Gus was also wearing a hat.
Gus was probably older than Angeline’s father, but in a lot of ways he seemed more like a kid than an adult. He was Abel’s partner. Sometimes Gus drove the garbage truck while Abel picked up the garbage, but usually it was the other way around because Gus liked to look for what he called buried treasure.
Gus was wearing an Australian safari hat with a camouflage band. Gary was wearing a black derby.
“Nice hat,” said Gus.
“Thanks,” said Gary. “I like yours, too.”
“Would you believe it?” asked Gus. “Someone actually threw it in the trash.”
“You’re lucky!” Gary said. “I paid three bucks for mine!”
Gary had been to Gus’s house once. It was full of incredible stuff that other people had thrown away.
Angeline came out of the bathroom wearing a pink cowgirl hat with little gold tassels dangling from the brim. “What’s cookin’, Gary?” she asked.
“Mashed potatoes and gravy.”
Abel had on a black beret.
They all went to the park and played croquet.
It was Gus’s croquet set. Just because one of the mallets was broken and a few of the wickets were missing, someone had actually thrown it in the trash. New wickets had since been made out of wire hangers (also thrown away), and if there weren’t enough mallets to go around, they simply shared.
The first time they played, Gus had to teach everyone the rules. He said, “The first rule of croquet is, you have to wear a hat.” He had brought hats for everyone.
Now they all had their own hats. Gary stopped at a thrift store at least once a week to check out the hats. He was constantly adding to his collection.
They each had their own peculiar styles of playing croquet too. Gus would just wallop the ball as hard as he could on every shot, no matter how close he was to the wicket—although he hardly ever aimed for a wicket. When you play croquet, you usually aim either for a wicket or for somebody else’s ball. Gus almost always tried to hit somebody else.
Angeline would hold her mallet high above one shoulder and then swing down at the ball, like a pendulum, so that when she finished, the mallet would be high above the other shoulder. She alternated, one time hitting the ball
from the right side, the next time from the left. The most important thing seemed to be not breaking the rhythm of the pendulum.
“I don’t see how you can swing like that,” said Gary, “and still always hit the ball so straight.”
Angeline shrugged. “You have to be the ball,” she explained.
“Huh?” said Gary.
“You’re being the mallet,” she said. “You have to try to be the ball.”
Abel would walk around like a golfer, studying the angles and the slope of the field. He thought about each shot a long time, and then finally took the shot. More times than not, he’d just miss the wicket. Sometimes he’d aim for someone else’s ball, but never his daughter’s.
Gary never held the mallet the same way twice. Sometimes he held it way down on the shaft, other times high up; sometimes with his left hand on top of his right, sometimes reversed. Sometimes he’d swing the mallet through his legs, other times off to the side. He once tried Angeline’s method, but missed the ball entirely.
He didn’t know how to “be the ball.” He had a hard enough time “being the mallet,” whatever that was supposed to mean.
“Okay, Gary,” said Gus. “I think I got you this time. Why’d Mrs. Snitzberry tiptoe past the medicine cabinet?”
Gary shrugged.
There was stunned silence.
“Hah!” exclaimed Gus, clapping his hands together. “I knew I’d get you one day, Gary Boone!”
He smiled.