Jason Deas - Benny James 03 - Brushed Away Read Online Free PDF Page B

bean bag chair. “This is a fascinating story, don’t get me wrong, but what does it have to do with the Tilley art scene?”
    “I’m getting there.”
    Uncle Karl started rocking again.
    “In Chattanooga I quickly learned there were two schools of thought when it came to art. There were the new thinkers and the old.”
    “They were a little behind the times, weren’t they? I mean, I’m no art historian, but didn’t art take a major turn away from realism and classic ideas in the 1920’s?”
    “Remember, we’re talking about Chattanooga, Tennessee, not New York City.”
    Uncle Karl pulled the cowboy hat off his head and tossed it to his right without looking. It knocked over a glass jar full of brown water and paint brushes and shattered on the concrete floor. Uncle Karl acted as though he didn’t hear it as he didn’t turn his head to look and see what happened.
    “Switch,” Uncle Karl said as he got off the wooden rocking horse.
    “You want to sit here?”
    “Yeah. And you got to take a ride on this filly.”
    Uncle Karl fell into the purple bean bag with a sigh. Benny threw his right leg over the wooden horse and settled into the painted saddle.
    “If you want the hat, it’s over there on the floor. It might be wet and have some glass in it.”
    “I’ll pass.” Benny started rocking.
    “You ever seen West Side Story?”
    “I have.”
    “The old and new art groups were like the Jets and the Sharks. Two gangs that hated each other.”
    “The old is always scared of the new,” Benny said, “but what does this have to do with Tilley, Georgia?”
    Uncle Karl heard something off in the distance and Benny could almost see his ears perk up. Uncle Karl’s eyes doubled in size, and he planted his palms down on the concrete floor, ready to pop up out of the bean bag. In the next instant, Benny heard it—the ice cream truck. As Uncle Karl sprinted out the door, Benny checked his watch. It was 9:30 and too early in his mind for an ice cream truck to be making its rounds.
    Uncle Karl hopped in place as he waited. Benny walked up beside him and wanted to say something, but somehow he wasn’t sure what. As the obnoxious repertoire of songs blaring from the ice cream truck crept closer, Benny finally thought of something to say.
    “Really? It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning.”
    “Ice cream is good,” Uncle Karl said.
    “I’ve never thought of ice cream as a breakfast food.”
    “Don’t be an old thinker. Join me in new thoughts. What do you pour over cereal?”
    “Milk.” Benny already knew where this was going.
    “What is the main ingredient in ice cream?”
    “Milk.”
    “Thank you! I like my milk frozen.”
    The truck appeared. It was not an ordinary ice cream truck. A white vehicle approached, which had hundreds of rubber duckies glued to its exterior.
    Something clicked in Benny’s brain and he asked, “Do you own this truck?”
    “Yes! How did you know?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe the rubber duckies gave it away. Maybe because instead of Yankee Doodle Dandy or Pop Goes the Weasel, the music coming from the truck is unrecognizable noise yet beautiful.”
    “It’s Mozart backwards,” Uncle Karl said with a smile.
    “Nice touch.”
    “I make my employee come here first every morning.”
    “Interesting.”
    The truck stopped in front of Uncle Karl and Benny. Uncle Karl continued to hop up and down like a child. The driver slid the glass window open and greeted Uncle Karl with cheer.
    “Two Super Buddy Chocolate Dips.”
    “Coming right up, sir.”
    The man handed Uncle Karl the two ice creams and he gave him money.
    “I don’t want one of those,” Benny said.
    “One of them is not for you. But get whatever you like.”
    “No thanks,” Benny said.
    Uncle Karl nodded to the driver and he slid the window shut and drove away.
    With an ice cream in each hand, Uncle Karl began to eat, going back and forth between cones. It was as if Benny had disappeared. Benny stood and