Pie Man
by Walt
Giersbach
Everything I
learned about work came from my 12-year-old
brother, Allen, who taught me it’s better to
be smart than educated. I was scribbling at
my homework when I overheard him say to our
sister, “Mandy, I’ll wash your car if
you’ll give me that last piece of Mom’s
pie.”
“That’s
my slice!” She shrieked like you’d just
rifled her underwear drawer. Mom was famous
for her pecan pies and there was just one slice
left.
“That has
Mandy’s name on it,” Mom called from
the kitchen in that way mothers talk. Mandy’s
one of those terrible people who won’t
finish her dessert just because she wants to make
you feel bad when yours is gone and she’s
still picking at hers.
“But,”
Allen explained, “you don’t want to go
to the basketball game tonight and let everyone
know you’re too lazy to wash the mud off
your car.” Loved his make-believe horror.
“You’ve
got a point, jerk.” she agreed, “but
wash it fast and do it right or I’ll whack
you.”
This deal
sounded interesting so I pushed my homework aside
and followed him out the back door. Joey,
our 17-year-old brother was sitting on the porch
with a hoe in his hand, probably wishing he could
be down the street where his girlfriend, Deirdre,
was playing fetch with her dog.
“Hey,
Joey, Deirdre’s waiting,” Allen said. “Too
bad you gotta weed the garden.”
“Shut up,
half pint. I don’t need you to define
tragedy.”
“Hey, I
got an idea. Joey, I’ll hoe the weeds if you’ll
hose off Mandy’s car. Then you can
drive it around to dry it and maybe pick up
Deirdre for some kissy-face. Sound fair?”
Joey’s
eyes got squinty, suspecting a trick, but the
offer sounded too good to refuse. “So
long, sucker,” he said, throwing the hoe in
Allen’s hands.”
Allen dropped
the hoe and went back to the garage where Dad was
fiddling with his junk. So many little
wheels were whirring around in Allen’s head
he could’ve been a Chinese windup toy.
“Hey, Dad,”
he whined, like some kid in a TV show, “I
was going to hoe the garden —but there’s
a rabbit nest there. Bunnies. Want me to
kill them?”
“Allen,”
Dad said enthusiastically, like he hasn’t
seen his number two son since breakfast. “Killing
baby rabbits? That’s terrible. Leave
the garden. Mom’s gotta get it through
her head it’s not worth the trouble —
and I hate cabbage.”
Allen smiled
and went into the kitchen.
“Okay,
Mom, I’m done my chores. Mandy’s
car is washed, the garden’s taken care of
and I think I’ve done about enough for a
Saturday. Guess I’ll have that piece of
pie Mandy gave me and rest up.”
I couldn’t
believe my ears! He had suckered Mandy by
offering to wash her old car, got Joey to do the
washing, and then finagled Dad into telling him
not to hoe weeds. I only hoped I’d be
that smart one day.
“You
wonderful guy!” she cooed. “I’m
so proud— but you can’t have the pie. I
want to give it to Mrs. Timothy nest door. Mandy
can find another snack.”
Allen’s
eyes rolled back in his head like that scene from
a cowboy movie where the bad guy gets shot and
falls to the floor. Allen should’ve
gotten an Academy Award.
“I think
he’s dead, Mom,” I said.
Mom put Allen’s
head in her lap. “Oh, my dear. Sit up
and talk to me. I’ll fetch the pie. You
deserve it.”
I didn’t
need homework to get educated. I needed
smart.
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