~two of my younger brothers paroled from prison to a drug rehabilitation facility~PEER ONE~
~me & the boys packed up our gear & went to play for the inmates~
~this is a song we wrote specifically for that gig~
~Curse of Days~
(live cut)
~life don’t teach, amount to much~
~children, it’s a slice of bread~
~it don’t hurt when the fist comes down~
~drop you to your knees, your head~
~something breaking deep inside~
~children, take your breath away~
~fear is borne, ain’t no good to cry~
~born into a curse of days~
~growing up, a battleground~
~children, it’s a slice of hell~
~detention, take your punishment~
~no one gets inside your shell~
~walls grow thick & deep & wide~
~children, hide your love away~
~bite the sky, any helping hand~~go messin’ with your curse of days~
~tattooed tear, a pound of flesh~
~children, it’s a man, a cage~
~ain’t nothin’ like that closin’ door~
~make temper, set the lines of rage~
~angel call it, a whistle down~
~children, he got dues to pay~
~sun don’t shine on the prison man~
~living out his curse of days~
~line moves slow, a lady cries~
~children, it’s a loaded gun~
~she can’t stop~
~yeah, she kiss his face~
~the dead eyes of her fallen son~
~ya move along~
~we plant ‘em deep~
~children, we got hands of clay~
~beginning & the in between~
~the end, we got our curse of days~
~life don’t teach, amount to much~
~children, it’s a slice of bread~
~it don’t hurt when the fist comes down~
~drop you to your knees, your head~
~some thing breaking deep inside~
~children, take your breath away~
~fear is borne, ain’t no good to cry~
~born into a curse of days~
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©graphic 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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Tom (WordWulf) Sterner©
~aborted strangers in the mud~
~Jim Morrison~
~two great European narcotics~
~alcohol & Christianity~
~Nietzsche ~
~I realize I am only what I've always been~
~a half-assed nothing~
~Charles Manson~
~filled with mingled cream & amber~
~I will drain that glass again~
~Poe~
~two things I can’t stand~
~sober people when I’m drunk~
~& drunk people when I’m sober~
~WordWulf ~
~Madmen~
~we drink a cup or two or ten~
~& press our faces against~
~some frozen window~
~mirror of agony~
~lost hope~
~we cry for you with each swig~
~we attempt to die for you~
~until we become bloated~
~floating flowers~
~rootless & faded~
~ah whiskey~
~you make us real~
~without you we are dried up~
~pressed between brittle pages~
~of our lives until~
~the winds of time whisper~
~riffle the leaves & blow us away~
~ain’t no good whiskey men on the wind~
~we are floating phat~
~in the dark liquid of our gloom~
~laughing & pinching the titties~
~of night ladies~
~we are yours until the sun~
~brings us down again~
~amen & amen~
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Staying with grandparents, nine-year-old Timmy defies grandmother’s orders. He receives a scolding & her hand on his back side. He turns his back on her, just walks away.
~a man on fire~
~in an empty room~
~six ways out~
~indecision rules~
Chapter Four
~Children ... It’s Elementary~
Denver, Colorado
Fall, 1959
There was nothing Timmy could do to rectify the situation but he couldn’t stop thinking about it so he ignored Grandma’s voice, sobbed and kicked stones, and continued to feel sorry for himself. He enjoyed a bit of relief from his problems as the larger stones jarred the bones in his toes and gave him something else to think about. He knew they were right, Grandma and Grandpa. They shouldn’t have to take care of Daddy and his family. He wondered if he really was a dirty little bastard. As they always said, Grandma and Grandpa, they had worked hard and raised theirs. This should be a time of peace and rest for them. Grandpa was employed as a baker afternoons and nights and Grandma was a cookie packer for the Bowman Biscuit Company. They were trying to lay a little money aside for their retirement. Grandma had varicose veins and her legs hurt. She stood her place on the assembly line six nights a week, two to eleven. She rode the city bus to work and back home with the midnight crazies. Grandma didn’t drive.
Timmy blinked his eyes in surprise when he realized he had reached the crossroads at the bottom of the hill. Cars swished back and forth on Hampden Avenue a few steps away. He turned to his right, squinted his eyes, and stared at the building where his mother worked. Coors and Pabst Blue Ribbon neon signs winked at him and, his favorite, Hamms ... the beer refreshing with the big smiling bear and the blue running water. He wasn’t so sure about his decision to walk down the hill now. He felt a tight fist form in his chest and knew he was between a rock and a hard spot when he recognized Daddy’s truck parked by the front door. There would be hell to pay for leaving Grandma after she had ordered him to turn around and come back home.
Timmy was in a quandary. He had never seriously considered running away before but this might be just the situation for it. He wished for Jerry. His brother wasn’t very good at getting along with Momma and Daddy but he knew all about running away and making it on his own. What would Peter and Lisa and Leda do without him, Timmy wondered ... and Momma. He didn’t have long to worry about the problem as Daddy came staggering out the front door of the bar. He started to climb in his truck, then noticed Timmy standing by the side of the road.
“Get yer ass over here!” he ordered. When they were both seated in the old truck he administered his favorite punishment where Timmy was concerned, an open handed slap to the top of his head. “What in hell gets into you, Timmy? Ma’s all shook up now. She thinks you’ve run away. She really got pissed when she called here to talk to your mother and they called me to the phone. I’m afraid you’ve messed it up for all of us with that bullheadedness o’ yours. She don’t want me drinkin’, y’know?”
The top of Timmy’s head smarted and he winced in anticipation of another slap as he replied sadly and truthfully, “None of us do, Daddy.”
Daddy surprised him by rubbing his head affectionately. “’S okay, son. You sit tight while I run in ‘n tell your mother you’re all right. I think I found us a place to live. We’ll pick up your brother and sisters and go have a look. I’ll talk to Ma when we get to the house but you’re gonna have to apologize to her for your behavior.”
Daddy went into the bar and came right back out. He drove his old Ford truck up the bumpy dirt road and parked in front of the little house on the hill. There was a clothesline set up at the back of the driveway just in front of Grandpa Webber’s car. He kept rabbits in hutches against the rear wall of the house and was busy outside tending to them. He waved nonchalantly and walked behind the house as Daddy and Timmy came up the driveway behind his Packard. “Go see your Grandpa while I go inside and have a couple words with Ma,” Daddy ordered. “I don’t even want her to see you since you took off without her permission. You hurt her feelings and there’ll be hell to pay.”
Spending time with Grandpa Webber would never find itself on the list of things Timmy would like to do. He knew better than to argue with Daddy. His head still smarted from the slap by Daddy’s hand, so he walked slowly past Grandpa’s car toward the rear of the house. “Don’t walk so God-damned close to the car!” Grandpa warned, “You God-damned brats are bound ‘n determined to scratch the shit out of it!”
Timmy sidled over next to the house. When he came to the corner, Grandpa was standing next to the hutches holding a large rabbit. “Get a handful o’ clothespins out ‘o that bag,” he said to Timmy. Timmy stepped over to the clothesline and did as he was told. Grandpa was right behind him with the rabbit clutched close to his chest. It was kicking and clawing furiously with its rear feet. Its nails were long and blood oozed from a deep cut on Grandpa’s wrist where it had scratched him. “Nice bunny, bunny,” Grandpa cooed. He scratched the rabbit behind the ears and rubbed the back of its neck. “Bastard bitch scratched me,” he muttered to himself. “Gimme a couple o’ them pins,” he said to Timmy.
Timmy handed them to him while Grandpa lifted the rabbit up and bent one of its ears over the thick clothesline wire. He clipped the ear to the wire with the pins and held his hand out. “Gimme two more,” he ordered. He took them from Timmy with his free hand and fixed the other ear to the line while gripping the animal close to his body. It was struggling madly, its eyes wide, wet, and full of fear. Grandpa hugged the rabbit close and made purring sounds deep in his chest. He massaged the back of the rabbit’s head and neck while slowly releasing it until it was hanging sedately by its ears from the clothesline. With a deft flick of his right hand he dealt it a blow to the base of its skull. The animal shuddered, kicked a couple of times, and then slowly relaxed into its death.
Grandpa winked at Timmy. “That’s tame meat right there. It’ll be tender in the pot, melt in your mouth. She died real good, didn’t she? Kill ‘em fightin’ an’ the meat’s gamier ‘n hell. Ever had rabbit stew, boy?”
“No sir,” Timmy replied. Watching the slaying of the rabbit, he was reminded of Grandpa Jim’s rooster in Missouri and hoping he wouldn’t have to partake in the meal soon to come. As it turned out, he didn’t have to eat rabbit that evening. Daddy called him over to the house to help gather up his siblings and their belongings while he and Grandpa Webber said goodbye. Timmy’s emotions were all screwed up. Being walloped by Grandma, head-slapped by Daddy, and witnessing the death of the rabbit by Grandpa Webber was just about all he could take. Not quite, he thought, now he had to face Grandma.
“Don’t you ever turn your back and walk away from me like that again,” she admonished sternly when he entered the house. Her eyes always looked like they were swimming behind the lenses of her thick glasses. They were wet now, full to the brim with tears soon to be spilled. She pulled Timmy to her, hugged him to her breast and wept for a moment. Her tears ran down her cheeks and onto his forehead, then into his eyes. He imagined they burned more than his own did. She took a deep breath and pushed him away, held him at arms’ length, her hands on his shoulders. “You look out for Peter, Lisa, and Leda, hear me? I’m sure gonna miss all of you around the house.”
Timmy was struggling with tears of his own. He felt as if he was abandoning Grandma Webber. After her complaints, he couldn’t understand why she was crying when Daddy was doing what she had asked, taking them somewhere else to live. It was difficult to believe they’d be missed in the Webber household. “You have to stop drinking,” Timmy heard her stern rebuke of Daddy as he and his siblings piled into the truck.
“I’m tryin’, Ma,” Daddy replied, “Doin’ my best.” He hugged her, waved at Grandpa and the dead rabbit, climbed into the truck, let out the clutch and pulled slowly away from the curb.
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On a camping weekend, standing knee-deep in the river, enjoying a moment's respite from the sweltering heat of summer, the boy asked his father, “Where do our legs go when we stand in the water?” Father took his hand, thought for a moment. “I don’t know, son. But the river always gives ‘em back.”Excerpt from “Momma’s Rain,” a novel by Tom (WordWulf) Sterner
~get this Indian off my chest~
~he can do his voodoo dance~
~make bad medicine~
~in someone else’s brain~
~Chapter Three~~Children By the Way~ On the roadSpring, 1958
Tim Turner knew a man who knew a man who owned a tiny court, half a dozen units, water at the pump in the kitchen, a shared latrine. He moved his family the next day from the outskirts of town and into Billings Proper. They would be living in another court but this time the landlord called it an apartment. There was no place to play on the property but right across the street was a city park. Timmy discovered the wonder of lilacs there and scampered through the dark green tunnels of their supporting limbs. The fragrance of lilacs takes him back to that place every single time. That’s where he met Shirleen.
He was hunched down in his private fort, an open space between a thick stand of lilac bushes. He could sit there and see all around himself and no one could see him. He was able see everyone and everything and felt as transparent as the invisible man. One day, when he decided to make the rounds of the tunnels, he came around a blind corner, where he bumped into a sturdy young girl. She had curly hair and freckles across her nose. Timmy thought she looked just like Shirley Temple.
“Are you blind?” she asked, a petulant look on her pixy face.
“Uh ...” Timmy stammered, “I don’t see so good.”
“Sit!” she ordered, gesturing with a pudgy finger. “I am the Queen of Sheba and I order you to sit before me.”
Timmy obeyed, sat and squinted at her. Her dark hair was done up in curls and adorned with a pretty lilac wreath. She was wearing a frilly print dress. The Queen gazed back at him, eyes unblinking. He felt the heat rise to his face. His ears were burning.
“My name’s Timmy,” he offered, nervous and unable to think of anything else to say.
“I think not!” she replied haughtily. “You are Oop. You have come to lead the Queen of Sheba to the pot of gold.”
“I am?” Timmy squeaked. “I have?” (Pot of gold? Boy, did she have the wrong guy.)
She stood and performed a perfect pirouette. (Maybe she was Shirley Temple, after all). “Come, my slave,” she ordered, “The time of riches is upon us.” Timmy followed her through the lilac tunnels and sat with her on the sidewalk in a fall of summer shade. “A game of jack ball?” she inquired.
“Sure, I guess,” he replied. (Jack ball?)
Shirleen produced a handful of metal stars and a small red ball from a tiny pocket on the front of her dress. It came as no surprise to Timmy that she could pull stars from her pocket. He could see them in the sparkles in her eyes. “They’re called jacks,” she smiled. Two perfect dimples found her cheeks and displayed themselves there. Timmy imagined his index fingers would fit perfectly in them; his hands become a flesh frame for her pretty face. Shirleen tossed the jacks out on the cement before her and began to snatch them up one at a time in between the bounce of the ball. She had an incredible sense of rhythm. Bounce the ball, pick up a jack, catch the ball, and bounce the ball ...
“Onesies done,” she announced, and then tossed the jacks out again. She made it almost to the end of her twosies, and then dropped the ball. “I did that on purpose,” she said as she handed the ball and jacks to Timmy. “All in a sense of fair play so that you may have a turn. Let’s see what you’re made of, Oop.”
Timmy tossed the jacks and she giggled as half of them bounced into the grass.
“Oh, that’s so like you, Oop,” she twittered. “You really know nothing about jack ball, do you, you ape of a man?”
She was on her tens and Timmy was still struggling with his onesies when a man walked toward them on the sidewalk. Timmy made as if to get up and move aside for the stranger but the queen wouldn’t allow it. She stood and pushed him down with a pudgy finger. “Sit still, Oop! The pot of gold cometh.”
Timmy was thinking, ‘What a strange girl’, when the man reached them. He leaned on his cane, put a hand into his pocket, extracted it and dropped a handful of change between the children on the sidewalk. Timmy’s mouth dropped open and the man sauntered away without a word.
“Close your mouth and gather the gold, Oop,” the Queen ordered. She patted her hair and smiled, quite satisfied with herself. “Then follow me to market.”
Timmy gathered the coins from the sidewalk. He couldn’t believe their good fortune, eighty-five cents. He had never had that much money to himself in his whole life. He glanced around, afraid the man would want it back but he was half a block away and walking as if he had not a care in the world. Timmy followed Shirleen to a small corner store where they bought penny candy, two-cent tootsie roll pops, and sodas. There was seven cents left over which he offered to Shirleen. She closed her fluttery little eyes, pushed his hand away.
“You did all the work, Oop. The spoils are yours to keep.”
Oh, they had lots of fun in their lilac kingdom, Timmy and his Queen. He discovered he actually was Oop, as in Alley Oop from the comics, and she was Queen of all the lilac jungles in the universe. He never knew where she lived and was afraid to ask, but for a couple of months it didn’t matter. Momma allowed him to go to the park almost every day and on the very best days he would find his Queen there waiting for him.
Then Leda was born. The sixteenth of August and now he had two younger sisters. No one in the Turner family remained the baby for very long. Most of the time after Leda was born Timmy had to stay home to help Momma while she recovered from the birthing. He would look out the window and wonder if Shirleen was watching from deep in their jungle. It wasn’t too long though before Momma felt better and he was allowed to spend more time in the park.
He visited their lilac kingdom several days in a row and was much relieved when Shirleen showed up one day. She laughed when he confessed to her that he was afraid she might have found a new Oop while he was away. “My dear Oop,” she replied. “There can only be one Oop and you are he. I knew it the moment I first saw you.”
Timmy was seated before her and she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. To this day he likes to close his eyes and snuggle up next to the comfort of the tiny lips of his first kiss. The gold man came that day. He chuckled contentedly as Timmy chased his pennies and dimes, and then went merrily on his way.
Timmy came home from the park one day near the end of summer to find Momma upset. Uncle Tim and Auntie Babs were in from Denver and coming to visit the family before heading home. Auntie Babs was Daddy’s other half sister and Uncle Tim was her husband. He was Timmy’s favorite uncle, a large jovial man. He was always nice to kids and had three sons, one of them a couple of years younger than Timmy. He was called Little Timmy. Timmy was Big Timmy. Timmy couldn’t understand why Momma was so upset. She liked Auntie Babs and Uncle Tim. All of the kids got along well.
When Daddy got home from work, he and Momma began to argue. They were still at it when Uncle Tim and Auntie Babs arrived. Daddy went for a ride with Uncle Tim in his new car, leaving the women and children at home. They planned to return and have dinner together. Timmy took Little Timmy to the park to show him the lilac jungle. Little Timmy was mightily impressed. His eyes got big as saucers when Timmy told him about his Queen and the man with the cane. Timmy had thirteen cents left from the gold man. He took Little Timmy to the store where they bought penny candy. Timmy felt guilty about that. What if Shirleen wanted something next time he saw her and depended on what was left of the gold man’s money to buy it?
The children were in bed and asleep long before Daddy and Uncle Tim got home that night. Daddy didn’t go to work the next day. Now Timmy knew why Momma was upset. Daddy and Uncle Tim had gone out drinking, talking about old times. They decided Uncle Tim would help Daddy finish the roof he was working on, then the Turners would follow him and Auntie Babs back to Denver. There had been a big hailstorm the week before and the roofing business was booming. At first Timmy was excited. Jerry was in Denver and Grandma Webber, Daddy’s mother. He would be glad to see them. But Daddy was drinking and Momma was crying. The good summer was coming to an end.
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The Turner family has moved back to Colorado from Montana. It is winter & the family is destitute. Tim Turner’s half-sister, Phyllis, & brother-in-law, Jerry, have agreed to let the family stay with them until Tim finds work & is able to take care of his wife & children. Uncle Jerry despises his nephew, Timmy. It is late & all are asleep. Seven-year-old Timmy is hungry, decides to take a chance & get himself some bread with sugar on it.
Excerpt from “Momma’s Rain,” a novel by Tom (WordWulf) Sterner.
~when love comes crawling~
~a child is born~
~reality of years~
~& the babe is torn~
Chapter Two
~Children of Chance/Endings~ Denver, Colorado Winter, 1957 He tiptoed up the seven steps in his stocking feet, peered cautiously into the sleeping kitchen. It was eerily lit by the face of the clock and bluish shafts of light from the street lamps outside. Aunt Phyllis was a cleanliness freak. She kept plastic covers on the furniture. Her kitchen was all sharp and gleaming edges. Timmy felt the house watching him, a stranger in its midst. He took the last step up and stood outlined in the doorway. Nothing moved and neither did he. The sound of his breathing was a roar he wished to silence. How did Jerry do this, he wondered.
The refrigerator was a giant white monster standing just to the left of the door. His back against the smooth wall, he shuffled sideways until he stood before it. His hands trembled as he walked them up the side, to the top of the big metal box. A low rumble issued from inside it and he shuddered with fear. He felt as if it was a night watcher, a monster machine installed to keep food cold and gobble up thieves and trespassers. The rumble settled itself into a steady hum and Timmy realized it was the motor of the thing, a sound he had never noticed in the daylight hours.
He took a deep breath to settle himself down and, with a halting resolve, let his hands do their hungry raccoon business on top of the refrigerator. They found the open half loaf of bread in front and moved it aside. When he felt the next loaf, a full one, he undid the wire tie. Though the heel was his favorite part, he shuffled past it and the first half dozen slices. After pulling two from the middle of the loaf, he fluffed the bread back in place, retied the wire and placed the half loaf back in front of the others.
This done, he worked his way slowly across the kitchen, thankful for the cover of darkness but wishing he could see better. Uncle Jer took sugar in his coffee so there was always a big bowl of it on the table and a spoon ready for him to use. Timmy laid the two slices of bread down side by side on the table. They stared balefully at him, large blank accusing eyes, and white holes in the dark room. He had never stolen before but then he had never been this close to sugar bread. His raccoon hands were unable to find the spoon so he held up the bowl and tilted it toward his body. Sugar sifted over the edge and piled itself up on the bread eyes.
From the corner of his eye he glimpsed a shadow shape. All at once he was unable to hear the tick-tick of the clock or the now-comforting hum of the refrigerator. His heart beat, thumpity-thump, like a bass drum. It thundered in his ears, erased all other sound with its pumping of fear through his brain. Terror owned each of his senses and, in its monster grip, his love for sugar bread was forgotten. He knew what the blind know and never mind how. All doubt aside, there was someone in the kitchen with him.
Fear owned him as Timmy summoned up the courage to turn from the table and face whatever was behind him. He managed to turn around and, just as he did, a shape hovered over him. He was assaulted by its tobacco breath. Terrified, he felt a scream in the very pit of himself. Before it made its way out, a strong hairy hand planted itself firmly over his mouth and another clamped like a vice onto the back of his neck. He was dragged backward through the kitchen and thump, thump, thumped down the stairs. He had been physically punished by Momma and Daddy but this was something very different. Momma and Daddy loved him; the thing that had him now hated him. That knowledge flowed into him from the unforgiving grip of its claws, the spittle of its breath on his face.
“I got you, Little Jesus! I knew it was you sneakin’ around and gettin’ into the bread!” Uncle Jer pushed Timmy’s face into the cot and hissed into his ear, “I’m gonna take my hand from your mouth, you slobbery little bastard. You so much as squeak and I’ll tear off your fuckin’ head and shit down your neck! Do you understand?”
Timmy nodded his head in the iron grip of his uncle’s hands. Uncle Jer let go of him, turned him over, on his back, and pinned him to the bed. Timmy inhaled a ragged breath, a half sob, and stared into the monster face a fraction of an inch from his own. The eyes in the face were darker than the night. They glowed menacingly in the hatchet of Uncle Jer’s face. Hate lived there and nothing else. He wiped the hand with Timmy’s saliva on the front of the boy’s coat and glared at him in disgust. His voice was a feral snarl, dripping with the promise of pending violence. “It’s all about you with your Mom and Pop, ain’t it boy? Well, I got somethin’ else for ya. Mebbe a l’il bit what your brother gets all the time. You ain’t a pimple on his ass, boy.”
He put his hands around Timmy’s throat and squeezed slowly. Unable to breathe, the weight of his uncle’s body pinning him down, Timmy glared back into the dark face with a growing hatred of his own. Uncle Jer laughed low and mean, released the pressure on Timmy’s throat, and then slapped him lightly on both cheeks. “Go to sleep, Little Jesus. Steal from me again, cross me in any way, your ass is mine.” He got up and left the room without another word.
Timmy pulled himself up and huddled against the wall in the corner of the creaking cot. He tucked his feet under him and felt his body trembling violently. Cold sweat swarmed over him. It started in the bare toes peeking from the holes in his socks and crept across his body to the end of each standing hair. Ice is cold but fear, that lone province of low dread, is frigid beyond any material liquid dimension. His eyes would not close in sleep. They were afraid, in fact, to blink. He was trapped in the cage of Uncle Jer and Aunt Phyllis’ house. If he told his parents, trouble with no end would begin. Where would he and his family go? What would they do? He drifted into an eerie and fearful half-sleep, alienated in a bare and square world, halfway up the stairs and halfway down.
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~Momma’s Rain~ (excerpt – chapter one)
Momma is getting ready to go to work. She is speaking to her oldest of four children, Timmy, telling him to tend to his three younger siblings. Six-year-old Jerry has been punished and is standing in the corner for eating the last two slices of the family’s bread. It’s a cold winter night. Momma is saying goodbye to her children.
Excerpt from “Momma’s Rain,” a novel by Tom (WordWulf) Sterner.
~for life is a fiction~
~birth~
~a sad truth~
~death~
~a just reward~
~still children smile~
Chapter One
Children in Passing
I don’t like Country Western music
Billings Montana
Winter, 1957
Momma came in, picked Lisa up and kissed her chubby cheek. She glanced at the boys. “You guys behave yourselves and no going outside. Keep the door locked. Daddy will be right back to fix you something to eat. Lisa’s other diaper is soaking in the toilet. Rinse it out and hang it by the stove, Timmy. If she needs changed before it’s dry go ahead and use a dishtowel instead of a diaper. There’s one hanging from the oven handle on the stove.” She set Lisa on the couch, gave Timmy a reassuring smile, and hurried away.
The front door slammed shut. The children heard the sound of Daddy’s old truck starting up and pulling away from the curb. Jerry turned around, stared imploringly at Timmy. “Let me out of the corner.”
Tears brimmed up in Timmy’s eyes. He bit down on his sore finger to stop them. “I can’t, Jerry. He’ll find out, then we’ll all be in trouble.”
“How’s he gonna find out?” Jerry challenged. “Who’s gonna tell?”
Peter sat on the edge of the couch. “I will,” he said, a cruel grin on his little-boy face. “I’ll tell ‘cause you took the bread an’ got me in trouble. It’s all your fault. You knocked me off the couch when I was sleepin’.”
Jerry took a step from the corner, threatened Peter with a raised fist. “I’ll pound your face, you little brat! You ate half!”
Timmy ran between them, pulled Jerry’s arms behind his back and forced him back into the corner. He gave Jerry’s head a swift bump against the wall for good measure. “Stay there! Don’t be picking on smaller kids!”
“Yeah!” Peter agreed smugly. “You’re a stealer, Jerry. You’re bad!”
Lisa began to wail. She was hungry, upset by all the commotion. Timmy picked her up and she stuffed a thumb in her mouth. She snuggled against his chest and closed her eyes, sucking contentedly.
Daddy didn’t come home after taking Momma to work. The children were hungry, and there was nothing in the house to eat. Timmy pumped some water and they sipped at it but water is a poor substitute for food. Lisa and Peter cried and Jerry moaned and groaned, then finally slid down the wall and rested in a bony pile.
Timmy roamed around the confines of the shack, despairing for a crumb but, as on many a previous night, there were none. The night was long and the radio was singing. His siblings asleep, Timmy went into the kitchen and sat at the table. He rested his head on his arms, ignored the growling of his stomach and drifted into a troubled rest. A few hours later he heard a rattling at the door. He stepped quietly across the room and peeked out the window. It was Momma come home from work. As he unlocked and opened the door, a car pulled away. It was soon lost in its’ own steamy exhaust in the freezing winter night.
“Where’s Daddy?” Momma asked upon entering the house.
“He never came back,” Timmy replied, “I been worried.”
She kissed him on the forehead and handed him a heavy paper bag. It was greasy wet, close to falling apart.
“Never mind your Daddy for now,” she said, “Thank God for the Big Boy.”
Big Boy was the restaurant where Momma worked as a waitress. She wasn’t allowed to take food home but she would bus the tables she waited on and dump the leftovers from the plates in a bag she kept hidden in the kitchen. On nights when Alvin, the cook, brought her home she could sneak the bag out past the owner. The next trick was getting it past Daddy; he didn’t approve of his family eating garbage.
Momma touched Timmy’s face with her cold hands and kissed him again. She glanced at the clock radio wailing Country Western, Marty Robbins all dressed up for the dance. “Twelve thirty,” she murmured, “He’s probably at the bar. That gives us ‘til two to eat. You start sorting and fixing. I’ll get the kids.”
Timmy set the bag on the table and opened it. Though it was full of rotting salad, coffee grounds, and cigarette butts, all he noticed was the smell of food and best of all... meat! He grabbed a piece of chicken fried steak and wolfed it down, coffee grounds, cigarette ashes and all. He had never tasted better food. Momma came back into the kitchen and smiled at him while he wiped his face on his shirt- sleeve.
“They look so peaceful, I decided to let them sleep while we get everything ready,” she whispered. “Tonight we’ll have a feast. I see you found some of the steak. It was the Big Boy special today. There’s lots of it in there.”
They worked together, mother and son, to scrape cigarette ashes, egg yolk, coffee grounds, and soggy napkin off the meat, and began to warm it in a pan on the old stove. Experts at this, they even managed to salvage some mashed potatoes and corn on the cob from the bottom of the bag. The cigarette butts went in Momma's apron pocket to be worked on later. They didn’t have to wake the younger children as it turned out. Peter and Lisa came stumbling into the kitchen, their noses following the aroma of food cooking even before their eyes were ready to open. Momma smiled. “Go get Jerry,” she said to Timmy.
Jerry was standing up straight and stiff, nose stuffed into the corner. He flinched when Timmy touched his arm. “Come on, Jerry,” he whispered excitedly, “Momma brought some really good stuff home from work for us to eat.”
Jerry turned his head from the corner; eyes big and round, he stared at Timmy. His mouth made one word. “Daddy?”
Timmy tugged at his shirtsleeve. “Come on, Daddy’s not home yet. You better hurry up!”
“Wait!” Jerry pleaded. “Is she... Is she in a good mood?”
“The best,” Timmy replied, “Now come on.”
Jerry shielded his eyes from the light as they entered the kitchen. They ate and ate, then sat around burping and smiling like contented chipmunks.
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~nothing to learn~
~whom follows the example~
~trade wisdom for freedom~
~paupers & fools~
Chapter Eight
~Children: The Mother Blood~
Winter, 1960
Denver, Colorado
Timmy’s father failed to come home after work. Momma assumed he was at the bar. She sat and talked through the night with her oldest son. The next morning she discovered her husband was picked up for driving while intoxicated. She spent the entire day struggling with the problems surrounding bailing him out of jail while taking care of her children. Timmy is her counsel, a sympathetic ear and so much more. We join the story there.
Momma got up and reached for her purse. She opened it, took out a large bottle of cheap aspirin and sprinkled some into her hand. These she popped into her mouth and washed down with a glass of water from the sink. It was one of those surreal moments when another in your company slips away. There they are, right in front of you but... She used a spoon to crush a half dozen more aspirin into a saucer. These she pressed into the holes of her aching teeth. She lit another cigarette and drew deeply upon it. She had her Cherokee Grandmother’s high cheekbones and, with her cheeks drawn in, she reminded Timmy of an Indian princess.
“I’m sorry, Timmy,” she said, “What did you say, honey?”
He bit his bottom lip and looked away from her face.
“I said I wish your teeth didn’t hurt so much.”
“Thank you, Timmy,” she said distractedly. She mumbled a bit, twisted her mouth around this way and that. Timmy supposed it was to keep the aspirin wedged into her teeth. She gave him a sad smile. “Do you have any idea what time it is, honey?”
“The radio man did his midnight thing just before you got home,” Timmy replied.
She stood up and took a deep breath.
“I still have time then. Grandma Webber said she would help with money if I can find a way to go over and get it from her. I’ll go back to the phone booth and call the Dog House. If Ringo is there, maybe he’ll give me a ride to your grandmother’s house.” She tapped her cigarette on the ashtray until the ashes dropped off the end of it. “As soon as I get hold of the jail and see how much the bond is to get him out...then another maybe... Ringo can give me a ride downtown to the bondsman, then to the jail to get your Daddy out.” She stamped her foot. “Damn it!”
“Whatsa matter, Momma?”
She clenched her fists so tight her knuckles became white.
“This isn’t fair; it just isn’t right! You kids start school tomorrow. If I can’t find someone to watch the girls...” She sat down, put her head in her hands and wept.
Timmy reached across the table and touched her hand.
“I can get Jerry and Peter off to school, Momma. I’ll watch the girls while you get Daddy out of jail, then I can start school the next day. They don’t do that much the first day anyway, you know that.”
“I would just walk away,” Momma said.
“You would what?”
“I swear, Timmy,” she said softly, “If there was a way for us to make it, I would take all of you kids and just walk away.” She stifled a sob. “Just look at me. You should never see anyone like this, especially not your mother. I am so sorry, Timmy.”
She scared him when she was like this. He couldn’t understand how she could even consider such a thing. They had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. All of their relatives had suffered them enough. Daddy’s work and bar friends had suffered them. If the authorities got involved, they would never keep the kids together. They were too many. Momma was always saying Daddy would eventually straighten up and go on the wagon forever. In the end, everything would finally be okay. Momma had to be strong, she just had to. Timmy’s parents were falling apart and changing before his eyes and not for the better from the looks of it.
Momma touched his hand and startled the darkness from his thoughts.
“You’re as jumpy as your Daddy,” she said. “Listen Timmy, I don’t want you to worry about all this. You should be in bed getting rested up for school tomorrow. I’ll do what I have to do to get your Daddy out of jail and things just have to get better. I don’t see how they could be any worse. I don’t know what he’s in there for but maybe this will be that wakeup call he needs to hear that will straighten him out. You go in there and lay down with your brothers and sisters where you belong. I have a couple of more phone calls to make.”
Timmy opened his mouth to protest but was stopped as she pressed a finger to his lips.
“Let me handle this. It is mine to do. Your Momma is a big girl. You go in there and be safe with your brothers and sisters. When you get up in the morning, I’ll know more about what’s going on here. I’ll fill you in then.”
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~two of my younger brothers paroled from prison to a drug rehabilitation facility~ ~PEER 1~me & the boys packed up our gear & went to play for the inmates~
~this is a song we wrote specifically for that gig~
life don’t teach, amount to much
children, it’s a slice of bread
it don’t hurt when the fist comes down
drop you to your knees, your head
some thing breaking deep inside
children, take your breath away
fear is borne, ain’t no good to cry
born into a curse of days
growing up, a battleground
children, it’s a slice of hell
detention, take your punishment
no one gets inside your shell
walls grow thick, deep, and wide
children, hide your love away
bite the sky, any helping hand
go messin’ with your curse of days
tattooed tear, a pound of flesh
children, it’s a man, a cage
ain’t nothin’ like that closin’ door
make temper, set the lines of rage
angel call it, a whistle down
children, he got dues to pay
sun don’t shine on the prison man
living out his curse of days
line moves slow, a lady cries
children, it’s a loaded gun
she can’t stop,
yeah, she kiss his face
the dead eyes of her fallen son
ya move along,
we plant ‘em deep
children, we got hands of clay
beginning and the in between
the end, we got our curse of days
life don’t teach, amount to much
children, it’s a slice of bread
It don’t hurt when the fist comes down
drop you to your knees, your head
some thing breaking deep inside
children, take your breath away
fear is borne, ain’t no good to cry
born into a curse of days
 I’m elated to announce I’ve found an agent to represent Momma’s Rain.
Tracy Brennan,
Trace LiteraryAgency , will represent Momma’s Rain beginning this week. Momma’s Fire, the next novel in the series is on my desk. I’m two chapters in to its creation. I appreciate the support of my family and those who read and publish my work.
Synopsis
Momma’s Rain is the chronicle of a few years in the lives of a poor white family in in 1950’s, 1960’s America. It is a story of survival and love/hate, plain and not so simple.
The father and mother meet by chance in their teens.
He has a horrific past, his twin abandoned in an outhouse in the mountains on their fourth birthday, a choice his mother made on the order of the monster who would become his step-father. “I’ll raise one of your whelps; get rid of the other.” He would go on to raise the boy with an iron hand, his weapon of choice for punishment, a coal shovel.
She has a horrific past. Her father, ashamed to be the half-breed son of a white slaver and his Cherokee slave, keeps his wife and three daughters in a chicken coop converted to a single room dwelling behind the slaver’s manse in the Ozarks while he rides the rails across the days of the Great Depression, seeking a future and a tin damn dollar. The mother has a goiter on her throat, stumbles out onto the road, incoherent and unawares. Her daughters are deeded over to a Catholic orphanage where they spend the next 10 years. Momma is four-years-old, the youngest.
The young man, Daddy, is seventeen when they meet. The young woman, Momma, is eighteen. He is a confirmed alcoholic and is home on leave from a detention center. Momma falls in love with the straight young man and vows to save him. She is nineteen and he is eighteen when their first child is born. There will be 6 more children born over the next 10 years.
This story is about them, their every day struggle to survive. It is savage and vibrant, peopled with characters, engaging, driven, vivid and alive.
I have experiential knowledge of this work; the chaotic and maniacal generational cycles of alcoholism, child and spousal abuse, from the inside looking out. My eyes have seen it, American Camp, Frail Monsters/Wounded Souls. My pen may speak it, Momma’s Rain.
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