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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Inquiries: tracy@traceliteraryagency.com & wordwulf@wordwulf.com© artwork & words conceived by & property of Tom (WordWulf) Sterner ©
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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