Archive for January, 2010
C 2006 Jim Blake
There is a commotion in the side yard. My eight-year-old sister Regan rushes up the decayed front porch steps, bangs open the screen door and stands in the living room hollering:
“Mommy, they’re holding Blinky upside down! The mean boys in the playhouse won’t leave!”
“Jimmy! Come down here and tell your friends to put the turtle down and go home,” my mother Molly hollers. “Tell them to leave.”
These guys, whoever they are, can’t be my friends. My only friend so far, Jerry Herron, left hours ago.
“I’m busy, Mom!” I said, hoping the matter would evaporate without my involvement.
“Do not call me Mom! Address me as ‘Mother’. I am not now, nor will I ever be your ‘Mom’. I’m your mother! Do you understand me?”
Mom placed her tattered paperback sci-fi novel on the coffee table and walked out to the playhouse, a six foot by eight foot wood and canvas structure built by ‘Uncle’ Bud two weeks ago, just before school started. She pokes her head through the canvas flap over the doorway. Mel Prince and Skip Calvin are sitting low on the upturned milk crates that Bud picked up from the local grocery. They are sixth graders, one year ahead of me. I have seen them at school and seen their schoolyard intimidations from a distance. They are both smoking.
“It’s time for you boys to leave,” Mom said in her most civil tone. There was a brief pause.
“Go fuck yourself,” said Prince, in a quiet, menacing tone, exhaling smoke with his words. He is just over five feet tall with a greasy, blond duck’s ass haircut.
Mom drew back from the doorway in shock and fear as if hit by a wrenching blast of pure ammonia.
“You can’t talk to me like that, you little monster!”
“Get yer snatch back in yer house. We’ll leave when we’re fuckin’ ready, you skinny fuck,” said Calvin, the shorter of the two with a buzz cut and a crooked nose.
Mom withdrew in fear and amazement and walked quickly around the house and back up the front steps. She called me from the living room. Read the rest of this entry »