Don't slam that screen door!

There they were, in the back at Edwards Five and Dime.  I had pushed past adults all along the aisles just to get to them. 

“Don’t run in the store, little boy!” yelled one grownup I’d pushed aside.

“Sorry, mister,” I mumbled without looking back.

My folks had been promising for weeks to take me to this store Just to look at all the colors.  Edwards Five, Ten and One Dollar store sat on the corner of King Street far from the battery.  Dad worked at the Armour Star Meat Packing Plant which was two blocks thataway.  Edwards was a huge store with just about anything a person could want.  For me it said five cents, ten cents or a dollar and I believed that was the cost of anything on the shelves.  My parents knew better.  They paid the price tag amount.  All of that meant nothing to me because we were finally here.

The counters were just high enough that I had to stand on my tiptoes to look at the items for sale.  Everything was laid out on the counters for self service.  Dad had slipped away to find the tools counter.  He never went into a store without at least looking over the tools offered for sale.  It was a rare trip that saw him exit any store without buying some tool that he absolutely must have for a project at home.  My mother had tried to keep up with me but I had slipped around and through the legs of adult shoppers without a thought for them.  My mother lost sight of me but knew exactly where I would be found.  She looked through the crowd for my dad.  She was short enough that she had to stand on tiptoes as well.  Locating him she brushed by several shoppers with quiet “excuse me’s” until she stood beside dad.

“Look, Dear,” he said, “this is just what I need.”  He held a pair of wire cutters along with needle nose pliers in his left hand.  “I think I’ll get them.”

Looking around he asked, “Where’s the boy?”

“You know where he is.  He’s been talking about this trip for weeks now.  You promised he could spend his money when he had enough.  You told him yes and he knows that means absolutely yes.  It’s when you say maybe or we’ll see that he puts no store in it.  But you said yes.”

“I did, did I?”  He looked at her and smiled.  “I guess we’d better head over there then.”

They found me staring up enrapt in the noise and colors.  They were behind me but I wasn’t aware until my mother’s hand slipped onto my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  I looked around half-heartedly.

Then it burst out of me.

“See!” I yelled pointing up above the counter.  “See how many colors!”

My folks, I know, smiled down on me but I wasn’t aware in my state of wonder and happiness.  There was squawking and fluttering of wings as the blue and green parakeets voiced their opinion of the intrusion.  Two were on a corner perch with their heads touching and rolling their beaks over and over as if kissing.  A great burst of winged frenzy on one of the other perches showed one’s displeasure with another.  All the while there was constant chirping and squawking in the cage full of colored bodies ruffling and smoothing those richly mottled feathers.  Aqua blue, deep purple, bright green and sun yellow budgies with rounded beaks and long dark tail feathers.  The cage was large and alive with the energy of what seemed a hundred birds to me.

“I want that green one right there,” I said pointing at a lone bird on a high perch.

“I thought you liked blue?” my mother asked.

“I do, but I just like that one.  I don’t know why.  He’s the one I want.”

“Well, since you’ve chosen I’ll see if I can find someone to help us.”  Dad turned to find a cashier.

I stared at my choice while dad was away.  I could have sworn he was watching me at the same time.

“I found someone to help us, son.  Point out to the nice lady which one you want and she’ll get him for you.” 

The lady with the nametag that said Edwards stooped down to me.

She looked me in the face and asked, “Do you have a favorite that you would like me to get?”

“Yes, ma’am.  See that one on the perch second to the top?

“The pretty green one?”

“Yes, ma’am.  That’s the one.  Please don’t hurt him!” I shouted as she reached into the cage.  Pandemonium resulted. They all swarmed away from her arm crashing into the cage and the bars for their feet.  In all that madness she was able to slip her hand gently around my choice and pull him out of the cage into the new one my mother had already picked out.  I had a parakeet.  While I watched him face to face my parents sought out the seed, cuttlebone,  gravel paper and other supplies to make his new home comfortable.

“Thank you, miss,” said my dad as he handed her well over five cents, ten cents or a dollar.

“I hope you and your new pet enjoy hours of fun together,” said the lady looking down at me.

“Oh, I know we will,” I said in my excitement.  “Momma, can I carry the cage?”

“Here, see if you can,” she said as she stopped to give me the ring at the top.

I grabbed the ring. It went to the floor before I could hold it.  My bird squawked loudly as he fell toward the floor.  My mother was fast enough to get it before it hit.

“Why don’t we wait until we get home.  I know you’re excited but we want him to feel welcome and safe, don’t we?”  She smiled at me as she lifted the cage.

The three of us and our new family member walked to the lot where dad’s Ford was parked.  Mom placed the cage on the back seat.  I slid in beside it and held onto it.  The parakeet side walked along the bar to the opposite side of the cage.

“He doesn’t trust me yet,” I said to mom.  I turned the cage and as I did little bird feet side stepped to the opposite side once more.  I laughed.  He squawked.

“Don’t aggravate him, son.” My dad said as he cranked the car.

“Yessir.”  I sat back but held the cage still with my fingers curled around one of the vertical bars.

We turned into the driveway after what seemed like forever.  The low squat house weighed upon the ground as we pulled next to the porch.  My mother opened the door telling me to slide out and that she would carry the cage inside.

Dad pulled out his new tools and walked around back without looking at the front door.

“Your daddy will be busy for a while. “

“What’s he working on now?” I asked.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. He said it was going to be a surprise.”

We entered the front room which always reminded me of a bowling alley since it stretched from one side of the house to the other with not one obstacle in the way.  I had skated on that long room’s linoleum unbeknownst to my parents when I was alone one day.  Next to the bedroom door was a new side table that mom had found for the birdcage.  She placed the bird cage in the middle of it.  She watched me as she removed her coat.

“Well, now you have him.  What will you name him?” dad asked as he stood behind me.

“I don’t know.  He’s really pretty isn’t he?”

“Yes he is,” said dad.  “That sounds like the perfect name to me.”

“What?”

“Pretty Boy,” said dad.  “I understand they can be taught to talk.  So call him Pretty Boy every chance you get and if that is true he should be able to say his own name in no time.”

“Pretty Boy!” I repeated.

“You don’t have to yell at him, son.  Just repeat it in a normal voice.  Like this.  Pretty Boy.  Hello Pretty Boy.”

I said it over and over during the next few days.  He became less wary over time.  He would approach the side of the cage I held my finger.  He’d nibble at my fingernail and roll his beak from side to side against it.

Dad spent his time outside in the back shed when he was home.  There were hammering noises with the occasional swear word biting the air followed by quiet.   Mom would be boiling water for tea and frying food for supper as I sat in front of the cage talking to Pretty Boy.  I hadn’t heard him repeat his name yet and I was ready to give up.

This particular night after we had eaten dad looked over at me.

“Has he said his name yet?” he asked.

“No sir.  I don’t think it’s true that they can talk.”

“Well, let’s try something different tonight.”  He said it as he got up moving toward the cage.  “Make sure the windows and the front door are closed.”

Puzzled I ran around checking.

“Everything is closed.  Why did you want to know that?”

In answer he opened the cage door.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” mom asked walking in from the kitchen drying her hands on her apron.  “He may not go back into the cage.”

Dad looked over at mom and smiled. 

“Let’s just give it a try and see what happens.”

Dad’s hand was too big to fit through the door but he placed his finger near Pretty Boy’s feet and with a nudge he stepped on.  Slowly he withdrew his finger.  Pretty Boy leaned away from the top of the cage door as he passed through.

“He’s out!” I yelled.  Dad looked at me with a frown as Pretty Boy left his fingers flying into the wall and then bounced from one wall to another.  He became frantic and flew toward the window bouncing again.  Finally after minutes of panic he grabbed the top of the curtain and clung there his chest heaving while he looked around in bewilderment.

“Rickey, you shouldn’t yell like that.  You scared the little thing to death.”

“What do we do, daddy?  How do we get him to come down?”

“And there he goes,” said my mother.

“Where?” dad and I said together.

“Right there,” she pointed. “All over the curtain.  Now I’ll have to wash them.”  She slowly walked toward them to see how much damage had been done.

“Careful,” dad said.  “Don’t scare him.”

“I’m not goi…’” she said as Pretty Boy dropped then swooped past her head.  He flew back and forth from wall to wall until finally he came to rest on the top of his cage.

“Alright now.  Let’s be quiet and see what he does.”  Dad was always for waiting to see what happens before acting when a moment of crisis came up. 

After a bit, dad slowly inched over the cage.  Pretty Boy eyed him carefully.  He watched dad’s finger slowly approach him.  When that finger touched his little bird legs he stepped up and settled.  Dad raised his hand ever so slowly so that he was eye to eye with him.  Pretty Boy sat still for a minute then reached over and bit dad’s nose then flitted back to the top of the cage.

Dad’s face winced with pain.  He held back the swear words a hammer blow would bring so that he wouldn’t frighten Pretty Boy.  Then, typically of dad, he smiled and slowly moved back to the cage.  He went through the same slow motions until he had a parakeet on his finger once again.  This time he raised him eye to eye and whispered, “Pretty Boy.” 

Pretty Boy reached over toward dad’s nose.  Dad’s face winced in preparation for another nip but was surprised when Pretty Boy’s beak nibbled at his nose and a sound came out that we swear was “Pretty Boy.”

From that day we often let him out of his cage to fly around the house.  He would land on our shoulders and rest while being walked from room to room.  His favorite shoulder was my dad’s.  He took a real shine to my dad who constantly said, “Pretty Boy,” each time he sat on his finger in his face.  Dad’s nose became used to the beak nibbles and after some time finally spoke his name so that we understood it.

“Pretty Boy!” he’d say as he settled on dad’s head with a flutter of wings.  In reality he was dad’s bird but it never stopped that critter from flying to everyone in the house.

My mother ever wary of bird poop made it a rule for me to wear an old sweatshirt over my school clothes for those occasions Pretty Boy forgot where he was and planted a bird blossom on my shoulder.

I’d come home from school and run to my room for my bird shirt, as I called it, before opening the cage. 

Mom was home and in the kitchen when I came in slamming the screen door. 

“Don’t slam that screen door!” she’d yell from the other room.

“Sorry,” I’d say. 

This one particular day I ran it looking at the cage.  Pretty Boy was excited as he always was when the screen door slammed.  It meant I was home and the cage came open for him to be free.  He danced back and forth on the main perch his head bobbing as he would repeat, “Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy.”

“Hey Pretty Boy,” I said reaching for the cage door.

“Oh no you don’t,” came my mother’s voice from the kitchen.  “You go put on your bird shirt before that cage comes open.”

“Oh, I forgot.  I’ll get it now.  Be right back, Pretty Boy,” I said, running for my room.  I slipped on the shirt that was clean once more.   Mom must have washed that shirt more than any other I owned.

Back to the cage I ran.  I clamped the door back with a clothes pen so that he could walk in and out at his pleasure.  With the cage open he jumped on the wire of the cage and with beak and toes made his way to the opening.  He sat on the bottom wire of the opening and looked around.  Then he jumped with a flutter of wings onto my shoulder and promptly forgot where he was christening it immediately.  He squawked and said Pretty Boy followed by a whistle.

I heard my mother grown when she looked over at me. 

“Don’t forget your homework, Rickey.”  She was always reminding me of my homework.

“OK,”I said and got my books together.  Pretty Boy clung to my shirt with his little talons fluttering his wings for balance as I moved around.  His beak would nibble at my ear while I was doing my homework and I would laugh moving away.  His little feet moved him closer and he would start again.  This went on the entire time I studied.  I was almost finished and Pretty Boy was dozing his feathers fluffed when I heard my name outside. 

“Somebody’s calling for you, Rickey,” said mom.  “That’s the third time they’ve called out.”

“I’ll go see,” I said jumping up.  I saw through the door it was my cousin.  I walked through the door and to the railing when the screen door slammed.  It sounded like a shot.  At my ear a wing brushed my face and a green body flitted past and up.  Pretty Boy, startled by the noise of the door, had jumped and flown. 

“NO!” I screamed. “Come back, Pretty Boy!”

I ran out into the yard under the limb of the oak he had settled in.  I looked up into the branches and saw the rich yellow green of my parakeet.  He was too far away to reach.  He was too startled to look at me.  I yelled one more time, “Pretty Boy come back.”

That beautiful green plumage grew to a faint dot and then was gone in the blink of an eye.  He never looked back.  I stood crying under the oak branches.  My mother ran outside.  She understood immediately what had happened.  Her arms surrounded me as I cried into her shoulder.

“He just flew away,” I blubbered.

“Yes, he did.”

“Will he come back?”
“I don’t think he will, sweetheart,” she said.  “He’s found the open sky and taken to it.  I don’t think he’d trade that for a cage in a house.  You’ll just have to pray that God looks after parakeets just as He does sparrows.  It will be alright.”

“What will dad do?” I continued to cry realizing dad’s Pretty Boy had flown the coop never to rest on his shoulder again.

“I don’t know.  We’ll have to see what he says when he gets home.”

I was awash in sadness for losing Pretty Boy and fear of my dad’s reaction when he got home for the rest of the day.

“There’s dad,” I said hours later.  The car stopped and he got out. 

“What should I do?” I sniffled at mom.

“Let me talk to him,” she said ruffling my hair.

I went to my room expecting the worst and worrying about Pretty Boy being on his own.  I heard dad’s voice rise with a single word,  ”WHAT!”

I put the pillow over my head.  A few minutes later my mother lifted the pillow.  She sat beside me.

“Is he mad?”

“He isn’t happy, sweetheart.  He grew very attached to Pretty Boy.  I believe he’s more hurt that he is gone than mad.  He wishes you had been a little more thoughtful and hadn’t run outside with him on your shoulder.”

“I forgot, mommy.  I just forgot.”

“Yes, I understand and he does too but he is still upset that Pretty Boy is gone.  A kept bird has little chance on his own in that big world.  That’s why he is so upset.”

“I didn’t mean to….”

“Yes, we know.”

“Do you think daddy will pray that God will watch out for him like He does the sparrows like you told me to do?”

“Yes.  He will most definitely do that.  Why don’t you go out and tell him how sorry you are like you’ve just told me?” said my mother.

“I’m afraid.”

“No, no.  Don’t be afraid.  Your daddy loves you and he could use your love to help him let go of the hurt.”

“Are you sure?”  I had my doubts.

“Yes.  You go out there and help him look.”

I walked outside very slowly.  Dad was walking around looking up into the oak as the sun was dimming in the evening sky.  I walked over to him and stood there.

He looked down at me, a tear rolling down his cheek. 

“He’s gone,” dad said.  He wiped the tear from his face continuing to look at me.  He seemed to be trying to say something but wasn’t sure what to say.  “I’m going to miss him.”

“Will he come back?” I asked.

“I don’t think so, son.  He’s gone.  He was a sweet bird.  We’ll all miss him.”  He reached down and picked me up.  He carried me inside.  He didn’t look back again.

The wheel of my mind

October always brought on the beginnings of fall.  The air turned cooler.  The trees grew barer. The grass began to tan over the green.  The birds’ voices grew more infrequent as the chill of the air touched off migrations further south.  The neighborhoods grew smoky with burning leaves.  Men in sweaters raked the brown leaves into piles as they decided to bag or burn.  Caressing breezes lifted leaves and smoke indiscriminately.  Walking the trail home I was lifted inwardly like the smoke in front of me.  It was a glorious afternoon.

The screen door slammed behind me.  I dropped my coat on the chair in the corner.

“Don’t slam that door!” said my dad who was reading the newspaper under the lamplight.  The interior of the house was a little on the dark side.  The walls were covered in wallpaper that was tan with a paisley print in a darker brown.  It sucked the light out of the air. 

“Yes sir,” I answered.  That demand had followed me all my life with no change in my behavior.  A slamming screen door was the epitome of the South to me. Long hot summer days were never the same without the echo of a screen door slamming shut by children running out into the heat and wonder of play.  That door slam was more than disobedience it was a rite of childhood even though my childhood was coming to a close.

“Rickey, would you help me in the kitchen for a moment, please?”

My mother was asking my help to draw me away from the front room.  Dad was reading the paper and hated being disturbed. 

“Yes’m.” I walked over to the stove where she was stirring stew in a pot.  It was a couple of cans of Armour Star beef stew.  Dad had worked at the Armour’s plant down town for years and we had gotten into the habit of eating their canned stew on Wednesdays.

“You know you shouldn’t slam that door like that.” She said it quietly.  At the same time she handed me the potato masher.  “Can you mash those up for us?”

“I think I can handle that.”  Holding the top askew on the pot I drained the water into the sink.  When only potatoes remained I added butter along with some Carnation milk.  The masher mushed the softened potatoes and blended the milk and butter into a hot pile of creamed potatoes.  I dished up three portions.  Peas were in a second pot which I slipped over to the sink and drained the water.   The three dishes were almost complete after I dropped peas onto them.  Mom ladled the stew in the empty space I had left on each plate.

“OK.  Dinner is ready.  Table or TV?”  My mother had begun to ask this question but the answer had become more of the same. 

“TV.”

After the local and the national news mom gave me the sign.  I collected the plates which I piled into the sink.

“Wait! Scrape those into the garbage.  Don’t want your dad to take the trap apart to unclog the pipes again.”

I’d been guilty of that a few times.

“Oh yeah, sorry.”  The remains scraped off the plates easily landing with a plop in the trashcan.  The clatter of scraped dishes rang out as I turned the tap.  A steady stream flowed for rinsing the soapy dishes.

“You’re going to clean the dishes?” asked my mother in surprise.

“Yes ma’am.  I thought I’d help out.” 

When I finished I hung up the dish towel. 

“I finished,” I said. “I didn’t break one.”

“I know.  I never heard one hit the floor.  I want you to know I appreciate your helping,” said my mother as I walked into the living room. 

“Are we still going to the fair this weekend?” I asked.  I thought I’d sneak this in casually and then spring my big question.

Dad looked up and answered me, “Yes.  We’ll register for the car give away just like we did last year.”  That was his big reason for going.

“Don’t you want to go?” My mother was looking at me with a touch of a frown on her face.

“Yes ma’am.  I sure do.  I always enjoy the fair.”  I stood looking at them both.  Dad looked at me.  I could see he had a question for me.

“I was wondering…”

“Yes?” dad murmured. 

“Well…”

“Go ahead and ask,” said dad.  His face began to sport the glimmer of a smile.

“OK.  I was wondering, uh, well, um, could I…”

Mom smiled saying, “Just say it, Rickey.”

“Could I ask someone to go with me?”

“RB? Sure. He’s always over.  It’s OK with me if his parents don’t mind.”

“Uh, no not RB. Um…uh…”

Now dad looked at me. The smile slowly grew.  He knew.  How did he know?

“It’s OK, son. We’ve kind of known for a while you’ve wanted to ask a girl out.  What’s her name?”

I looked at him, then my mother.  They both had grins on their faces.

“Linda.” It came out almost as a whisper.

“A pretty name,” said dad.  “Have you asked her?”

“I didn’t want to until I knew it would be alright with you since she would be coming with us.”

“Yes, of course you can.  Why don’t you go ahead and call her to see if she wants to go.”  Dad’s smile was probably bigger than I had ever seen, but mine was bigger.

Now all I had to do was build up the courage to call her, a mountain of a problem for a shy guy. 

She was in the same class with me and I had been talking to her any chance I could without my buddies around.  I would never hear the end of it if they caught me talking to a girl.  Even so, I was ready for the full-fledged teasing I would undergo because she was a dream that made my heart flutter when she came into view.  Her brunette hair encircled a face of such fair beauty that I tripped every time I saw her.  My mouth went dry and I couldn’t speak, much less think, when she was near so gathering all my courage to call her was the greatest effort I had ever undertaken to this point in my life.

I picked up the phone and stuck my finger in the dial.  I couldn’t breathe.  I leaned over my knees so the blood would rush back to my brain since it had dropped to my feet.  I sat in that position for over five minutes then straightened up to look at the phone again.  I pressed the button to regain the dial tone and my insides turned to water.  I slowly put the phone back into its cradle. 

When my brain regained its normal blood flow I picked up the phone with determination.  Her number was written on the piece of paper I flattened out in front of me.  I took two deep breaths, made up my mind and dialed.

It rang. I slammed the phone down.  My breathing came in short bursts.

“Is something wrong?” my mother asked standing in the door frame.

“It’s, uh, harder than I thought to, uh, call a girl,” I stammered out.

“Just take your time.  She won’t bite you.  Don’t you remember what I told you about my first meeting with your dad?” She smiled at me, the memory coming to her.

Dad was a sailor with free time to explore the town. He stepped onto the bus holding the coins out for the driver to choose.

“I’m not used to your money,” he said his accent and Royal Navy uniform cluing the driver that he would be helping this British sailor.  He picked out the coins needed to carry dad to Riverland Terrace. 

“This and this,” he said picking two dimes from dad’s hand. “Have a seat anywhere in the front of the bus.”  He jerked his thumb to the rear while saying this. As dad grabbed the pole and started back the driver closed the folding door and jammed the gearshift into first.

His eyes immediately fell upon a brunette sitting by the window.  The seat beside her was unoccupied.  He noticed but made no move to sit there. It was the only open seat available but he simply decided to stand, holding on to the pole.  My mother had been eyeing him since he stepped aboard.  Her smile was meant to invite him to sit.  It wasn’t working.  She saw him looking at her from the corner of his eye with a faint smile.  She knew he was taken with her looks but he was making no move to talk with her.

“Hey sailor,” she said.

He ignored her.

“Hey sailor,” she said again. He turned.

“Yes, you. There’s a seat here.”

“Thank you but I’m fine here,” he said smiling at her.

My mother became a bit frustrated and blurted out, “I’m not going to bite you!”

“Alright, miss.  I’ll sit.”  He let go the pole and stepped over to the open seat.  He sat beside her silently.

My mother was beside herself.  This guy wouldn’t even talk to her when clearly he had been taken by her from the moment he stepped onto the bus.

“It’s alright to talk to me.  As I said, I won’t bite you.”

And with that they began to get to know one another.

“Yes, I know the story,” I said to her.

“Well then you should be able to talk to your girlfriend without fear of being bitten.”

“Oh, mom, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Well, whatever she is, I’m sure she will be happy to go to the fair with you.”

“Do you really think so?”  She smiled, nodded, then left the room.

Encouraged, I picked up the phone.  I dialed the number.  The phone rang on her end.  I was almost ready to hang up after the third ring but a voice floated across the line.

“Hello?”

I had to catch my breath.  By the time she said the third hello I had caught my breath and blurted out, “Would you like to go to the fair with me this weekend?”

There was a pause as static crinkled into my ear.

“Is this Rickey?”

“Uh, yes.  Do you think you’d like to go?”

“Hang on a minute.  I have to ask my parents.”

My heart nearly burst from my chest.  The most gorgeous girl I know wants to go to the fair with me.  My mind flew in all directions.  We were walking hand in hand along the booths.  There was a hill with daisies and sunflowers welcoming us as we ran together hand in hand beneath the deep blue sky.  A small cottage behind a barricade of wild flowers encased in a white picket fence beckoned us into a future of bliss and…

“Hello, Rickey?”

Her voice brought me back to the present with my inability to breathe or speak.

“Rickey? Hello? Hello?”

I tried to speak.

“Rickey? Are you there?”

“Uh…yes,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

“My daddy wants to know how we will be getting there.”

“Oh, uh, my folks will be taking us.”

“Oh.  OK. Hang on again.”

Once again my thoughts took flight with us hand in hand…

“Hello, Rickey?”

I snapped back immediately.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Daddy said that will be OK then.”

We talked for a bit as I told her what day and time this “date” would be.  We wound up our conversation with a smiling goodbye on each end.  I slammed the phone into its cradle and jumped for joy.

“I take it she said yes?” asked my dad.

“She sure did!”

“I’m happy for you, son.  Now what are you going to use for money?”

“Huh? Money?”

“Yes.  Usually the boy pays for everything.  How are you going to manage that?”  Dad asked grinning at me.

“Gosh, I don’t know.  I think I still have a dollar left over from my allowance. How much do I need?”

“That depends.  What all do you plan to do on this date?  Rides? Cotton candy? Games?”

“Yes.” The utterance came slowly from my lips.

“That’s going to cost quite a bit for two people.”

Money.  I hadn’t given it a thought.  Good grief!  Where would I get money for this date?

“Would you give me the money?”

“Give?” said dad.  “I might be able to provide it for some chores being done.”

“Chores?”

“Your helping your mother with the dishes was a nice gesture.  I’m sure there are a lot of things we could think of to earn a little so you can impress your date.”

Chores? The thought conjured up chopping wood, cutting grass, trimming hedges, raking leaves, all manner of WORK!  It was something I was not too familiar with since I was always studying or watching TV.  Now came the time to step up and do my duty for my woman.  Yeah, my woman.  And with that thought came the open sky settling over the cottage lined with wild flowers and the white picket fence beside a gurgling…

“Rickey!” my dad’s voice cracked through the fantasy my mind was lost in.  “Where did you go, son?”

“Oh, I was trying to think of chores to earn money,” I lied.

“You let me decide on those chores.”

“Yes sir!”

The rest of the week was a busy time for me.  My dad handed me a piece of paper with a list of things to be done and each day after school I took it out to begin some new torture he had devised.  I should have known the smile that he gave me along with the list was going to be challenging.

Each day at school I’d sneak a few minutes with my woman beyond the eyes of my buddies.  It was challenge, too, but a much more rewarding one.  To collect her smiles was the true fortune I garnered.

And then it was the weekend and time for the fair.  Though I had seen her that day I was weak in the knees as our car approached her place. 

“That’s it!” I yelled out as dad was slipping past it.

When he stopped I froze.  I couldn’t lift my arm to the door handle.  I couldn’t breathe.

“Rickey? What is it son?” My mother leaned over the front seat and shook me.

“Uh…” was all I could stammer.

“Come on, boy.  We’re here.  It’s your job to go to the front door to fetch her.” My dad’s voice came through with instructions yet my arms and legs remained frozen.

“You aren’t going to make me go for you, are you?  That would not make a good impression, so get hold of yourself and get moving.”  He reached over the seat and opened my door. “Go on then.”

I leaned out the door trying to get my legs to follow.  Holding on to the door I finally was able to toss my legs out of the car and onto the ground.  Slowly I stood up straight.  A couple of slow deep breaths gave me some strength and I leaned toward the sidewalk my legs finally moving to keep me from toppling over.  In a haze of fright I slowly ambled to the door. 

There’s the door, I thought.  It was in front of me lit up by the yellow bulb shining beside it.  I reached for the bell when the door opened.

“I was wondering if you would ever make it,” she said as my hand hit the bell.  Behind her it rang blocking her voice along with the blood pounding in my ears.

“Uh, hi.  I, uh, um, I’m here to pick you up.”

“That’s good.  Won’t you come in to meet my parents?”

“Uh, do I, uh, have to?” I mumbled.

“They really want to meet you.”

I walked zombie-like past the door frame into the front room lit up like an interrogation room.  All the lights seemed to be blearing there sun bright light straight into my eyes.  Two shadows behind those lights stepped forward.  I held my hand in front of my eyes to ward off the blinding sear of white light.  My hand was grabbed and shaken rippling up through my entire body.  The hand pumps hid the shaking of my knees and frame.

“How do you do, son.  Rickey isn’t it?” said her father behind the lights.

What’s with the third degree? My mind screamed. 

“Uh, yes sir, Rickey.”

“I take it you are going to make sure my daughter enjoys herself?”

Once again my mind began screaming, how can I ensure that?  When do the rubber hoses come out?

“Uh, I’ll do my best, sir” I offered.

“OK, then, you two get a move on and enjoy your evening.  Honey, be home early.”

“My dad wants to wait for the car raffle drawing.  Um, I’m not sure what time that will be.”

“I’ll go out and introduce myself and find out,” said her dad heading for the door.

I helped Linda with her coat and we followed along behind.  Our dads spoke while we climbed into the backseat.  I shut the door.  My dad shook hands with her dad who then said goodbye to his daughter and turned to the house.  My dad pulled off into the street. I looked at my date.  She seemed a bit embarrassed.  I smiled.  She smiled back.  My mother turned toward the backseat.

“Hi, Linda.  Since our son isn’t going to introduce us I will.  I’m Rickey’s mother and this is his dad.  We’ve heard so much about you that we feel like we know you.”

Linda looked at me, then back at my mom.

“I had no idea.  I’m glad to meet you both.  It’s awfully nice of you to let me go with you.”

The small talk continued as we drove to the county fairgrounds.

I’m on a date! I screamed in my head.  This is going to be the best night ever.  I watched Linda as she and my mother continued to talk.  She is so wonderful, I thought drifting off into my fantasy world.

I was trimming the grass around the cottage as my dad stopped the car jolting me back to reality.

“We’re here!”

I jumped out and held my hand for hers as I had seen my heroes in the movies do for their fair maidens, she being my Fair Maiden…hahaha, uh, sorry.

“I’ll pay for everything,” said my dad.

I looked at him.

“You did a fair job for a fair wage which I haven’t given you so I’ll pay your Fair expenses.”  And I used to wonder where my sense of humour came from.

The chill in the air made us glad we had worn our coats.  My only thought was how do I take her hand while we walk around deciding what to do first.

There were barkers calling out for us to try our hand at their games of skill and chance.  One of them had a wall of balloons to be burst by a set of darts for a buck.

“Ooh, can I try my hand?” I yelled at dad who was looking for the car raffle booth.

“Yes, go right on,” he said.

He handed the man a dollar and I picked up my darts.  The first one flew right toward the pink balloon in the corner only to knock it to the side embedding itself in the cork.  No hit there. Number two sailed into the cork board without bumping any one of them.  And number three took flight heading straight for a bright blue one but a gust of air pushed it out of the point’s path. 

“Try your hand again, boy.  You almost had that last one.  Win a teddy bear for your pretty young girl friend.”

I looked at dad.  He handed the guy a dollar.  Those darts I knew were destined to pop three in a row and, yet, not one fell victim to my deadly aim.

“Ah, too bad, young man, but there’s plenty more darts and balloons for another dollar.  This time luck’s sure to be on your shoulder.” He looked at me then at a teddy bear on the wall. Then he winked and moved his head in Linda’s direction. He was right.  I knew I could win one with this next try. I looked at dad who was still trying to find the car raffle booth.

“Dad?”

“Come on, son.  You don’t want to waste all your time and money at the first booth.  There’s plenty to do here.”

“You’re right,” I said.  “Let’s look around some more. “

I looked at my date, I was proud of that word and this chance to be with my woman, and asked, “What would you like to do?”

“The Ferris Wheel!”

I froze. My face must have turned the shade of a hen’s egg as the blood left it to drop to my toes.  The Ferris wheel? How could I get her to change her mind.  Didn’t she know that thing went up high over the ground? Yeah, obviously she did but it made no difference to her.  The Ferris wheel? I never even thought about that being something she would want to do.  I couldn’t move.

“Rickey, come on.  Your dad sees the booth to buy tickets for the car.” She took off after my folks.  I finally pulled my legs up by the roots and ran after her.

“Here it is!” said my dad. “This is the winning ticket this year!”

He always said that.  We were still driving the Ford he bought from Paul Motor Company two years ago.

“I’m good now.  What’s next?” he asked.

“The Ferris Wheel.” It was Linda’s voice cutting through the chill of the night air.

“The Ferris Wheel it is,” said my dad watching me.  Concern began to show in his face.

Now I had never ridden the Ferris Wheel.  I had never had any desire to ride the Ferris Wheel.  It was one thing that simply did not exist in my world.  I had passed it each year while at the Fair without acknowledging its existence. And now all of a sudden we were walking toward it.

There was a line. We stood at the back of the line.  I looked up at the top of the round wheel reaching high into the cold black sky.  My breath came out in heavy clouds of condensation. Sweat began to form on my brow in the cold air surrounding me.  The top of that wheel kept getting higher as I stared at it. Linda tugged on my sleeve to get me to keep up with the shortening line.  Maybe it would be filled and there would be no room for us, I hoped. The closer we got the higher it grew.  I watched the seats swing back and forth as the wheel stopped to load passengers.  The chair held up to three as three in front of us climbed in and latched the bar in front of them. The wheel moved.  My dad paid for four tickets.  Slowly I moved toward the seat dragging my feet.  Sweat began to sting my eyes.

My dad and my mother climbed into their seat all smiles.  Dad settled back pulling the arm shut before them. 

“OK, son,” said the ticket salesman. “Your girlfriend is already in your seat.  Don’t you think it’s time you climbed in beside her?” He winked at me.

I walked over with all the strength I could muster.  I grabbed the side and pulled myself up into the seat.  The first thing I noticed, besides the pendulum swinging movement, was the seat as I sat thinking I would sink into it.  Nope.  That seat was hard and sat me high without that sense of security I would have felt if it had settle down with my bum so that I felt a part of it.  As it was I felt as if that seat wanted me off because there was no give.  It was slippery as well.  My center of gravity was well over the side rails and I felt the chair’s intent was to tip forward and slide me right out at the top.  Before I could latch the bar in front of us the wheel lurched backwards causing the chair to rock more. I braced my feet against the metal and white knuckled the bar in front of me.  As this was going on and I was bracing myself from being tossed out of my seat with the next abrupt backward movement I could hear my name.

“Rickey! Rickey! Are you alright!”

What had been a faint sound began to be a frantic shout along with being shaken.  Linda was shouting into my ear.  Her face had a worried look.  My face must have been a white mask of sheer fright.

The wheel began to move steadily backward and then up.  I looked out and the sky seemed to drop down on me.  The lights of town appeared to fall backward beyond the Fairgrounds.  My stomach left my body in its fervent desire to remain at ground level. All my blood seemed to pool in the center of my being.  As the wheel picked up speed and began dropping I heard someone screaming.  The man at the controls must have heard someone screaming, too, as our bobbing chair passed him.  He was staring straight at me with a puzzled look on his face.  How could he not hear those screams?  I heard them. They were getting louder all the time.  The sky rushed at me as we came to the pinnacle and rushed down again.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the man at the controls looking at me again.  Shouldn’t he be looking at whoever was screaming?  But there was no time to think about that as the wheel kept spinning.  The chair kept rocking.  My butt kept sliding forward to be jettisoned at the chair’s convenience.  Once again we were on the descent and the screams were at fever pitch.  I could hear the words now.

“STOP THIS THING!  LET ME OFF! STOP IT! CAN’T YOU HEAR ME! STOP THIS THING! LET ME OFF!  PLEASE! LET ME OFF!”

When the wheel stopped so that our chair was bobbing at ground level I realized it was me.  I was the one screaming at the top of my lungs.  And the blood rushed to my face as the embarrassment caught up with my realization.

The man running the machine was saying something as he unlatched the bar.  I shot out of the seat and raced into the crowd putting as much space between me and that infernal contraption as I could find. I never looked back. I just ran becoming lost in the sea of people all around walking the flat surface of the earth as God meant for us.

I found a post on the other side of the fairgrounds to lean on.  My stomach lurched like the wheel had done but nothing happened.  I stayed leaning for a long time attempting to regain my composure.  Once I did I knew humiliation through and through.  I had screamed like a girl, no, worse than a girl to get off one of the tamest rides at the fairgrounds.  If I had been alone it would have been one thing but I hadn’t been alone.  I had been with the girl of my dreams.  I had shown utter fear right in front of the most wonderful girl in the world.  I wanted to cry but refused to add that to my shame. 

It was then I realized I had to go back and face this person through this sense of worthlessness.  I simply could not do it.  There had to be some place for failures such as I.  But where?  And how would I manage?  I wasn’t even in high school proper yet.  And how could I face all my friends when word of this got out?  My life was over. I knew it.  What to do?

I began my slow trudge back to that horrid ride.  Maybe if I won a teddy bear for her she would have pity on me.  I stopped at a couple of booths trying desperately to win some stuffed animal or a bronze statue of a horse.  I knew she liked horses.  It wasn’t to be.  I spent the few dollars I had to exhibit absolutely no skill in any of the games.  My pockets empty, my dreams gone, my pride stripped from me, I continued my somber walk back to the wheel.

There it was, stopped.  All the chairs were swinging on their pivots.  A new batch of pleasure seekers climbing into those overstuffed chairs.  While I was looking up at it I heard a voice calling out my name.

“Rickey!”

I looked around.  It was Linda running over to me.

“Rickey, are you alright?” she asked with real concern in her voice.

“I’m, uh, OK.  I had to…   I…  I’m so sorry.  I must have embarrassed you to no end.”

“It’s OK,” she said.  “We were just worried about you.  I had no idea you were afraid of heights.’

“Uh huh.  They scare me.”

“I’m so sorry you were scared.  Let’s forget about it.”

My folks came up behind me.  Dad’s hand rested on my shoulder.  He put some pressure into it, then, patted it. 

“Are you OK, son?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Can we get some cotton candy?” asked Linda.

“Sure,” I said, “if dad still has the money.”

“I think we can manage that,” was his answer.  We marched off in the direction of the confectioner’s booth and into the land of memory.

 

With three you get Childcraft

  It was afternoon and the sun was not filtering through the overcast sky very well.  The lone light bulb hanging on a long black wire dropping from the center of the ceiling in the gray paneled kitchen was doing little to impart light in the room just beyond.  I was playing with my Groucho Marx “You Bet Your Life” game while my mother began rattled together the pots for cooking dinner. 

  I placed my little plastic figure of Groucho into the center of the board in its round hole after asking the question and trying to answer.  Groucho’s response, once the base he stood on was in place, was to rotate to the correct answer.  It was magic to my child’s mind watching him spin in the center of the board along with the plastic rod in his plastic hand rotating to the correct answer.  It was all done with magnets, one in the Groucho’s base and one in the slot that base sat in.  The question and answer card fit around that slot and…   come to think of it, it’s still magic even in my adult mind.

  “I got that one right, mommy!” I was yelling in my excitement.  It was the first I had answered right in the last half hour.

  “I’m so glad to hear that, darling,” she replied while checking the cupboard for the can of spam that always marked Tuesday evening’s supper call.

   “What comes out of a cocoon in the spring?”  I read aloud.

  “What’s that, dear,” asked my mother as she grabbed the frozen peas from the refrigerator.

  “Just another question in the game.  I think it’s a butterfly,” I said slipping Groucho into the hot seat again.  He spun.  His rod pointed to “A Butterfly.”

   “Two in a row!”

  “That’s nice Rickey,” she mumbled into the steam coming from the pot on the stove.

   “Next question,” I reported. At that moment there came a knock at the front door.

  “I’ll get it!” I yelled jumping up from the floor.  I ran to the door and opened it slowly peering around.  There was a lady in a dark dress standing in high heels.  She was surveying the area waiting for the door to open.  I slipped around the door and stood behind the screen door.  I watched her as she straightened her hat then ran her gloved hands down the side of her skirt.  Catching sight of me she jumped slightly. 

  “Well, hello there, little boy,” she said bending toward the screen.  “Is your mommy home?”  Her smile radiated warmth.

  “Yes ma’am,” I answered.

  After a pause she asked, “Do you think I could talk to her for a few minutes?”

  “I don’t know.  I’ll go ask.”

  I ran into the kitchen.  My mother was bent over the stove looking into the oven where the slices of spam were heating beneath the broiler.

  “Mommy, there’s a lady at the door.  She wants to talk to you.” 

  My mother looked around at me.  “Did she say what she wanted?”

  “No ma’am.  Want me to go ask?”

   “Yes, please.  I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

  I nodded and ran back to the front door.

  “My mommy wants to know what you want.” My blunt sentence was met with a ruby lipped smile.

  “Tell her I have the answer to your future here in this bag,” she said pointing at the huge leather valise sitting next to her foot.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Back in the kitchen I waited until my mother closed the oven and placed the lids on the boiling pots.

  “She has my future in a suitcase,” I told her.

  Mom looked at me quizzically.

  “Guess I need to see what that’s all about, huh?” she said taking my hand leading me to the door.

  “Hello, Mrs….?”

  “Croucher, Helen Croucher,” said my mother.

  “Mrs. Croucher I was telling your delightful son that I have his future stored right here in my valise.”

  “Yes, he told me that.  What do you mean?”

  “Could I have a few minutes of your very valuable time to show you?”

  “I don’t know.  I’m in the middle of fixing supper and my husband will be home shortly.”

  “It will only take a few moments but they could be the most valuable moments of your son’s life,” she said picking up the valise.

  “For my son’s future you say? If it can be made better I could spare a few minutes, I guess.”  She opened the door for the lady who smiled and entered into the dark hallway.

  “Is there a place I could sit and have a little room for display,” she asked eying the chair I had been leaning against playing my game.

  “Oh, I see your son is inquisitive.  The Groucho game is a really good educational toy.  May I?” She pointed at the chair while placing the valise to the side.

  “Yes, of course,” my mother said.  “Would you care for something to drink.”

  “Oh, yes, please.  I’ve been walking all day.”

  My mother watched her as she began opening the bag.  After retrieving a glass and filling it with water my mother returned to see books spread out in front of me.  My eyes were wide drinking in the pictures on the pages of the one the woman had opened in front of me.  I was lost in those pictures as she knew I would be.

  “Yes, I can see your boy has a curiosity you will want to satisfy.  See?  He’s already looking through the first book I’ve laid out.  Oh, thank you,” she said taking the glass offered.

  My mother watched me as I turned the pages relishing everyone.

  “You’re selling books?”

  “Yes!  But not just any books.  This is a thirty volume set of the Encyclopedia Americana.”  Her announcement was embellished with the first volume held out to my mother.  It was a deep brown cover enclosing slick pages filled with knowledge as up to date as the publishing companies could make it.  “Fresh off the presses,” she added.

  I looked up at my mother who was backing away from the offered book. 

  “Oh, I don’t know.  That looks very expensive.  Our budget could never cover the cost of that.  You said thirty volumes and they all look like that?  Too expensive, I’m positive.”

  The lady continued to hold out the initial volume as she continued to offer her words.

  “This is not just a set of books.  This is the world’s knowledge at your child’s finger tips.  How old is your little boy? I’m sorry I didn’t catch his name.”

  “Rickey and he’s five.”

  “Five and a half,” I piped in.  I grabbed another of the picture books.

  “He certainly seems to like exploring the information locked up in those pages.  Look at the intensity in his eyes.”
  My mother watched me.

  “Yes, he has always been very curious.”

  “He’ll be six,” the lady said looking at me, “in another six months and beginning school.  He could be way ahead of the other children with this set of books on the shelf.  You and your husband will be able to answer so many questions that I know Rickey will be asking.  I bet that would ease the anxiety of not knowing the answer for him.”

  “Yes, he will be starting school next year.  You think this set would be a help?”

  “Oh, yes.  The time will come when he has to make reports.  Guess where the information comes from?  The encyclopedia.  Most children will have to go to the library to gather information.  That’s a saved trip right there.”

  My mother’s face lightened some.  She opened the volume handed to her. 

  “This book doesn’t have the pictures like the one Rickey is looking at right now.  I don’t think this would do him much good until he could read.”

  “Ah, that’s the beauty of the deal I have for you with this one time offer.”

  Handing the book back to the lady my mother said, “You must know, I’m sure, we don’t have the money for such an expensive set of books.  You may want to go ahead and pack up for the next house.”

  “Now wait.  We can discuss money after I have given you all the details.”  She handed me the third volume of the orange hardback books.  I took it and dived into it.

  “Do you see how quickly he rushes into that book?”

  “I do but that isn’t the encyclopedia you are offering.”

  The lady looked at my mother.  She sighed and then spoke.

  “Since I can see that your boy is going to really enjoy this set of books, I will let you in on a secret.  I can give that set as a bonus for buying the thirty volume set.”

  “How can you do that?” My mother frowned.  She had always been taught nothing was for free.

 
“Simply because I see the curiosity in your son has been aroused.  The set he is looking through is called Chlidcraft and with the purchase of the Encyclopedia I can give you that as well for a small fee.”

  “You just said it was a free gift.”

  “Yes, I did.  I wasn’t supposed to say that but little Rickey’s keen interest in that set made me blurt it out.”

  “You’re just trying to make a sale here.  You did hear me say that our budget would not afford that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes I did.  Let me ask you this.  Can you put a price on little Rickey’s future?  Don’t you want to give him the best advantage possible?’

  “Yes, of course we do.”

  “Well, let me put something else onto the table.  Along with the thirty volume set of the Encyclopedia Americana, what would you say if I added another eighteen volumes of The Book of Knowledge?”

  “I would think the price is going even higher.”

  “Not as high as you think because in addition to those two sets and the set of Childcraft we are prepared to offer a twenty volume set of the Book of Science.  This is every scientific discovery from the dawn of time to the very present atomic era.  How about that?”

  “The more you talk, the more I know I can’t afford it.”

  A sizzling in the background made my mother turn to see a cloud of black smoke issuing from the oven.

  “Oh, the spam!” she yelled jumping up.  She grabbed a dish towel as she opened the oven door.  She poked around with the dish towel covering her hand for tray inside as the smoke billowed around her head.

  “Rickey! Go turn the fan on high!” she yelled from the dark cloud surrounding her.

  I ran to the fan clicking the button to high while mom threw our dinner in the trash on the back porch.  The fan sucked a breeze from the back door, through the kitchen and out the window along with the black smoke and smell.

  “Thank you, honey.  You can cut it down now.”

  We met back at the chair the sales lady occupied.  She looked up sheepishly.

  “I’m so sorry I kept you from the kitchen.”

  “Don’t fret yourself.  I’ll fix it after you have gone.”

  “Let me get back to my offer.  I really believe you cannot turn it down,” she said taking out a clipboard with papers attached.

  “I don’t think so.  I just don’t think our budget will allow it.”  My mother was beginning to slip behind the stone wall now.

  “Wait.  Let me just show you how this can be affordable to you.”

  My mother did not discourage her. 

  Seeing my mother’s lack of response the sales lady slipped forward in the chair.

  “OK. This is the price of the thirty volume encyclopedia.”

  My mother looked down at the figures and gasped. 

  “Oh, that would be impossible.  We could never afford that.”

  The lady wrote some figures down on the paper.  “How do you feel about that figure?”

  “It’s still way beyond our means,” said my mother handing the clipboard back.

  “You do realize that at that price your get the thirty volume set of encyclopedias along with the eighteen volume set of the Book of Knowledge and the twenty volume set the Book of Science and, too, since it slipped out of my mouth, I will throw in the fifteen volume set of Childcraft all for that price.”

  “It’s still a lot of money,” said my mother softly.

  “OK.  If you can’t pay up front I can set it up on a monthly payment plan over twelve months.  How about this amount monthly?”

 My mother looked at the figures.

  Seeing my mother’s face frowning again she made a last ditch effort.

“Alright I can stretch the payments out to eighteen months at this price per month.  What do you think of that?”

  My mother looked at it then looked at me.  “Rickey do you think you will read all those books?  The Childcraft?”

 “Oh yes, mommy.  I know I will.”

 “Will I get a bill every month to be paid?’ she asked the lady.

  “Of course.  Each month a bill will come in the mail which you pay like any other bill until the end of the eighteen month period I will set up.  Then all eighty-three books will be yours.  Oh, and included is a book case for the thirty volumes of Encyclopedia Americana.  I think it is a splendid deal.  What do you think, Rickey?” she asked me.

  “When do I get them?” is all I could say.

  “They will be in the mail after I turn in this paper work.  I’d say in about six week’s time they should arrive.’

  “Yay!” I yelled.

  My mother smiled meekly at me as she signed the contract.

  “It’s really a good investment in your son’s future, Mrs. Croucher.  It will pay for itself over the years, I promise.”

  The lady began packing up her books into the valise.  I handed her the three volumes of Childcraft which she pushed into the bag with effort. 

  “Thank you, Mrs. Croucher.  I know you won’t regret it,” she said shaking my mother’s hand.  She took mine too then turned to go.  My mother walked her to the door.

  Later while I was playing with Grouch once more I looked over at my mother while she found another can of spam.  She wasn’t smiling like before.  Her face seemed to have a worried look about it.  I went back to Groucho.

49 bottles of beer on the wall...

The sun had dropped below the horizon.  Its last rays furnished the backdrop for three silhouettes running along the top of the box car.

I jumped from one car to the next exclaiming, “Yee Haw! Jesse James ain’t got nothin’ on me!”  

I took to the air again, aloft over the space between cars.  ID and GH were ahead running toward the lights of the fairgrounds. 

“Shut up Croucher!” one of them yelled. 

“Why? I ‘ve always wanted to do this but it would be so much more fun if this train were moving.” I ran faster and jumped farther hitting the roof with a thud.  GH was slipping down the ladder attached to the side.  I stopped above their descent.

“Why are you stopping?” I asked looking down at the two of them dropping to the ground.

“You idiot.  Didn’t you see the lights come on in the caboose?” I looked two cars down to see there was a light in the window of the caboose.

I dropped to the car’s roof and grabbed the railing.  Slipping over the side I caught the rung  with my penny loafer and slipped down to the ground.  The train had been stationary in the train yard behind the fair grounds.

“Hey guys!” I whispered.  “Let’s slip into one of the cars and go to sleep.  Wherever we wake up we’ll find a job.”  I said this while grabbing the latch to the side door.  There was a metal tag attached that assured the door would stay closed not allowing drunks like me in.

“Ah, hell.  There’s a damn lock on this thing.  GH got your knife?”

“Get the hell away from that thing.”

The door to the caboose was easing open. A ray of light was widening along the ground just beyond the three of us.

“Run for it!” ID yelled.  We sprinted for the gate of the Fairground hopping tracks, zipping between rail cars and finally through the gate.

“Man, wouldn’t it have been wild to have been running along top of that thing with the air mingled with smoke and sparks rushing past?  Wow! To be a train robber in the 1800’s, what a thrill that would have been.”

GH looked at me in the lights of the rides and carnie attractions.  “You know you wouldn’t even think about that sober don’t you?”  His tall lanky frame loped along the path dodging kids with cotton candy and couples carrying stuffed animals won at the penny toss.  A lock of jet black hair bounced over his blue eyes with each step. 

“Well, maybe.  Which reminds me, it’s time for another beer.  Who’s buying?”  I looked at the two of them hopefully.

ID who wore his blonde hair in a flattop looked over at me with that smile the girls at JHIS swooned over saying, “You, since you brought it up.”

“OK, if you put it that way let’s find a booth.”  I searched my pockets for the money. 

ID pointed out the beer stall. 

“Three beers!” GH yelled into the window. His presence always assured our purchases of beer.  Though he was seventeen he looked older.  The guy behind the glass partition didn’t give a damn as long as the money was real and the correct amount, but I didn’t know that.

We took our paper cups with foam streaming down the side.  I sipped that foam.

“Don’t want to waste any of that stuff’” I said and slipped into a rhyme, saying,

“I think that I shall never hear

A poem lovely as beer.

The stuff they brew at Joe’s on tap

With golden base and snowy cap

The stuff I drink all day

Till my memory melts away.”

GH and ID joined in at the end and three voices crooned.

“Poems are made by fools I fear

But only Budweiser can make a beer.”

The final punch was a gale of laughter which opened up the crowd somewhat for us as we plowed our way along the fairway.

“You and your poetry,” said GH. 

“Well we need the finer stuff of life as well as just meat and potatoes,” I replied.

“What next?” It was ID looking around and asking.  “The mighty mouse? The Srambler? The roller coaster? The Ferris wheel?”

“Hell no!  Not the Ferris wheel!” I shouted.  I had had a very bad experience one year long ago with the, then, love of my life.  A terribly, terribly embarrassing moment I could never forget.  I know she didn’t and chuckles about it to this day.

“Ferris wheel it is then,” they said together.

“You guys go.”  I chugged my beer down.  “I need another beer.  I’ll meet you over at the beer wagon.”

They laughed at me.  Called me chickenshit and walked off to the wheel.  I wandered over to the beer wagon wondering if he would sell me one without GH with me. 

I got to the site and stood in line. It slowly moved forward.  The man in front of me grabbed his drink and moved off to the right.  I stepped up to the window and the guy behind the glass looked down at me.

“Remember me?”  He looked at me with indifferent eyes

“Yeah, what’ll it be?  Three beers, right?”  He smiled and poured three cups full.

“Uh, yeah.  Three beers.”  I pulled three bills from my wallet and passed them through.  He shoved three full cups at me.  As I was trying to decide how to drink and carry three beers the guy behind me was shoving me aside.

“Hey, hang on. I gotta get my drinks.”

“Well gettum and get the hell out of the way,” he said as he handed his money through the window and ordered.

“Gimme a second.” I stood on tiptoe to reach the cups and managed to grasp all three.  I eased them off the counter and lowered myself off my toes.

In his haste to leave the guy shoved me hard enough to slosh most of the contents of all three cups onto my shirt and jeans.

“Whatchit!” I yelled.

“Whassat buddy?  Wanna make sump’m outtuv it?”

“Wait a minute.  I gotta drink these beers first.  Then maybe.”

Holding all three in two hands I tilted them to drink.  It worked for the one in front but as I swallowed the golden brew from that cup the other two poured their contents onto my shirt.  The smell of beer reeked from my clothes.

The guy was standing there waiting but when he saw the display and smelled the aroma from my soaking clothes he began to slap his knee while hee-hawing like the jackass he was.  I salvaged what I could of the remaining beer tossing the cups on the ground.  Seeing his response was total collapse in mirth I walked, or rather sloshed since my shoes were filled with beer, toward the Ferris wheel. 

“Rickey! Hey Rickey!”

I heard the shouts and looked around.  Through the crowd I saw a college buddy weaving a path toward me.

“TI! Whatcha doing here?”

“I was gonna get a beer.  Want one?” He asked as he approached.

“I had three already,” I said pointing to my clothes.

“I was thinkin’ drinkin’ not wearin’,” he chuckled.

TI was my height and tightly wound.  He always liked a beer or three to unwind a bit.  His coil seemed to be somewhat loose. 

“Looks like you already had a few.”

“One or five.  I’m not sure. Going for two or six. You?”

“Sure.”  I followed him over to the beer wagon.  We’d gone to most of the pledge parties and drunk a lot of free beer on the fraternities’ dime.  A drinking buddy is a helluva buddy we had decided after the fourth of fifth party during rush week. And yet we never got drunk enough to join. 

“Two!”  The guy behind the window looked at me and shook his head.  He poured them and shoved the cups to the edge of the shelf.  TI slipped the money in and grabbed the beer cups.

I took mine. I drank mine. He was astonished at the gusto with which I did.

“Another?” he asked.

“Why not?”

He motioned. It was poured. It was drunk as TI sipped on his.

“One more and you’ll be caught up,” he said.

“Ookie dookie.”  I took it and poured it down me gullet.

“Is there a can around?” I asked, a sudden pressure made the question an urgent one.

He pointed.  I ran.

I saw GH and ID as I made my way back to the wagon. 

“Hey guys, I want you to meet my buddy, TI.  We met at C of C.”

They exchanged names, handshakes and greetings as I walked to the window again.  I walked back with two beers pointing at the two still on the counter.  GH and ID went to fetch them.

The night became a bit mellow after that beer and a bit sketchy.

Bits and pieces come and go.

“Know any girls we can get together with TI?” maybe it was GH who said it.

“Mt Pleasant…” maybe TI said.  “Green….”

“…ride over…my car…in…”

The fairgrounds were gone.  The backseat of a 65 chevy station wagon surrounded me.  I looked to the right and telephone posts whip whip whip whipped past.

“This is a hell of a big car ID,” came out of my mouth.

“Hell yeah…the old man’s station wagon….flies too,” he shouted above the roar of wind blasting through the window.

“I think I could lie down door to door without touching either side,” I shouted back.

“Yeah…wide…” came back in broken syllables.

“Where we goin’?” I shouted.

“Girl…over…Pleasant…” I caught buffeted by the wind.

I was forced back into the seat as the land yacht went nearly vertical.

“What the….”  I tried to shout.

“Cooper…bridge…to…’s…house…,” the wind again whipping  away half the conversation.  I pulled myself forward.  It was like an astronaut’s attempt to reach the throttle as lift off commences.  I strained to grab the seat in front of me.  Inching along until I finally hooked my fingers onto the top of ID’s seat.  Pulling with all my strength I slid forward ever so slowly to see out the windshield.  We were headed straight up into the girders of the Cooper River Bridge.  The first leg of the first hump of that old rattle trap narrow two lane bit of highway held above the gray waters of the Cooper River Bridge on a cold October night, or early morning.

“What the hell ID?  What the Hell? Where we goin’?”  I shouted into the wind pouring through his open window.  The blasting cold iced my veins.  I pulled closer to the front and looked at the speedometer.  It read 80 and climbing.  “You’re doing eighty freakin’ miles an hour on this freakin’ bridge?!  Are you crazy?!”

Laughter broken by tornado like gusts of wind met my ears.  Cars whizzed past in the blink of an eye in the lane to the left on their way to Charleston.  In a minute of time we hit the crest of the first hump to be followed by a stomach stealing drop of the steep incline that slammed me into the back of the front seat.

“Watchit…driv…here…”

I caught snatches of ID’s sentence in the terror of that second seeing the cars flying toward us and feeling gravity’s pull accelerated by 350 horses pressed to the max.  And then things went dark.

My eyes opened.  I was in the back seat alone.  We were parked in someone’s driveway.  I leaned back into the seat.  Things went dark once again.

When next my eyes opened I looked out the car window to see my house. 

“Hey, Croucher, wake up.  You’re home.  Time to get out.”

“What time is it?”

“Soon be time for the sun to come up.”

“Oh, hell.  I gotta get inside.”

“See ya! Wouldn’t wanna be ya,” they yelled.  ID woke the neighborhood laying a three yard strip of rubber from his daddy’s tires.  I was greeted with dogs barking as the paper boy turned into the drive and tossed the paper.  Right on target as my head received a whack.  And the hangover began.