Hugo's Account

More often than not, storytellers show a total disregard, disrespect, disloyalty to the details. They omit, exaggerate, fabricate and lie.  Yes, examples of hyperbole, poetic license, what I refer to as outright deception, can be seen in all of the so-called great narratives, from Uncle Joe’s descriptions of the hardships he endured when he was “my age” to Shakespeare’s Othello. This is not that type of story.

Rest assured, dear reader, that the events occurred precisely in this manner. I have plenty of documentation as well as witnesses available to back up my claims. If, after reading the following account of events, you are at all skeptical of my authenticity, I would urge you to contact me at the following address:

Hugo Garcia

630 Morgan Street

Plankton, PA 15535

It just so happens that 5 months and 3 days ago, in the summer of 2010, my mother and I moved to the town of Plankton, Pennsylvania. This is, in fact, the beginning of my story. According to my records, within a week of moving to town, I made the acquaintance of one Mellie (whose last name and age I have never had the courage to inquire). Mellie Last-Name-Unknown happened to be running through my neighborhood, her face, dress and shoes ruined with mud (an appearance that I would soon learn was not uncommon for her), when she noticed me sitting at my front steps with that month’s issue of Scientific American.

The first words I heard her utter were the following: “Hey, new kid! You [sic] in summer school or somefinn[sic]?”

I assured her that I was not in summer school, but that I was registered to start the 4^th grade at Plankton Elementary that fall. She expressed some enthusiasm at that notion and proclaimed that she, too, would soon be in the 4^th grade. And with that, she insisted that I join her “crew”.

It was sometime between noon and 2:30pm that we finally arrived at the abandoned parking lot behind what was apparently once a Dollar Store on Main Street. A young boy, who I now know to be one Jeremy (or “Jemmy” as Mellie called him) Barnes (current age: 10.5), was busy throwing a bouncy ball against the back wall of that Main Street Dollar Store. He bounced the ball against the wall three times before he noticed us. This was her crew.

So it happened that being a part of Mellie’s crew occupied the rest of my summer. Our biggest obsession, the basis for all our adventures, and indeed core of this story surrounds an old homeless man (whose name and age not even Mellie had the audacity to inquire). We called him Old Man Grody.

It was Jeremy who had noticed him first, without a doubt. That much is documented. However, the manner in which Jeremy came to notice this man, came to realize what wonder, what horrific, repulsive, exciting, wonder he could bring to the crew, that much I am uncertain about. Jeremy noticed him first, but Mellie was the one to baptize him. As soon as she said, “Let’s go follow Old Man Grody”, I knew exactly who she meant, and the name, the idea of it all, resonated perfectly.

On August 15^th, 2010 at 12:32pm, exactly, Old Man Grody, was wearing his usual dusty Steelers cap, an unkempt beard (no doubt hiding an equally neglected mouth full of rotting enamel), a tattered undershirt and denim shorts (his scrawny legs distastefully swinging out with each step), as he entered the bakery right off Main Street. His behavior inside the bakery was the following:

12:33- Old Man Grody approaches the counter, dropping an assortment of change. Some pennies fall to the ground.

12:34- The lady behind the counter waits patiently as Old Man Grody picks up the pennies and shoves the change in her direction.

12:35- The lady goes to the back of the store. Old Man Grody stands waiting. He takes his Steelers cap off momentarily to reveal a full head of grey hair.

12:38- The lady returns with a bag full of bread loaves. She hands it to Old Man Grody, who nods and smiles.

12:40- We start to run away as it appears Old Man Grody is about to leave the bakery.

It was not until around 1:30pm that we caught sight of Old Man Grody once more. His bag of bread considerably more empty, Mellie hypothesized that we would soon discover his super secret sleeping quarters. “That’s where he keeps his treasure, and it’s safe too cuz [sic] it stinks so bad even the cops won’t go near it!”

So imagine our disappointment to learn that Old Man Grody was simply going to the duck pond. At approximately 1:53pm, he approached the rusty bench in front of the duck pond. Two kids, one girl who might have been as old as 10, and a boy, who was around my age, were waiting for him at the bench. I didn’t know who they were, but that did not surprise me as I didn’t really know anyone outside of the crew. “Jemmy, you know those kids?” Mellie whispered, and Jeremy shook his head no.

We watched the three of them eat that bread slowly, sitting in front of the duck pond. We were too far off to hear anything they said. They did not even seem to move. At 2:20pm, I decided to head back home as my mother would start to worry if I were not there by 2:45pm. As I ran towards Morgan Street, I could hear Mellie shouting out, “Let’s follow him again, tomorrow!”And as soon as she said it, I knew it was what we were meant to do.