The Wild Things - By Dave Eggers Page 0,1

a tree, in the woods by the lake.

Max pedaled up, dropped his bike, and knocked on the door of Clay Mahoney. He bent down to tie his shoes, and as he finished the second knot on his left shoe, the door flew open.

“Max?” Clay’s mother stood over him, wearing tight black pants and a small white T-shirt — TODAY! YES! it said — over a black lycra top; she was dressed like a competitive downhill skier. Behind her, an exercise video had been paused on the television. On the screen, three muscular women were reaching upward and rightward, desperate and grimacing, for something far beyond the frame.

“Is Clay home?” Max asked, standing up.

“No, I’m sorry Max, he’s not.”

She was holding a large, silver canister with a black handle — some sort of coffee mug — and while taking a sip from it, she looked around the front porch.

“Are you here alone?” she asked.

Max thought a second about this question, looking for a second meaning. Of course he was here alone.

“Yup,” he said.

She had a face, Max had noticed, that always seemed surprised. Her posture and voice aimed at knowingness, but her eyes said Really? What? How is that possible?

“How’d you get here?” she asked.

Another odd question. Max’s bike was lying no more than four feet behind him, in plain sight. Could she not see it?

“I rode,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Alone?” she asked.

“Yup,” he said. This lady, Max thought.

“Alone?” she repeated. Her eyes had gone wide. Poor Clay. His mom was nuts. Max knew he should be careful about what he might say to a crazy person. Didn’t crazy people need to be treated with great care? He decided to be very polite.

“Yes, Mrs. Mahoney. I … am … alone.” He said the words slowly, carefully, maintaining eye contact all the while.

“Your parents let you ride around on your own? In December? Without a helmet?”

This lady definitely had a problem grasping the obvious. It was obvious that Max was alone, and obvious that he had ridden his bike. And there was nothing on his head, so why ask about the helmet? She was delusional on top of it all. Or maybe functionally blind?

“Yes, Mrs. Mahoney. I don’t need a helmet. I live just down the block. I rode here on the sidewalk.”

He pointed down the street to his own house, which was visible from her door. Mrs. Mahoney put her hand on her forehead and squinted, like a castaway searching the horizon for a rescue vessel. She dropped her hand, returned her eyes to Max, and sighed.

“Well, Clay is at his quilting class,” she said. Max didn’t know what a quilting class was, but it sounded a lot less fun than making icicle-spears and throwing them at birds, which had been on Max’s mind.

“Well, okay. Thanks, Mrs. Mahoney. Tell him I came by,” he said. He waved goodbye to Clay’s crazy mom, turned, and got on his bike. He heard the Mahoney’s door shut as he coasted away. But when he turned onto the sidewalk and toward his house, he found Mrs. Mahoney next to him, striding purposefully, still holding her silver drink canister.

“I can’t let you go alone,” she said, striding briskly alongside him.

“Thanks, Mrs. Mahoney, but I ride alone every day,” he said, pedaling cautiously and again maintaining steady eye contact. Her weirdness had tripled and his heartbeat had doubled.

“Not today you don’t,” she said, grabbing for the seat of Max’s bike.

Now he was getting scared. This woman was not only nuts, but she was following him, grabbing at him. He picked up speed. He figured he could ride faster than she could walk, and he intended to do so. He was now standing on his pedals.

She picked up her pace — still walking! Her elbows were flying left and right, her mouth a quick slash of determination. Was she smiling?

“Ha!” she giggled. “Fun!”

It was always the nuttiest people who smiled while doing the nuttiest things. This lady was far gone.

“Please,” he said, now pedaling as fast as he possibly could. He almost hit a mailbox, the Chungs’, the one bearing a large peace sign; this had caused great controversy in the neighborhood. “Just let me go,” he begged.

“Don’t worry,” she huffed, now at a full jog. “I’ll be right here the whole way.”

How could he shake her? Would she follow him inside his own house? She was no doubt waiting to get him alone and indoors, so she could do something to him. She