Football, you say?

Iceland.  The name conjures up scenes of glaciers slowly moving across a craggy wasteland.  It was my thought as I flew over Nova Scotia on my way to Keflavik Naval Base.  Two months married and I got my orders to Iceland.  My brand new wife was back in the states working for Ma Bell as I was on my way to my first overseas base. Iceland.  Who ever thought I’d be going to Iceland?

A friend of mine had been stationed there while I was at the College of Charleston and I had laughed out loud when he told me.  I wrote letters to him rubbing it in that he was in some remote part of the world while I was drinking and enjoying my days on campus.  He sent back letters I had to burn lest my mother accidentally find one of them.  The language he used was so typical of a swabby.  They made me blush. He was not happy about being there or my making fun of his being there.  It was a joke.  He sent me the bird through the US Postal Service.  A Stuffed Puffin.  He knew I would understand his meaning.  I did.

Now the joke was on me.

I dozed on the plane.  The stewardess woke me as we were descending onto Keflavik’s airstrip.  It was the base I would be serving my year overseas duty.  It was gray down below.  It looked as cold and uninviting as I had imagined.  The huge building just off the runway was to be my new workplace.  I would come to know it as the OPCON.

The plane bounced once, the wheels screaming their pain, and we settled into a smooth ride up to the receiving station. 

“Is it cold?” I asked the stewardess.

“It’s nice for Iceland,” she said. 

“I’m from South Carolina.  Does that mean yes or no?” I asked, being leery of her answer.

“Ah,” she said.  “For you it might be cold.  I’d put my coat on if I were you.”  She smiled and handed me my black London Fog which I slipped on quickly as the other passengers began moving along the aisle toward the doorway.  I pulled my bag from the upper compartment and slipped into the aisle behind another Airman.

The wind was whistling into the cabin as I reached the doorway.  She was right.  I buttoned the top two buttons to keep in my body heat.  Out in the open I looked up into a crystal clear blue sky.  The cold embraced me causing a shiver beneath my unlined coat. Then I looked down to the tarmac as I took my first step on the ladder.  My cap with my bright shiny second Lieutenant’s bar began to shift as the wind circled round me.  Reaching to pull it back in place I noticed a guy standing in a line looking up at those of us walking down the steps.  He looked very familiar.

I noticed he was looking at me as if he recognized me, too.  I switched my bag to my left hand as my foot hit the pavement.  I continued to look at this guy trying to figure where I had seen him before.  He was a lieutenant also.  His cap sat at an angle as mine did.  He was wearing a black London Fog, I realized.  Then it struck me that he had a mustache exactly like mine.  His lifted in a smile as he began to walk over toward me.  He was eye level with me. He offered his right hand which I took.  We shook hands without a word.  The he spoke.

“Hello, my name is Marshall.  Welcome to Keflavik.”

“Thank you.  Have we met before?  You look so familiar,” is all I could say.

“Hey!” someone shouted.

I looked over to the greeting crowd.  One of the officers was on his way over.

“Are you two related?” he asked.  “Marsh, you never said you had a brother.”  The new guy was looking back and forth at the two of us.

“Hello,” I said.  “My name is Rick and I don’t have a brother.”

The light bulb went off in mine and Marshall’s head at the same time.

“That’s what it is. We look like we could be twins.  Man, that’s crazy!” I said.

“And you want to know the craziest part?” he asked me.

“What’s that?”

“I’m your sponsor.”

“Sponsor? What’s that?”

“When a new man comes to the base he is given a sponsor, someone who can show him the ropes on the base.  This is a Naval Base not an Air Force Base.  We have unique position here and our commander wants his men to be top notch.  To do that he feels we can break new men into this environment with a helping hand.”  Marshall took my bag.  “Come on. I’ll take you around the base then to the BOQ.”

We walked over to his car.  He threw my bag in the back then climbed in.

“That’s really weird,” he said.  “That we look so much alike and I’m your sponsor.  It’s going to be interesting.”

The wind was picking up and buffeted the car as he drove around pointing out different buildings.  At last he arrived at the BOQ.  He parked near the front door.

“Why don’t you go get some shut eye and I’ll pick you up in the morning to get your papers in order.  Then we’ll have breakfast and I’ll take you to the OPCON and get you into the schedule.”

I was a newly graduated Weapon’s Controller out of Panama City, Florida.  My only question was, “What are the scopes like?”

“Scopes?”

“Yeah, at my last assignment we worked with radar scopes one on one with the pilots.”

“Um, they didn’t fill you in?”

“I guess not.  Why?”

“You won’t be working with a radar scope.  It’s so far from radar scopes that your training won’t be of any help.” He looked at me almost in laughter.

“What?  Well what will I be doing then?” The journey was beginning to catch up with me.  I was feeling the effects of the jet lag.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow.  I don’t think you are in any shape to talk about it today.  Let’s get you checked into your quarters.”

He got out and grabbed my bag from the backseat.  As the back door slammed I heard him laugh and say, “Scopes! Ha.”

Through the door and up to the barracks’ head he led me.

“Hey, Harry.  Got a new officer for you.” 

He dropped my bag at his feet.

Harry looked up from his Playboy. He looked at Marshall then at me.  He dropped his Playboy.  His feet slipped off the table.  His chair snapped into the upright position as he slipped forward looking at the two of us.

“Your twin brother?” he exclaimed.

“No,” laughed Marshall.  “We do favor one another, though, don’t we?”

“Man! I’ll say. What’s your name, buddy?”  He had his roster open.

“Alfred Croucher, second Lieutenant.” I sounded off.

“Yeah, yeah.  No need to yell.  I can see you’re a looie.  Croucher, you say?  Ah, yeah, here you are.  I need you to sign in right here.”

Marshall watched as I signed my name.

Harry stared. 

“It’s uncanny, Marsh.  You two could be twins.”

“I wonder if they knew that when they assigned me to be his sponsor.”

“It’s the Air Force you’re talking about, Marsh.  You should know better.”

“Yeah, I should but it is strange though.”

I handed Harry his pen. He flipped the book around looking at my signature.

“OK, Alfred…”

“Just call me Rick.  Long story, but I answer to Rick.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”  They both looked at me.

“It was my mother.  She thought Rick was the name for a football player.  She insisted I be called Rick.”

“So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A football player.”

“Nope.  I tried but I was lousy at it.  So, no.”

They both looked at each other and laughed.

“OK, then, Rick.  You got the room down the hall, two doors on the right.  Don’t forget to check in with the base commander tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

“I’ll see you bright and early in the morning to take you over there,” Marshall said.

“OK.  What time is it now so I can set my clock?”

“Midnight.” Laughed Marshall.

“Midnight?”  It’s like noon out there now.  How can it be midnight?” I had walked to the door and the sky was still blue and bright.

“You are near the arctic circle in the middle of summer.  The sun will dip just below the horizon in a couple of hours and pop right back up again around four.  Don’t forget to set your clock for six.  I’ll be by around seven.  We’ll go to the O Club for breakfast and then to headquarters.  Get some rest, Rickey the football player.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Thanks, Marshall.  Guess I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Take care, Harry.  You be here at seven?”

“Nah, man.  Got the night shift for the next week.  See you later though.”

“Good night.”  With that he walked to his car and left.

“If you’re hungry or anything, there’s a snack room to your left down the hall.  There’s snacks and drinks in the machines.” Harry called out as I lumbered down the hall lugging my bag.

“Thanks,” I said. “I think I’ll just go get in bed.”

The room was tidy, a bed, a dresser and a night table.  The windows were closed with yellowing curtains hazing the light coming through.  The bathroom was next to the window.  I dropped my bag, opened it up and retrieved my kit.  On the sink counter I placed my razor, shaving cream and tooth brush along with the toothpaste. 

I looked at the light coming through the window as I made my way to the closet.

“I’ll never get to sleep with that light,” I said out loud.

I hung up my coat and took off my clothes.  The floor was ice cold.  There was a thin gray blanket at the foot of the bed.  I crawled under the covers pulled the blanket up and dropped into a deep sleep.

A bowl of I scream!

This was the life, I thought.  The grass was just the right height to cushion a little boy lying on the green living carpet.  My jagged piece of ice was melting in my hand.  It was cold so I switched to my other hand and poked it into my mouth to crack off a piece with my teeth.  While I chewed on that I rubbed the rest of it over my forehead.  The cool wetness ran down my face.  I closed my eyes and lay back, my head cushioned by the thick green.  I listened to everyone around me.  The grownups were on about Ike or something and my cousins were climbing the weeping willow.  I was in the shade of the Chinaberry tree which was much cooler than  being in direct sun light.  The smell of the grill was wafting across me as I chewed the cold ice.  I shooed a fly from my face.  Life was good.

“Momma!”

It was Clyde.  What’s he yelling about I wondered.  My ice had nearly melted so I popped what was left in my mouth and chewed vigorously.  The lazy droning of the fly eased me into a doze.

“MOMMA!” Clyde yelled again.

I opened one eye lifting my head to see him on the steps cranking the churn.  Ice cream!  It won’t be much longer.

He was wiping sweat from his brow which was set in a frown staring straight at me.  I closed my eye and went back to dozing.

The back door slammed and I heard my Grandmother fussing.

“Land sakes, Clyde.  Why are you yelling like that?  We don’t want the neighbors complaining about the noise.”

“It’s Rickey’s turn and he’s just over there sleeping under the Chinaberry tree.”

“I don’t think he’s old enough to churn ice cream.  It’s not going to hurt you to churn some more.  Now quit your yelling and crank that handle.”

I jumped up yelling, “I’m old enough.  I’m old enough.”

Grandmother stopped halfway into the doorway.  She studied my eager face for a minute then relented.

“Well, I guess we can try it out.  Do you know how?”

“Sure, I mean, Yes Ma’am.  I do!”  I was standing next to Clyde watching his arm rotate the crank.  “I can do that.”

Clyde looked at me. Grandmother shut the door behind her leaving me in Clyde’s hands.  His eye twinkled as that grin crept across his face.

“You sure, nef?  You know it’s a mighty important job.  This is the dessert.  It’s the most important part of the cook out.”

“You just show me.  I can do it!” I was emphatic with my arms folded and my chin jutted forward.

“Well, OK, but you gotta do it right or it might sour on us.”

“Huh? Sour?” I looked at him.  “That ain’t so.  Ice cream doesn’t go sour.”

“Well, nef, you haven’t lived as long as me and I know for a fact that it does.  And there is nothing worse than sour ice cream.  I don’t think people will like it if they get a bowl of ice cream and take a big spoonful of sour.”  He made a face like he’d just eaten a lemon straight out of the skin.

“Well, show me what to do so’s I don’t make it sour.” I said it with a tinge of worry furrowing my brow.

“Come over here.”

I went to where he pointed.

“Here?” I asked.

“Nope.  You’re too far away.  You got to move in kinda close so that your body heat will help the ice melt at the proper rate for freezing the contents of the churn.”

“It’s summer.  Ain’t that enough heat?” I asked.

“Yeah, but this mixture that is liquid now is turning round and round in the ice which is cold but a bit too cold even in the middle of summer.  When you stand at the right spot you add just enough extra heat to make that ice the proper temperature so’s it works perfectly to make the cream in that bucket into the perfect bowl of ice cream.”

“OK.  So I need to stand right here?”

“Perfect.  Now you see how I’m turning this crank don’t you?” He said smiling that smile.

“Yeah.  I do.”  I moved to grab the handle.

“Whoa, now, nef.  Hold on a minute.  You just moved from that spot.”

“I have to if I’m going to crank.”
“Now didn’t I just explain to you about the distance you have to stand from the churn?”

“Yeah.”

“Get back then.  You’re too close now.”

“How am I going to churn, then.  My arms are too short to reach.”

“By golly, you’re right.  I guess you won’t get to churn then.”  He turned away from me and began to churn in earnest.

“Wait a minute,” I yelled.  “Grandmamma said I was big enough to churn so I want my turn.”

“I think it would be a mistake, nef.  If this ice cream turned sour I’d feel awful bad if it was you who finished the churning.  No, I think I better keep at it.”

“That’s not fair,” I shouted.  “I’m gonna tell grandmomma.”  I started up the steps.

“Wait! If you want to take the chance, that’s up to you.  Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you, though.  Alright come back down and stand right there.  Yeah, that’s right.  Now watch me for a minute and get a feel  for the motion you need to make this ice cream the perfect batch.”

He turned the crank as I watched.

“Did you count how many times I turned in a minute?”

“What? You didn’t tell me to do that.”

“Oh, goodness.  You’re right I didn’t. I’m sorry.  Now, you watch.  Don’t forget to count how many times I turn in a minute.”

“What?  I don’t know how to do that.  How long’s a minute?”

“Oh this is looking worse for you all the time. Maybe somebody has a watch you can use.  Go ask somebody,” he said waving me out into the yard.

I ran to all my cousins asking for a watch.  Nobody had one.  On the verge of giving up my granddad called me over.  He was chuckling.

“I’ve been watching you and Clyde.  Seems you need a timepiece, huh?” he said with a chuckle. I noticed his grin was a lot like Clyde’s.  There was a twinkle in those smiling eyes, too.

“Yes sir.  Clyde said I need one to churn.”

Granddad laughed loudly as he pulled his pocket watch out.  He was wiping a tear from his eye as he detached the fob from the watch.

“Now you be careful with my watch, young fella.  Don’t drop it.  Hold it tight.”  He was shaking with muted laughter as he handed me the pocket watch.  I took it.  Squeezing my fingers around it I ran back to where Clyde was still pushing the crank around.

“I got a watch.  Granddaddy let me use his.”  I held it tightly as I showed him.

“Good.  Now watch carefully as to how many times I turn this crank from here to here in one minute.”  He started to turn the handle.

“Wait!’ I yelled. “What’s a minute?”

Clyde stopped.  He turned, facing me with exasperation all over his face.

“Land sakes, nef.  How are you ever going to churn when you don’t even know what a minute is.  Gimme that watch.”

He snatched it from my hand.

“Careful!  Granddaddy said not to drop it!”

Clyde let it fall from his hand.  I almost passed out but he caught it in the nick of time with his other hand.  Terrified I looked up.  There was that smile he shared with his daddy.

“OK. Come here and look.  See that hand that’s moving fast in a circle?”

“Yeah,” I said concentrating as hard as I could.

“Well, that’s called the second hand. And it makes a full circle of the face of this watch in sixty seconds.  Sixty seconds makes up a minute.  Think you got that?”

“Yeah, but I …”

“What is it, nef?”

“If that’s the second hand which ones are the first and third hands?”

“You trying to complicate this thing?” he asked.

“No, just trying to understand.”

He handed back the watch.

“Do you think you understand the hand going around from 12 to 12 makes up one minute?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“OK.  You watch that hand and count how many times I turn this crank in a minute.  Try it now.”

I began to count holding the watch in front of me.

When he reached about twenty cranks I lost count trying to keep an eye on the watch and his movements.

“Is that a minute?”  Clyde asked.

“I don’t know.  I got confused.”  I lowered the watch.  I know my face must have been near tears because Clyde changed his attitude.

“Whoa, nef.  It’s OK.  I think you got more out of it than you knew, so I think I’m about ready to turn it over to you.  Now stand there, where I told you.”  He pointed to the spot again.

“I stand here.  What am I going to do with the watch?  I can’t hold that and churn.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.  Give it here.  I’ll hold on to it.  Now come on stand right where I told you while I get the crank around so you can get ahold of it.”

He moved it around so the crank was better situated.  I reached for it.  While reaching I moved my feet forward in order to reach it.

“Wait, nef.  You moved.  I told you how far you had to stand from it.”

“But I can’t reach the handle from there.”

“Hmm.  Your feet have got to be on that spot.  How about lean forward until you can grab it.”

I planted my feet on the spot he said.  I looked at the crank as I reached.  Slowly I leaned toward it.  Just on the verge of toppling over I rested my weight on the handle.  

“That’s it.  Now give it a turn.”

I pushed forward and fell against the churn.

“I don’t think my arms are long enough,” I said.  “Maybe I do need to be bigger.”

“Oh pshaw, nef.  That was as good as I did it when I was your age.  You put your weight on the other hand by leaning on the bucket and use your right hand to turn the handle.

With my feet planted the proper distance, I leaned on the churn and pushed the crank with my right hand.  It was hard.  It was like I was pushing through stone.  With four jerky motions I made a complete circle with the arm.

“How was that?” Clyde asked.

“It’s hard as the dickens.  I have to put all of my weight into it.”

”I think you better turn some more before it goes sour on you.  I’ll get some more ice.”

He went to the wheelbarrow that had a block of ice sitting in the middle.  With an icepick he stabbed at it until he filled a small pan with the chips.  When the pan was full he jabbed the icepick into the center of the block of melting ice and came back.

“Have you been turning it?”  He began to spill the ice chips around the churn inside the bucket.  Placing the pan down, he grabbed the box of salt and poured a hefty helping into the ice.

“I can barely turn it, Clyde.  Can you help me?” 

“OK.  I reckon you did your share this time.”  He began to rotate the crank.  Half way through the second rotation he stopped.

“Uh oh,” he said quietly.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He waved his hand at me.  “Oh, probably nothing.”

“You said uh oh.  Why did you say uh oh?”  My words came out fast and frantic.

“I hope I’m wrong but I think you may have turned it sour.”

“How?  I did everything you said.”

“Yeah, I know you did but…”

“But what?”

“Did it get harder and harder and harder to turn the crank?”  His face took on a worried look.

“Yeah, it did.  It got real hard.”

“Yup, that’s what I thought.   I’m afraid we got soured ice cream.  Now I could be wrong but just from my experience I get the feeling it turned.”

“Did I turn too much?”

“Yeah, if I hadn’t gone for more ice I might have noticed but I got distracted.  I’m sorry.  I think this batch is bad.”

“Do we have time to churn more?  I think I know how now.”

“Well, nef, I don’t think we could mix it up and get it done in time for everyone to enjoy ice cream.  I guess we’ll just have to hope I’m wrong and it is fine.  I better let momma know the batch is ready, sour or not.  You want to give this back to daddy?”

He handed me the pocket watch.  With everything he taught me about making ice cream and, still, I messed it up.  I walked sullenly over to granddad.

“Here’s your watch, granddaddy,” I said holding it up to him.

“Oh, Lawdy, child did you turn that batch of ice cream sour?  That look on your face is the same one Clyde had when he churned his first batch.  Do goodness was it sour.  Well, don’t you worry about it.  Maybe nobody will notice.”  He chuckled as he reattached his watch to the fob and slipped it into the pocket of his overalls.  He poked my dad who was smiling at me.  My mother had a disapproving look on her face as she looked at my daddy.

I was going back to the Chinaberry tree when the dinner triangle was rung.  The family began to line up with paper plates as granddaddy divvied up hot dogs and hamburgers to each and every one who passed by plate in hand.

We all sat around on the grass under the shade of the Chinaberry tree and the weeping willow enjoying the hamburgers and hotdogs.  Everybody was too busy eating to talk much but when the meal was over for most of us the talk of dessert began.

“I heard there is going to be fresh churned vanilla ice cream,” someone said.

“No, it’s never vanilla.  It’s always peach ice cream fresh from the churn.   It’s always so good.  Sweet and cold.”

I sneaked away from that particular conversation and hid away on the far side of the trunk of the Chinaberry tree.

From the back porch Clyde yelled, “Ice cream! We all scream for ice cream!”

With that everybody began to gather their paper plates and napkins.

Clyde stood at the back door holding a bowl of ice cream with chocolate sauce on top.  He looked over at me holding it out for me.

“Since Rickey helped with the churning today I thought he should get the first bowl.  He worked hard at the churning so here is his.  Come on, nef.  You are first.”

“I don’t want any.”

Everybody joined in. “What?  After all your hard work you deserve the first bite.  Go on.”

I walked over to the back steps very slowly.

“Hurry up. It’s melting,” yelled Clyde.

He handed me the bowl when I got there.  I looked at it so long that everyone began to tell me to hurry up because the rest of them wanted some and it was melting.

I took the spoon.  Reluctantly I touched the tip of it to the mound of peach colored dessert.  I placed the spoon in my mouth.  The small speck of ice cream melted on my tongue with an explosion of sweetness.  I dug the spoon deeper and pulled away a huge amount.  It was cold heavenly sweetness without a trace of sour at all.

“It’s not sour!” I shouted at Clyde.  “I guess you were wrong.”

“I guess I was, nef.” His eyes twinkled as his grin spread across his face.  He turned to go inside for his own bowl.  Everybody followed him in. 

I ran into the shade of my favorite tree to savor the ice cream I had made.  

  

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.