Where's My Wand?: One Boy's Magical Triumph Over Alienation and Shag Carpeting by Eric Poole Read Free Book Online

identical Wedgwood Green tract houses, I realized, somewhat belatedly, that I had left my clothes in the creek.
    “Now you know what you really need to guard!” I heard Tim yell after me.
    As I sprinted the last hundred yards toward the safety of our backyard, the laughter began to fade in the distance. Now all I could hear was the pounding of my heart, the rush of blood in my ears, the screaming of my mind in furious protest as I recounted the ways I could—and should—have fought back.
    I ran up to the patio. The sliding glass door was unlocked. I opened it slowly so as not to alert my sister. Slipping inside, I crept stealthily across the family room toward the hall, school books in hand. Suddenly, Dad emerged from the kitchen. He paused.
    “Did you know you’re not wearing pants?”
    Although Dad appeared to buy my improvised story of Christian charity (“Tim Turkel fell into the creek on the way home, so I gave him my jeans—and some accessories”), the kids at school knew better. By the next afternoon, the news of my impromptu trouser removal had swept the school, and my nickname, “One-Ear,” had been replaced by the cleverly alliterative “Pee Stain Poole.”
     
     
    STACY FINALLY RETURNED two days later. She met me at my house for the walk to school, proudly sporting a new appendage. Her “arm” was not quite what I had pictured. Rather than appear human, it was a mass of steel joints and beige vinyl padding, and resembled the claw that scooped up prizes in an arcade machine.
    “Does it look okay?” she asked tentatively.
    “Are you kidding?” I replied. “It’s groovy! Everybody’s gonna want to play with it! How does it feel?”
    “Like I’m gonna tip over. It weighs about three tons.”
    “How come you only got one?”
    “I have to learn to use them one at a time. If this one goes okay, I’ll get the other one.”
    We had barely begun our walk to school when one of the witnesses to the Creek Bridge Incident came pedaling by us on his Schwinn.
    “Hey, Pee Stain!”
    Stacy stopped. “What did he call you?”
    The boy sped up, loath to tangle with Stacy.
    “What did he call you?” she asked again.
    I reluctantly related my tale of woe. By the time we reached school, steam was coming out of Stacy’s ears. As we approached the playground, she marched straight up to Tim, who took one look at her new arm and laughed.
    “Hey, freak,” Tim said loudly to Stacy, “what is that, a robot arm? You a robot now?” He glanced around to soak up the appreciative smiles of those within earshot of his delicious wit.
    Without missing a beat, Stacy kicked him in the crotch and he fell to the blacktop. She put her foot on his neck, holding him in place, and slowly opened the claw of her new “hand.”
    “Say you’re sorry.” She aimed the claw at his eye, hovering just inches away.
    Tim gulped. “Hey, come on,” he stammered breathlessly, obviously in pain. “I was just kiddin’.”
    “Say you’re sorry for pantsing Eric .” The claw inched closer.
    “Why do you care?” he replied in a tiny voice. “Come on, you’re choking me.”
    “Say it!” Her foot pressed harder, restricting the flow of oxygen until his face began to turn a lovely shade of purple.
    Realizing that in his incapacitated and frightened state Tim was no longer a threat, I moved closer and stood with my feet on his ankles, ensuring his inability to move. The requisite crowd began to gather.
    “What’s the matter?” I said, emboldened. “Cat got your tongue? Maybe Stacy can remove it for you.”
    Stacy’s claw moved toward Tim’s mouth. He held his jaw firmly shut, afraid to say a word, making slight choking sounds as his eyes began to bulge.
    I was exhilarated. My long-pent-up anger sent waves of adrenaline coursing through my body. Our control over Tim was complete.
    “Maybe I should just pants you so you can see what it’s like,” I taunted.
    “Yeah!” Stacy whispered. “Do it!”
    Suddenly, the wave of