Dear Mr. Henshaw / Дорогой мистер Хеншоу. 7-8 классы - Клири Беверли (книга жизни TXT) 📗

I do not have any pets. (My teacher says always answer questions in full sentences.) When Mom and Dad got divorced and Mom got me, Dad took Bandit because Mom said that she couldn’t work and look after a dog, and Dad said that he likes to take Bandit in his truck because it helps him to stay awake on long hauls if he has his dog to talk to. I really miss Bandit, but I guess he’s happier with Dad. Like the father said in Ways to Amuse a Dog, dogs get bored if they stay in the house all day. That is what Bandit would do with Mom and me.

Bandit likes to ride. That’s how we got him. He just jumped into Dad’s cab at a truck stop in Nevada and sat there. He had a red bandanna around his neck instead of a collar, so we called him Bandit.

Sometimes I lie awake at night listening to the gas station ping-pinging and thinking about Dad and Bandit hauling tomatoes or cotton on Interstate 5, and I am glad that Bandit is there to keep Dad awake. Have you ever seen Interstate 5? It is straight and boring with nothing much but fields. It is so boring that the cattle in the fields don’t even moo. They just stand there.

My hand is tired from all this writing again. I’ll get to No. 6 next time. Mom says not to worry about the postage, so I can’t use that as an excuse for not answering.

Mr. Henshaw:

Here we go again. I’ll never write another list of questions for an author to answer, no matter what the teacher says.

School is OK, I guess. That’s where the kids are. The best thing about sixth grade in my new school is that if I do my best, I’ll finish it.

I don’t have many friends in my new school. Mom says that maybe I’m a loner, but I don’t know. A new boy in school has to be careful until he knows who’s who. Maybe I’m just a medium boy whom nobody pays much attention to. The only time anybody paid much attention to me was in my last school when I gave the book report on Ways to Amuse a Dog. After my report some people went to the library to get the book. The kids here pay more attention to my lunch than to me. They really want to see what I have in my lunch because Katy gives me such good things.

I wish somebody would invite me to their place sometime. After school I spend time kicking a soccer ball with some of the other kids so they won’t think I am a snob or anything, but nobody invites me anyway.

I don’t have a favorite teacher, but I really like Mr. Fridley. He’s the custodian. He’s always fair about who gets the milk first at lunchtime, and once when he had to clean after someone who got sick in the hall, he didn’t even look cross. He just said, “It looks like somebody’s made a mess,” and started putting sawdust around it. Mom got mad at Dad for making a mess too, but she didn’t mean throwing up. She meant that he stayed too long at that truck stop outside of town.

Two more questions to go. Maybe I won’t answer them. Ha-ha.

Mr. Henshaw:

OK, you win, because Mom is still nagging me, and I don’t have anything else to do. I’ll answer your last two questions even if I stay up all night.

What bothers me about what? I don’t know what you mean. I guess I’m bothered by a lot of things. I am bothered when someone steals something out of my lunch bag. I don’t know enough about the people in the school to know who it can be. I am bothered about little kids with runny noses. I don’t mean I am fussy or anything like that. I don’t know why. I am just bothered.

I am bothered about walking to school slowly. The rule is that nobody should be on the school grounds until ten minutes before the first bell rings. Mom has an early class. The house is so lonely in the morning when she is gone that I can’t stand it and leave together with her. I don’t mind being alone after school, but I don’t like it in the morning before the fog lifts and our cottage seems dark and wet.

Mom tells me to go to school but to walk slowly which is hard work. Once I tried walking around every square in the sidewalk, but that was boring too. Sometimes I walk backwards except when I cross the street, but I still get to school so early that I have to hide behind the bushes so Mr. Fridley won’t see me.

I am bothered when my Dad telephones me and finishes by saying, “Well, keep your nose clean, kid.” Why can’t he say that he misses me, and why can’t he call me Leigh? I am bothered when he doesn’t phone at all which is most of the time. I have a book of road maps and try to follow his trips when I hear from him. When the TV worked I watched the weather on the news so I would know if he was driving through blizzards, tornadoes, hail or any of that fancy weather they have in other places of the U.S.

I wish somebody would stop stealing the good stuff out of my lunch bag. I guess I wish a lot of other things, too. I wish someday Dad and Bandit would stop in front of our house in the rig with a big trailer. Dad would yell out of the cab, “Come on, Leigh. Jump in and I’ll take you to school.” Then I’d climb in and Bandit would wag his tail and lick my face. We’d drive off and all the men in the gas station would stare at us. Instead of going straight to school, we’d go along the freeway looking down on the tops of ordinary cars. Then we would turn around and go back to school just before the bell rang. I guess I wouldn’t look so medium then, sitting up there in the cab. I’d jump out, and Dad would say, “Bye, Leigh. See you,” and Bandit would give a little bark like good-bye. I’d say, “Drive carefully, Dad,” like I always do. Dad would take a minute to write in the truck’s logbook, “Drove my son to school.” Then the truck would drive away and all the kids would stare and wish their Dads drove big trucks, too.

There, Mr. Henshaw. That’s the end of your stupid questions. I hope you are happy about making me do all this extra work.

Dear Mr. Henshaw,

I am sorry I was rude in my last letter when I finished answering your questions. Maybe I was mad about other things, like Dad forgetting to send this month’s payment. Mom tried to phone him at the trailer park. He has his own phone in his trailer so the broker who gives him jobs can call him. I wish he still hauled sugar beets to the refinery here so he could come to see me. The judge in the divorce said that he has a right to see me.

When you answered my questions, you said that the way to be an author was to write. You underlined it twice. Well, I did a lot of writing, and you know what? Now that I think about it, it wasn’t so bad when it wasn’t for a book report or a report on some country in South America or anything where I had to look for things in the library. I even miss writing now that I’ve finished your questions. I get lonesome. Mom is working overtime at “Catering by Katy” because people give a lot of parties this time of year.

When I write a book maybe I’ll call it The Great Lunchbag Mystery, because I have a lot of trouble with my lunchbag. Mom doesn’t cook roasts and steaks now that Dad is gone, but she makes me good lunches with sandwiches on bread from the health food store with good filling spread all the way to the corners. Katy sends me little cheesecakes and other things she baked just for me.