When Moths Fall Asleep

6 - Winning

Bump, bump, bump. Dewey bounced with the rhythm of the road, swaying on the corners. The bus seemed like such a miracle: how could a thing so big and rigid manage to turn on these tight streets? Each time, he expected a scrape and then a crash -- doom. But it never happened. They just bumped on along and no one else seemed to be nearly as relieved to be alive.

Beside him, Jean pushed her nose against the window, gazing down at all the other cars on the road, so miniscully short compared to the bus, riding high on proud, tall wheels.

Jean had long brown hair wound into two tight braids and a mouth that never closed. That was why Dewey liked her -- she talked enough for the two of them combined.

He watched her duck down sudden, throwing her head down underneath the seat, her feet just barely anchoring her into the bus seat. She seemed to be looking for something, but Dewey couldn't imagine what. He leaned down and looked, too. There didn't seem to be anything there, but Jean popped up again a second later with her prize in hand.

She grinned, freckles stretching over her cheeks. Behind her, the world flew by as though she was running so fast that this neighborhood couldn't keep up.

Jean did run fast. During recess, while the girls played jump rope or pretend games on the playground, the boys and Jean ran rampant on the field, racing and playing and sometimes fighting. Dewey knew Jean was faster than him, which bothered him, but not as much as it bothered the rest of the boys. The other boys wouldn't even race her anymore. They weren't willing to expose themselves to the certain humiliation that would follow.

Dewey still liked her, though. She wasn't rough and rude like the boys, but she wasn't giggly and shrill like most of the girls. He liked the balance of her. She was strange and unruly, but not intolerable.

But right now, she had something strange in her hand and Dewey didn't know how he felt about it. It was soft and gray-ish green-ish, smaller than the pad of his pinkie finger. And she had, apparently, produced it from beneath the bus seat.

"What's that?" Dewey asked her.

Jean grinned wider, waving it closer to Dewey's face. "Gum!" she cried, cackling when he scooted away. "I put it down there two weeks ago. Still good, I bet."

"That's gross," Dewey said. He scrunched up his nose to prove it.

Jean just squished the gum between her fingers and waved it at him, going into hysterical laughter as he ducked away and away, unwilling to be touched by the dirt-coated, chewed up gum. After a minute, her amusement grew stale and she stopped. But, just then, a fresh game teased her mind. "Say," she grinned at Dewey. "I found this five dollar bill at lunch today, and since it was nobody's, Mrs. Schine let me keep it."

Dewey had heard about it. They had announced in the cafeteria over the microphone: "Has anyone dropped five dollars?" of course, everyone said Yes, yes, that's mine, so eventually, the teachers just decided Jean could have it as a reward for telling the truth instead of just taking it in the first place. Dewey had thought to himself, Well, why does she need it? Jean always had a warm coat in the winter, and at her birthday party, her parents had rented out a bouncy house. Why did they give the five dollars to Jean, who wouldn't dream of buying anything but candy and jacks with it?

Jean took out the fabled bill, a crumpled thing, the old face in the center disfigured with the folds. She held it with a mischievous grin, crinkling it between her fingers. "Guess what?" she taunted.

"What?"

"I'll give you five bucks to chew the gum!"

Dewey wasn't actually too shocked. Such was the culture of first grade -- dares, rewards, ridicule. And he considered it, thought hard about it. There were so many things to be done with five dollars -- all the things that he asked for, but Mama said, That's too expensive. He could have a new jacket, maybe, a puffy one like all the other kids had with little compartments of down insulating their bodies. He could get a new lunchbox to replace the one with the taped-up hinges that he carried now. He could buy a reusable water bottle because Mrs. Schine said the plastic ones were bad for the environment.

"Okay," said Dewey before he could think about it anymore. He grabbed the gum out of her hand, trying not to feel the grit of dirt on his fingers.

"Do it!" Jean prompted. She bounced in her seat, too excited to sit still.

Dewey shoved the gum into his mouth and chewed vigorously. At first, it wasn't so bad. Jean was right -- a hint of minty flavoring lingered, popping on his tongue like an unexpected summer breeze. But then, so quickly, it was all overpowered by the unavoidable bitterness of dirt and dust. It stuck to his tongue in clumps, clawing toward his throat. Jean squealed with delight and Dewey hawked the vile thing into his palm. He lifted the collar of his shirt to his mouth and scraped off his tongue with it.

"There! Are you happy?"

Jean grinned again and nodded her head. "You should have seen your face!" she told him. "Here's your five dollars. Whoo, you deserve it!" She continued to cackle to herself, shaking her head in something like awe. Jean handed over the bill and turned toward the window.

Dewey folded up the money. He stuck the gum back under the seat and wiped his hand on his pant leg, already planning how he would present the bill to Mama. "Here," he would say. "I found this and Mrs. Schine let me keep it."

When at last the bus reached his stop, Dewey waved goodbye to Jean and hopped to the front of the bus, his hand closed around the money in his pocket. He felt suspicious of his jeans, like a wormhole might open in his pocket and suck his winnings away. He held on tighter, feeling cold sweat soak his palm as he stepped into the frigid February sun. Dirty snow lined the sidewalks and frost nipped at him through the thin sleeves of his jacket.

The bus rumbled away, but it was already forgotten to Dewey. He had his eye on a new prize, now. Mama stood at the top of the hill with her arms out, ready to receive. Dewey rocketed towards her, fist around the five dollars, so ready to give. The sidewalks slipped beneath him, slick with ice crystals. "Careful!" Mama called. "Slow down! Don't fall!"

When at last he reached her, Dewey threw his arms around his mother's waist and pressed his face into the warm cushion of her stomach. She ran her bare hands across his scalp and he could feel her shivering.

"Mama," Dewey said, nearly bursting with his news. "I have something."

But Mama was not listening hard. She had already turned away, reaching for his hand to lead him back to the apartment building. A gray world closed around them, sun waving goodbye to the building tops. "Do you?" she said. "You'll have to show me when we get inside. Hurry, now, Dewey. Your father's here to get you. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Dewey's stomach coiled and retreated like a frightened snake. Suddenly, fear crept in where he'd felt anticipation and loneliness where he'd felt joy. How could he have forgotten? This was a Dad weekend, time to go drive away to Dad's new house with a garden in the front and that woman inside, that woman who wasn't his mother, but he touched her and kissed her anyway. And that little girl who they made him play with, even though all she liked to do was dolls.

What an empty place that was to Dewey. Big, maybe. Pretty, maybe, with lots of food and toys and presents, but there was nothing in the house that made him happy. What was a house full of new toys when what he wanted was an hour spent in Mama's arms, doing any old thing, combing her hair or listening to her talk? What was all that expensive cover-up that made up his father's new life when all he wanted was his mother's free, shabby one?

When they got inside, Dewey slipped the five dollar bill into her coat pocket when she hung it up on the rack. That way, when he was gone over the weekend, she would close her hand around it and find a little piece of his love, even if she didn't know that was what it was. Dewey cried when she said goodbye, got in the car, and cried in the backseat all the way to Dad's house.