One day, like a relic from a bad dream, a battered old school bus pulled into the driveway. Naturally, Marty was rather agitated by this as he stared out the window – was the 8th grade coming to get him already? Anyway, he could see it wasn’t a “real” school bus. It was still yellow in places, but the words had been painted over, and various bundles and crates were tied on the top.
Marge was peering over his shoulder. “Oh, that must be Graham. I forgot to tell you he’s staying here for a while until he can find a place to park his bus permanently.” She was always bringing home stray mongrels from the local bar. She had an enormous heart, with which she embraced all of humanity – as long as it didn’t disagree with her. Their new guest stayed up in the driveway, yelling inside his bus for about ten minutes before coming down to use the bathroom. Graham was creepy looking, with a scraggly beard and unkempt hair. He wore a stained green army jacket, and watched everything suspiciously with beady little rat eyes that gleamed like bullets. He was in the Vietnam War, Marge offered by way of explanation, as if that somehow validated his rough appearance. Marty got the impression he was still fighting the war. “Graham Cracker,” (as he came to be known in his sketchbook), had the confused anxiety of a soldier waiting to make his move, but wasn’t sure what kind of move it was going to be. He always appeared to be on the verge of something, as every little noise made him jump. Marty kept an eye on the large bayonet he wore on his belt, because of his wanton agitation.
“How long is he going to stay?” Marty asked his mom anxiously, after the creepy commando returned to his bus. He wished Jimbo or Otter were there, just to back him up in case he had to defend the womenfolk.
“He scares me,” Susie offered plaintively.
“Don’t worry, it won’t be long,” Marge reassured them, spying through the window as Graham looked both ways and entered his bus, then quickly popped back out, staring right at her watching him. She jumped back and pressed against the wall reflexively, and gave her kids a sheepish grin.
The next day Marty decided to move some lumber scraps up the rocky path to the driveway, just so he could recon the Graham Cracker situation. He didn’t want any surprises, being the man of the family and all. The psycho soldier saw him working and beckoned urgently from the door of his bus.
“Hey kid, come here!” Half of his hair stood straight up, as if he’d slept on it wrong. He had a crude bandage on one cheek, and was sitting on the steps of his bus, sharpening his bayonet. Marty was most certainly not going to approach him!
“What do you want?” he yelled impatiently, as if going down the path for some more wood was the most important thing in the world.
“Come here, I need to show you something!” Most of the windows on Graham’s bus were blocked by filthy curtains or junk, and his lap was covered by a blanket, exposing his dirty ankles and feet. He could be wearing shorts under there, or nothing at all, and he kept sharpening his bayonet back and forth, back and forth..
Geez, how stupid does he think I am? Marty contemplated. A kid would have to be a total idiot to go near this guy, he thought, remembering all the dumb horror movies he’d seen where scantily clad teenage girls usually did approach the serial killer. “I’m busy!” he shouted dismissively, and turned to leave.
“No, wait!” Graham became very anxious and started to get up, and the blanket nearly fell off, so Marty stopped just to make him sit down again. The crazy vet eased his head out of the doorway and glanced furtively up and down the driveway, “I need to you to get a message back to headquarters,” his bloodshot eyes flashed with untethered anxiety.
Well, this promised to be more interesting than picking up scrap wood, Marty thought, but his heart was pounding inside his t-shirt with alarm, and his legs were ready to bolt if that creepy commando came out of his bus with the bayonet. His curiosity got the better of him, however. “Okay, what is it?”
“Good man!” Graham exhorted with relief; grateful to have an ally in his delusion, “I need more ammo! Some 45s, and some 30-06.” His eyes were wild with challenge, defying anyone to deny his delusion. “Better get some grenades, too.”
Oh dear, Marty inwardly wrung his hands, we’re most definitely not in Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood anymore! The easiest thing to do was to agree with him, so he smiled his way down the path, turning back often to wave reassuringly as he steadily retreated to the house. On the way down, he wondered if the shell-shocked weirdo actually had the weapons for which he was requesting ammunition. He might find a few bullets in all that junk in his bus… or something worse!
With sudden dread, Marty realized he was alone at the ranch. Marge and Julie were at work, and Susie was next door, and once he got to the house he continued right out the back door of the cabin and crossed the creek. Keeping trees and buildings between him and the very disturbing school bus, he climbed up to the highway and walked briskly down to the McAuliffes to call Marge. Marty told her the whole story exactly as it happened, finishing with the part about being chased through the woods by a psychopath with an M-16. She was used to his stories, but said she’d “have a talk with Graham” when she got home.
He watched alertly from the safety of the McAuliffes’ porch, and followed when Marge’s little toy truck puttered down the road, arriving just in time to see her having an animated discussion with Graham. She handed him a paper bag, which was big enough to hold either a six pack, or a case of ammunition. Marty wasn’t sure which one would have been worse. Later that night, they heard him yelling in the driveway again (even though he was alone), and they turned down the TV to try and hear what he was saying. Suddenly, heavy boots sounded on the porch and something banged on the door. Susie jumped involuntarily, and Marty reached for the baseball bat he happened to have handy.
“Marge! Marge!! Let me in, quick!!” It was Graham.
“I’m not opening this door till you tell me what’s going on!” she yelled with authority, as Marty and Susie stood up and cheered her on.
“Help! You gotta let me in!” He sounded like he was crying, and Marge’s heart wrestled with her head until it cried uncle. She reluctantly opened the door and Graham burst in, wild-eyed and out of breath. “The gooks have broken our perimeter! They’re moving in!” He pressed himself up against the wall and peered around the edge of the window into the darkness. “We need to call in some air support!” All of their eyes were fixed on his bayonet, and his shaking right hand, which was poised over the scabbard like a gunslinger.
“Graham, stop it! You’re frightening the girls!” Marty took control and stepped in front of Susie (holding the bat behind his back), and Julie opened the door of her room a crack to see what was going on. His heart was pounding in his ears, but his chest swelled with authority. “Headquarters is sending the ammo you wanted!” He played along with the fantasy breathlessly, as if he was acting in a movie. In perfect accompaniment, the pictures on the TV showed an army scene from M*A*S*H.
Marge was right on cue. “Yeah, they said you need to go and pick it up right away!” The tension in the room was ready to explode.
Graham snapped out of his fantasy suddenly, shaking his head as if to clear the cobwebs. “Oh, sorry. Can I use your phone?” He straightened up and covered his bayonet sheath with his long jacket. The fuse on the bomb sputtered out.
Marge was beside herself with protectiveness. “You better call somebody right now!” she pointed a commanding finger at the phone, “I changed my mind, and you can’t stay here!” She was expanding her entire five feet two inches fiercely; trying to make herself out to be a big mama bear.
A dark purple cloud came over the veteran’s face, and he snarled, “Never mind, I’m leaving!” He slammed the door on the way out, stalked up to his bus, and drove off. Marty ran up to the driveway with his bat to make sure he left their property. There were no outdoor lights, so he was sure he couldn’t be seen as he watched the creepy old bus lumbering up the bumpy dirt road, and disappearing over the top. Finally, he relaxed his grip on his bat, thankful that he didn’t need it, and was surprised to know he would have used it if necessary. He continued down to the campsite where Otter staked his teepee, but there wasn’t anyone there. Still buzzing with adrenaline, he continued all the way to the McAuliffes’ house and got Big Billy to come over and calm his mom down, and provide some masculine protection. Marty wasn’t fully ready to be the warrior of the family just yet.
