by Rolli –
My best friend Kabungo lives in a cave on Main Street. It’s right by the post office.
One day, I banged on the side of the cave with a rock. Caves don’t have doors, unfortunately.
A pair of eyes sparkled in the dark.
“Who?” said a deep voice. Kabungo has a surprisingly deep voice for a ten-year-old girl.
“It’s just me,” I said. “Beverly.”
“Oh kay,” said my friend, waving her hand. “Come.”
Even after I took my sunglasses off, it was still dark in the cave. Kabungo is used to it. She can see in the dark like a tiger. I followed her down the long hallway that leads to the main room—I guess the only room of her house, which was even darker. So I asked her to switch the lights on.
Kabungo knew what I meant. She lit the scented candle I gave her for her birthday and sat it in the vase I got her the birthday before that. Kabungo doesn’t have electricity. She does have a fire pit, but she only uses that if it’s cold out or to cook wild animals.
“Better?” she said.
“Better,” I said.
I looked around the cave. Kabungo doesn’t have a lot of stuff. She has a table, though I don’t think she uses it. She has some cutlery I bought her. I know she doesn’t use that. She has a black and white TV. I guess it’s for decoration.
“How you, Belly?” said my friend, at last. Kabungo always calls me Belly. I don’t think she has enough teeth to say “Beverly.”
“Fine, K,” I said. Sometimes I call her “K” for short. “How about you?”
“Mmm.” She scratched her head. “Itchy.”
“Have you been using your flea powder?” I’d bought her some flea powder a while back.
“Nnnn,” said Kabungo, shaking her head. “Not tasty.”
I would’ve told her that flea powder isn’t for eating, but I never tell her anything more than a hundred times. It’s my personal rule.
I was tidying things up a little—I can’t stand a messy cave—when I noticed something odd. There was a string on the table, with a bunch of pointy white things threaded onto it. There was a little hammer lying next to it, too, and a nail.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“Juleree,” she said. She pointed to my necklace. “Like Belly.”
I took a closer look at the white things. They looked like…teeth.
“K? What are these?”
“Shark toofs,” she whispered, very seriously. “Shhh. Secret toofs.”
“You mean teeth,” I said, correcting her. My mom’s an English teacher.
“Yah, yah. Teefs.”
I gave up.
“Where’d you get them?” I asked her, holding one up to the torch.
“Jo’s Ocean,” she said, even more seriously. “Shh.”
I had zero idea what she meant. Star City—that’s where we’re from—is nowhere near the ocean. And I didn’t know anyone named Jo.
“I cotch toofs, shh. In Jo’s Ocean. Belly help cotch?”
I was about to say, “No way,” but then I thought it might be a good idea to find out where my friend was getting these teeth. I consider it my personal mission to keep Kabungo out of trouble. So I told her, “Okay. Let’s go.” As I turned away, though, Kabungo grabbed my sleeve.
“No no,” she said. “Wait. Sun go.”
“Sun go” means “night-time” to Kabungo. And “sun up” means “sunrise.” I’ve tried teaching her the proper terms, but she just doesn’t remember. So I told her, okay, I’d be back at “sun go.”
“Promise, Belly?” she said, looking worried. I’m not sure why, but Kabungo has trouble trusting people.
“Promise,” I said.
Kabungo smiled. As I waved goodbye, I reminded myself to buy her another toothbrush.
The sun sets pretty late in Star City. It was close to 8:30 when I reached the cave. I picked up a rock.
“Here ready,” said Kabungo, stepping out of the shadows.
She sure was ready. She had on her “beast furs” (probably rabbit), and her face paint. Once, I called it “makeup,” and she screamed, “No, Belly! Paint!” She had along her snakeskin pouch, too. I had a feeling this was going to be interesting.
Kabungo walked past me. “Come, Belly! Sniff me.”
Okay, that might sound strange, but to Kabungo “sniff me” just means “follow me.” I don’t know why she thinks that. Maybe because dogs follow a scent by sniffing? That’s just a guess.
I “sniffed” Kabungo across Main Street, through Miss VeDore’s pumpkin patch, and down a back alley. It was dark in the alley. About all I could see was the snakeskin pouch sparkling in the starlight. So I followed the sparkle and her footsteps and just tried my hardest not to run into any trees. It was a good thing Kabungo had tiger eyes. Finally, she pushed through some branches, and then I pushed through, and then….
“Here,” said Kabungo.
She pointed at a long green building. I knew what it was, of course, without reading the sign, but the sign said “Star City Sunset Club.”
The Sunset Club really isn’t a club, it’s a retirement home for older people. My Uncle George has an apartment there. He’s a pretty nice guy. Even if he smells a lot like peppermints.
“This is Jo’s Ocean?” I asked.
Kabungo shook her head hard.
“In,” she said. “Sniff. Shh.”
I “sniffed” her around the building and up to the fifth window on the ground floor. It was a warm night, so the window—most of the windows, actually—was wide open.
“In,” she said again, softly. “Shh. Shh. Ocean.”
“K!” I whispered. “You can’t go in there.”
But it was too late. She’d already sprung through the window like a wildcat. I was leaning through it, reaching for her, trying to pull her back, when she reached out, pulled me in, and plopped me on the apartment floor. For a ten-year-old girl, Kabungo sure is strong.
“Kabungo!” I hissed. “We’re breaking the law!”
But my friend just shook her head and said, “No breaks, Belly. Careful. Shh.” And she tiptoed across the room.
I looked around. It was dark, but I could still make out a few things. I could see a fish tank. A couple armchairs. A bookcase full of books.
Hmm, I thought, as I weaved my way through the furniture. There’s something familiar about all this.
I was too nervous, though, to figure out what. I don’t like breaking the rules.
I followed Kabungo into a kitchen, down a hall, and into a dark room. She was moving really slowly now, almost like she was hunting something (I hoped she wasn’t). I moved even slower because it was so dark I could hardly see.
I bumped into something. Something soft. I was pretty sure it was a bed. I waited for my eyes to adjust. It was a bed.
My ears twitched. I could hear…snoring. So there was someone in the bed.
My nose twitched. I sniffed the air. It smelled a bit like…peppermints. Oh my gosh, I almost shouted. Now I knew whose apartment it was, whose bedroom, and who lay snoozing in the bed. I wondered what on earth Kabungo could want in my Uncle George’s apartment? And then I didn’t have to wonder because I could see. I could see, but I could hardly believe what I was seeing.
Okay, lots of older people run out of teeth. It’s no big deal. They just go out and buy new ones, false ones. I didn’t realize my Uncle George had false teeth, but he must’ve because there was a nice, shiny pair sitting in a glass of water on his nightstand. As my Uncle George snored, Kabungo slowly- reached-into-the-glass-of-water-and…snatched his teeth! She snatched them and stuffed them into her snakeskin pouch.
It was all over and done before I had time to say or do anything. And the second the teeth were in her pouch, Kabungo skipped out of the bedroom, down the hall, and back out the window.
For a while I stood there wondering what to do, what the proper course of action might be. I considered waking my uncle, but I just wasn’t sure how to tell him that his false teeth had been stolen in the night by a cave girl, or if he’d even believe me. It really was a unique scenario. Most scenarios involving Kabungo are. In the end, I decided to track down Kabungo—and fast—before she could get into any more trouble.
By the time I squeezed back out the window, there was no sign of my friend.
“Oh, Kabungo,” I said, looking right and left. Being a cave girl’s best friend is more stressful than you’d think.
I wasn’t sure if Kabungo had gone into another apartment or straight home. I peeked through a few windows and didn’t see anything, so I decided just to head to the cave. Only this time, I skipped the back alleys and stuck to the streets. It took a bit longer, but at least I could tell where I was going.
People say exercise is great for your brain, and it’s true. I always have my best ideas when I’m running. It wasn’t until I was racing back to the cave that it hit me. Jo’s Ocean. “Jo” was probably as close to “George” as Kabungo could manage with her cave-teeth. And the “ocean” had to be my uncle’s water glass. Jo’s Ocean. Shark toofs. Oh, Kabungo.
When I got back to her place, I could see a light flickering in the cave so I knew she was home. I let myself in.
As I walked down the hallway, I could smell smoke. I could hear the fire pit crackling. I wondered why. It was past dinner. It was warm out. I stepped into the main room and gasped. Because Kabungo was dancing. I mean, if you could call it dancing; I’d really never seen anything like it. It reminded me of gymnastics or running from bees. My Uncle George’s favorite word is “astonishing,” and that’s really all you could say about Kabungo’s dance. It was astonishing.
She must’ve danced around the fire a dozen times before she noticed me, but as soon as she did, she smiled.
“Itchy dance,” she explained, still moving.
I raised my eyebrows. At the time I had no clue, but now I wonder if she meant “victory dance?” I guess there’s always a chance, too, that she was just itchy. She does have fleas.
“Belly too,” she said, waving her hand. “Dance.”
“Ah, no thanks,” I said. I’m really not much of a dancer. I watched her for a couple minutes—It was pretty funny—then said, “K, we need to talk.”
“Mmm? Oh kay.”
Kabungo sat down on the floor. I looked for the least dirty spot, and sat down, too. “Do you remember what I told you, K, about going into other people’s houses?”
“Ya,” said Kabungo, scratching her elbow.
“Alright,” I said, a little doubtfully. “And you remember what I told you about taking stuff that’s not yours?”
“Ya, ya.” She scratched her knee this time.
“Hmm,” I said, still doubtful. “Okay. If that’s true, K, then why on earth did – ”
“Oh look, Belly!” cried my friend, jumping up. She ran over to the table. She pointed at something in the middle of the table.
I got up. I walked over to the table. I looked down.
There they were. My Uncle George’s false teeth. They were sitting next to the hammer and the necklace. Luckily, they were still in one piece because my uncle would’ve found it pretty hard chewing his food with a necklace.
“See?” said Kabungo. “Toofs. Juleree, Belly. See?”
She picked up the little hammer lying next to the teeth, swung it back, and –
“Kabungo, stop!” I cried.
She stopped, thank goodness, and set down the hammer.
“Belly, what?” she said, looking surprised. “Not juleree, Belly?”
I wasn’t sure what to say because I had too much to say. When there’s too many of them, words can plug up your brain.
“You,” she went on. “Juleree present, Belly. Toofs. You.” She picked up the necklace and slipped it over my head. She stood there smiling at me.
I was even less sure what to say, now, or how to say it. I mean, I was still mad, but I was, well, it was cute, too, how proud she was of her “juleree.” It’s hard knowing what to do when someone does bad when they mean to do good, when they’re trying hard to do it. I guess that’s Kabungo in a nutshell. In the end, there was only one thing I could think to say.
“Oh, Kabungo.”
By the time I left the cave that night (it was at least an hour later), I was pretty confident my friend wouldn’t go around stealing teeth anymore. With Kabungo, though, you just never know for sure. She did agree to give back Uncle George’s chompers, which she sent home with me, along with an apology letter. This is what it said:
“Dur Jo. Sorry toofs. Teefs. I moon tooo sad too. Nice fish. Kabungo.”
When I asked Kabungo what she meant by “moon tooo sad,” she just shrugged her shoulders. Kabungo really is smart, she just has trouble expressing herself. I told her I’d deliver the letter in the morning, along with the teeth. She wanted me to stay a while (she always does), but I said it was getting late, and I didn’t want my parents to worry. So I gave her a goodbye hug and was about to step out of the cave, when I remembered something.
“Hey, wait,” I said. “I got you a present, too.” I reached into my pocket, and pulled out a toothbrush. I’d picked it up at Plunz’s Drug Store before dinner but forgot all about it.
Kabungo sniffed at the bristles.
“Remember,” I said, “you use it with toothpaste. Do you still have the toothpaste I got you?”
“Hmm, no,” said Kabungo, shaking her head. “Too tasty.”
It was my turn to shake my head. And sigh.
“Later, Kabungo,” was all I could say.
My cave friend smiled.
“Oh kay, Belly. Later.”
Then she gave me a goodbye hug, and I, well, I felt a little like a toothpaste tube. But in some ways, a lucky toothpaste tube. After all, when your best friend is a cave-girl, every day is going to be an adventure. And that’s a guarantee.
the end.
Question Time:
- What is Kabungo’s home like?
- Where did she get the teeth from?
- What did she do with the teeth?
- What is special about Kabungo?
