Brian says Blubber Boy got what was coming to him.
Blubber Boy shows up during the first week of summer day camp. Discover the Garden, it's called, a camp for the poor kids in the neighborhood. So far, it seems Blubber Boy's greatest discovery has been us: Brian the head gardener and me, his grunt, nine long hard months into my twelve-month probation period. After twelve, I'll be fully vested—annual salary, sick days. And health insurance. My girlfriend Diana says there's no way she's sticking with me if the baby comes without Blue Shield. And condoms. Condoms on top of condoms, she says.
Brian's in charge of the Japanese Garden, which means a lot of meticulous pruning, raking, weeding. I've heard that the Rose Garden and Native Flora are much less intense. And don't even get me started about the crew working the Herb Garden—talk about cake walk. Brian's okay, but he's always stressed out. Hardly Zen. I'm more laid back, too laid back Diana would say, but Brian and I balanced each other out pretty well and honestly, things were going fine until last week when the shore line next to the footbridge crumbled, dropping chunks of moss and mud into the koi pond.
"This sucks," I said.
"Stop bitching and grab some rocks," Brian said.
In the summer, the Garden is peaceful until around ten when the kids show up. "I hate kids," Brian says everyday when the kids arrive. The Japanese Garden is a real draw for the day-campers because of the pond and its fish, turtles, and ducks.
"Look, ducks," the kids scream.
"Look, turtles," the kids scream.
"Look at those people," Blubber Boy screams, able to spot us no matter where we try to hide, whether in the pine grove or the water grotto or by the eroding shore.
We didn't start out calling him Blubber Boy, but once Brian suggested it, I was no longer able to imagine his name could be anything else. Blubber Boy is probably only nine or ten, but looks forty-five with his practical buzz cut that does nothing to disguise his fat square head. He looks like a football coach who's spent too much time on the sidelines. When he leans over the bridge railing, his arms pillow out from his t-shirt sleeves and his chest falls into two perfect breasts. "You guys look stupid down there," he says.
At first I try to reason with him by asking his name. "Guess," he says.
"Carlos? Juan? Sam? Max?" I ask.
"How about McDonald? Or perhaps Burger King?" Brian says as he slams another rock into place.
"Oh yeah," Blubber Boy says and lifts his shirt, exposing rolls of soft flesh which he rubs and pats, going "Umm, umm, a hamburger sounds pretty good."
"Wait, I know what your name is," Brian interrupts, wiping his hands down the sides of his pants.
"Yeah?"
"Blubber Boy," Brian says, triumphant. He stoops to pick up another rock.
"Screw you, fag," Blubber Boy says, turning away.
"I hate kids," Brian mutters.
Every morning, Blubber Boy manages to break from the crowd to come lean over the bridge and inspect our progress.
"You guys suck at making walls," he says.
"Get out of here," Brian says.
"Make me," he says, sticking out his pink tongue.
"How about I pound your fat head in with a rock?" Brian says.
"Screw you," Blubber Boy says, then does a little dance, grinding his hips into the bridge railing.
"I think he's making love to it," I say.
"That's a polite way of putting it," Brian says.
After a week of taunts and name-calling on both sides, Brian makes me come with him to talk to one of the camp counselors, a girl with a blonde ponytail she twists when she talks
"This is a special experience for these children," she says, twisting.
"How are you defining 'special'?" Brian asks.
"John probably doesn't have any male figures in his life. He may see you as…"
"Stop right there," Brian says, holding his hands up, palms flat.
"Well, your name-calling sure isn't helping his self-esteem."
"What about my self-esteem? Every day I'm trying to build this retaining wall and I've got some fat ass kid bothering me. How would that make you feel?" When Brian yells, his voice rises and cracks and the desire to keep a grown man from crying seems to spur the girl into action.
She reaches up to pat his shoulder. "I'll see what I can do," she says and Brian's face smoothes into a smile.
"Thank you," he says. "I feel better already."
The girl smiles back, clearly unaware that Brian's just being sarcastic.
The next morning, Blubber Boy rushes over and leans his back against the railing, his hands on his knees until he catches his breath. His face is beet red and for a moment, I consider going up to the bridge to offer him some of my water.
"Don't you dare," Brian warns me. "Once you feed him, he'll never leave."
"Hey, you got me in trouble," Blubber Boy wheezes, pointing at Brian.
"And yet you're back."
"Yeah because I told them you pick on me and I'm just defending myself."
"Why don't you go defend yourself over there?" Brian points to the far side of the pond where the ducks are swimming in tight circles.
Blubber Boy shrugs. "I like it over here." He leans with his broad back to us and begins whistling. Really it's more like he's just blowing air out of his mouth and after awhile I stop hearing it, but Brian gets angrier and angrier.
"Cut it out," Brian says.
"Make me, faggy," Blubber Boy says.
"Ooo, Blubber Boy call me names. Blubber Boy make me cry. Boo-hoo, Blubber Boy, boo-hoo," Brian says in a baby voice, rubbing at his eyes with his fists.
Blubber Boy steps back, narrowing his eyes into slits. "You're an asshole," he says then leaves.
"I hate that kid," Brian says.
"Can't you just ignore him?" I straighten up, trying to work the knot out of my lower back. It's fucking hot and all I want to do is go home, put my feet up and watch some tube with the AC blasting.
Brian drives his shovel into the ground and turns out another divot. "Don't tell me you're taking his side," he says as he points to the spot for me to drop another rock.
Just three more months, I think. I squint up at Brian, the sweat burning my eyes. "No, of course not. That kid's a total pain in the ass." I pat the rock into place and keep my head down.
We finish the wall later that day and Brian tells me I can clock out early. "To celebrate," he says.
But the next morning when I get to work, the wall is gone, the rocks pulled out and tossed up onto the bank. "Blubber Boy," Brian says. "This is the end of his camp experience."
I examine the evidence. "Physical exertion doesn't really seem like his thing," I say. "Why would he bother to pile the rocks up like that? Wouldn't it have been easier just to roll them into the pond?" As I'm asking these questions, a small spark of comprehension fires off somewhere deep in my brain and I narrow my eyes at Brian. But there's no way I'm going to come right out and ask him straight if he did this. Keep your head down and keep moving forward, Diana's always telling me.
Brian glares at me. "What? That fucking kid? What do you care which way he threw the rocks? Stop wasting time. We've got a wall to rebuild."
I shrug and start hauling the rocks back into formation.
During morning break, Brian tells me we're going to see the Camp Director, an older woman in charge of the Education Department. The Director radios for Blubber Boy to be brought to her office and while we wait, we make small talk about perennials and state funding. When Blubber Boy walks in, the Director motions for him to sit in the chair next to her desk. When he sits, his feet don't touch the floor.
"Is there something you want to tell us, John?" the Director asks, leaning over towards him, her voice soft.
Blubber Boy is clearly confused, his large face drawing in tightly at the center. "Um," he says, shrugging.
The camp counselor offers to keep him out of the Japanese Garden. "The only complaints we've gotten about John have come from him." She aims her index finger at Brian's chest. "John's a real sweetie, really wonderful with everyone," she says, her ponytail bobbing as she puts a chummy arm around Blubber Boy's shoulders.
"The kid's a menace," Brian says, looking towards me for support. "Which section will he destroy next? I hear there are some rare specimens in the Rose Garden. Maybe he can rip out a few bushes."
Brian looks at me again. "You've seen how he is, back me up here."
My face goes hot and my throat tightens as everyone turns towards me, waiting. I can't meet anyone's eye, so I turn to look out the window instead. A line of campers marches past on their way to some new discovery. They're all dressed in different colored tee shirts—yellows, greens, pinks—and I think of those strips of paper with tiny dots of candy on them in rows that we used to buy. I used to pretend to eat them all at the same time that my friends ate theirs, but secretly, I'd save some for later, the roll of paper stuffed deep into my pocket. I wonder if they still sell those strips, but figure probably not. Nothing ever stays the same. When I turn back, I see that Blubber Boy is watching the campers also, his feet swinging in small circles, his body shifted forward in his chair. I wish I had a piece of candy to slip him, but candy's probably not a good idea for Blubber Boy. I glance over at Brian who just rolls his eyes, his index finger tapping against the face of his watch.
"Yeah, the kid's a real problem," I say, finally.
The Director tells John to wait out in the hallway. "Really, it send a very bad message if I allow him to stay. I just can't imagine how he managed to destroy a retaining wall without anyone noticing." She shakes her head. "Well, let's call his mother and have him picked up. I'm afraid he's not going to be able to come back."
As we walk out, Blubber Boy waits on a wooden bench, slumped over like a burlap sack of mulch. When he sees us, his mouth tugs into a small smile and I can see that he's been crying. Brian starts to say something then shakes his head and says something else. "Hey, no hard feelings, kid."
"Whatever," Blubber Boy mutters with a shrug.
Without distractions, we're able to build the new retaining wall in a week.
For a week or so after that, Blubber Boy hangs around at the entrance to the Garden at the start of camp, waving hello to his friends as they get dropped off and then again at the end of the day as they get picked up to go home. I try not to think about the hours in between, about Blubber Boy killing time by himself, probably watching TV with his feet up on the coffee table and some kind of snack food sitting square on his gut, the AC blaring.
Finally he stops showing up and I forget about him for a little while until later, after I've been vested and Diana's fully moved in and the spare bedroom's been turned into a nursery. I run into him on the street with his mother and three little boys in tow, his brothers, I figure. Blubber Boy has two of them by the hands while his mother pushes another in a stroller.
"Hey," he calls out to me, waving excitedly. "Hey, hey," he says. "I know you," he says, waving and smiling.
I want to call him by his proper name, but I can't remember it. I don't want to call him Blubber Boy, though I'm pretty sure he wouldn't mind if I did. Still, I'm about to become a father. I should be better than this, I think as I make myself smile and lift my hand back to him.