Red walls, the hue of Valentine hearts, no, more saturated red, the color of blood, the old barn marks a turn in my path from school to home.
“Hurry Billy or you’ll be late for school.” Ma smiles and smooths her white apron. Beth is monogrammed above the right pocket. She hands me a lunch bucket decorated with Donald Duck. “I’m proud of you. A third-grader, able to walk to school alone. Come right home after school.” She points to a Milwaukee Journal calendar. Friday, September 7, 1956, is circled in red. “Today is papa’s birthday. We’ll have an early supper. Follow the road to school. Don’t walk through the field past the old barn. It’s too dangerous.” Ma pats my shoulder and nudges me out the door.
0 Comments
Scene One – WHAT SHOULD I DO? – Bobby’s back yard, Mequon, Wisconsin, May 1959, Sunday
“Davy, I need brass knuckles and maybe a blackjack.” I reach for Davy’s pack of Camels lying on the cedar picnic table. “Brass knuckles?” Davy blows an oval smoke ring in the still afternoon air between us. “What the hell for?” “For John VA.” I light my smoke. Scene One – HOPE or DESPAIR – Madison, Wisconsin, May 2020
“She wouldn’t take the bait until all her babies were gone,” I say. Jeannie finishes the last nibble of her avocado toast and pushes her plate to the center of the table. She brushes crumbs into the scoop of her hand and drops them on the plate. The mound of crumbs is stacked like an ant hill, a home for ants without ants. Jeannie returns her gaze to me. “What do you mean Bobby?” Scene One – EVERYONE KNOWS – Homestead High School cafeteria, Mequon, Wisconsin, April 3, 1959
“Sally likes you, Bobby,” Jeannie blushes, flips her pony tail, and walks away. “Wait.” I reach for Jeannie’s arm. She turns. “How do you know?” “Everyone knows.” “Everyone but me,” I chuckle. “Who told you?” “Mandy.” “Mandy? How would Mandy know? I thought Sally was gong steady with Tommy.” “I don’t know–. I’ve got to go. Why don’t you ask Sally? She’ll be at the hop Saturday night.” Scene One – BLACK SWAN – Milwaukee, Wisconsin, June 2018
“I dropped him, Bobby,” Dave says snuffing out his Camel cigarette. “It was him or me. Every day in ‘Nam was like that. Never knowing. I can’t remember a day when I would relax. How could I?” Dave shifts his gaze from me to a distant tree outside the window. “He looked like a local, but he came on like a VC. I had to off him.” |
About the AuthorI write personal essays, creative non-fiction, flash fiction, and self-development articles from my home in Madison, Wisconsin.
Archives
May 2023
Categories
All
|