. “I want you at the Shelby Lane Pool in five minutes, so you’d better be out of this house in two.”

  “Mom, have you even bothered looking outside ‘this house’ today? Mr. Thompson and Mrs. McGillis are both smoking cigars on their front porches again. Do you want me to get academia?” I said, assured I wouldn’t have to face either my crush or my former friend today.

  “You mean Adenocarcinoma. Our elderly neighbors aren’t going to give you lung cancer. But what you will get from me is a month without that ridiculous game of yours. Why your father ever bought that thing, I’ll never understand.”

  “It’s called Dragon Sorcerer 3.” I insisted she say its proper name. “Dad bought the whole series for me after you told me about his anaconda.”

  “It was Aden-o-car-ci-no-ma.” Mom enunciated the word as if it were the first time I’d heard it.

  “Thanks for the help, Professor Dobbs,” I said, using her “Teacher Name.” I’d prefer academia or an anaconda to the adenocarcinoma any day.

  “Don’t you want to go gewgaw-hunting with Arvin?” She tried diverting my attention away from the T.V. to the dusty, old leather trunk beside my bed. “You could add something new to your collection.”

  “Whatever, Mom. I’m too big for a trunk full of gewgaws and for Arvin.”

  That dusty trunk was 100 years older than me and almost as big. I’m sure it was dark brown when it belonged to my great grandfather, but it seemed faded and lifeless. The gold stitching frayed at sharp corners and the leather had worn through to the pine underneath. A brass lock was fastened on the front, and little rivets were fastened around all the edges. They used to shine whenever the sunlight hit them, but now they were rusted and dull. The trunk used to be beautiful, but now it was just another old box - one I’d rather forget. I kept my collection of gewgaws in there.

  On our walks through town, I’d spot something gleaming in the sunlight and try to put it in my pocket. Mom would tell me to put it back on whatever section of sidewalk or park bench I’d found it.

  “What’s this?” I’d ask, picking up whatever mystery object I’d found.

  “Put that dirty gewgaw down,” Mom said. “You don’t know what it is or where it’s been. Do you want to get sick?”

  “But you have a thousand gewgaws,” I said, groaning, hoping she’d relent.

  “Those are not gewgaws. They’re knick-knacks and other trinkets your father bought me over the last fifteen years. If you want some knick-knacks for your bookshelf, you can have several of mine. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind. He bought them all from nice clean stores; he didn’t pick up trash off a dirty sidewalk somewhere.”

  I tried to win the argument enough times, whenever I picked up a new gewgaw, she would scowl at me and say, “Don’t even think about it.” It took Mom a while to give up her “ban on gewgaws” and let me keep some of them - after a thorough boiling: a gray and blue bottle cap, a broken shoehorn, and a little toy car that had been bleached white in the sunlight.

  Dad was more sympathetic from the beginning. He knew what it meant to be a boy and understood I wanted a sidewalk treasure, not some dollar store knick-knack. Dad found a few gewgaws of his own: a piece of aqua yarn and an ea
gle feather. One night he brought me something special.

  For a couple weeks before my eleventh birthday, violent summer storms raged, flooding the whole town. Water seeped through the roof and made its way all over the house. One spot made a sharp DRIP into one of Mom’s pots she’d placed in my closet. I got used to falling asleep to the constant DRIP DRIP DRIP behind the closet door. On one thunderous night, Dad tiptoed into my bedroom and woke me, bringing me back from the monstrous serpents and fire-breathing dragons in my dreams.

  “Perry,” he whispered, shaking my arm. “Son, wake up. I found another gewgaw. I think you’re going to like it.”

  I sat up hearing the DRIP DRIP DRIP and rubbed the crusty gunk out of my tired eyes. I opened them to see Dad sitting on the edge of my bed, smiling at me. He was drenched from the storm and looked beyond exhausted. His once thick brown hair looked brittle and gray, and his skin was pale - almost yellow. His bright hazel eyes looked sunken and dark with tiny red lines branching out in every direction. In his left hand, he held something small and shiny.

  “I found it on the sidewalk outside our door,” he said, lifting a shiny nickel-sized coin into the moonlight.

  He reached to find my hand in the soft, white light. He took my hand into his, spread open my fingers, and placed the coin into my palm. In the pale moonlight, I could see it was black on one side and silver on the other. Both sides were smooth and embossed with a strange writing, twirling and twisting like a bug trying to escape the fly swatter. Two side-by-side holes passed through the center of the coin. My fingers glided over the holes and circled over the writing, feeling its twisty-twirly loops.

  “I had to wrestle a rather unfriendly red-bellied brown snake trying to eat it,” he said, smiling.

  “Funny, Dad. What does it say?” I asked, running my finger over the writing.

  “I’m not sure. Something about a bank or an arcade somewhere,” he guessed. “What do you think, Perry? Is it worthy of the collection?”

  “It’s definitely worthy. Thanks, Dad,” I said, leaning over to hug him.

  I pushed away the soft blanket, swung my legs over the bed, walked over to my favorite ball cap, and placed the small coin into its lined rim.

  “If it stops raining next week, can we go to the pool? I want to take another swimming lesson with Arvin. I bet he’ll be jealous.”

  I knew the coin could be the best gewgaw in my collection. But as it turned out, it would be the last. Despite the returning sunshine and warmth, I didn’t go to the pool the next quiet Saturday. In fact, I never went swimming again. Mom and Dad sat me down after dragon cartoons to tell me Dad had been fighting a “war against academia” for a while. He was in the “4th stage” and didn’t have the energy to go out to find more gewgaws. On the morning of my birthday a week later, Dad lost his brief “war.” I traded gewgaw-hunting for playing Dragon Sorcerer games. Mom removed the gewgaws from my windowsill, dusted them off, and placed them into the trunk. I hadn’t touched its brass lock since.

  “Perry,” Mom said, bringing me out of the past with another well-rehearsed speech, “I can’t be your best friend and your mother, too. Winter’s over again. Spring came and went again. It’s time for you to put on some summer clothes and reconnect with a real friend your own age - not your mother. You should at least have one other person to invite to your party. Anyway, I need to clean this entire house including your bedroom. Your father would’ve never let you get away with this disaster.” She looked to several mounds of toys and dirty clothes in my room piled up like ant hills.

  “Mom, it’s too hot to go outsi-”

  “You promised you’d meet him,” Mom said, sending me on a guilt-trip. “Are you going to break another promise to Arvin?”

  “Fine!” I shut-off the game and opened my closet to find something “summer” to wear.

  In the back left of the closet sat a large square box with the faded words “Summer Clothes” written on the sides and top. I reached into the closet, dragged out the box, and flung open its flimsy cardboard flaps. It was full of swimming trunks with multicolored palm trees, green, orange, and black tank tops, colorful flip-flops, sandals, and shorts with laces where zippers ought to be. Mom bought most of them on sale before the snow even melted, and I had never worn any of them.

  “I have nothing to wear.”

  Mom scowled down at me. “What about the red shorts?” She picked them out and unfolded them to show me. “You like red. I remember when we bought--”

  “I don’t like red.” I yanked the shorts out of her hand, tossing them back into the open box.

  “What about the black ones with the silver penguins on the pockets?”

  “Penguins? I don’t like penguins. Besides, penguins live in cold places. You said you wanted me to wear summer clothes.”

  “Fine!” She was getting annoyed again. “You’ll wear the blue shorts with the orange palm trees. You have five minutes to change, and don’t forget to put on some sunscreen and a nice hat.”

  “But--”

  “Don’t argue. And wear the orange tank top. They look good together.”

  “But--”

  “You had five minutes. Now you have three. Move your feet, Perry Oliver Dobbs.”

  Mom backed out of my room and slammed the door behind her. “Oliver?” I winced at hearing the name. She only uses my middle name right before she burns my soul out of my body with her glowing blue eyes. I put on the stinky sunscreen she had left for me, making sure to put a big white blob on my already pale nose, one under each eye, behind each ear, and everywhere I could reach. I laced up my shorts, pulled the tank top over my head, grabbed my brown sandals, and slipped on my favorite Minnesota Twins ball cap. I lumbered out of my room, down the hall past old family photos, and out onto the sunlit porch.

  Feeling the summer’s heat on my skin, I turned back to plead with Mom. “Don’t you want me to mow the lawn or something? I can--”

  “Eat lunch at the Shelby Lane Pool and show Arvin the new arcade. Don’t come home before dinner.” Mom shut the door and fastened the deadbolt in place.

  I headed down the scorching sidewalk toward the Shelby Lane Pool.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A BIG Splash

  Shelby Lane was one of the oldest pools in the city. It was two blocks away and close enough, if I leaned out Mom’s bedroom window, I could almost make out the sign on the old rusted gate reading “Soda pop 15 cents.” Inside, most of the numbers had rubbed off the cracked concrete. On the spot where “15 Feet” had been painted, it simply read “1.” All the white lounge chairs were cracked and faded. Their paint had chipped off, revealing an ugly brownish-amber color underneath.

  The lifeguards were all men. They had an open shower room instead of private stalls. I’d have to wash the chlorine out of my hair while blindfolded. If she wanted Arvin and me to have fun, she should’ve taken us to Splash World. I made my way closer to the old pool, careful to stay in the shade, avoiding a bee and a snake, jumping over sprinkler heads, and taking my time to cross Shelby Lane.

  It was a typical street as far as roads and lanes go. It was as straight as an arrow, lined with large Bur Oak trees for miles along its faded black asphalt. It seemed like those trees spat on the ground - either leaves in the winter or acorns in the fall. Houses were all little blue or white squares with triangle roofs. Small octagonal windows were cut so little old ladies could watch the comings and goings of strangers. If the house was white, the window trim was blue. If the house was blue, the window trim was white. Each house had its address spray-painted on the curb in black numbers over a red, white, and blue striped rectangle. If I could call Shelby Lane one thing, I’d call it “boring.” I was halfway to the pool when I heard a familiar voice.

  “Perry. Perry Dobbs. Is that you?” It was Arvin’s raspy voice shouting my name.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I said, nervous about seeing him again. “I’m coming.”

  Arvin was an “interesting” kid - as Mom called him once. We
met five years ago when we were both eight. I was out walking towards the pool with Mom and Dad. We were about to cross the street when I heard someone shout, “I’ll help you, poor worms,” in a strange raspy voice. Instead of seeing a little old lady in a kitchen apron and flat shoes, I saw a little red-haired boy running wildly, arms flailing, to save a few worms stuck on the sizzling sidewalk.

  Arvin was the kind of kid who volunteered to clean the chalky erasers and remembered to push in his chair after class. He liked gluing rhinestones and sequins onto his clothes, but even that looked dull against his curly, red hair burning like fire over his pale face and emerald eyes. The kids at school joked his flaming hair once started a fire, burning down his house. It was a little funny.

  We loved collecting gewgaws and became best friends. Arvin already had several before we met: a red plastic ring, a bent spring, a mini pencil with “King Travel Insurance” written on the side, a burnt action figure, and two feathers - one cardinal feather he found on his front porch and an eagle feather like mine. We sealed our status as BFFs by joining the school science club during the week, taking swimming lessons on Saturdays, playing arcade games together on Sundays, and enjoying endless junk food and sci-fi movies with Dad at least twice a month.

  By the time we were 10, Arvin was a little over four feet tall, making him the shortest boy in school. Mom said Arvin was a little person and had already stopped growing. It gave everyone another reason to tease him. Older kids would pet his red head and call him “Chipmunk.” “I’m a boy, not a chipmunk,” he’d answer. I promised I wouldn’t call him that - a promise I tried to keep.

  A couple months after Dad’s death, Ms. Pewter said Arvin was having problems both at home and at school, so she sent him to live with his aunt in Ireland. I hadn’t seen him since.

  “Perry Dobbs, are you coming or not?” Arvin said, sounding like Mom.