The Downside of Being Up Read Free Page B

repeated.
    My father struggled to fully understand what had happened.
    â€œYou hit your teacher with your penis?” he asked me.
    â€œPhillip!” Mom snapped.
    â€œWhat? I don’t understand.”
    â€œWell, don’t use the P-word.”
    â€œWhy not? You used the E-word.”
    â€œThe E-word is not the same as the P-word.”
    â€œIt is too. The P-word and the E-word are the same thing,” Dad said. “Now if I used an X-word or a double X-word, I could understand why you might have a problem, but the P-word, like the E-word, is perfectly acceptable.”
    â€œWhat the F-word are you two talking about?” asked Grandpa Ralph.
    Mom turned. “Not helping, Gramps.”
    My grandfather grinned, popped a yellow jelly bean into his chompers and gave me a wink.
    â€œI didn’t do it on purpose, ya know!”
    The house fell quiet at my outburst.
    â€œExcuse me?” Mom said.
    â€œI said . . . I didn’t do it on purpose. It just, well, happened.”
    Mom started to nod her head. Slowly up, then slowly down. “Uh-huh,” she said.
    Compared to this, I was sure that having to walk a dog with no butt hair wasn’t looking so bad to her after all.
    â€œCan I be excused?” I asked in a low voice.
    â€œI don’t know, can you?” Mom said.
    â€œAw, let him go,” Gramps piped in. “Maybe he needs to masturbate.”
    â€œI don’t need to masturbate,” I answered. For years I’d suspected that Gramps had some kind of mental disease or a steel plate in his head or a brain tumor. I mean, there had to be some sort of medical explanation for his loony behavior.
    â€œNo need to be ashamed, son,” Gramps said. “All boys choke the chicken.”
    â€œEww!” Hill looked at me like I was some kind of freak.
    â€œYou know, when I was a kid, we didn’t have video games. This was my joystick right here,” Gramps said, pointing to his pecker. “I used to play my skin flute till there were calluses on my hands.”
    â€œOkay,” Hill said to no one in particular. “I’m officially running away.”
    â€œI say let the boy tug his pug if he needs to,” said Gramps. “It’s healthy, like vegetables.”
    â€œWhen is Grandpa Ralph going home?” I asked my parents.
    â€œA few more days,” Gramps replied, casually popping another jelly bean into his mouth. “A few more days.”
    â€œWell, does he have to sleep in my room? He snores and farts,” I said.
    â€œYou, mister, are in no position to be complaining. I mean, think of the shame you have brought on this family,” Mom said. “Phillip, say something to your son.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to say, Ilene? I mean, I still don’t understand how he knocked his teacher over with his P-word. How big is this thing?”
    â€œRumor is, not very,” Gramps answered.
    â€œNot helping, Gramps,” Mom said, trying not to flip out. She smoothed out her red blouse and made sure the green charm she wore on her gold necklace was in the exact center of her chest. Fixing her necklace was kind of a nervous habit of hers. “You are not helping at all.”
    Just then, the phone rang. Mom answered, happy to end the current conversation.
    â€œHello? Yes, Mr. Hildge . . .”
    It was my school. Everyone got silent.
    â€œYes, I see . . . ,” she said.
    Mom listened some more.
    â€œUh-huh . . . uh-huh.”
    We all waited for information.
    â€œI see. . . . Okay. . . . But you know he . . .” She stopped. “But he . . . but . . .”
    My mother then listened for what felt like forever to me. What was going on? I wondered.
    â€œOkay,” Mom finally said. “I see. . . . Thank you for calling.”
    She hung up and looked around. All of us—my dad, my sister, Gramps—waited for the news.
    â€œThe charges have been elevated from parading to