~Quodlibet~~The Hundred Bites~
~I~~our communication stolen~
~prisoners & parents controlled by handheld devices~
~in the hands of schoolchildren & screws~
~what the hell you gonna do~~amerikan family?~don’t ask me fat boy~
~you sold us out when the citizens voted you in~
~I didn’t have anything to do with that shit~
~I. Dead End Traffic~
~friday afternoon~
~it is a long drive home~
~woman on the telephone~
~dead animal in a pickup truck ~
~stiff legs pointing wrong way up~
~driven by an eater~
~of venison into the open~
~trapped at once~
~maybe she’s talking to her man~
~sure as hell can’t drive~
~that thing is stuck to her face~
~could be she’s trying to talk it off~
~ain’t no free rides~
~in a land of gypsies
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
Quodlibet was published by Howling Dog Press
~the salt was flat~
~our shadows long~
~he is forever~
~& taller than me~
~An Other~
{Father Song}
~standing the shore~
~arm around my son~
~the Pacific Ocean~
~California~
~licking our boots~
~a long way from Colorado~
~his sister~
~my daughter~
~thousands of miles away~
~just there in Hawaii~
~heart of earth~
~ocean of blood~
~veins of universe~
~a sweet instrument~
~life~
~is it music~
~the tide reminded me~
~its incessant roar~
~falling~
~growing~
~becoming~
~of a power so much~
~stronger than myself~
~impossible to get my arms around~
~yet a reach I was impelled~
~to breathe for~
~to live for~
~to die for~
~feet wet~
~blood pumping~
~ecstatic~
~howling~
~a nuance of knowledge~
~water sea~
~river rivulet~
~it is as my children to me~
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~lo, he has no wings~
~they whisper in the dark~
~ghosts & flying things~
~the arrow finds its mark~
~Children & Dark Angels~
{Christmas story excerpt from the novel, Momma’s Rain}
Winter 1960 - 1961
Denver, Colorado
The cold November wind blew through the holes in Timmy’s jeans and placed its lips on his fingers. His ears felt like twin icicles, giggling freeze in his brain. These minor discomforts were in no mean way able to dissuade his happiness of spirit. A wheel came off the wobbly old Radio Flyer wagon he was dragging behind himself. He whistled Jingle Bells and dug deep in his coat pocket until he found the bent nail he knew was there. He turned the wagon on its side and pushed the errant wheel back over the end of the axle. He knew when he found that old nail it was just the right size to put into the hole to keep a wheel from falling off. He pushed it in, bent it a little bit so it wouldn’t fall out, then righted the wagon and was on his way again.
Today he had a date with the soldier lady at the Salvation Army Store. She had been putting back broken toys for him since summertime. He had three shiny quarters in his pocket and dearly hoped that would be enough to buy each and every one of his brothers and sisters something special. This promised to be the best Christmas yet. Momma had filled out a state form when she picked up the family’s monthly allotment of commodities and hoped to get a ten dollar gift certificate for each of the children. She could redeem the certificates at a store downtown in exchange for gifts. They had no cash value so we were sure to receive a new toy or two. Momma would have preferred to buy them clothes and Daddy would probably want whiskey or tools. Timmy was very appreciative of the fact that the certificates were redeemable, if Momma got them, only for the purchase of toys.
He opened the door to the store and a bell hung from the top hinge jingled loudly. The lady came from the back and told him to come on in. The wagon squeaked loudly as he pulled it through the crowded and cramped aisle. He was the only customer in the store, the only other person in the building besides the manager lady. She told him the wall to wall merchandise was an expression of folks’ generosity during the winter and holiday season. Each item was there because someone with a big heart had found it within themselves to give to others. There was a picnic table in the back room and the lady told Timmy to go ahead and take a seat. She fixed him up with hot chocolate and some sugar cookies.
“You can call me Joe,” she said. Just then the bell on the door rang out. She gave Timmy a reassuring pat on the shoulder on her way out of the room. “You make yourself at home. I’ll go take care of this customer, then you and I will get down to business.”
Timmy had never met a woman named Joe before. It seemed a bit strange to him that she had a man’s name but she sure was a nice person. When she had finished with the customer who rang the bell, Joe returned and poured herself a cup of hot chocolate. She seemed to be one of those people it’s easy to be quiet with. She and Timmy sipped their chocolate and ate cookies in a comfortable shared silence.
When they were through snacking, Joe led him to a far corner in the storage area. She wrestled a large carton out of the corner.
“Well, here they are,” she said, “I chose toys I thought you might be able to fix and that our handymen had set aside. Everything in this box is broken, mind you. You’ll probably have to use parts of one to fix another.”
Timmy pointed proudly to his wagon. “Just like I did with my wagon.”
Joe smiled.
“A wonderful job. Yes, just like that! You’ll be a busy boy for the next month, just like one of Santa’s elves.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am...uh, Joe,” he mumbled. “That’s a whole bunch o’ toys and I only got seventy five cents. There’s no way I can afford all this stuff.”
“Hmmm.” Joe tapped a finger on her chin and said, “Tell you what, you come by here when you can for the rest of the week. I’ll have you sweep the floor and empty the waste baskets, little jobs like that. There’s a lot to do around here and I’ll never be able to get it all done by myself. At the end of the week, you give me the seventy five cents and you can take the box of toys home with you.”
“I don’t know,” Timmy said. “I got one more day of school before Thanksgiving break and sometimes I have to watch my brothers and sisters.”
“You’re a busy young man,” Joe said, “and I can see you take your responsibilities seriously. I won’t take no for an answer,” she said finally. “How ‘bout you sweep for me now while you’re here? That way you can take the toys home with you when you leave.”
“Wow!” Timmy said, “That’d be great! I’ll run home and ask my Mom if it’s okay!”
“You’re welcome to use the phone here to call her,” Joe offered.
“We don’t have a phone at home,” Timmy said, “But it ain’t far. Is it okay if I leave my wagon here?”
Some people acted all weird, like the Turners were aliens or something, when they found out the family didn’t have a phone. Joe just said, “You run along. I’ll watch your wagon for you while you’re gone. It’s safe with me.”
This was another one of those times when Timmy’s feet didn’t touch the ground. He flew home like he had wings on his feet. He remembered the front door was locked so he went around to the back door. It wasn’t locked. He threw it open and barged into the kitchen, eyes alert for Momma. And there she was... laying on the couch naked. And Daddy was on top of her. He was naked too. Timmy’s feet started walking backwards toward the door but his eyes refused to disengage from the fuzzy flesh tones of his naked parents.
“You wait outside,” Momma called from the couch, “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Timmy went outside to wait. Needless to say he wasn’t looking forward to whatever it was she’d have to say. She joined him pretty quick. She put an arm around his shoulders and told him to sit down next to her on the back steps.
“Timmy, I thought you were going to the Salvation Army to look at toys.”
“I was,” he said, “I mean I did and...where’s all the kids?”
“I laid them down for a nap,” Momma explained. “Leda went to sleep on our bed, so Daddy and I...”
“I know,” he said quickly.
“There is nothing wrong with what we were doing, Timmy,” Momma said.
“No, naps are good for you,” he agreed hastily.
“All right buster,” Momma said, “Maybe we’ll talk about this later.” She hugged Timmy and shivered. “It’s cold out here, don’t you think?” Momma didn’t abide the cold well.
“I ain’t,” Timmy said with renewed enthusiasm, now that they weren’t going to talk about ‘that’. “I ran all the way back and wasn’t a bit cold.”
“So I see,” Momma said. “Where’s your wagon? I was sure I’d hear that squeaky old thing long before I saw you in the flesh.”
“Joe’s takin’ care of it for me,” he replied. “See, if I sweep and empty the trash and stuff, she’s gonna let me have this whole big ol’ box of broken toys for seventy five cents. I can fix ‘em up Momma, I know I can.”
Momma squeezed his shoulder.
“Slow down a little bit, Timmy. First of all, who is Joe?”
“She’s the soldier lady,” he answered excitedly. “She was grouchy at me this summer when she caught me lookin’ in the window all the time but now me ‘n her are good friends.”
“An army lady named Joe,” Momma smiled. “You still haven’t told me why you came home so soon and in such a rush.”
“Sorry. See, it’s like this,” Timmy explained, “Joe’s gonna let me do some, what she calls odd jobs around the store. I just hurried home to see if it’s okay with you if I stay awhile and work.”
“Where are you going to keep all these toys until Christmas so the kids don’t see them?” Momma asked.
That question stopped Timmy dead in his tracks. He had been so busy thinking about getting the toys, he hadn’t thought about where to hide and work on them.
“I don’t know, Momma. I have t’ be able t’ get to ‘em but I don’t want the kids t’ see ‘em ‘til Christmas.”
“I’ll make a place in mine and Daddy’s closet,” Momma offered. “We might even be able to rig you up a lamp in there. That way you can do your fixin’ and nobody will know.”
Timmy couldn’t believe what he was hearing and doubted Momma would be able to talk Dad into it. Children were never allowed in Momma and Daddy’s room unless one of them were ordered to go in there and rub baby Leda’s back or bounce her on the bed.
“I’d like that,” Timmy said finally, “it would be just perfect.”
“It’s a good thing you’re doing,” Momma said. “You can go back until seven and don’t forget, you have school tomorrow.”
His unexpected good fortune pushed Momma and Daddy’s naked bodies to the back of Timmy’s mind. They would visit him later. He hugged Momma and gave her a kiss.
“Thank-you! I’ll be back by seven!”
True to her word, Joe had him sweep and clean and empty the trash. It was a reward in itself to toil in the service of such a good person. His final chore, and with Joe’s help, was to lift the carton onto his wagon. He then swept out the corner where it had been. Joe had a hot plate hooked up in the back room. She fixed them grilled cheese sandwiches while Timmy picked through the box of toys.
“Let’s eat.” she said, “I’ll bet you’ve worked up an appetite.”
“I can always eat,” Timmy replied. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you,” Joe said. “You did a fine job. This place was a mess. Now I’m ready for the holidays, thanks to you, my friend.”
Timmy felt heat rise to his face in a bright red blush when Joe called him her friend. It just felt too good.
“It’s fun cleaning and lookin’ at all this neat stuff.” he said, “Doesn’t feel like work at all.”
“I suppose by now you’ve noticed there’s nothing in that box but toys,” Joe remarked.
“That’s right,” Timmy agreed, a big smile on his face. “Tractors and trucks for my brother Jerry, Lincoln logs, Tonka toys, blocks and dolls for Peter and my three sisters.”
“There’s nothing in there for your parents,” Joe observed. “What do they like?”
Timmy felt bad for a moment for not having thought of gifts for Momma and Daddy.
“I gotta think,” he said.
“Finish your sandwich,” Joe said, “I have to lock up. When you’ve finished eating, we’ll have a look around, you ‘n me. I’ll just bet something will catch your eye.”
After she had locked the front door, Joe and Timmy walked through the store. He had never been the only customer in a closed store. He wondered at all the used merchandise and the donations it represented. There must be a lot of rich people in the world and this place was proof that some of them were pretty nice folks. They came upon a section of books and that reminded him of Daddy.
“My Dad reads cowboy books. He really likes the ones by that French guy.”
Joe sorted through boxes and shelves filled with nothing but books, books and more books.
“Here are a couple by Louis La’mour. Is that the author you were thinking of?”
“Yeah,” Timmy replied, “but he has that one there.”
Joe dug some more and came up with a couple he didn’t think Daddy had read.
“How about your mom,” she asked, “What does she like?”
He glanced around the room until a puzzle caught his attention.
“She likes puzzles and scarfs.”
Joe let him pick out a thousand piece puzzle. When finished it would be a beautiful mountain scene. Momma and Timmy could put it together and glue it to some cardboard and hang it on the wall. They had done that before. The last thing he picked out was a dark blue scarf. It felt soft like he imagined silk would.
“There,” Joe said, “Now all we gotta do is settle up.”
“Oh yeah,” Timmy laughed and handed her his three quarters.
“One more thing, then you can go home, Sir,” Joe said. “I have to get the name and address of anyone who works for me so I can fill out my employment forms.”
Timmy felt like a big shot, getting his name on the employment rolls and everything. He gave her the information and she wrote it down.
She helped him wiggle the wobbly, top-heavy wagon through the store.
“Take this,” she said. “This isn’t for working. This is a gift from Joe to Timmy.” She handed him a wooden box. There were paints and brushes and decals, tacks and small nails, all the things he would need to fix those toys up so they looked better than new. He hugged her, an impulse reaction which embarrassed them both and put the wooden box on top of the toys.
Once outside, he made sure the box was balanced on the wagon and started down the sidewalk with his happy load.
Joe stood in the doorway of the store watching him.
“Are you okay with that?” She sounded worried.
“I’m fine and thanks!” Timmy called back as he slowed down for a crack in the sidewalk.
“You come back and keep me company sometime,” she called after him. She went back into the store before he could answer.
Timmy got an ache in the bottom of himself sometimes just thinking about all the nice people he left behind. Moving every couple of months, with Daddy’s drinking and all the problems associated with it, he never had time to gather those people up and keep them close.
As he neared the back door, Momma heard the squeaking wagon and, for his part, he waited until the back door opened. Momma stood there with a smile and a glow on her face the likes of which he hadn’t seen for quite some time. Daddy came past her and lifted the box all by himself. He could see right into the top of it. Timmy sure was glad he had the foresight to hide Daddy and Momma’s gifts in the bottom of the box. Daddy winked at him.
“You got your work cut out for you, Kiddo!”
Adults are confusing critters to contemplate, Timmy thought to himself. And not just his parents, most adults he had known in his life could be fighting like cats and dogs one day and naked on the couch the next. When it came to Momma and Daddy, your best bet was to just be thankful for the good days and run for cover the rest of the time. Well, this was one of those good days and he was thankful. Daddy set the box in the corner of the closet and showed him how to operate the on/off switch on the trouble light he had hung from a hanger in the closet. Timmy would be able to close the door and work away. No one would even know he was when he was in there. When Timmy came out of the closet, Daddy and Momma were standing there with an arm around one another. Timmy felt as if something was wrong with him because it just made him feel like crying.
He thanked his parents, then went to see what his brothers and sisters were doing. They had been told to stay in the bedroom while Daddy carried in the box. As so often happened in their lives, when Timmy was the happiest, his brother Jerry was the most miserable.
“They made us stay cooped up in here while they were doin’ it,” he carped.
“They just wanted everybody to have a nap,” Timmy argued.
“You’re a liar, Timmy,” Jerry accused, “You even came in an’ caught ‘em in the act. I heard ‘em talkin’ about it. Daddy saw the door open a little bit an’ snuck over here an’ conked me in the head with it.”
There was a dent and scratch in Jerry’s forehead.
“You shouldn’t o’ been listenin’ to ‘em all sneaky like,” Timmy said.
“Me?” Jerry said indignantly, “You go in an’ catch ‘em doin’ it an’ you’re some kin’ o’ hero. I’m standin’ by the door an’ I near get my head knocked off!”
“Hey Lisa!” Timmy decided to play with and tickle his little sister to get away from Jerry. Jerry was messing with his good mood. Timmy’s six-year-old brother, Peter, piled on top of him and it wasn’t very long before Jerry joined in. Timmy was the oldest kid in the family, even including all the cousins, and everyone would always pile on and try to hold him down. They wrestled and rolled around on an old blanket on the floor. All except for baby Leda, who was usually with Momma and Daddy if they were at home.
It was tricky business, fixing those toys. When Momma and Daddy were gone, Timmy would have Jerry take everyone out back to play if it was warm enough. If not, he’d talk Jerry into tending to and entertaining them in the house. The boys had struck a deal whereby Timmy would allow Jerry equal time to roam the neighborhood. Those toys were about the only true secret Timmy ever kept from his brother. To his knowledge, nobody but Momma and Daddy and Joe ever knew about Timmy and the box of Salvation Army toys.
Speaking of Joe, the day before Thanksgiving a wonderful thing happened. A nice old Grandma and Grandpa couple knocked on the Turners’ door. They said they had a gift for Timmy Turner and his family from Joe and the Salvation Army. They brought in a humungous basket with a big ol’ turkey and all the stuff that went with it. There was hard candy and fudge, lots o’ really good stuff to eat, the likes of which Timmy had never seen before. It was like the grocery bags Jerry stole, only better. They didn’t have to hide this food. Momma was suspicious of the couple and the basket until she found out these nice people weren’t going to read the bible to her or ask her to join them in prayer, none of that religious stuff. She claimed to have made her own peace with God and refused to listen to preachers and bible readers. Daddy wasn’t home so she and the children got everything put away and chomped down a good part of it before he showed up.
That night, when Momma put the turkey in the oven, Timmy was allowed to stay up and keep her company. She was in a thoughtful and quiet mood. There were tears in her eyes but Timmy was fairly sure, this time at least, they were happy tears. Daddy came home and he didn’t like it much that people had come while he was gone and left food at the house. He was always suspicious of what he called ‘handouts’. He wasn’t too drunk, though, and didn’t let his negative feelings ruin Momma and the children’s high spirits.
The next day they ate like kings and queens. The sun was out so Daddy had to go finish a roof. He almost took Timmy with him but changed his mind at the last minute. Timmy did his best not to let it show how relieved he was. Momma put the turkey and the rest of the food out on the table. She took a good portion out for Daddy’s part and some white meat for work sandwiches, then told everyone to have at it. And have at it, they did. That turkey was a bare bones skeleton when they were through with it.
This particular Thanksgiving stands out in Timmy’s mind and heart as one of those rare occasions, a day when Jerry didn’t get plinked, slapped, or sent to a corner a single time. He tried to fight it but from all appearances, just for a little bit, he was happy. Momma sat back rubbing the top of her belly. The baby was due sometime within the coming month. Peter, Lisa and Leda had mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie all over their faces. They were a sight to see.
“I wish we had a camera,” Momma said wistfully.
Timmy brought her a cup of coffee and a piece of pumpkin pie. She had those tears in her eyes again.
“This is how it should always be, Timmy,” she whispered. “It is a wonderful holiday, thanks to you and your friend Joe. You’re a good boy.”
The children were in bed that night when Daddy got home but Timmy woke up and heard him clunking around. Their happy Thanksgiving time had gone to bed with them. Timmy heard Momma crying and Daddy calling her names. He put his hands over his ears and tried not to think about the knife under the stove and Daddy’s naked back when he was doin’ it to Momma. That would be a perfect time to get him. Timmy considered getting another knife and having Jerry help him but pushed the thought away. He wasn’t sure what Daddy would do to him for sticking him with a knife. He would beat Jerry to within an inch of his life just for thinking about it. Timmy was sure of that.
The dim remembrance of the time he had been poised to do the deed, the night of knife and spaghetti, changed Timmy in a forever way. He learned to totally slip out of himself and, like Momma said that time, just go away. It was a scary process because he didn’t have any control over it. It was like when he attacked the fat boy who was torturing the cat. He wasn’t himself. A monster climbed inside his brain and looked out through his eyes. He was bound to protect Momma and his brothers and sisters. Whoever the monster was, it had come to protect Timmy and Timmy only. This Thanksgiving night, like so many others, somewhere beneath the screaming voice of his father, the monster just took him away.
A strange thing happened the day after Thanksgiving. A big truck parked outside on the sidewalk. A man got out of it and knocked on the Turners’ door. Momma and Daddy were both working, so Timmy answered.
“Your parents home, kid?” he asked.
“They’re at work,” Timmy replied.
“I’m from A & A Glass,” he said. “Your landlord, Mister Garcia, has sent me out to fix the front window.”
Timmy agreed to move the couch back from the wall, which was easy to do because the cushions were still busy being used as beds. The house faced north and across the busy expanse of 29th Avenue stood the mammoth hunched beast, Freeland Elementary. Timmy had never considered the plywood window hole a barrier, not in any conscious sense at least. He realized now that was exactly what it had been to him. The family didn’t own curtains and the blanket was in use in the bedroom. There was no escaping it, now the beast could watch through this window eye into their lives. Timmy’s siblings must have felt it too. They all came and stood with him. They stared through the clear glass as the man and his helper gathered their tools, got into the big truck and drove away. Timmy watched the exhaust from the truck form its own cloud and hover in the air. Lisa grabbed his hand.
“I cold, Timmy.”
Peter and Leda chorused, “Me too!”
Jerry grinned.
“We ain’ safe no more. We ain’ never safe no more.”
“You guys all go back to the bedroom,” Timmy said, “I’m gonna light the stove.”
“You ain’ supposed to touch it,” Jerry reminded him.
“Just go,” Timmy replied impatiently.
Jerry was correct in what he said. Timmy had been told explicitly by Momma and Daddy both to stay away from the brown monster. Lighting it was tricky. He was aware of that, having watched his parents light it dozens of times. They always made the kids go in the bedroom just in case it blew up. Timmy got a straw from the broom and lit it at the cook stove. Then he turned the knob on the heater and poked the straw in through its small round hole. Just as would usually happen to Momma and Daddy, the straw went out. He went to the cook stove and lit it again. When he poked the tiny flame through the hole this time, the brown stove blew up in his face. It always did that too but he had never been in the same room as the concussion.
His brothers and sisters came out of the bedroom and just stood there looking at him like he was a zoo exhibit or something. Jerry pointed to his face and started laughing. Peter grinned and Lisa said, “You look funny, Timmy.”
Timmy slugged Jerry in the arm on the way to the bathroom. Looking in the cracked mirror above the sink, he was distressed and amazed to see his face was light gray and his eyebrows and eyelashes were gone. Both his ears were ringing loudly. The fine blonde hair on both arms was singed and curly. When he touched the burnt hairs they fell off leaving his forearms smooth and hairless like his face.
“Boy, are you gonna be in trouble,” Jerry said when Timmy returned to the kitchen.
He ignored Jerry’s comment, went into the living room and took hold of one end of the couch.
“Come on, Jerry. Help me put this thing back.”
“Timmy, are you blowed up?” Lisa asked him.
“No, I’m not,” he replied. “And you guys stay away from the stove. Just like Momma always says, ‘It’s hot!’”
“You are too blowed up and maybe about to get died.” Peter just had to add his two cents worth.
“Just shut up and help Jerry bring the cushions and blanket in,” Timmy said. “You guys can all sit on the couch and warm up while I find us something to eat.”
“How come he’s allays the boss o’ us?” Peter asked Jerry.
Jerry mumbled something in reply as they went to do Timmy’s bidding. Timmy got some commodities out, rice and tomato paste this time. There was no meat in the house but Momma had taught him to boil and fluff rice, then add one can each of tomato paste and water. Throw it all together, add a little salt and pepper and Voila!, you had Spanish Rice.
His fingers kept going to his face to feel the skin where his eyebrows and eyelashes were supposed to be. He was upset about having them burned off and, on top of that, afraid he’d be in deep trouble when his parents got home. There was nowhere and no way to hide this situation. One look at his hairless face and he would be found out. He expected Momma to be home first or he would never have tried to light the stove in the first place. She would understand about the window men and the cold outside air getting in. Daddy, on the other hand, might or might not, depending largely on his mood and state of sobriety. These thoughts ran over and over in Timmy’s mind, always looping back to, ‘Will they grow back?’
Timmy had watched a television movie about a boy whose hair turned green. He was haunted for weeks after he saw it and would swear his was turning green every time he looked in the mirror. This eyebrow and eyelash thing was hopping around in his mind the same way. He didn’t want to be the boy with no facial hair. If Daddy was in a bad mood, it didn’t matter. He’d just be the dead kid with no facial hair.
When Momma got home, she was upset that he had turned on the stove. After the scare of lighting it, Timmy hadn’t attempted to adjust it and it was very hot in the house. She turned it down and continued to scold him about it. She finally settled down and told him she was just relieved that he was alive and hadn’t blown himself up. He was, of course, never to touch the stove again. When he asked her about his eyebrows and eyelashes, she took a second look at him and broke into laughter. When she got control of her giggles, she held a hand on the top and bottom of her belly and told him it would take a while but they would grow back. Daddy got home after everyone had gone to bed. He was so drunk he probably didn’t know if he had eyebrows and eyelashes himself. He set his quart of schnapps and a jug of ice water by the bed and fell over sideways.
A couple of days after the window was put in, just like Momma said would happen, a man came and put an eviction notice on the front door. The boys went to school and the neighborhood children had something other than their lack of lunches to snicker at them about. Now they were the family soon to be put out on the street. Having been there many times before didn’t help much. Timmy wanted to fight the taunting children but the fear of Daddy’s belt kept him in line. All three boys had been duly warned: if they got into any more trouble in school, their fault or not, there would be hell to pay. Daddy had enough problems of his own. He didn’t need them to pile on any more.
Momma went to court on the eviction notice and offered her paycheck, eighty four dollars from the Dog House Bar and Grille, to keep her family from being thrown out on the street. The judge was openly sympathetic toward this extremely pregnant woman and her six rag-a-tag children. They stood with her before the judge, her four stair-steps, Timmy, Jerry, Peter, and Lisa. Momma held Leda and Carol snuggled into Timmy’s arms. The judge smooth-talked the landlord into accepting Momma’s check. Mister Garcia was very clear on one point though. He would have full payment, including back rent, by the thirty first of December or out the turners went. Momma knew it would take a miracle to meet these conditions. She leaned against the marble walls of the City and County Building and smiled wearily at Timmy. Her victories were hard fought and small, the epitome of surviving, living life one day, one moment at a time. She was only five foot one. Tall in Timmy’s eyes, he felt sure her belly was rounder now than she was tall.
“Timmy,” she said, “people like us have to be satisfied to claim our small victories. That man will have us out but not before we celebrate our Timmy Family Christmas and I see this baby born.” She closed her eyes and the peaceful smile remained on her beautiful face. “God bless that judge.”
Momma continued to work but was being pressured by her boss to take off work before the baby was born. She said he was afraid it was going to be born in his bar. It was a cold and icy winter so Daddy couldn’t have been working anyway but he kept himself so drunk he couldn’t see straight. He spent a lot of time at the Dog House and would hustle Momma for her tips while she was working. She complained to Timmy that Daddy was spending her money faster than she could earn it and this was another reason her boss wanted her to take off. The event of her pregnancy and Daddy’s extreme drunkenness were just plain bad for business. Momma was back to stealing whatever was left on the plates in the bar restaurant so her children had something to eat. She and Timmy worked together on this as always. If Daddy brought her home, she would hide the garbage in her coat and slip it to Timmy. He would scrape off the ashes and egg shells before feeding it to his brothers and sisters. They couldn’t heat it up if Daddy was home and coherent. He wouldn’t have his kids eating, by God, garbage.
A couple of days before Christmas, Daddy cut back on his drinking. Christmas Eve Timmy snuck out of the bedroom after his brothers and sisters had all gone to sleep. Momma helped him drag the big box into the living room. He had painted and fixed toys for everyone, then wrapped them in newspaper and tied them with string. All except Jerry’s. Timmy had straightened the axles on a big semi truck and a red farm tractor. He arranged these on the outer edge all by themselves so Jerry would see them the moment he came out of the bedroom. Momma had the gifts from the Santa Claus Shop. She had stood in the cold and snow for four hours one day to redeem her certificates. She wasn’t satisfied with what she picked out because she was so far back in line that everything was picked over by the time she had her chance to choose. Timmy hugged her, told her it didn’t matter. Those gifts had been wrapped at the Santa Claus Shop so they had real festive wrapping paper around them and ribbons and bows.
There was no Christmas tree and no colored lights, not so much as a candle lighting the room. Timmy felt a tear slide down his cheek as he stood back to look at the pile of gifts in front of the couch. They were bathed in an arc of light from the street through the new glass of the window whose blanket curtain was in use in the bedroom covering his brothers and sisters. The couch without cushions as a backdrop to the display of presents was the most beautiful site Timmy had ever seen. Momma patted him on the back. There were tears in her eyes and she seemed too choked up to speak. She squeezed Timmy’s arm and walked in to the kitchen to finish her coffee with Daddy.
Timmy returned to bed and waited for the lights to go out in the kitchen. The lights did soon go out. When he was sure Momma and Daddy had gone to bed (there were no squeaking springs), he got their gifts out of the kids’ closet where he had them hidden and placed them on the floor with the rest. He was making his way quietly back to the bedroom when he heard a noise at the front door. It was after ten o’clock and he wondered who it could be. He peeked out and whispered her name under his breath.
“Joe.”
There was a small Christmas tree on the front porch. It was decorated with bulbs and candy canes. And there next to it was another humungous basket of goodies and food just like the one the nice couple brought the family on Thanksgiving. Best of all were two smoked hams. Momma wouldn’t have to cook. He took the tree in and arranged the presents around it. It was then he noticed a gaily wrapped package poking out of the food basket. It was about the size of a shoe box and had a tag on it that read: For Timmy from a friend, Merry Christmas. The light outside the iced-up window shined into the room and divided itself around the little tree in slices of sparkles all its own. Timmy hugged the gift to his chest and thought to himself, ‘We’re gonna have a bright Christmas morning just like everyone else this year.’ My Christmas angel has a name.”
“Joe.”
Christmas morning was everything Timmy thought it would be and more. Jerry held his tractor and truck in his lap. He rocked them back and forth and tears ran down his cheeks. The package from Joe had two model cars in it, a forty Ford pickup like Daddy’s except it was a hotrod and a fifty-seven Chevy.
Daddy was too sick to be upset about Joe’s ‘handouts’. Going on the wagon was getting harder and harder on him. He shook really bad all over and the whites of his eyes turned yellow. Jerry and Timmy helped Momma set the table and once again, thanks to Joe and the Salvation Army, they ate like royalty. Daddy wasn’t interested in food.
Five days later Momma’s water broke. Daddy took her to the hospital. She was in labor and, rather than wait in the waiting room, Daddy went to the Dog House to tell everyone and celebrate. Timmy was bad worried but just had to wait.
The Christmas food had run out and so had commodities since it was the end of the month. Jerry came home from his roaming and called Timmy into the bedroom away from the other kids. He closed the door and leaned against it, a big fat smile on his face.
“Guess what I got?” he taunted.
“I don’t care, Jerry,” Timmy said. “Aren’t you worried about Momma?”
“Lookie here!” Jerry pulled a fifty dollar bill out of his pocket and waved it in front of Timmy’s face.
Jerry had his attention now.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Mean ladies in the groc’ry store,” Jerry said in a singsong voice.
“How?” Timmy asked, dumbfounded.
“Same ol’ way,” Jerry said. “She starts whuppin’ the ol’ man in the store an’ he goes after her, jus’ kissin’ ‘er butt an’ I walk off with ‘er purse!”
“Oh Jerry, Timmy moaned, “you are gonna get in serious trouble one o’ these days.”
“Not me!” he insisted. “What would ya like for supper, brother?”
“You can’t go back to that store,” Timmy said.
“I ain’ stupid,” Jerry replied. “I’ll go to the Safeway over on Fed’ral instead.”
Timmy shook his head doubtfully. “They ain’t gonna let a l’il skinny kid like you spend a fifty dollar bill!”
“That’s why I’ll use this!” Jerry grinned. He took a twenty dollar bill from his other pocket and waved it around above his head.
“Oh Jerry, where’s her purse?” Timmy asked.
“I toldja, I ain’ stupid,” Jerry quipped, “I’m gettin’ tired o’ messin’ ‘round’ wit’ you. You want somethin’ or not?”
“Okay, okay” Timmy gave up, felt himself salivating at the idea of real food, “That canned stew, four cans and Royal Crown Cola and...”
“I know, I know, Spanish peanuts,” Jerry interrupted.
He went out the door and Timmy had that feeling, that awful feeling in his guts, that one day Jerry wouldn’t come back. It would be just like this and Timmy would never see him again.
He did come back, though. They stashed their goodies and hid the stew cans so Peter wouldn’t see them. Timmy was so hungry, he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he ate out of one of them directly. The children were all that hungry and, thanks to their robber brother, they had what they imagined to be rich folks’ stew for supper one more time.
On the last day of 1960, the Turners were evicted, moved out by the sheriff. Daddy had come home some time after Momma and Timmy went to bed the night before. He had gone back to bed this morning after taking Momma to work. Timmy didn’t want to wake him up but, when he heard a knock on the door and saw a man with a gun and badge standing on the front porch, he went into Daddy’s bedroom to tell him the police were outside. He must have been sleeping lightly for once because he wasn’t startled and got straight out of bed.
Daddy knew a man who knew a man who knew a man. Since he was home, the sheriff allowed Daddy the time to wrap the family’s belongings in blankets. Timmy helped and they tossed them in the back of Daddy’s truck. Timmy found some boxes in neighbors’ trash in the alley. He and his siblings put their Christmas toys in them. Jerry and Timmy set the boxes in the truck. The radios and dishes fit in another box. The furniture, what there was of it, had belonged to the prior tenants. Daddy said they didn’t need it where they were going. The sheriff’s men had it out on the curb in short time. When they tried to lift the dresser thing, it wouldn’t budge. They opened it and saw the hundreds of liquor and beer bottles filled with water. Their eyes found Daddy’s face and his eyes found Timmy’s. Daddy shook his head sadly but no one said a word. Timmy nudged Jerry with an elbow and the two of them emptied the bottles and carried them out back to the trash. Liquor bottles, to Timmy’s knowledge, have never been worthy of redemption. It’s one of those little things in life that just, plain and simple, feels right and makes sense.
The first man previous Daddy knew, got them set up in a ‘tenement house’. Timmy had no idea what that meant but was soon to find out. It was crowded and uncomfortable, not easy to manage, but Daddy stuffed all six of his teeth-chattering cold children into the cab of his old Ford pickup. They didn’t have far to go as it turned out. Their new place of dwelling was only seven blocks away at 29th Avenue and Wyandot Street.
Daddy parked the truck behind a dark and forbidding, austere behemoth of a building. Timmy had never noticed the place before while he and Momma were out gathering cigarette butts. They never ventured east of Zuni Street and buildings like this awful edifice were one of the reasons, that and the derelicts who lived in them. It was difficult to imagine the Turner family sinking any lower than the house with the plywood window. Timmy was ten years old and still had a lot to learn about the process of losing and sinking.
Daddy picked up Leda. She snuggled into his shoulder and stuffed a thumb in her mouth. Timmy hoisted Lisa up onto his hip and Jerry carried Carol. Peter was the caboose of their sorry little train. There was no rear entrance to the building so Daddy led down a path through the hard dirt yard. Broken glass and other trash each played their bit parts along with the stench of garbage to give the place the breath and appearance of a dumpsite. Up the eight steps to the stone front porch they went. A broken screen door hung by its bottom hinge and performed a chilly winter dance.
The hallways were as filthy as the yard, their walls decorated with fine art genitalia. Whatever sex education the Turner children lacked was offered to them now each and every time they pounded up and down the creaking wood of those inner sanctum tenement steps.
“Don’t look at that shit,” Daddy admonished offhandedly.
As they rounded the second story landing, close on Daddy’s heels, a small brown girl lifted her dirty skirt and hiked up a leg to provide access for a tall black boy. He mounted her standing. His lips spoke to Timmy’s eyes.
“Mind yer own business, white boy!” Timmy hurried to catch up with Daddy. Glancing back, he saw Jerry and Peter scurry past the fornication in progress.
They marched all the way to the top of the building, which was the fourth floor. There was no light in the stairwells so it was a dark climb with just a bit of light on the landings which each had a small window. The Turner’s unit was at the end of the hall, number seven whose door faced north. Daddy set Leda down and his shaking hands fumbled for the key. He finally found it but as soon as he touched the door, it swung open quite on its squeaking own. The children peered into a dark room, furnished with a broken down bed just inside the door and a closet with its door missing. What light there was, came from a bare bulb in the kitchen which was just to the right of the door. A tall young man appeared from the gloom of the bedroom and gave them all a scare.
“Hi, my name is Thurman. Sometimes my mom lets me come over here to take a nap. I guess I won’t no more now you’re here.” He squeezed past Daddy and disappeared down the hall.
“Okay, this is it,” Daddy said. “Peter, keep an eye on your sisters. Timmy and Jerry, c’mon. Let’s get our stuff carried on in here.”
The humpers were still humping but this time Timmy didn’t look and certainly didn’t make contact with the black boy. He hurried fast around that corner.
“Hey, get out o’ there!” Daddy yelled as they made their way around the side of the building.
A bunch of kids clutching armloads of the Turners’ belongings jumped from the back of his truck and ran down the alley. The first thing Daddy checked was his tools. They seemed to be all there. The blankets with clothes in them hadn’t been taken either. Jerry’s tractor was gone and the two models Timmy had put together. The thieves were children and had obviously gone for toys first.
“Grab the blankets and clothes,” Daddy ordered, “I’ll get my tools.”
Jerry and Timmy would have preferred to guard the truck to protect the last of their toys but knew better than to even suggest such a thing except to each other. Daddy struggled with three buckets of tools and it was all the boys could do to carry the blankets containing the family’s clothes. As they had been many times before, they were ants once more. When they came down for the last load, all that was left of their Christmas toys were some building blocks and a couple of dolls.
When they made their final trip to the truck, Daddy gestured to the writing and crude sexual acts depicted on the walls.
“You guys just ignore that shit, okay?” Jerry and Timmy nodded their heads. They couldn’t wait to read those messages top to bottom, every single one. The tall black boy was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette when they passed him. He snorted, blew smoke through his nose, and smirked at them. The brown girl was nowhere to be seen.
When Timmy opened the cupboards in the kitchen, what looked like millions of cockroaches scurried every which way. He stepped on one that spilled out on the floor and was repulsed by the cracking sound of its breaking and dying.
“We’ll get spray,” Daddy said as Timmy stood back watching them run over the top of each other in layers three or four deep. “Just open all the doors, the ones under the sink too. The light will make them go away.”
Daddy knew his cockroaches. It took a few minutes but the light made them go away. Timmy could imagine them thick in the walls and ceiling, crawling under his feet in the floor above the people downstairs. He looked out the big kitchen window at the cars speeding to and fro on the Valley Highway and the fancy Travel Lodge Motel right next door. The cold winter air made everything look old and dirty. He still didn’t know if the new baby was a brother or sister. He felt bad when he thought of Momma having to climb those filthy stairs with her brand new baby. As much as he dreaded her coming to this place, he missed her terribly and was sure this or any other place would not be a home without her.
Daddy took Jerry and Timmy on a tour of the fourth floor. There was a single toilet the family would share with eight other tenants. It stood by itself, soiled and stinking of urine in a tiny room down the hall from number seven. They would have to do their bathing somewhere else or get another galvanized tub as there was no shower or bathtub.
“Don’t you worry,” Daddy said, “I might see if I can find us a big tub like that one we had in Montana; that would work just fine. We wouldn’t even have to heat the water here. There’s hot water in the kitchen.”
Timmy couldn’t imagine himself being bathed in a tub like when he was a little kid. Daddy told Timmy Thurmon’s mom was a friend of his and, if the children had any problems when he and Momma weren’t home, they were to go to her for help. Daddy also instructed each child to carry their own toilet paper to the bathroom and warned them not to leave it there. Someone would steal it. The door to the apartment didn’t latch or lock so Timmy was told to keep a chair under the knob. Daddy winked at his bunch of children, just this side of being orphans.
“The good news is, you guys won’t have to change schools. Freeland is only seven blocks from here.”
Timmy was terribly glad to hear that.
Daddy left to visit Momma and Timmy snooped around their new home with his brothers and sisters. They wondered where they were to sleep since there was just the old broken down bed and the kitchen. There wasn’t even have a dresser drawer for the new baby. Where would Momma keep it? Carol was almost eleven months old and crawling all over the place. Momma had been trying to potty train her for over a month and with little luck. She didn’t want two babies in diapers at the same time. It was too much work and there were only four diapers. Their curious apartment snooping did teach them where cockroaches were sure to be found. The creepy answer to that question was: everywhere.
Timmy opened a drawer in the kitchen with the intent to put away the silverware. Movement caught his eye and he was sure he had found yet more cockroaches. When he bent to look closer, he found himself staring, eye to eye, into the face of a little gray mouse. It nose twitched but it didn’t seem afraid. Timmy put hsi hand in the drawer and let it follow the mouse to the deepest corner. It washed its little hands nervously, then rested them on Timmy’s finger and climbed into his palm when he wiggled and slid his fingers underneath it. Timmy found an old shoe box and put some rags in it so the little creature could make itself a mouse bed. A jar lid filled with water and a tiny bit of commodity cheese and he was all set.
Finding the mouse had the effect of diminishing the threat the cockroaches represented. As small as it was, it erased much of the intimidation of the move from Timmy’s consciousness. He needed reassurance and the mouse provided it in its way. Timmy scratched it behind its tiny round ears. He named it Itsy because it was so small. His brothers and sisters oohed and aahed when he showed Itsy to them, all except Jerry.
“Daddy’ll never let you keep that li’l mouse,” he said. “He don’ like critters aroun’ the house. You know better ‘n thinkin’ you can keep that mouse.”
Timmy grinned at Jerry and told him he sounded like a poet. Jerry threw a pout, went and stood at the kitchen window, looking out.
“I wanna go out there,” he said to Timmy.
“No way,” Timmy told him. “No telling when Daddy will be back. We’re supposed to be puttin’ everything away. If you’re gone when he gets back, we’ll both be in trouble. You gotta remember, Momma ain’t here to help us if we get in trouble with Daddy.”
Jerry spread his skinny arms.
“Ev’rything Timmy? We ain’ got no ev’rything. Jus’ lemme go out. I’ll bring ya back somethin’ good.”
Timmy hated himself for it but the prospect of something good to eat was just too good to pass on.
“You come right back, Jerry,” he admonished, “I don’t want Daddy mad at us when Momma’s not here.”
“I’m gone,” Jerry said and out the door he went. Timmy imagined the tall black boy down stairs beating him up. He was always creating crazy scenarios in his mind but Jerry did pretty well for himself out amongst the people.
A few hours later, Jerry returned in the grips of an angry man from the motel next door. He banged on the door and, just as Timmy moved the chair, he pushed Jerry ahead of himself into the room.
“Where are your parents?” he demanded.
“They’re out for a while,” Timmy replied.
“I’ll wait!” he said angrily. “This little asshole was stealing pop bottles from our machine next door.” He sat in the door chair for a few minutes and let his eyes roam through the room. “My God,” he said. “How can you people live like this?”
Timmy didn’t answer but grinned at disarmingly at him as a friendly cockroach climbed up and sat on top of his shiny tan shoe with tassels on it. The man noticed the cockroach and jumped up like his pants were on fire. He turned in circles and stomped all over the place.
“I can’t stay here in this filth!” he said more to himself than to anyone else. “You promise me to keep this little thief locked up in here and tell your parents when they get home, okay?”
“I will,” Timmy promised.
“I want him punished,” the man added.
“Don’t worry, mister, he will be,” Timmy promised.
The man left, shaking his head and cursing under his breath. Timmy got down on his hands and knees and searched for the cockroach. For some reason, it was important to him that it got away. He deeply needed to believe it did. There was no evidence of it to be found where the angry man had stepped. Maybe it climbed onto his trousers and went home with him. Timmy smiled to himself at the thought. Wherever it went that dreary morning, their angel was a cockroach.
Timmy’s next act is a thing he was immediately sorry for and ashamed of and will be for the rest of his life. Jerry stood before him, arms akimbo, a cocky look on his face. Timmy drew the belt through the loops of his jeans, cloth on leather, leather on cloth, one loop at a time.
“You know the drill,” he said to Jerry, his that of a father’s son.
Jerry’s face fell as his little boy cockiness abandoned him. Timmy watched a ghost of fear and disbelief crawl across his eyes.
“No Timmy, no,” he whispered.
Timmy doubled the belt up and snapped it in his face as he had seen Daddy do, as Uncle Jer had done to him.
“You coulda got us both in trouble,” he accused. “You’re supposed to be finding pop bottles, not stealing them. What if Daddy woulda come home and found that creep sitting by the door? What, huh? Now assume the position or I’ll put you there myself!”
Time seemed to move slower where the brothers lived then but this was no nightmare dream. It was the breath they took and the beast they had become. Timmy lay leather to those freckle butt cheeks. His voice screamed for Jerry to rise when he fell to the floor.
“I didn’t tell you to lay down. Get up! Get up so I can whip you some more”! Jerry gave to Timmy of an instant what he had never given up to their father. There were tears in his eyes before the first lash bit into his flesh. They were separate rivers, twice flowing, before Timmy was through.
Daddy brought Momma home with a babe in her arms. There was a new brother, Michael, named after Daddy’s’s roofing boss in Montana. Michael wasn’t given a middle name. Momma and Daddy were running out of gas. There was a dark purple scar, what Momma called a birth mark, that covered half his tiny face. It seemed appropriate that those come later should be marked some way, born into a family where nothing was or ever would be right. His face bore reminder their curse of days.
How the misery of those cold winter days flowed together. No food. Daddy drunk and passed out on the crooked bed, his arm hanging to the floor, hand around a bottle of death. No food. The new baby crying out its fresh complaint. No food. Momma grabbing Carol when she had ‘an accident’ and holding her naked and squirming body out the kitchen window.
“If you don’t start saying ‘potty’ when you have to go, I’m going to drop you out the window!”
Carol had a permanent round ring on the outside of her chubby butt cheeks from spending so much time sitting on the pee pot. No food. She was a gentle child and never made much noise. She and Lisa were Timmy’s favorite sisters.
Thurmon came to drink coffee and visit one day. He and Daddy were talking about him becoming Daddy’s apprentice roofer once the weather warmed up. Timmy was sitting on the floor across the room playing with Itsy. He had taught the mouse to walk up his fingers and give him a kiss just like GreatGrandma Webber’s parakeet, Sweety. Thurmon left the table and his coffee. He stood, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, watching Timmy.
“Wow,” he said in his dumb way, “I ain’t never seed a mouse can do tricks like that. Can I try ‘im?”
Timmy was reluctant to say no to an adult but Thurmon wasn’t exactly an adult, that is if brains have anything to do with it.
“You better not,” he replied as kindly and carefully as possible. “I’m the only one he lets hold him.”
“Aw c’mon, Timmy,” he begged. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I ain’t never holded a teensy l’il mouse afore.”
“Let ‘im hold the damn thing,” Daddy said from the table. “It’s just a mouse for Christ’s sake.”
Timmy stood up and placed Itsy in Thurmon’s outstretched palm.
“There ya go. Please be careful with him. You can pet him if you want.”
Thurmon ran a finger over Itsy’s back.
“Oh, Itsy’s soft but his bones are in there.”
“Uh... yeah,” Timmy said. “He likes you, Thurmon. Can I have him back now?”
“Jus’ a minute,” Thurmon said. He turned toward the table where Daddy was sitting and spoke to him.
“I’m gonna do that finger trick stuff like Timmy was doin’ and the l’il mouse’ll kiss me jus’ like it did Timmy.”
As Timmy came around behind him, Thurmon put out a finger and Itsy reached with his paws and took hold of it. Thurmon grinned stupidly and moved his palm from under Itsy’s body. Itsy struggled for a split second in an attempt to gain purchase on Thurmon’s finger with his back feet, then fell to the floor. Timmy knelt down to pick him up, to save him, but Itsy was already dead.
“Did I killeded him?” Thurmon asked. “I’m sorry if I killeded him, Timmy.”
“I’m sorry,” Daddy said. “It’s only a mouse, Kiddo. You can catch another one. Thurmon, come on over here and have another cup of coffee. Don’t try to talk to Timmy right now.”
Tommy swore to himself that, if he were a man, he would throw both of them out the window. Charlie was only a lizard, Sweety was only a bird. The cat was only a cat. They were only men and less than that.
Jerry and Timmy went outside, conducted a boy funeral, and buried Itsy under a bush. His coffin was a match box.
“That’s why I kill stuff ‘stead ‘o catchin’ ‘em,” Jerry said, “Grownups jus’ suffer ev’rything, then kill ‘t slow.”
Timmy created a rhyming litany, a dirge, and named it ‘Itsy’s Song’, then recited it over Itsy’s grave:
I was a mouse
living in my mouse house
and I was afraid
of games big people played
February tenth, Nineteen Sixty-One, the day of Itsy’s death, began just as explained above. After awhile, Daddy was passed out across the bed. Momma and the kids were in the kitchen trying to keep quiet, not that a bomb exploding would have awakened him. You never knew with Daddy and they weren’t taking any chances.
It was cemetery quiet until the door to the Turners’ unit crashed inward with such force that the chair under the knob broke in half and landed against the wall opposite. Thurmon had returned. He stood in the doorway like a ghost thing. His skin was gray and black except for its eye and mouth holes.
“We is on fire,” he said. “I come...” He fell forward and lay still as death on the floor. A wicked billowing of smoke belched from the hallway into the room in his aftermath. Momma moved his feet aside and Timmy closed the door to protect them from the dark cloud.
When Timmy was in Montana in the third grade, he met his first girl friend, Jackie. They had both aced their spelling tests. The school they attended stood three stories tall and had an interior fire escape that was constructed of fifty five gallon drums welded together in a wide spiral. Those who got a hundred percent on their Friday spelling tests were rewarded by being allowed to go up to the third floor and slide down and around, through the metal tube. They would be spit into the school yard and free to go home or stand on the corner, a length of precious golden chain between them. While awaiting their turn, the teachers would keep them busy by lecturing on fire safety, what to do and not to do. Now Timmy had a chance to test their wisdom.
The first thing he did was splash a pan of cold water in Thurmon’s face. Thurmon jumped up from the floor and ran into the kitchen. Without so much as a word, he opened the kitchen window, climbed out onto its sill, and leaped into the void. Timmy peered down and saw Thurmon spread out on the ground where he landed. There were many people in the yard, frantic, shouting, and milling about. They went rushing to Thurmon’s aid.
Timmy’s sisters were crying and Peter’s eyes were so big, Timmy thought they might just pop out of his head. Momma was shaking Daddy, urging him to get up, yelling in his face that the building was on fire. He replied to her pleas by cursing and swatting her away. Timmy plugged the sink with a rag and turned the hot and cold water on full blast.
“Jerry, get me towels, blankets, clothes, anything!” he barked. Jerry brought him blankets and towels and Timmy piled them in the sink under the running water. “Here, you guys,” he said to his siblings, “Take these wet rags and hold them over your mouths. Try to breathe through them. If your eyes are hurting, wipe them out with the rags.”
The door opened with a whoosh! and smoke filled the room again before Momma managed to get up from the bed and slam it shut. She stood with her back braced against it and cried at the top of her lungs, “Tim, for God’s sake, wake up and help me!”
Daddy tumbled from the bed, blinking his eyes. He held his hands up in a defensive posture.
“What the hell?!?” There were flames licking up from the floor of the closet. Daddy got up and pulled the bed over to block the door. He shoved Momma into the kitchen. He saw what Timmy had done with the rags and the water pouring from the sink. All seven of the children were bunched up in a corner by the refrigerator. Timmy was weeping and holding the baby, forcing everyone to hold the wet rags to their faces.
“Good, Timmy, good!” Daddy said. “Hold on son, I’ll get us out of here!”
Momma had gone to the window and Daddy joined her there. He yelled to the crowd of people gathered below to go and get the ladders from his truck.
“We already did!” a man yelled back. “They’re using them on the other side of the building. Hang in there! The fire department is on the way! They’re bringing a ladder truck!”
Smoke fingers were crawling up from the bottom of the walls, eerie hands reaching accompanied by the sound of timbers screeching.
“We gotta get out o’ here before the floor caves in,” Daddy said to Momma. “I’ll carry Lisa, she’s the heaviest.” He touched Momma’s arm. “You get Leda.” He knelt down in front of Jerry and Timmy. “Okay, guys, we gotta work together. Timmy, you carry Carol. Jerry, you get the baby.” He reached out and drew Peter toward him. “Peter, you get in between me and your Momma. Listen to me, everyone; here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll go out the door first, then Peter in between me and Momma. Jerry, you’re next and Timmy, you’re last. You guys hold on tight to those little ones! We’ll each grab hold of the one in front of us and we’ll go real slow. Do you understand? We can do this, I know we can. Don’t let go, no matter what happens. We have to try to get to the other side where the ladders are or down the stairs. I want everybody to holler real loud and stay in one spot if we get separated. We can do this but we have to stick together. Okay, let’s go!”
Their fear was a palpable thing. All of them were chewing on the filthy wet rags as if the wet rags were a conduit to life itself. Each of them gripped the clothing of the one in ahead of them and held on for dear life. Daddy moved the bed and the door creaked open by itself. Smoke poured in and the Turner ants poured out. They passed the community toilet in the hallway and, just as they did, the commode fell through the floor. A great gush of heat gasped from the hole where it had been. Daddy was yelling for everyone to hold on but the roar of the inferno was swallowing his voice.
It felt like forever but they finally reached the door to the stairs and the hallway that would take them to the other side of the tenement. Daddy did a head count with his hand. The smoke was so thick, Timmy could barely see Carol who was clinging tightly to his body.
“I’m gonna try to open that door!” Daddy yelled in Timmy’s face, “You and your Momma have to hold everyone back against the wall!” Daddy wrapped a wet rag around his hand and opened the door to the junction between hall and stair. The door was blown off of its hinges and into his body. “Back! Back!” he yelled as he fought to block the blazing door with his body.
Mercy was the door that would not latch or lock. Timmy turned the little human train around and led the way back to the door’s wide open hole of light. Daddy let loose of the stair door and intense heat licked them in the tail. It is a miracle that they made it back to the apartment, each and every last one of them. Timmy ran into the kitchen and threw soaked blankets from the sink to the floor. All the cockroaches in the world had risen to the top and were inches thick on the floor. Smoke filled the apartment and drew through the kitchen window like a chimney. Daddy took a chair from the kitchen and braced it under the door knob in the bedroom. Timmy wept openly as he forced his brothers’ and sisters’ faces into the soaked and teeming mass of bugs and cloth on the smoking floor.
The floor of the bedroom died with a screeching moan and the crooked bed slid into the hungry mouth of oblivion, into the black smoking hole of the closet. Down, down, forever down.
“Stay there!” Daddy screamed as Lisa and Leda fought to rise and escape the frenzied dance of the cockroaches. “Come here, Carroll and Timmy!”
Momma was holding the baby, a dishrag pushed into his tiny mouth, as Timmy followed her to where Daddy was standing by the window. The hallway door creaked and formed a letter C as it was forced to embrace the chair holding it pinned in its middle. Smoke rolled in from every gap around it.
“We have to get out of here now,” Daddy said. “The fire department is not gonna make it in time to help us.”
A loud whoomph! from the other room and a fresh blast of awful heat served to verify his statement. The building was being devoured by flames from the bottom up.
“I’m gonna jump,” Daddy said matter-of-factly to both of them. “I want you to drop everyone out the window to me. Start with the baby and work your way up by size. If I break an arm or a leg, it will be from catching one of you but I will, by God, catch every one of you, I swear.” He pulled Momma close, just inches from his face. He looked into her eyes. “Kathy, I know you’re afraid of heights. We can do this. Promise me you’ll jump when the kids are all out.”
Momma handed the baby to Timmy. She hugged and kissed his father.
“We do what we have to do, Tim. I love you, now go!”
This is the image of his parents Timmy will always hold in that deep down place inside him where one keeps such things.
Daddy turned from her and climbed into the window opening. He yelled at the people on the ground to clear the deck. He smiled at Timmy and Momma and said, “I’ll see you downstairs!” With that, he let himself down to the bottom of the window, hung from the outside sill and simply let go. Timmy heard the excited screams and cheers of the crowd that had gathered on the ground when Daddy landed. Behind him, the raging beast roared its intent to devour them. Momma and Timmy looked out the window and saw Daddy standing on the ground. He waved his hands frantically for them to begin dropping children out the window.
Timmy had taken charge of Michael. He handed him off to Momma. She kissed his tiny scarred face, then held his body out the window as far as she could reach and dropped him. Daddy caught Michael and the crowd cheered. He handed the baby off to a man standing by, then waved his arms again. And so it went, one by one, did they drop those precious into the arms of their fallen angel. Finally it was just Timmy and Momma left in the smoking room. He wanted her to go first because he was afraid she wouldn’t jump if left by herself. He pointed out to her that he was almost eleven years old and weighed more than her already. What if Daddy broke his arms catching him. What then?
“Timmy go!” she ordered softly and kissed his face. It was more difficult for Timmy by far to leave Momma by herself in that burning building than to drop forty feet into the waiting arms of Daddy. In the end he stopped arguing with her and just went. His Daddy was a roofer. He knew how to catch things when they were dropped. Timmy pushed the standby man away when he held his arms out after Daddy caught him. Timmy stood a few feet from his father’s side, stood witness as Daddy caught the only woman he would ever love. He may have never learned how to love her right but he caught her and caught her well.
The Red Cross hustled each of them into a waiting ambulance where they were warmed up and checked out by a doctor. All eight of them, the found, came out without so much as a scratch. Other than Carol, who screeched all the way down, not a whisper was heard from any of them as they commended themselves to Daddy’s arms. That little baby girl never had another ‘potty accident’. She knew for sure that Momma had finally kept her word.
Daddy was taken to the hospital for x-rays. They kept him because his feet were broken in several places. That night Timmy and Momma and the kids stayed with some nice Red Cross people and got to see themselves on the television news. The highlight of the show was a lengthy interview with the hero of the day, the man Daddy had handed them off to as he caught them one by one. The man just said, like any good citizen, he had done the right thing by his fellow man. He cited faith and divine intervention as a testament to not having so much as a stone bruise after eight people were dropped forty feet from hell into his arms.
Timmy opened his mouth to protest and Momma touched a finger to his lips.
“Don’t even say it, Timmy. People like us have to claim our small victories. Only we know what they are and the rest of the world be damned.”
The Red Cross arranged for the rental of a three bedroom house for the Turner family. It was located near 32nd Avenue and Meade Street in North Denver. The deposit and first month’s rent were paid. Other charitable organizations came forward and supplied clothing and food for the victims of the fire. Momma helped Timmy, Jerry, and Peter make beds on the floor in one of the bedrooms. There were plenty of blankets for once because of the generosity of donors. She set herself up with Lisa, Leda, Carol, and the baby. The third bedroom, hers and Daddy’s would be empty until he was released from the hospital. The Salvation Army promised to have used furniture delivered later in the week. Timmy wondered wistfully about Joe.
Momma rode the bus to visit Daddy at Denver General Hospital the next day.
“He’ll be okay,” she reported to the children when she returned home.
She told Timmy later that Daddy’s broken arches and ankles were the least of his problems. He was suffering from alcohol withdrawal, something she called the D.T.’s. The doctors were running tests and were fairly sure he had Yellow Jaundice. They were worried about his liver and his single kidney. Later that night, after the children were all asleep, Momma put her arms around Timmy and whispered, “Don’t you worry. Hopefully, this is the wakeup call your Daddy needed to hear. That terrible place we were living in, the fire, all of it has brought us to where we are now. We have food and clothes, a nice warm house, all these wonderful people helping us. You’re eleven-years-old, Timmy. Go to bed now; dream the dreams of a boy.”
Timmy joined his brothers. He crawled in between Jerry and Peter and closed his eyes.
“Psst,” Jerry said. His hand found Timmy’s under the covers and pressed four squares of Hershey’s chocolate into his palm. Timmy savored the taste of the candy melting between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He knew he should heed Momma’s advice, be upbeat and hopeful, try to just be a kid. He touched his forehead and felt the dampness of Momma’s tears. Daddy wasn’t home. The Country Western radio was playing, Patsy Cline singing, “I go out walkin’ after midnight.” Timmy slipped away into the storm, his wing and a prayer, Momma’s Rain.
~the end~
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~Nana Candle~{a Christmas story}
Sitting on her sofa in the living room, Maggie stared entranced at the gaily twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. Closing her eyes, she breathed in its wonderful and natural pine scent. The outdoorsy smell reminded her of camping trips in the mountains. Her son Michael and husband Michael were roasting marshmallows over the campfire in her mind. She smiled and reached for them with a trembling hand.
A vivid memory of Big Mike's voice interrupted her. The errant hand joined its mate in her lap. "Just think, Darlin'," he said, "When Mikey goes off to college, we can get us one of those little four foot trees in a box. They come with lights attached. Ya just plug 'em in, hang whatever ornaments you want on 'em and you're all set! No drivin' and cuttin', no needles all over the place."
"Mike, I do so love the way they... Oh!" She opened her eyes and buried her face in her hands. "I am not going to cry!" she admonished herself. A single tear slipped out and she flicked it away with her fingers. She remembered them very well, those seven Christmases past. Reliving them was like thumbing a recipe card file, a flutter of Maggie's years in three by five clicks.
All those seven years ago she lost her Big Mike. He was larger than life and after that he was larger than death. She and Mikey distributed his ashes amongst the pines in his favorite camping spot. How he loved his Colorado home, the clear spitting splendor of the Rocky Mountains. The first couple of years after his death, while Mikey was away at college, she visited the spot. It felt better than the cemetery where he had never been while living, more like a part of him. He wasn't there though, not in one place or the other. A large part of what she was, what her life had stood for, Big Mike, was just gone.
Five years ago Mikey met a girl. She was a wild thing. Anybody could see that, anybody but Mikey that is. He brought her home to meet Maggie but she soon got bored. Mikey gave Mom a wink, cut his visit short, and took her back to that wild college town and all their doings. Maggie gave her own arm a pinch. “Listen to you,” she chastised herself, “Sitting around with your maudlin thoughts like a bitter old woman, better off to count your blessings.” But she was unable to stop herself. She thought of Mikey's girl as the awful wonderful. The awful being that she would steal Maggie's son and wonderful, the baby boy she left him with when she finally lit out for greener pastures.
Now Maggie was Nana and Mikey was Big Mike. Mikey’s Little Mikey was Mikey and how Maggie loved that little boy. She was reluctant at first to take him in but Mikey, her son, begged her to take care of him. He had decided to leave college to pursue a career singing in a rock band, of all things. These four years later, Maggie knew that Little Mikey had provided her with that proverbial "new lease on life." Now she had this terrible news to share with him, more than any child should have to bear. The first thing she did after she got the message was bundle up Mikey and take him to the Christmas tree lot. He skipped from tree to tree, sure the special one would speak to him, "Take me home with you."
"Rock stars and airplanes in the middle of winter." Maggie was wringing her hands nervously. The box tree was outside in the trash. The real tree with the voice that only Mikey heard and its special scent for Nana sparkled before her. She and Mikey managed to set it up all by themselves, thank you very much. Nana wore him out and now he was napping. Soon... soon she would wake him and find a way, a tender way, to the truth, truth she could hardly bear herself.
Her mind trip hammered back to 1963, John Kennedy and John-John, their lives now so much dust. 'How do we bear so much collective and personal sorrow,' she wondered. The voice of her Grandson offered the perfect and only reply. "Nana?"
"There's my big boy!" Nana smiled. Mikey was yawning and rubbing his fingers in his eyes. Nana got up and offered him a beckoning hand. "Let's go to the kitchen. I have a little project planned for the two of us. We're gonna make some Christmas candles."
She helped Mikey into one of the chairs at the dining table, then handed him a chunk of wax. "Texture," she whispered, "Feel its wonderful form."
Mikey's eyes smiled. "My hands make it warmer." He held the wax in his tiny cupped hands, infinite cradle, silly little nose tickle wiggle. "Oh, it smells sweet!"
"The scent of sugar bees,' advised Nana."Set it on the table, sweetheart. Tap it with this pencil and..."
Who knows when a child giggles. "Nana, it has sounds!" Tap. Tap-tap. His head turned, small ears listening close as he tapped the wax. "I hear it inside o' me!"
"Yes, oh yes," a Grandmother tear.
"Does it have milk, Nana?"
"No milk, its color is its own."
She scooted a chair over next to the stove, made a slow fire under a clear glass bowl. "Michael, come bring the wax." She took it from his hand, then helped him climb onto the chair. "Stand up and watch me," she said as she dropped the wax into the dish.
"Oh Nana, it smells like it's leaving!"
"Oh dear," Nana held his head against her breast for a moment, rocked slowly back and forth. "Sugar bees, Sweetie, it's the scent of sugar bees."
Mikey's eyes were wide, his excitement bubbling over. "Is it clouds, Nana?"
Maggie touched the fine hair on his head. "It is vapor, Michael. It is mist." She bent and kissed his face. "Yes, it is clouds, Michael."
"Oh no, Nana, now it runned away!"
"No, no," she whispered, smiled sadly as she slipped her hand into a hot mitt with "MOM" embroidered on the wrist. She jiggled the bowl a bit.
"It's indivisible just like God!" Mikey exclaimed in awe. "Look Nana, it sees me through it!"
Her fingers traced the outline of his face. She placed a pencil in his hand. "Tap it now, Michael. Be careful, it is very hot and will burn you if it touches your skin."
He pointed the pencil into a wisp of vapor, made airplane sounds, then drew it intentionally through. His eyes crossed for a moment then he carefully tapped the surface of the melted wax. "It ain't soundin', Nana!"
Nana bit gently on her tongue, forced herself to swallow, down, down, hard and down. "See Michael, it's still there," she said sweetly. "It has taken on a new form. We cannot see it. We cannot touch it. We cannot smell it. We cannot hear it. But Michael.. Michael, we can remember always what it was as we see it now for what it has become."
Michael clapped his hands excitedly. "I'm gonna keep its sound and smell in me, Nana!"
She turned off the slow fire, smooth wax. "So shall I, Michael, so shall I."
He sat quietly in her lap, fidgeted a bit, then, "Nana, are you gonna throw the wax away?"
"Never, sweet boy, never," she breathed into his hair. "We will make a candle of it, you and I. Then we'll light it every day, enjoy its warmth and light."
"For ever an' ever?" Each drawn out, the words lingered on Michael's lips.
"Each and every day,"Nana promised.
They are dressed now and soon to begin the walk, his tiny hand tucked tightly into hers. They climb into the first of the black cars behind the long car, its gray curtains goin' down slow.
She is brave behind her veil, thankful for Michael, the child of her child, who, by his existence, demands of her grief strength and understanding beyond the transparent pale, its quick seize of sorrow. Later, much later, in the Christmas tree room, the two of them sit. She watches him as she watched her first two Michaels, the wonderful reflection of life, the tiny candle flame twinned in his eyes. "Nana," he cries, "I smell my Daddy singin'!”
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~The Bicycle~{a Christmas tale}~Act III~
Cut to exterior of two-story house in middle income neighborhood. The snowfall is heavier now, big flakes, half an inch accumulation on the ground. Larry’s pickup appears, stops, and he begins to back into the driveway. Laurie comes running outside in her bare feet and stands by the garage door waiting. She is wringing her hands and is obviously upset and worried. Larry parks the truck in the driveway, gets out and sweeps Laurie off her feet. He picks her up and carries her into the house. She is crying and trying to speak but Larry smothers her face with kisses, carries her around the living room in a couple of slow circles, then sets her down on the sofa. He goes to the fireplace and tosses in a couple of small logs, then comes back to the couch and sits down next to her.
Laurie: “Larry, what?”
Larry (playfully): “What, what? I love you, that’s what! I got our Lonnie a bike, that’s what what but it needs some work, what? I’ll be busy out in the garage for a couple, maybe three hours, gettin’ it ready. You should get some socks on, my silly girl. Out in the snow in your bare feet. Your tootsies must be freezing.”
Larry holds Laurie’s face between his hands and looks into her eyes. He smiles.
Larry: “I love you, girl. Why don’t you just snuggle up on the couch and wait for me?”
Larry gets up from the couch. Laurie leaps to her feet and hugs him fiercely. He strokes her hair and she buries her head against his chest. She’s crying. He dances slowly around the room with her in his arms. He sings softly as they cling to each other.
Larry: “Take this walts, take this waltz, take this waltz.”
He stops dancing and speaks softly into Laurie’s ear.
Larry: “Don’t cry, honey. Whatcha wanna go ‘n cry for, darlin’?”
Larry’s hands are on the back of Laurie’s head, stroking her hair. Her voice is muffled as she speaks into his chest.
Laurie: “I’m scared.”
Larry: “Don’t be. Everything’s gonna be alright, it really is.”
He begins to dance and sing again.
Larry: “Take this walts, take this waltz, take this waltz.”
Laurie (choking back a sob): “I’m happy. It feels like you’re back from that awful place and I don’t ever want to lose you again. I’m happy and I’m scared; that’s why I’m crying.”
Larry dances her back to the couch. They sit down next to each other.
Larry (excitedly): “I met this really cool ol’ guy at Wal~Mart. He hooked me up with a bicycle and mentioned I might be able to get a job there fixing damaged stuff and putting things together. I got some tricks up my sleeves, babe. Remember the ooga-ooga horn I had on that ol’ Harley o’ mine? Wait’ll Lonnie gets a load o’ that. He loves that ol’ horn.”
Laurie: “I’ve prayed so hard for this. Now I’m having a hard time believing it’s true. I haven’t felt like Christmas this year until the past few minutes with you.”
Larry takes Lonnie’s letter from his shirt pocket, presses it into Laurie’s hands.
Larry: “What did I say just before I left… that Lonnie was gettin’ a little bit old to be writin’ letters to Santa Claus… “
Larry buries his face against Laurie’s shoulder and cries for a moment.
Larry (speaking softly to Laurie, his face resting on her shoulder): “Our boy’s a writer, alright. That letter, the bicycle, ah damn!”
Laurie closes her eyes, turns her head, and kisses Larry on the forehead.
Laurie: “Merry Christmas, my darling man.”
Larry gets up from the couch, touches Laurie’s face lightly with his fingers.
Larry: “Merry Christmas. Okay, no more tears tonight. It’s time to go to work. I won’t be long, believe me. You just wait and save me some hugs.”
Laurie (softly): “We always did it together.”
Larry (nonplussed): “What, sweetheart?”
Laurie: “The toys, wrapping presents for everyone and putting things together. We always shared that.”
Larry claps his hands like a child, a true and genuine smile softening his young man’s tough leather face.
Larry: “That’s right, girl, we did! We do! You better get some jeans and shoes on. And don’t forget your coat! I’ll get us a fire goin’ in the garage.”
Laurie: “Just a minute. Wait for me.”
Laurie leaves the room for a moment and Larry studies the Christmas tree.
Camera zooms in on specific ornaments with the children’s names on them: Lonnie, Lily, Louie, and Lisa.
Laurie comes back into the room and stands next to Larry. She’s wearing jeans and warm winter boots. Her face is flushed and she speaks excitedly.
Laurie: “I’ll get the fire-truck I found for Louie. We have to put it together. And I found a few things to go with the girls’ dolls at a secondhand store, even a race car for Lily. We’ll have to clean them up a bit. There’s some other stuff from the Santa Claus Shop where I volunteered.”
Larry: “You are incredible.”
Laurie (embarrassed): “Oh stop it, you. I get carried away sometimes.”
He kisses Laurie on the mouth, long and hard, takes her breath away. They break the kiss and Laurie smiles shyly.
Laurie: “Larry, I’ll make some coffee and bring everything out to the garage. We’ll do it like before.”
Larry: “We’ll do it like forever, sweet lady, forever and now.”
Laurie opens a closet door and begins digging and setting out toys and packages.
Larry goes out the door. Camera follows him to his pickup. He drops the tailgate and unloads the bicycle. He unlocks the garage, takes the bicycle in and sets it on a large workbench. He throws some scrap wood into a stove built from a fifty-five gallon drum, uses some newspaper to get a fire started. He’s humming “We wish you a merry Christmas” as he works on the front wheel. He clamps it in a vise, uses a die to cut new threads into the axle, then bolts it into the frame. He stands back to admire his work, absently reaches into the front pocket of his jeans. A surprised look comes to his face as he pulls a bill from his pocket and stares at a hundred dollar bill.
Laurie comes into the garage carrying an armload of boxes. She sets them on the bench, then goes to Larry and puts her arm around his waist, appraises the bicycle.
Laurie: “Oh Larry, you didn’t just get a bicycle, you got the bicycle.”
Camera fades out as Laurie begins to take toys out of boxes and Larry uses steel wool to shine the chrome fenders of the bicycle.
Credits roll as camera reveals Christmas morning. Lonnie is admiring his chopper bike, especially the ooga-ooga horn. Louie is extending the ladder on his firetruck. Lily has a race car with barbie perched on top. Lisa, the last child shown, has a ‘cat that ate the canary’ look on her face. We see a glass blue eye in her hand and the empty socket in the doll’s face.
Camera pulls away and cuts to a winter palace in a faraway forest. We hear familiar laughter, follow it down a country lane, past a corral full of reindeer, through the window and into a spacious room with a fire roaring in the hearth. A sweet-looking grandma type lady comes through a door carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies. The man we heard laughing rises from a large chair (its back is to the camera) and takes a cookie from the tray. He kisses the lady on the cheek. Camera zooms in on his face and nick (from Wal~Mart) winks at us.
{the end}
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~The Bicycle~{a Christmas tale}~Act II~
Larry drives his old Ford pickup into the parking lot of a local bar, the Dew Drop Inn. Other than him, there is only one vehicle in the lot, a ten-year-old Cadillac Deville. He gets out of his pickup and enters the back door of the bar. The bar is dimly lit except for the serving window to the kitchen which is just to the right of the door.
Larry, peering in the window: “Hello-o-o-o, anybody in there?”
A stout older man comes into view, drying his hands on a towel. He is red-cheeked, wearing thick glasses, and smiles when he sees Larry.
Thick italian accent: “Larry, my friend, what brings you out on Christmas eve? You want a sausage sandwich or something; can I make you a drink?”
Larry: “Merry Christmas, Papa. Nah, I don’t need anything. Michael told me he’d be here tonight, said he might be able to line me up with some side work.”
Papa: “Me and Mama, we told that boy of ours to stay home with the wife and kids. Mikey’s having us over tomorrow. How ‘bout you and the wife and all your little ones; you have big plans for the holiday?”
Larry: “Just the six of us this year. Hey, I better get going. You have a nice Christmas. Tell Michael I’ll call him day after tomorrow.”
Papa: “You too, Larry. I’ll tell Mikey.”
A concerned look comes over his face as he watches Larry exit the bar.
Papa (over his shoulder): “Mama, c’mon now, let’s go home.”
Larry sits in his truck in the parking lot. He watches as Michael’s parents lock the door, waves at them as they get in the car. As they pull from the parking lot, he takes Lonnie’s letter from his pocket, turns on the interior light and begins to read it.
A police car pulls into the parking lot. The officer, a young woman, gets out of the car and raps on the side window of Larry’s pickup with her flashlight.
Larry, rapt in the reading of the letter, is startled. He fumbles with the handle as he rolls down the window.
Larry (visibly upset): “What?”
She shines the light into the cab, across the seat and dashboard, then holds it just above Larry’s chin.
Cop: “Are you okay, sir?”
Larry: “I’m okay. How’re you tonight?”
Larry folds the letter and puts it back in his shirt pocket.
The cop purses her lips.
Cop: “Could I see your driver’s license, proof of insurance, and registration, please?”
Larry leans forward to retrieve his billfold from his rear pocket.
Larry (nervous and distracted): “I was just sitting here reading a Christmas letter from my son.”
Larry finds and hands her the documents.
She shines her flashlight on them, then back to his lower face.
Cop: “Sit still, sir; I’ll be right back.”
She goes back to her car.
Larry glances in the mirror, the red and blue flashing lights of the police car winking back at him.
Larry (under his breath): “What the hell now?”
Larry closes his eyes and views a kaleidoscope of memories.
Memory Sequence:
(1) Larry steps from the top of a ladder onto a roof, a bundle of shingles on his shoulder. He slips and falls to the ground.
(2) In the hospital operating room surrounded by doctors and nurses.
(3) At home with Laurie, sitting in a recliner in the living room with his foot elevated, in a cast from his hip to the end of his toes.
(4) Arguing with Laurie and throwing his prescription medicine bottles across the room.
(5) Sitting on a stool in the “Dew Drop Inn” talking and laughing with his friend, Michael, who is behind the bar.
Cop: “Have you been drinking tonight, mister Lane?”
Larry (startled from his reverie). He blurts out: “No sir, I mean ma’am.”
She shines the flashlight in his face and takes a step back.
Cop: “Step from the vehicle please.”
Larry gets out of the truck and she moves toward the front of it.
Cop: “Please face the vehicle, stand with your feet apart, and hands on the hood.”
Larry does as he is told and she, quick and professional, frisks him top to bottom, then steps back.
Cop: “Turn around now, Mister Lane.”
Larry turns around to face her.
Larry (still nervous and agitated): “I just came by here to see a friend about some work. I haven’t been drinking or anything. I…”
She holds up a hand and he stops talking.
Cop (tersely): “I haven’t accused you of anything. Stand up as straight as possible and touch the tip of your nose with your right hand, Sir.”
Larry is visibly frustrated but does as he is told.
Cop: “Drop your right arm to your side. Keep it there and touch the tip of your nose with your left hand.”
Larry touches the tip of his nose and she takes a few steps back.
Cop: “Walk in a straight line toward me, one foot in front of the other. When I raise my arm, turn around and walk back to your vehicle.”
Larry walks toward her, turns around and walks back to his pickup when she raises her hand. He turns around to face her.
Larry: “Well?”
She rubs her hand on her chin.
Cop: “You did okay on the nose part. You didn’t walk very straight though.”
Larry leans against the door of his pickup.
Larry: “I was in an accident a little over a year ago, broke my foot and leg in a number of places. I doubt I’ll ever walk straight again.”
The cop nods her head.
Cop: “Would you consent to a blood or breath analyzer?”
Larry sighs as if he is about to give up.
Larry defeatedly): “If I have to. Listen lady, my oldest son wants a bike. I got fifty dollars in my pocket and I’m hopin’ Wal~Mart is open so I can go try to talk them out of one for fifty bucks. I’m not sure they’ll stay open all night, it bein’ Christmas eve and everything.”
The cop relaxes a bit.
Cop (irony evident in her voice): “Good luck with that.”
She approaches Larry, hands him his paperwork, then surprises him by squeezing his shoulder.
Cop: “Go get that bicycle, Mister Lane. And hey, Merry Christmas.”
Larry (still a bit befuddled and surprised at her sudden change of attitude): “Thanks and merry Christmas to you.”
Larry (as cop is getting into her car): “Hey, it’s been a tough year but I’m gonna get that bicycle for my boy.”
Larry climbs into his pickup, takes out his billfold and puts his paperwork away. He pulls a folded fifty dollar bill from behind a flap in the billfold, holds it up and smiles.
Larry (to himself): “My rat-hole.”
He shoves the bill back into the front pocket of his jeans, puts his billfold in his back pocket, starts the pickup and pulls out onto the street.
Cut to the parking lot of a Super Wal~Mart.
Larry parks and gets out of his pickup. There are only a dozen or so cars in the parking lot. The “open” sign is blinking off and on. Larry smiles when he sees it.
Larry: “Yes!”
He enters the store and goes straight to the toy section, starts looking over the bicycles in the three-tiered bike rack. A young woman in a blue vest approaches.
Young woman: “May I help you?”
Larry turns to face her, smiles hopefully.
Larry: “I sure hope so. My son wants one of those chopper bikes for Christmas, the ones with the fat back tire. I probably don’t have enough money to buy it but maybe I can work out somehin’ with the manager of the store to make up the difference. I’ll shovel snow, sweep the floor, unload trucks… anything. I gotta have one o’ those bikes for my boy.”
The clerk takes a step back, eyes him warily.
Clerk: “I’m sorry, Sir. Those bikes were a big hit this season. All the stores in town have been sold out of them for over two weeks. Would you like to look at some of the others? We have a couple of good mountain bikes left.”
Larry stares at her, disbelief and defeat evident on his face. Tears fill his eyes.
Larry: “No, it has to be that bicycle. I told you I’d work. I’ll do anything if you could just…”
The clerk is startled by his desperate behavior. She edges away, smiles at him nervously. There’s a fearful but consoling edge to her voice when she speaks to him.
Clerk: “I’ll get the store manager. Maybe there’s something he can do to help you. Just wait here; he’ll be right with you.”
Larry is pacing back and forth in front of the bike rack when he hears a voice over the store public address system:
Loud P.A. voice: “Customer service needed in the bicycle department. Request a manager as soon as possible.”
Larry pulls the fifty dollar bill from his pocket, stares at it with forlorn hope in his eyes, then puts it back. He touches his shirt pocket, fingers the letter.
Larry (under his breath, a litany): “God help me; I gotta get this bicycle for Lonnie, for all of us.”
A somewhat unkempt older man with a beard and belly, clad in a white shirt and red necktie decorated with reindeer and snowmen approaches Larry. He begins speaking right away in a deep and friendly voice.
Man: “Well hello there. Sorry it took so long to answer the call. I recognized Liesel’s voice on the system and stopped by to chat with her for a moment. She told me about your problem and asked me to have a word or two with you.”
Larry (im mumbles and stammers): “Liesel? d-did you say Liesel? L, L,L? L.. Liesel, L’s on both ends?”
The manager laughs heartily. Larry is taken aback by his gaiety. He stares at the man, dumbfounded. The manager’s eyes are crystal blue and they seem to be twinkling.
Larry’s voice (his thoughts): “Stop it, you fool! This is the real world, not some eight-year-old boy’s fantasy.”
Manager: “Sorry for my outburst. Sometimes I’m just too enthusiastic. But your response struck me as funny. Of course Liesel has two L’s, one on each end of her name.”
Larry offers him a sad smile, puts his hands in his pockets.
Larry (meekly): “Guess I got a thing for L’s.”
Larry studies the tops of his shoes for a moment, then speaks and acts with more conviction.
Larry: “Life and love, my whole family. I’m Larry. My wife and kids. All our names start with ‘L’. I guess you could say L’s have been good to me.”
The older man smiles at Larry, scrutinizes him for a moment.
Manager: “My name’s nick. And hey, about the bicycle you’re looking for; there’s one in the back that was damaged during shipping or something. I don’t remember exactly what’s wrong with it. There was something messed up that was fixable but we don’t have the resources here, especially this time of year. We needed more time, machinery, a welder, something like that. hmmmm…”
He presses two fingers to his lips and gazes pensively at Larry.
Manager: “If I remember right, there were plans to claims it out after the holiday and take it to a recycling facility with other damaged merchandise. Mind you, if it appears beyond repair, I won’t be able to sell it to you, insurance liability and all that.”
Nick laughs. lifts his arms, then drops them to his side.
Nick: “Well, that’s enough talk. Come along, let’s see what we can do for you.”
He heads for the back of the store and Larry follows close behind. Larry takes the fifty dollar bill from his pocket, glances as it as if to be sure it actually exists. He follows Nick through a door marked “Employees Only”.
Nick stops at a large metal door on the back wall, takes a large ring of keys from his pocket and begins trying them in the lock. The third key turns the lock.
Nick: “here we go!”
He pushes the door open and we see a large fenced-in area outside the rear of the store. Nick flips a light switch and the area lights up revealing stacks of damaged merchandise, a small sea of organized confusion. It is snowing lightly and everything has a light dusting of snow on it.
Larry: “Lot o’ stuff out here. Is everything damaged?”
Nick: “Pretty much.”
Nick squints his eyes, peering down the aisle of broken and damaged inventory.
Nick: “I don’t see it. I’m sure it was here.”
Larry: “I sure hope you’re right.”
Nick: “Oh, there it is, over in the corner.”
He points to the far corner of the area, then begins to make his way through the littered debris.
Nick (calling back to Larry, over his shoulder): “Go ahead and wait by the door. I’ll pull ‘er out and we’ll have us a look-see.”
Nick pushes boxes to the side and finally reaches the end of the aisle. He wrestles a bicycle from a nest of garden hoses and returns to Larry pushing the bicycle. Just as he reaches Larry the front wheel falls off the bicycle. Nick shakes his head.
Nick: “I remember now. The front tire was flat when Jim, our bicycle assembler, repaired it. The front axle threads were stripped by his assistant when he was putting it back together.”
Nick bends down and picks up the wheel. He runs his hand over the axle, disappointment evident on his kind face when he addresses Larry.
Nick: “I don’t know, Sir. It’s been sitting out here in the weather for a couple of months. Look at all that rust on the chrome and the threads on the axle are all banged up.”
Larry takes the wheel from Nick. He holds the axle, one hand on each side, and gives the wheel a spin with his thumbs. The wheel spins smoothly.
Larry: “The bearings are in good shape. I can re-cut those threads and knock the rust off with some double-ot steel wool.”
Larry peers out at the stacks of merchandise, studies it with a discerning eye.
Larry: “I could probably fix most the things out here. I’ve worked with tools and machinery all my life, construction, roofing, and stuff, done some garage repair and installation. Always fixed my own bikes when I was a kid.”
Camera on nick. He’s studying Larry thoughtfully.
Nick: “Hmm… I believe Liesel mentioned something about you being out of work.”
Larry bends over and leans the wheel against the bicycle. He’s on one knee, hands moving over the frame and fenders as he speaks to Nick.
Larry: “I get a side job every once in a while but nothin’ steady. Got hurt on a job a year or so ago. All healed up now but can’t seem to find any work. I’m not one to complain but it’s been tough on me ‘n my family the past year, me bein’ down ‘n out o’ work.”
Nick picks up the wheel, lifts the front end of the bicycle and rolls it out of Larry’s hands. He motions with his head for Larry to follow, rolls the bicycle through the door and leans it against the inside wall. He speaks to Larry as he is closing and securing the door.
Nick: “Well Sir, don’t know if you’d be interested but Jim’s retiring at the end of the month, been with Wal~Mart for thirty-two hears. You come in the day after Christmas, go on the computer in Customer Service, fill out a proper job application, might just be a job here for you. If you’re interested, I’ll leave the manager a note telling him you seem like an apt young man to me. That should at least get you an interview. It’d be up to you from there.”
Larry (stammering a bit): “Uh, I uh… I thought you were the store manager.”
Nick (chuckling): “Me? No I’m from the home office, in charge of international toy distribution. I’m here on a tour of the stores in Colorado, just happened to answer the call when Liesel requested a manager for customer assistance.”
Larry: (looking Nick in the eye, clears his throat, and speaks in a strong and positive voice): “I’d appreciate the recommendation. I’m definitely interested in the job. I’d be in your debt.”
Nick fiddles with his beard, obviously uncomfortable.
Nick: “No one’s ever in my debt, young man.”
He chuckles in his familiar way and the smile returns to his face.
Nick: “Well then, let’s get you back home to that family of yours, all those little ‘L’s.”
He appraises the bicycle, gives it a visual once-over.
Nick: “A lot of work there; sure you can get ‘er up to snuff?”
Larry: “Oh yeah. That bike’ll be better ‘n new when I’m finished with it.”
Nick chuckles and his eyes twinkle as he faces Larry.
Nick: “I believe you and that’s good enough for me ‘n Wal~Mart. We usually don’t sell damaged merchandise, liability ‘n all that.”
Nick reaches out and gives Larry’s shoulder a squeeze.
Nick: “But it’s Christmas eve, isn’t it? I got me a good feeling about this.”
Larry (softly): “Thank-you, sir. Me too.”
Larry looks Nick in the eye.
Larry: “How much do I owe you, Sir?”
Nick bends down to consult the price tag hanging from the gooseneck of the bicycle.
Nick: “Let’s see here. Well she has a price tag of $177.00 brand new. Hmmmm…”
Nick runs his fingers through his beard.
Larry clears his throat, speaks softly, thinking out-loud.
Larry: “Half off would make it around $90.00; that’s forty dollars more than I have in my pocket, forty dollars more than I have to my name. Sir, I told Liesel I’d work. I’ll do anything.”
Nick gives Larry’s arm another squeeze. He shakes his head and chuckles loudly.
Nick: “Slow down, son. It’s my job to set the price based on salvage and recovery value. Give me a minute to think here. I have to make some calculations.”
Nick takes a small calculator from his shirt pocket, punches in some numbers, glances at Larry, who’s standing by nervously, hands in pockets and obviously fretful.
Nick: “how about forty dollars? Does that sound fair to you? Can you swing it?”
Larry stands there, limp as a rag, as Nick takes a firm grip on his upper arms and speaks directly to him.
Nick (softly – almost a whisper): “Listen, son, I’ve been penniless and on the streets before in my life. I know how difficult life can be at times, how hard we can be on ourselves when it’s like that. Believe you me, your boy’s gonna have that bike if I have to pay for it, fix it, and deliver it myself. You can stop worrying about that little thing.”
Larry swallows deeply. A smile lights up his face. He is full of enthusiasm.
Larry: “No Sir, you’ve done more than enough. I got cash in my pocket, plenty to cover it. Let’s do it!”
Nick laughs aloud, grabs Larry in a bear hug and almost lifts him off the floor. Larry resists for a moment, then returns the hug. Nick kisses him on the cheek and lets him go. Nick’s eyes are twinkling, his cheeks red. He gives Larry an exaggerated wink.
Nick: “I’ll tell the cashier up front to price override the damaged bicycle to forty dollars. You just take it up there and hey, have a merry Christmas!”
Nick rubs his chin, fluffs his beard a bit.
Nick: “I hate to rush off but I’ve a busy night ahead of me, if you know what I mean.”
Larry bends down and picks up the bicycle wheel, turns to say something to Nick but he’s gone. Larry touches the note in his pocket, smiles.
Larry (thoughtful and preoccupied – to himself): “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know what you mean.”
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©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~The Bicycle~{a Christmas tale}~Act I~
FADE IN: Night. A young boy (Lonnie – 8-9 years old) lying on his stomach in bed writing in a tablet.
(voice over) Lonnie’s voice: “Dear Santa, I’m too old to be writin’ you these letters. Truth is, I’ll be nine in a few months and I been thinkin’ for awhile that maybe you ain’t real. But just in case you are, there’s this cool chopper bike at Wal~Mart I’d like to have.”
CUT to girls’ bedroom (upper bunkbed).
Seven-year-old girl (Lily) sleeping, arms around a raggedy ann doll.
(voice over continues): “My l’il sister, Lily, wants a Cabbage Patch Doll (she likes cat things too and race cars). She’s seven.”
CUT to the bottom bunkbed.
A tiny girl, one-and-a-half-years-old, asleep, a naked doll next to her, one glass eye open.
(voice over continues): “The smallest of the Lanes is baby Lisa. She’s one-and-a-half years old. She likes those dolls with the blinky eyes (sometimes she pokes ‘em out).”
CUT to six-year-old boy’s bedroom. Louie, asleep crossways in a small bed, untidy room, a poster of a firetruck on the wall at the head of his bed.
(voice over continues): “my brother, Louie, is six-years-old. Louie’s just about crazy for firetrucks. That’s all he thinks about.”
CUT back to lonnie (he continues to write)
(voice over continues): “Like I said before,”
CUT to memory sequence
The four children and their parents (Larry and Laurie), an attractive couple in their thirties, the previous Christmas. A typical American family Christmas morning, brightly lit tree in a modestly furnished living room. Everyone is happy. Lonnie and Louie are examining a toy race car with Lily. Baby lisa is sandwiched between two pillows from the couch playing with a rattle. Mom and dad are arm in arm, watching the children, dressed in their pajamas.
(voice over continues): “If you’re too busy or you ain’t real, just forget about this letter. I’m gettin’ so old, it’s probly the last one you’ll get from me. Seems to me like good ‘n bad don’t have as much to do with presents as Daddy’s job. When he has work you always bring lots o’ stuff. When he don’t you don’t.”
CUT to father (Larry) sitting on a recliner in the living room by himself, lower right leg and foot in a cast. There’s a bottle of beer on a side table next to the chair nestled amongst prescription bottles. Larry is stroking his lower face, a week’s worth of whiskers. The room is dark, reflections from a television screen lightening and darkening his haggard face. Laurie enters the room. She’s wringing her hands and shaking her head slowly from side to side.
(voice over continues): “Santa, he ain’t been workin’ much at all this year. His foot got hurt on a roof and he started takin’ pills. Then the doctor wouldn’t give him no more but it still hurt a lot. Well, he started drinkin’ whiskey and beer and goin’ to the bar. Him and mommy took to fightin’ all the time. She cries a lot and that makes my l’il brother and sisters cry. I try to wait and do it by myself when nobody can see me. If you pray Santa could you say one for Larry and Laurie and lonnie (that’s me) and Lily and Louie and baby Lisa? Yeah, that’s us, the ‘L’ family. Kids in school use to tease me ‘bout the L’s and I’d get mad at Mommy ‘n Daddy for namin’ the whole family like that. Lately I been writin’ our names down in a row over ‘n over and now I think maybe it’s kinda neat that they got together and decided to have all us l’il L’s.”
CUT to a previous time. The family in a mountain park. Lonnie is holding baby Lisa, watching his parents dance by a campfire. Lily and Louie are roasting marshmellows.
(voice over continues): “And that’s my real wish, Santa. That mommy ‘n daddy’ll be like they use to. Never mind the bike and toys. Maybe if you’re real you could get together with God or somethin’ and sort o’ teach ‘em to smile again like they use to at each other and us kids. I know it sounds sappy and I use to hide my eyes when I was a kid so I didn’t have to watch ‘em makin’ eyes at each other and kissin’ ‘n stuff. Now I’d like to see ‘em do that again. Well, I’ll let you go for now. You probly won’t hear from me no more since I’m gettin’ so old now. Your friend (if you’re real or not), Lonnie Lane.”
CUT back to Lonnie as the voice over ends. He yawns, places his letter on a night stand next to his bed. There’s a book on the table, “Call of the Wild” by Jack London. A small glass of juice and a cookie shaped like a christmas tree are there as well and a small lamp and clock. Lonnie glances at the clock, nine:fifteen, and turns off the lamp.
CUT to laurie standing in the hallway. There’s a grandfather clock next to her. It sounds ten o’ clock as she enters the girls’ bedroom. The room is dimly lit from the light in the hallway. Laurie stands on her tiptoes to have a look at Lily in the top bunk, then bends over and touches Lacy’s face lightly with a finger.
She goes to a small table by the door, takes a sip out of a glass there and nibbles a cookie on the table. Lily has left a picture there, Santa and two girls in dresses, big smiles on their faces. Laurie smiles a bit herself as she sees crayon scrawls around the edges, obviously Lacy’s contribution to the Santa message. She takes a scrap of wrapping paper from her pocket and writes on it: “Happy Christmas! You’ve been good girls all year long. Love, Santa.”
CUT to Louie’s room. Laurie moves to Louie’s side, touches his leg, which is still hanging over the side of the bed. She rearranges the covers so it is not bare. She smiles when she looks at Louie’s note to santa. Camera zooms in on note. There is a tic-tac-toe grid drawn on a piece of scrap paper, Santa-O and Louie-X scrawled across the top. Two squares have X’s, one an O. Laurie fills in the second O. She pulls another scrap of wrapping paper from her pocket, writes on the back: “Merry Christmas, Louie. You’re a good boy! I blocked your X run. Think about it. I’ll see you next year. Love, Santa.” Laurie takes a bit from the cookie on the messy dresser next to Louie’s bed, sips a bit from a cup of juice there, then slips from the room.
CUT to Lonnie’s room. He’s asleep now. His christmas letter sticks out from under “Call of the Wild.” Laurie enters from the hall, approaches Lonnie and pushes the hair back from his forehead. She bends and kisses him, then takes his letter from the table. She nibbles on the cookies left for Santa and drinks from a glass of juice, takes a tattered piece of wrapping paper from her pocket, and writes: “Dear Lonnie, You’re getting to be a big boy and quite a writer, I see. Your note is so long I’ll have to take it back to the North Pole with me and read it tomorrow. Enjoy your Christmas! Love, Santa”
Laurie puts the scrap of paper under the book, lingers for a moment staring at Lonnie, then backs into the hallway. She takes a deep breath and begins to read his letter. After a few moments, tears on her cheeks, she turns off the hall light and heads downstairs.
CUT to the family living room. There’s a fire burning brightly in the fireplace, a Christmas tree with blinking lights. Larry’s voice from outside the room: “Is that you, laurie? Want a nightcap, honey?”
Laurie bites her lip, closes her eyes.
Laurie: “Just one and make it light, please.”
Larry finds her standing next to the tree. He touches her arm and hands her a drink. She accepts it but doesn’t look at him. Lonnie’s letter is in her free hand.
Laurie: “I’m glad we have each other but this is the worst barebones Christmas we’ve ever had. We’re lucky to have gotten the tree but there’s not very much to put under it this year. We’ll make do.”
Laurie loses her composure, sobs for a moment.
Laurie: “I’ll tell you what I’ve managed to put together but first come sit down on the couch. I want you to read Lonnie’s letter to Santa with me.”
Larry (upset): “Damn it, don’t start in on me!” “It’s Christmas eve; give it a rest for once.”
Laurie moves past him, sits on the couch. Larry sits next to her. He laughs derisively.
Larry: “Isn’t Lonnie getting a little old to be writing letters to Santa? If he hopes to realize his dream to be a writer someday, ‘just like Jack London’, he’d better start writin’ somethin’ stronger ‘n letters to Santa. Not much power in Santa notes.”
laurie is sobbing softly as she sips at her drink. she hands the letter to Larry and he slips an arm around her shoulders.
Larry: “I’m sorry for blowin’ off, sweety. Don’t cry, sweetheart. Next year’ll be better for us. I’ll straighten up and fly right, I promise. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
Larry takes a long swallow of his drink, glances at Laurie.
Larry: “Things would be so much better for us if I could just find some work.”
Laurie turns toward him, teary-eyed.
Laurie: “Larry, honey, please read Lonnie’s letter.”
Larry leans forward on the couch, squinting his eyes, using the glow from the fireplace to read his oldest child’s words by. He finishes reading the letter, folds it and puts it in his shirt pocket.
Larry: “Ah, damn.”
Larry stands up, shaking his head back and forth sadly. He kisses the top of Laurie’s head.
Larry: “I’ll be back.”
He gets his coat from a peg on the wall and walks toward the door.
Laurie: “Please don’t go to the bar tonight.”
Her voice falls on empty ears as Larry walks out and closes the door behind him. We hear the sound of his truck starting. Laurie holds her face in her hands and weeps.
http://wordwulf.com
WordWulf
Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com
& wordwulf@wordwulf.com
©artwork & words conceived by & property of
Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
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