See You Around, Sam! Page 2

  Sam shook his head. "People who run away don't brush their teeth," he said. "Anyway," he added, "I'll be wearing fangs."

  "Oh, I see," his mother said. "Well, I hope you don't get cavities. I don't know if the dentist is willing to work on fanged people."

  "I suppose you're going to cry when I leave," Sam said.

  Mrs. Krupnik shook her head. "I don't think so. I'll miss you though, Sam. So will Daddy and Anastasia."

  Sam thought for a moment about his father and sister. Just that morning, at breakfast, all of them had been laughing together in the kitchen.

  Anastasia had been talking about Steve Harvey, who lived down the street. Steve Harvey was kind of Anastasia's boyfriend.

  "Not anymore," Anastasia had said that morning. "Steve Harvey is toast."

  "Excuse me?" Mrs. Krupnik had said, looking at the piece of toast in her own hand.

  "That means Steve is gonzo," Anastasia explained. "He's not my boyfriend anymore."

  "Kaput," their father said. He shrugged and laughed. "That means 'toast' in German."

  Remembering breakfast, remembering Anastasia and Daddy and how they had all been laughing together, Sam said suddenly to his mother, "I might cry when I run away, even if you don't." He surprised himself saying it, because he hadn't thought of it until just this minute. But suddenly he felt as if he might actually cry.

  "Maybe you should pack some Kleenex," his mother suggested. "There's some in the downstairs bathroom."

  Sam didn't say anything.

  "Where are you going, by the way?" his mother asked. "In case we want to write to you."

  Sam thought. He hadn't really planned where to go. He thought about fangs and the kinds of places where people with fangs might be welcome.

  That made him think about walruses, who had not only giant, scary, sticking-out teeth but also large whiskers. If he had made his pencil mustache larger, Sam thought, it would be almost like walrus whiskers.

  "I'm going to be living with walruses," Sam said to his mother, who really seemed to be interested.

  "Where might that be?" she asked.

  Sam remembered a video he had seen at nursery school. It had shown walruses lying around on ice. They were all asleep, lying in a pile. He thought he remembered that they lived in Alaska. "Alaska," he replied to his mother. "I'll be lying around in a big pile, in Alaska."

  "Oh," she replied. "Well, you will certainly need your mittens, then."

  "Yes, I will."

  "Well, good-bye, Sam. See you around," she said, and waved to him. "I'll miss my number-one super-spectacular son a lot. Especially at dinner. We're having lasagna tonight."

  "Bye," Sam said. He picked up his traveling bag and headed for the back door, trying hard not to think about lasagna, and completely forgetting to stop for Kleenex.

  I'm toast, he thought, as he let himself out the back door. Now I'm completely toast.

  3

  It was afternoon, and quiet in the Krupniks' neighborhood, with all the school-age children still at school, all the parents still at work, and all the babies taking naps. A few houses down the block, Sam could see Mr. Watson, the mailman, walking along the sidewalk with his heavy mailbag over his shoulder. Sam liked Mr. Watson, who had once run in the Boston Marathon when he was younger; now that he was older, he didn't run much anymore, but he still walked around the Krupniks' neighborhood, carrying his mailbag and delivering the mail.

  Lowell Watson had told Sam once that he thought it was important to keep his hands and his mind both busy. When he was at home, to keep his hands busy, Mr. Watson built things out of pasta. He had told Sam that he had a whole Ferris wheel made from spaghetti and Elmer's glue, and that he was working on a poodle made of curly macaroni. He said that sometime Sam could come and see his pasta creations.

  To keep his mind busy, Mr. Watson was trying to learn all the ZIP codes in the United States. It was very hard, Mr. Watson said, because there were so many. But he knew all the ZIP codes in Alabama already.

  Standing on the porch steps, watching Mr. Watson sort through some mail in his hands, Sam took the fangs from his pocket and arranged them over his own teeth.

  There, he thought with satisfaction. He wondered if his mother was looking out the window, feeling sad because her favorite little boy was headed to Alaska to lie around in a pile.

  He wondered if she would tap loudly on the window, as she sometimes did, to remind him that he was not allowed to leave the yard.

  But behind him the house was silent.

  Sam picked up his traveling bag and headed down the steps.

  Mr. Watson, spotting him, waved. "Hi, Sam!" the mailman called, walking up to where Sam stood on the sidewalk. "Going on a trip?"

  Sam nodded. "To Alaska," he said.

  "Wait a minute. Let me think for a minute." Mr. Watson closed his eyes tight and stood silently on the sidewalk. His lips moved a little, and Sam could hear him murmuring, "Nine, nine, six—"

  Then he opened his eyes and grinned. "99668," Mr. Watson said. "That's the ZIP code for Sleetmute, Alaska."

  "Sleetmute?"

  "Yep. Sleetmute. My goodness, I notice you have fangs, Sam. And a Band-Aid on your forehead."

  Sam nodded. "And mittens," he said. "And a mustache."

  "Do you have food in your bag? It's a long trip to Alaska."

  Sam had forgotten about food. "I'm getting some," he said, deciding that in fact he really would add food to his traveling bag. "I'm getting some from Mrs. Stein." Gertrude Stein, who lived next door, always had homemade cookies available.

  Mr. Watson looked toward Mrs. Stein's house. "Well," he said, "I'm headed there myself. I'll go with you and maybe pick up a cookie at the same time."

  Mr. Watson adjusted his mailbag so that he had a hand free. He reached down, helped Sam adjust the strap of the Harvard gym bag over his shoulder, and then he took Sam's free hand. Together they walked up the front walk and rang Mrs. Stein's doorbell.

  Gertrude Stein answered the door with the telephone receiver in her hand. She smiled and gestured to them to come in.

  "I have to go now, I have company arriving at my door," she said into the telephone. "Good-bye."

  Mr. Watson stacked Mrs. Stein's mail on the hall table while she hung up the phone. "Sam and I were hoping you had made cookies this morning," he said. "Sam needs cookies because he's heading off on a trip to Alaska and has to fill his bag with supplies. Me, I don't need them at all because I'm ten pounds overweight. But I never pass up your cookies, Gertrude."

  Mrs. Stein led them into her kitchen, which, as usual, smelled like chocolate chip cookies. She went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of milk. "Milk and cookies in the afternoon is a wonderful treat," she said. "Keeps you going for the rest of the day."

  She lifted Sam into a kitchen chair and set his traveling bag on the floor beside him.

  "I was just talking to your mother on the phone, Sam," she said. "She invited me for dinner tonight. Lasagna."

  Sam looked at the plate of cookies and wondered whether he should take his fangs out. Chewing would be terribly hard with fangs.

  Lowell Watson arranged his heavy mailbag on the floor in a corner of the kitchen. Then he sat down and reached for a cookie. "That's one of my favorites, lasagna," he said. "Wonder if she has enough for one more guest."

  Sam sipped at the glass of milk Mrs. Stein put in front of him. Milk dribbled down his chin and a few drops landed on his fireman's badge.

  Gertrude Stein sat down at the other side of the table and passed yellow paper napkins around. Sam noticed, as he always did, how many wrinkles she had on the back of her hands. Mrs. Stein was very old, but she was one of his best friends.

  "I always find," Mrs. Stein said casually, "that when I'm wearing fangs, it's a little hard to eat and drink. So I usually take my fangs out temporarily."

  "I do, too," Mr. Watson said. "I always take my fangs out at mealtime."

  "Even for cookies?" Sam asked.

  They both nod
ded. "Even for cookies," Mrs. Stein said. "The crumbs are a problem with fangs."

  "And the chopped nuts," Mr. Watson added. "Am I correct, Gertrude, that you always put chopped walnuts in your chocolate chip cookies?"

  "I certainly do. Here, Sam. Have a cookie." Mrs. Stein passed the plate to Sam.

  Quickly Sam removed his fangs and put them into his pocket. He bit into a large, warm cookie and felt the slightly melted chocolate in his mouth.

  "Mmmmmm," Mr. Watson said. "Delicious as always, Gertrude."

  "I'm running away," Sam whispered.

  "What was that, Sam?" Gertrude Stein leaned over so that she could hear him better.

  "I said I'm running away."

  "Oh, yes, I know. Your mother mentioned it when she called to invite me to dinner. I believe it's why she has extra lasagna available."

  "Sam's going to Alaska," Mr. Watson explained. "Sleetmute, Sam? 99668?"

  Sam nodded. He decided he would go to Sleetmute.

  Mr. Watson finished his milk, rinsed his empty glass in the sink, and picked up his mailbag. "Back to work," he said. "I might see you this evening, Gertrude. When I drop off the Krupniks' mail, I think I'll drop a few hints to Sam's mom about that lasagna."

  "She also mentioned a banana cream pie, actually," Mrs. Stein told him.

  "More calories," Mr. Watson said. He sighed, closed his eyes, smiled, and licked his lips. Then he took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of the heavy bag. "Thank you once again for the cookies, Gertrude. I wish I could bring you better mail."

  Mrs. Stein laughed. "Nothing but bills every time. Well, that's what happens when you get old and don't have any family left."

  "And Sam," Mr. Watson turned to Sam and reached down to shake his hand. "Have a good trip. I'll see you around."

  Sam nodded. He and Mrs. Stein both waved to Lowell Watson as the mailman let himself out the front door.

  "Maybe you don't have any family left, but you have friends," Sam told Mrs. Stein. "I'm your friend."

  "That's right, Sam, you are. You're one of my very best friends. I'll miss you when you're in—what was the name of that place?"

  "Sleetmute."

  "Yes, Sleetmute. It's a very long distance, Sam."

  "It's because of fangs," Sam said unhappily. "I'm going to go lie around in a pile."

  "I know." Gertrude Stein sounded very sympathetic. "Your mother mentioned that." She rose from her chair. It always took her a little longer than most people, getting out of a chair, because her legs were pretty old and pretty tired and pretty sore.

  "Finished?" she asked Sam, reaching for his empty milk glass.

  Sam nodded, and she took his glass to the sink.

  "More cookies?"

  Sam wiped the crumbs from his mouth with his napkin. "Could I maybe have some for my suitcase?" he asked. Then he added, "Please."

  Mrs. Stein unzipped his bag and carefully placed a handful of chocolate chip cookies, wrapped in a paper napkin, inside it, next to Sam's bear and on top of the rolled-up towel.

  "There you are, Sam. Traveling food." She looked at her watch. "You know," she said, "I always take a nap in the afternoon. So I think I'll lie down on the couch and rest now."

  "I used to take a nap," Sam said, "before I ran away."

  "My couch has room for two people," Mrs. Stein told him. "Would you like to lie down with me? I could cover us both up with that nice gray knitted blanket. It's folded right there on the back of the couch." She pointed with her wrinkled hand.

  Sam looked through the archway to the living room and saw the thick folded afghan draped over the sofa. "It's green," he told his friend.

  Mrs. Stein chuckled. "What ever will I do without you, Sam?" she asked. "Because I have cataracts in both eyes, I can't see colors very well. So I really appreciate your pointing out my mistakes."

  Sam peered at her eyes and didn't see anything unusual. But it sounded very scary, having cat-racks.

  "And because of my arthritis, I can't walk very well. So I really appreciate having your hand to hold, Sam."

  She reached for it, and Sam held her hand while Gertrude Stein made her way to the couch. She lay down with her head on a flowered pillow, and Sam helped her unfold the green blanket.

  "Could I visit your flamingos?" Sam asked.

  "Of course," Mrs. Stein replied. "I would be very disappointed if you didn't, and so would the flamingos."

  Sam went to the downstairs bathroom, which opened off a little hall near the kitchen. He looked at the wallpaper in the bathroom. Sam had seen the wallpaper many times before. Maybe a thousand times. Maybe a million. But still it fascinated him.

  Mrs. Stein's bathroom wallpaper was covered with bright pink flamingos. Each one stood on one leg. When he was younger, Sam had thought that the flamingos only had one leg apiece. But now that he was older, and his sister had explained to him about flamingos, he could see that their other legs were all folded up.

  Sam always stood on one leg like a flamingo when he visited Mrs. Stein's bathroom. Then he stretched his neck the way the wallpaper flamingos did. (Some of them had their necks bent over so that their heads were down on their backs. Sam couldn't do that part. But he tried to stretch his neck up in the air, and he could feel it being a little flamingo-like.)

  He folded his arms like wings and balanced on one leg. It was a good luck kind of thing, doing a flamingo pose.

  Sam thought he would need a lot of good luck on his trip to Alaska, so he stood like a flamingo until he lost his balance. Then he went back to the living room, where Gertrude Stein was lying on the couch. She smiled at him.

  "Plenty of room right here," Gertrude Stein said, and patted the space next to her. "Join me for a snuggle?"

  Sam was tempted. He did feel a little sleepy after the cookies and milk. But his hand had slid into his pocket, and he felt his fangs there, covered in crumbs from a broken cookie. Feeling the fangs made him remember.

  "I have to run away," he reminded Gertrude Stein.

  She sighed. "My goodness, I had forgotten that, Sam. You're going to that place in Alaska. What was it called again?"

  For a moment Sam couldn't remember. Then it came back to him. "Sleetmute," he said.

  "Ah, yes. Sleetmute. Well, I hope you enjoy it there, Sam. I wonder if you'd do one more thing for me before you leave."

  Sam nodded.

  "Could you bring me the telephone from the table? I have to make a phone call, and the cord will reach this far so I won't have to get up on my achy old legs."

  Sam lifted the telephone very carefully from the table and brought it to Mrs. Stein.

  "And one more thing, Sam, before you go. If you happen to find that you're still in this neighborhood at suppertime—"

  "No, I won't be. I'm running away," Sam reminded her.

  "Yes, of course, I know that. But just in case you get delayed for any reason, would you stop back here and make certain that I remember to get up? Sometimes I fall asleep in the afternoon and sleep right through dinnertime. But tonight I have an invitation for lasagna and banana cream pie, so I want to be certain not to be late."

  "Okay." Sam took his fangs out of his pocket and put them into his mouth. They didn't taste very good, and they were uncomfortable now, covered with crumbs.

  "Good-bye," Sam said, with his fangs in.

  "Good-bye, Sam," Gertrude Stein replied. As he let himself out the front door, he could hear her dialing the telephone.

  "Hello, Katherine?" he heard her say, and realized that Mrs. Stein was talking to his mother.

  4

  Sam walked slowly back along the sidewalk, past his own house. He stood still for a moment, looking at all the familiar things. There was the stubby tower up at the top of the house; his sister's bedroom was in the tower, and she had told him lots of tower stories, like the one about Rapunzel.

  Gertrude Stein had told him that when she was a little girl, living in the house where she still lived as an old lady, her friend Edward had lived in the house th
at was now the Krupniks'. Edward's room had been that very same tower bedroom. He and Gertrude had called messages across the yard to each other from their bedroom windows.

  It was so long ago, when Gertrude Stein was a little girl, that probably, Sam thought, the telephone had not yet been invented.

  Still looking at the house, Sam could see the windows to his own bedroom. From the sidewalk he recognized the striped curtains. When Sam was much younger, just two years old, he had leaned too hard against one of his bedroom windows, knocked out the screen, and fallen. He couldn't remember that. His head had gotten bashed when he fell and his memory had been bashed right out. But he could remember his stay in the hospital. A nurse had shaved his hair off, and then the doctor had put Frankenstein stitches into his bald head.

  Sam was sorry that he hadn't had fangs then. It would have looked really cool to wear fangs when he had Frankenstein stitches and a bald head.

  He ran his tongue over the fangs and wished that they felt more comfortable.

  Next Sam happened to glance at one of the windows of his mother's studio. He had planned not to look at his mother's windows because he was mad at her still. But his eyes just drifted that way by mistake.

  He wondered whether his mother was still in there, still working on the book illustrations, still suffering from fangphobia, still not even caring that her number-one super-spectacular son was headed to Alaska to lie around in a pile.

  To his surprise, his mother was looking back at him through the window. He could see that she was talking on the telephone, but she had carried the phone over to the window and just happened to be looking out as he passed. She could see him standing there on the sidewalk.

  At first Sam thought that he would pretend not to see her, just to make her feel bad.

  But then he decided to smile and wave. So he did that: smiled, showing his fangs, and waved, with the hand not carrying the traveling bag.