The Life and Times of Benny Alvarez Read Online Free PDF Page B

pages of a novel. My mother’s emptying the dishwasher, and my father’s on his leather recliner, reading the paper, so he can have a ringside seat when Aldo arrives. Crash is upstairs for hiding the TV’s remote because my mother wouldn’t let him watch a rerun of Good Luck Charlie .
    When the doorbell rings, everyone freezes except for me and Spot, who’s barking and attacking the screen door. I open it a crack, and Aldo says, “Is Irene home?”
    â€œNo,” I say. “She ran off with a Russian ballet dancer.”
    â€œI thought it was a Bulgarian prince.”
    â€œThat was last week.”
    Aldo smirks. “Well, tell her I’ll have the car running.”
    â€œI’m telling the truth this time,” I say.
    He starts to walk to his car, an old black BMW with a sharp-toothed caveman painted on the hood. I have to admit, it’s pretty cool. Suddenly, he turns and says, “Tell your father I miss him.”
    Before I can reply, Irene’s at the door with her backpack. “You’re impossible,” she says, kissing me on the cheek, “but I love you.” Sometimes I wish she’d smack me or cut holes in the crotch of my jockey shorts.
    I watch her get into Aldo’s car and drive away, thinking his car and Irene’s personality are oddly contradictory. To my father, it’s probably like watching Alice in Wonderland disappear on Attila the Hun’s horse. I sit down on the couch and look up “contradictory”: “inconsistent, incompatible, supine” (forget that one), and finally come to what I’m looking for, “incongruous.” “Aldo and Irene are an incongruous couple.” That’s my phrase for Beanie and Jocko today.
    â€œIs it really necessary to tease Aldo?” my mother asks.
    â€œAll great heroes have to pass a test,” I say, echoing one of my father’s expressions.
    She looks professional today in a light-blue pants suit. She has long, curly blond hair and green eyes. I wish I had gotten that hair. Mine is straight and black, so I keep it short. My father says I got the Black Irish gene, whatever that means.
    â€œI find this constant teasing negative and a waste of time,” she says.
    There’s that word again.
    â€œYou can also see it as humorous,” my father interrupts.
    â€œWhat could possibly be funny about telling that poor boy every morning that Irene has eloped with assorted strange men?”
    â€œ Repetition is a fundamental staple of comedy,” my father says. “We laugh at comedians when they keep hitting themselves in the face with a hammer. That’s why Charlie Chaplin was so famous.”
    â€œI’m not one of your students, Colin,” she says, then turns her attention to me. “Anything unusual happening in school today?” She says it as if she already knows.
    â€œNo,” I say.
    â€œNot even in Ms. Butterfield’s class?”
    â€œNot that I know of.”
    â€œNot something to do with poetry?”
    â€œOh yeah,” I say, as if just remembering, then add, “What do you do, talk to her every day?”
    â€œIt was on the website.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYes, it’s always exciting when a guest visits. Ms. Butterfield has brought that dimension to your school.”
    I’m about to respond, impressed by her use of “dimension,” but Crash interrupts from upstairs. “I’m going to be late for my bus,” he says. He’s right, so I walk him there, returning just in time to meet up with Beanie and Jocko, who are parked by my front door on their bikes.
    â€œAldo and Irene are an incongruous couple,” I say.
    â€œWow, you’re on your game today,” Jocko says. He’s a big kid with a round face, a buzz cut, and so many freckles his face glows like a wet pumpkin. His size makes him appear tough, but he’s no bully. In fact, he can be kind of nervous and