By jim vecchio
The boy, Matthew, first noticed the girl at a rehearsal of the play, “A Taste Of Honey”. In the play the girl, Josephine, who is white, falls in love with a Black sailor, Jimmy.
Matthew, who was white, often dropped in, when his college schedule would permit, to these theatrical rehearsals, as he hoped to build up the courage to be a performer himself, one day.
Matthew had never really thought about an interracial romance before, much less become involved in one.
Then the director, a college student, stepped into the scene to guide the performers in a very sensitive scene.
She was smart, energetic, and comely. Her name was Tabi Chandler.
She also happened to be Black.
Following the rehearsal, Matthew saw his chance to begin a conversation with her.
He congratulated her on her ingenuity and discernment in her interpretation of the scene.
She smiled.
Tabi had never conceived in her life that she would have any kind of relationship with a male, particularly a white one, but was intrigued by his manner and his words.
As they walked outside, Matthew summed up the courage to invite her to McGowan’s, the local college hangout.
On the way, there was no lack of things to say, as two souls began to know one another.
When they sat at a table, suddenly there was silence.
Matthew apologized. “Sometimes…well, it’s hard for me…to make small talk.”
“Well, you were doing good on the way over!”
“I was?”
“You were! We don’t have to play games or impress one another. Let’s just talk!”
“You’re right,” said Matthew, “I never liked stringing people around, anyhow.”
“So.” Tabi smiled. “You were telling me what a great director I am…”
“Then, let me continue! Tabi, you are so talented! You knew just when to…”
He was interrupted by a tall Black man in a cutoff tee.
“Tabi!” he shouted, “Get home right away!”
He shot an angry glance at Matthew.
“My brother Michael,” she said, rising.
They left. Michael gave him one more of those stares.
At home, Tabi and her brother sat around a dinner table with their mother and father.
Michael lit up in a wide smile. “Mom, Dad, I got news for you!”
Tabi looked at him, pleadingly.
Disregarding her, Michael, still grinning, said, “Tabi was with her sweetie today!”
“Well, that’s your decision, Tabi,” said her mom, but you know why you need to be so careful…’
Michael interrupted, “-And he’s a whitey!”
Tabi pushed away her plate and ran to her room.
The following day, at rehearsal, Tabi looked for Matthew, to no avail.
About half-way through, she breathed a sigh of relief as Matthew came rushing in.
When rehearsal ended, she ran over to him.
“I’m so sorry, Tabi,” he said, “I got delayed at Psychology!”
“That’s okay, Matt! I’m just glad you’re here. Anyhow, why do they make us take those courses? Even if you do well, all you can do is be a psychologist, or try to teach it to someone else!”
Matthew laughed.
“Well, Matt, tomorrow’s the big night! The show must go on!”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Matthew. “We’ll have to do us some celebrating afterward!”
Remembering her family would be attending, Tabi said, “Matt, let’s leave the celebrating for the following afternoon. I’ll be dog tired!”
When Matthew met her that afternoon following the play, he broke out in a grin, laughing and saying, “Tabi! Have I got a surprise for you!”
“Oh! I love surprises! So where are you taking me?”
“To my room. To the dorm. C’mon!”
“You’re not going to try to take advantage of me, are you?” she giggled.
“No way!” he giggled back. “You’re a keeper!”
The dorm was not far away. Matthew nervously unlocked his door.
“Sorry for the mess,” he said.
Tabi replied, “I see you need a woman’s touch around here!”
“Now you just wait here!” said Matthew, skipping into the kitchen.
He came out holding a large cake with the inscription, World’s Greatest Director.
Matthew offered Tabi a generous slice.
“Mmmm!” she said, “How did you know marshmallow filling is my favorite?”
Matthew gazed into her eyes and answered, “Oh, you just seemed to me to be a marshmallowy type of person!” He took out a party horn and blew it.
When they finished the cake, Matthew went to his collection and pulled out an LP.
Mantovani.
“No Quincy Jones?” Tabi joked.
“Nah. I never figured you for a Quincy Jones type of person!”
The two slow danced. Matthew wrapped his arms around Tabi.
They kissed.
That night, at home, Tabi’s mother came to her room. “We need to talk,” she said, “in private.”
“Yes, mama.”
“Babe, you know, growing up, you always have been able to speak to me.”
“I want you to know I appreciate that, mama.”
“Babe, this talk will be our little secret.”
“Our secret, mama.”
“You’ve been with that white fella, haven’t you?”
“Matthew, Yeah, mama…I have…”
“Babe, The Lord help you if your pa finds out.”
“But, Mama, he’s been so nice to me…I…I never felt for anyone the way I do for him!”
“My dear babe, you know this goes beyond color! You know why you must be so careful…”
“Oh, Mama!” she cried, burying her head in her mother’s bosom. “Oh, Mama! I want so much to love him!”
Her mom brushed her hair. “If this thing is to be, babe, then it is to be. But this Matthew fella, you know you’ve got to tell him…”
“Oh, mama. What will I do? What will I do?”
“Mama will support you. Always! But remember, in your father’s eyes, he will always be forbidden fruit!”
The day following, Matthew located Tabi in the college union.
“Tabi! Tabi! There’s something…something I need to say!”
“No, please, Matt! I have something more important you need to know!”
“What, Tabi? What could be more important than, these last few days I’ve known you…I now know…know for certain!...I want to spend my life with you!...”
She interrupted, “But, there’s something I have to tell you…”
“Say it’s that you feel the same way, honey.”
“I do! Oh… I do, Matt, but our love can never fully bloom…”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m so afraid to get close…I mean really close…to you, to anyone, Matt!”
“Why, Tabi? Why?”
“Because my fruit is forbidden!”
“Why? We-We’re so good together…”
“Too good!” answered Tabi. “It’s not you. You have nothing to do with it. It’s me!”
“You’re talking craziness, Tabi!”
“No! I’m talking…sickle cell anemia! My genes have a mutation.”
“Tabi, there’s nothing my love for you can’t overcome!”
“You do not carry the gene, that’s for certain. But I do! Should our love come to fruition, our child would have a fifty per cent chance of carrying the sickle cell trait.”
“What would that mean to our child?”
“It’s a terrible blood disorder. It damages the heart, lungs, and kidneys. I can’t doom a child to that!”
“Is the disease fatal?”
“It can be. A child may even live to be fifty or so. But I don’t want it on my conscience I doomed a child to lifelong pain!”
Matthew kissed her on the forehead. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it! All I know is I love you so deeply!”
Tabi began to tear. “And all I know is our life together may amount to nothing but pouring water into wine.”
Tabi headed for the door. As she opened it, Matthew could see the sun beginning to set.
“Please, Tabi!” He cried to her. “I’m certain we can face anything together!”
Matthew watched until she seemed to dissolve, a fading breeze out of season, reclaimed by the onset of night.
| Author Notes |
|
By jim vecchio
I voted with the others.
I signed the petition.
They all said the cleaning lady had to go.
She just wasn’t doing her job right.
They found some dirt on the floor.
Not wanting to create any waves since I didn’t have tenure, I voted with the other teachers.
When I saw her that final day, before dismissal, I noticed those marks on her arm.
She was crying.
I couldn’t get that picture out of my mind.
All I knew was she was Polish; her name, Boguslawa Jedynak.
I had to do something, to tell her how sorry I was, that I didn’t mean it, that I had to vote with the rest of the teachers.
It got so I couldn’t sleep. I had to find her.
I went to her last address but the apartment was vacated.
I spoke to everyone I could, just anyone who may have known her.
I discovered her first name, Boguslawa, meant “She who brings Glory to God.”
Her surname, Jedynak, meant “Only child”.
Ironic, because, as I dug deeper, I discovered her parents were among the 74,000 non-Jewish Poles consigned to the gas chambers at Auschwitz.
Barely five years old, she was forced to view the execution of her parents.
She witnessed the women forced to strip naked and those who defecated at the thought of being thrust into a death chamber.
The more I discovered, the more upset I became with myself for signing that petition.
Boguslawa was scooped up by one of them, a Romani, and was one of 144 to successfully escape.
That was when I lost track of her life.
Somehow, she made it to America.
Somehow she made it here, to our school.
Somehow, she nearly lost her life, found her life, and suffered loss once more.
She’s disappeared again, into this world, as if she were an unwanted life that never existed.
She must be out there, somewhere.
Boguslawa, I’m sorry.
| Author Notes |
By jim vecchio
Our world was in turmoil. Only a couple of handfuls of us were left. If anything could be done, it would have to be done by us.
Oh, yes, we had a robot.
The Gargoyles, the destroyers of Mankind, well, none of us knew their number.
The robot, he was a cumbersome bucket of bolts. We all called him Rusty. He didn’t mind. In fact, I don’t think he even had a sense of humor.
We were on a top secret mission. He led our pack.
It irked some of us that a robot knew more about our mission than we did. Well, like the Chief said, “What we don’t know, the enemy won’t know.”
Also, I doubt there is a thing in the world that could force Rusty to give out any info if he had a mind not to, that is, if he had a mind.
We didn’t sleep very easily, I tell you.
Rusty seemed to have a way of shutting himself off at times. Do robots dream at all? Did he realize we pledged our lives on this mission?
We encountered opposition that first night. The Gargoyles attacked from behind a pile of rocks.
We had started out with eight and the robot.
The Gargoyles clawed their way into Henderson’s tent while he was still sleeping. I doubt he ever knew what got him.
Rusty actually looked like he was sorry. Can a robot feel loss?
The Gargoyles retreated, and soon there were seven of us. With Rusty.
We took turns on watch after that.
Towards the afternoon, the Gargoyles rolled a boulder from their outpost and it landed on Jorge’s tent. Carlsberg was on watch. They were so quiet, he didn’t see or hear a thing till it was all over.
Now, six. And Rusty.
Rusty probably should have been the one on watch. I still wasn’t sure if we could trust a robot.
Does he need sleep? Recharging? Does he ever rest? What does he do when he seems so still? As if he is training his robotic mind on something unseen.
Jorge and Shumway, earlier, had been arguing.
I tried to calm them. We needed every man to get to our destination. I asked them what’s up.
“We don’t want our lives to be snuffed out less’n we know what’s the purpose of this mission!”
“Right now,” I said, “I know just as much about it as you do. We just have to trust the Chief. And Rusty. It’s got to be Priority One!”
After Carlsberg got it, Rusty condescended to speak to us. A rare occasion.
“Hu-mans…You need sleep. I…take…watch!”
We weren’t any less frightened, but I think all of us felt good about Rusty taking a more active role in this escapade.
Sometime, just before dawn, Rusty’s auto-alarm went off. He screamed in his inhuman tones, “Caution! Caution!... Enemy in the distance!... Take cover!... Grab weapons!”
I turned quickly to Rusty.
“Are you programmed to kill?” I asked.
“It is… forbidden,” he replied, “Yet, at times,… it is necessary.”
I hoped this time it would be necessary.
The Gargoyle had gained a new weapon. It was some sort of ray pistol. They shot a blast out at Rusty. Rusty protected his chest with his arms and flattened himself on the ground, just swift enough to avoid the ray.
While this was happening, three Gargoyles raced over and snuffed out the lives of Evans, Shumway, and Cooper.
Now, three. And Rusty.
The enemy retreated. Slowly, Rusty raised himself.
With anger, I shouted, hoping he could understand. “Did you deem your life, if it is a life, more valuable than theirs?”
Rusty replied, in his unique manner, “Rusty…not impor-tant…Car-go…impor-tant!”
We shuffled ahead. Evening seemed to come quickly.
While Rusty stood guard, Jorge, Twillinger, and myself held a pow wow in my tent.
“Fellas,” I said, “From what I could make out, Rusty’s carrying something. Something in his innards, or whatever you call what’s inside him.”
Twillinger was the first to speak. “What could be more valuable than the lives of three men?”
“Yeah,” said Jorge. “And so valuable it must not fall into the hands of the enemy?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But, evidently, it’s big enough to save this world if we get it to Oasis in time!”
“There’s only one thing it can be!” reflected Jorge.
Twillinger completed his sentence. “Plutonium. Or something. Something that can save the world in the right hands!”
“Yeah!” added Jorge. “Something big. A bomb! Pieces of an atom bomb!”
The rest of that night was silent. There was one more stretch of plain flatland before we reached our goal, Oasis.
We figured, if there were an all-out attack, it would be at this spot.
We weren’t disappointed.
Seemingly out of nowhere, the Gargoyles advanced.
Our puny pistols were no match to their rays and their sheer brute strength.
Rusty flung his way through each Gargoyle that came at him.
I guess they figured he was too much of a foe and concentrated their attack on us.
One ripped his claw through Jorge’s neck.
Twillinger tried to avenge Jorge, but a second grabbed him, thrust him up, and broke his back.
It looked like Rusty was finally begin to turn his full offence upon them when a Gargoyle thrust something sharp into my side and I fell.
I awoke in a hospital, greeted by happy faces. I knew we had made it to Oasis.
Rusty was seated alongside my bed, holding a vase full of flowers.
At first, all I could manage was, “Wha…?”
Rusty explained, “Necessary…had to exter-min-ate…enemy…Carried you…to safety!”
“Did…Did they get the..the bomb?” I asked.
“No bomb,” Rusty replied, “No bomb…words…”
At that point, the Doctor walked in. “
“Never mind, Rusty!” he said, “I’ll explain it all to him!”
Doc handed me some medicine and water.
“I’ll explain,” he said. “Oasis is the last outpost of humanity, save for the few that embarked on your mission. We all knew this day might come. The day when the Enemy took over.”
“You’re going…kind of fast…for me, Doc!”
Doc slowed a little. “God ordained a long time go that His word would never be defeated. When it appeared all Bibles in the world, along with their recordings, were destroyed, sixty-six good men and women got together.”
“Sixty-six…doc?”
“One for each book of the Bible. Each had memorized one book. They collectively recorded it on tape.”
“And Rusty?...”
“He carried the tapes within him, to prevent their destruction. As an added measure, during those moments he may have seemed to shut himself off, he was inwardly reading and memorizing each tape.”
As the Doctor was speaking, Rusty headed out the door.
“Good Night, Rusty,” I said, “And Thanks!”
Rusty replied, “The…Lord…bless you …and keep you…”
| Author Notes |
By jim vecchio
I had laid my wife, Anna, in the ground. I swallowed a big gulp, trying to put an end to my flood of tears.
I had no sleep that night. I never felt so lonely in my life. Her face, her fragrance, her touch, they were all around the room.
I took out all the things hanging around and hadn’t worn awhile, whisked off the lint and neatly placed them in a suitcase.
I took off in my Ford. To go anywhere. Just anywhere.
Nothing more to tie me down here.
Between the rain and my tears, I somehow lost my bearings. No matter. There are times when you just have to keep on going.
The last place I remember passing through was Texarkana, before I jumped on those little, seldom-used roads where I could be alone with my aching spirit.
Sometimes in the night, I could her Anna’s voice telling me she’d wait for me, that my life wasn’t over, that it’s alright for me to search for romance once more.
But I didn’t want anyone else, and I’m sorry if this sounds cruel (I don’t mean it to be), but the last thing I wanted was some old maid, clutching at straws, seeking just anyone for a mate.
I had known true love, and my broken heart told me I’d never meet another such love again. I felt like in Life's game of poker, I had lost all my chips.
I was hoping to find the edge of the world so I could drive off it.
As it was, I found myself on the edge of an unknown road in an unknown town. That was when the rain really began to pour and, of course, my engine began stuttering.
Just when the car was almost completely stalled, I came to a small white church. There were autos parked at various angles around it in no particular order, so when I finally left my car, it didn’t seem out of place at all.
I raced into the church hall, rain dripping all over.
I was greeted by a group of warm, smiling faces.
“Welcome to Road’s End Baptist,” said one.
“Another said, “We call it that because it’s at the end of the road!”
I acknowledged their greeting and asked, “Can you tell me what road that is?”
One of the older men answered, “That’s a good question. There’s them what calls it Straight Street and them what calls it Route 3. Even the maps are confused about it.”
“Well, come on in!” shouted a short, bald gentleman from the sanctuary. He looked like quite the character, in an oversize suit and a bright red bow tie., and sporting thick sunglasses and also a cane.
“That’s Pastor Paul.” one of the congregation whispered to me, “He’s almost blind. Come in, he’s a real old- fashioned preacher!”
I joined the congregation in one of the pews.
The Pastor preached about his blindness, how he didn’t understand it as a curse, but rather, a blessing, as the first face he would see would be that of Christ. He preached The Lord is a Lord of second chances, never to give up, and to follow Him always, even in the toughest of times.
I truly was inspired and love seemed to radiate within that sanctuary.
When the meeting was over, there was an ice cream social with real home -made ice cream! I hadn’t tasted anything like that since I was a kid.
One of the churchmen asked where I was from, where I was going.
It was then that reality hit me. I’m from my home, and have no idea where I’m going, and, for the moment, no car to get me there.
I explained I had lost my wife and was just driving around with no particular plans and a stalled car.
An elderly couple, whom I learned were Ed and Lorraine Prophet, invited me to stay overnight till I got things squared away.
“It’s no trouble,” said Lorraine. “We keep a chamber ready for visitors.”
“You might say it’s a Prophet’s Chamber,” Ed laughed.
“And-” Lorraine added, “Tomorrow you can be our guest at the annual Church Picnic and Livestock Exhibition!”
I spent a very pleasant evening with the Prophets.
In the morning, his wife and I were passengers in his Chevy pickup. “You should really get yourself one of these,” Ed joked, “You’ve heard the old saying, “’I’d rather push my Chevy than drive a Ford!’”
“Wait till you get a taste of real Southern cooking here,” said Lorraine. “Let’s see…Farm raised chicken and eggs, potato salad, homemade biscuits oozing with butter and honey, and wait till you sink your teeth into one of our fried pies!”
Ed interjected, “Don’t forget, hon, the cabbage and cornbread!”
In a short while, we arrived at the church fair grounds.
The car was parked and we walked over to a small red and white tent. There was an opening, and I thought this is where we would pay for our tickets. But, instead of us giving the attendant our money, we were given a sample of homemade fudge and a schedule of the day’s events.
We took a seat in the bleachers to watch as some cowboys tried to ride some bulls.
“Doesn’t this hurt the bull?” I asked.
“No sir,” answered Ed. “Bull-FIGHTING, now, that’s a different story! It’s unfair to go one-on-one with an animal knowing you have sharp objects to stick into him! These are just plain old countryfolk trying to ride a bull, as they would a horse.”
When the last cowboy had been thrown, the Prophets walked over to another nearby tent. They told me they had to see a judge about a preserve canning contest and would be right back.
I decided to take a stroll around the grounds by myself.
I found myself at a huge pen enclosing prize pigs.
As I was admiring them, one of the judges nudged me and said, “Did you know pigs is as smart as dogs? It's true. I knew this guy in El Capitan who taught his pig to bark at strangers.”*
“No kiddin’?”
“Naw, he’s just joshin’ you!” laughed another.
“These pigs sure are fat ones,” I said. “What-er-breed?-are they?”
The first one replied, “Let’s see now, we got us some Durocs, and some Hampshires, and-that one over there!-He’s a Large White”
I strolled around a bit more, then returned to the bleachers.
Ed and Lorraine were seated next to a comely redhead, about my age.
“So, what do you think of our little fair? Ed asked.
“Everything here is so fresh, so beautiful,” I responded. “The way I imagined the world could be…” My voice sank.
Ed said, “He lost his wife. We need to do something to cheer him up.”
“I’m Marjorie,” the redhead said, “Welcome to our little town!”
“Pleased to meet you,” I responded, offering her my hand.
She gave it an endearing touch.
I sat next to her.
“Have you had a chance yet to try our country cooking?”
“Sure beats McDonald’s!” I said.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
Then, she spoke. “My husband was a cowboy. Got throwed off.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“It was long ago… I still miss him so much!”
“Marjorie, that’s how I feel about Anna."
“Let’s face it,” said Marjorie, “We aint none of us ever gonna forget our first loves.”
“It’s crazy, I know,” was my response. “But I sometimes still feel her hand in mine.”
“And I feel his comforting touch when things get a little rough.”
Marjorie shed a tear, then continued, “Sorry. Things right now are a little tough.”
I felt the tender grasp of her hand in mine once more.
I stumbled for words.
I decided to sit back and savor the moment.
-1292 words!
*These words were spoken by Charley Bowdre in “Young Guns.”
| Author Notes |
This story must include, in any order and nature/situation you come up with, all of the following:
Lint Big Gulp A character wearing sunglasses inside Mention of McDonalds Card game of any type Use a quote from ANY of the Young Guns movies. Have your story fall between 1200 and 1300 words! |
By jim vecchio
“Listen, Kit, you’re a top notch Injun scout! Everyone knows that!”
“What’re you getting at, Bill?”
“Well, have you ever in your life met an Injun with a lick of sense?”
“Let me tell you, Bill. The wisest, most smartest man of all I ever met was an Injun.”
“How so?”
“Well, y’see, Bill, ‘twas in the April of ’86. I rode into the Arapaho camp, just’a thirstin’ for water.”
“What happened then?”
“Their chief greeted me. He said, “Got plenty of water for you” afore I could say a word.”
“How’d he know?”
“Well, I wondered myself, so I asked him. He said, “You seem confused, lightheaded, somewhat dizzy. All signs of dehydration.”
“An Indian Chief actually said all that?”
“All that and aplenty more! I was invited to rest there a few days and the things what I seen were plumb amazin’!”
“Tell me ‘bout some of them, Kit!”
“Well, one day, I seen a redskin walk up to him. Before he could open his mouth, the Chief said, “Take three leaves of the Ongawa plant. Boil water, stir in the leaves, and make a poultice.”
“Gee willikers! What’d he tell him that for?”
“Well, Bill, I found out seven years earlier, the same redskin had a terrible infection and the Chief recognized him, though he only seen him that onced.”
“Were that the onliest thing you seen him do?”
“Oh, no! There werst so many, I kin hardly know whar to begin!”
“Tell me some more!”
“One day, an Injun by the name of Dyami came into camp. I found out later he had only met the chief once in his life, when he was a young’n. His family moved to a location fur west.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, the Chief, he not only called him by his name, but asked about his fathers and forefathers, Ahtahkakoop, Elan, Ciquala, a whole mess o’them, I tell ya!”
“He remembered them all?”
“Them, and a whole lot more! And there were dozens o’times just like that, I promise!”
“Say, Kit, whatever happened to that old chief?”
“I purely don’t know, Bill! One day, I asked him about how he growed that memory of his.”
“What’d he say, Kit?”
“Well, he told me ‘twas his diet. He said he always started off with a mess o’ eggs.”
“And…?”
“Well, just at that point, the calvary rode in, a’thinkin’ I were captive, and they tore me away.”
“Gee, Kit, do you think we could go visit that chief? I’d like to see for myself!”
“Well, Bill, ‘tis been a long, hard ride, but now, I’ll show you the chief. I’ll make sure I greet him, friendly-like!”
“How!”
“Scrambled!”
| Author Notes |
By jim vecchio
Alan Arnoley. That’s my name.
I had a sweet teaching position at Halloman High. Seventh and Eighth Graders.
I always wondered what happened to them when they went on to bigger things. I wanted more involvement in their lives.
Then I got the crazy notion I could help change society. I took a few special ed courses and accepted a job at a fraction of my pay in the worst section of our city.
My task was to establish a Learning Center for those students who were, let’s politely say, intellectually challenged.
Some joke on me! What they did was take out the worst of the worst of the most undiscipline students and throw them into my classroom.
And there were distinctions even within this motley group.
The Puerto Ricans sat with the Puerto Ricans, the Blacks with the Blacks, the White boys with the Whites, and the same with the girls.
Then, there was that special section for girls like Sabrina, too stout, let’s say, suffering in complexion, and so undesirable for the girls’ clique.
Prior to entering the room, the class broke out in a scene of anarchy; boys punching on boys, girls smearing on their lipstick and makeup and comparing their legs, and paper missiles being hurled all about.
As I stepped through the door, a particularly sturdy paper airplane shot past my neck.
I calmly walked over to the blackboard.
“Class,” I calmly said, “This behavior is to stop!”
I glanced at the seating chart. No one was in their correct seat. I left that battle for another time.
I pointed to a bushy haired Hispanic and said, “You!...”
“Name’s Julio!” he said back to me.
“Alright then, Julio. Get the broom and dustpan and…”
“I ain’t nobody’s janitor!” he scowled.
“Then go and report to the principal!”
“Oh, no, teach! Not the principal!” he laughed, as he went out the door.
Roberto, who had been seated next to Julio said, “That’s your first mistake, teach! His father was a janitor. They found his body in the boiler room.”
I let out a nervous cough.
“I want you to know I expect some manners in this room. I expect communication…”
One of the girls shouted, “Hey, hunk! What’s your name, anyhow?”
I wrote it on the board.
“Arnoley. Mr. Arnoley.”
I was to regret that moment. From then on, the Puerto Ricans referred to me as “Mister Anoles”. Anoles, in Puerto Rico, are small lizards. That, of course, gave way at times to a cruder name.
Amidst their laughter and joking, I attempted a lesson in English.
I gave them a sentence.
“The boy went to the library.”
I glanced at the list of names.
“It’ll take me awhile to learn all your names. Miss Sandra, what is the subject?”
“English, Mis-ter An-oles!”
“That’s Arnoley. And I’m well aware this is English! What is the subject of the sentence?”
“If you don’t know, Mis-Ter A, how should I?”
Everyone laughed.
The day went by in similar fashion.
I was to supervise the group at all times, even during lunch period.
As the classmates segregated themselves round their lunch area, I sat at a separate, smaller table, overlooking them.
I silently said Grace.
Some of them saw me and mocked.
Sabrina was seated, by herself, in the back, but she appeared to be wiping her eyes.
Somehow, I got through the rest of the school day. When the bell finally rang, the students tore out of their seat, banging into one another as they ran out the door.
All except Sabrina.
She slowly walked to my desk.
“Yes, Miss Sabrina.” I said.
She hesitated and stuttered a bit. “M-m-Mr. Arnoley…”
“At least you got that name right! Can I help you?”
“I-I-I wanted to t-thank you. And s-say I’m…I’m sorry…for the class behavior.”
I smiled. “I appreciate that, Sabrina. I’ve got to get some materials to my car. Would you like to walk with me?”
“S-sure, Mr. Arnoley!”
On the way to the lot, Sabrina shyly asked, “May I ask you a personal question, Mr. Arnoly?”
“Certainly.”
“Today at lunch, I saw you bow your head, and talk to yourself…”
“Not to myself, Sabrina. To God. I always thank Him for my food.”
“The others were laughing, Mr. Arnoley…”
“Sure, I know. That’s because they do not know God personally.”
“Can I know God? Does He…Does He care for me?”
“The Lord cares about everyone, Sabrina. Even when they fail Him, though it hurts Him greatly,”
When we reached the car, Sabrina asked, “How can I get to know Him, Mr. Arnoly?”
“It’s as simple as a prayer, Sabrina. Just be aware of your shortcomings and give them over to Him!”
“Would you pray for me, Mr. Arnoly?”
“It would be a privilege! Let’s bow our heads, and you say what you want to say to Him, and I’ll guide you the rest of the way!”
As the two of us huddled in close contact, we did not see Julio, Roberto and their pack eyeing us from the distance.
The following morning I walked into the classroom to a caricature in chalk of myself, hugging a fat and pimply female.
“I want to know who’s responsible for this!” I yelled.
“Why, Mis-Ter Anol-les,” Roberto responded, “None of us did it!”
“Yeah!” cried Julio, “It sorta just miraculously appeared!”
“Yeah,” they responded in a cacophony of voices, “A Miracle! It was a Miracle, Mis-Ter Anol-ley!”
Then. Melissa, blue -eyed blonde, unofficial head of the girls’ clique, stood and said, “Mister Arnoley, you’re not a predator, are you?”
“Are you, Mr. Arnoley?” asked petite auburn- haired Brenda, “Cause then we’d have to report you to the Principal!”
They all laughed.
Sabrina burst into tears. She ran out of the classroom.
I wrestled with myself as to what to do next. I couldn’t leave a classroom full of students, yet everything in me said to go after Sabrina.
“Brenda!” I screamed, “Go after her and bring her back!”
“Not me!” replied Brenda. “I don’t want her zits to rub off on me! Besides, I’m just a lowly student who doesn’t know what to do!”
The class again erupted in laughter.
I was about to take off when the Principal walked in, Sabrina close behind him.
He directed Sabrina to her chair.
Then he sternly said, “Arnoley, following class, I want you to come to my office!”
I don’t know how I got through the rest of that day. I guess it was God’s own strength that did it.
Sabrina spent the rest of the day with her head buried in her hands, sobbing.
One by one the students rang out with jokes and insinuations.
They had a rude comeback for anything I tried to say. At one point I shouted, “Don’t any one of you have a mind of your own? What if Roberto walked out and jumped off a cliff? Would all of you follow?”
Julio yelled his response, “No, Mis-ter Anol-ley!”
“Then, tell me, Julio. What would you do?”
“Well,” Julio responded, “First thing I’d do is grab his lunchbox! His mom makes some spicy burritos! Mmm-boy!”
The class again burst into laughter.
It was pure relief when that bell finally sounded.
Sabrina waited till they all left, then slowly rose, walked out the door and avoided looking at me.
I wanted to say something, anything, but the Principal walked in, reminding me of our appointment.
I slowly stepped into his office.
He gave it to me good.
When I tried to explain the situation to him, he lectured me sternly.
“You are never, never to proselytize in this building or on its grounds. We do not support any religion or its God.”
Just when I thought he was through, he added, “You are fortunate in one respect. You are new to this hall of learning and this is your first offence. Do not repeat it!”
Just for good measure, he added, “And stay away from that girl! I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you are seen alone with her again!”
It was only God’s good grace that got me through that sleepless night.
When I entered the classroom, I saw Sabrina’s seat was vacant.
Someone, I know not who, whispered from the back, “Anol-ley musta kept her out too late last night!”
The rest of the day went the same. Sabrina’s absence seemed to only aggravate the situation.
Shortly before lunch, the Principal came knocking and called me to his office.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“The usual usual.”
“Sit down,” he said, “I have something to tell you.”
I was puzzled.
He continued, “We’ve been in contact with Sabrina’s parents. When she didn’t come out for breakfast…well…her wrists were slit.”
Stiffly, I walked out of his office.
“Arnoley! Wait! I’m not finished!”
“Yes, you are!” I screamed.
I punched the door as I returned to the classroom. I swiped the papers and books from my desk.
I hid my face and wept.
“Oh, look!” shouted Julio, “Mis-ter Anol-ley’s crying! Just like a baby!”
I stormed to his seat, grabbed him by the top of his tee shirt and began to shake him around. I was about to land a haymaker on him, when I caught myself in mid-motion and set him back in his seat.
I walked calmly to the front of my desk and faced the class.
“One of us is going to go!” I shouted, “It’s either me or all of you! You decide!”
As an afterthought, I walked once more to Julio’s desk, pounding it with my fist as hard as I could.
“And, remember! The name’s ARNOLEY!”
| Author Notes |
By jim vecchio
Sarge and I, we were the only ones left.
Just part of a team scouting the area, to take a bridge. A small, unimportant bridge.
Not worth their lives.
Our two riflemen, Collins and Hendrick, left us souvenir photos of their gals, and also their dogtags, if we could ever get out of the ditch to collect them.
There wasn’t much of anything to collect from Oliver. There was always something funny about him, and those hissing noises he made in his sleep made us all feel creepy. But, he didn’t deserve this.
I pledged myself to keep Sarge alive. He was my teacher, my father-confessor, my big brother, and the best friend I had in the unit.
Sarge, he sure relished being a father. I envied his life so.
He told me often how he romanced the girl of his dreams, how being with her was all a man could ever hope for, causing his heart to pound like a Schwerer Gustav*.
The joy of the birth of his two sons. Yeah, he loved being a daddy.
Just talking to him made me want to live my life over again. He had walked the straight path, and I had done it all wrong.
Funny how now, confined to this little spot, not knowing in the next moments if I will live or die, I become focused on my past faults and sins.
Sarge knew how I trusted him. In that moment, I wanted to ask him just what I could do to get my life back where it should have been.
However, Sarge took that moment to retrieve the dogtags. I warned him not to stir, not to give them a target.
It seemed but a second till his return, but he returned with a bullet in his chest.
Not here, Sarge! Please! Don’t die on me! I couldn’t stand it!
But Sarge did it anyhow.
I must’ve gotten it, too, but not as bad as Sarge.
I have no memories of those days with the medics.
Now that the war is over, my thoughts are always of Sarge. How could his children be left alone, never to know those happy moments with their dad?
What good purpose could ever come of this?
Then I remembered my father, what I had done to him. His anger. His tears.
I need my daddy.
| Author Notes |
*Schwerer Gustav: one of the largest cannons used in battle, developed by the Nazis.
|
By jim vecchio
Call me Johnny Nobody.
Oh, I have a name, but I’m no one now.
I was Arch Stemple of Stemple and Bennett. Yeah, that Benny Bennett! And, you must’ve heard of me. I was one half of that rising young comic team. The whole world was ahead of us.
Then the bottom hit us, hard. Did you ever have to watch your best buddy in all the world die, in stabbing, suffering moments before your eyes?
I always joked with Benny about his sugar. He would devour a bagful of lemon drops before each performance. Said they gave him a “high energy level.”
Then, following our performance, he developed a habit of rushing to the men’s room. Said he was concerned about the color of his urine.
That should have alerted me. When his comedy became less physical and he complained of back and abdominal discomfort, well, that was a red flag.
Benny didn’t seem to enjoy all those free meals from the house any more. He would run off, and I knew it was to vomit.
As his weight went down and mine increased, I felt we’d become an Abbott and Costello team. I urged him to go to the doctor.
Benny did go, but he never said anything to me about his condition.
One day, he said he was not up to it, and cancelled our future dates.
Inside of a month, he was in the hospital.
Another month, and he was gone, a victim of pancreatic cancer.
Now, I live alone in this dreadful place. I had enough to allow me to live in this low-rent hovel even if I never worked again, and, believe me, I never wanted to work without my buddy, Benny.
I didn’t want to settle for less, but how could I go on, wanting for more?
Periodically, I go to a casting call, but it seemed more like the Bowery Boys, seeking employment, but hoping they don’t get it.
I did not want to work solo.
Today, I had my most prestigious interview scheduled, with Ridley Scott, who wanted a comic lead for a new space opera. He said I was his “most well-remembered comic.”
I rustled in bed, waiting for the alarm. I couldn’t sleep. I thought I wanted that job and then thought I didn’t want it. When I resigned myself to rise from bed, the alarm sounded.
I threw on my best shirt and tie and a jacket I last wore at The Tropicana. I rushed out the door. The interview was being conducted in a small theater a few blocks away.
I paraded down the front steps, or was about to, when I came upon her, sitting cross legged on the bottom step. She resembled more an antique doll than a human, dressed in a smart pinafore.
I rushed past her, took a few steps, then knew I had to go back.
“Little girl,” I said, “Where are you supposed to be?”
She stared at me, silently.
I tried to get some information from her. “Tell me, honey, where do you live?”
Again, a blank stare.
“Little girl, are you hungry?”
She would not respond.
“My guess is you’re hungry. I have a very important appointment, honey. If you’ll come with me, I’ll see you get the best bacon and egg sandwich you’ve ever eaten.”
To my surprise, she took my offered arm.
About halfway to the theater, we stopped at The Egg-Centric Café.
“I’m sorry, little girl, but you’ll have to eat on the run. This is important. I’ve got a special meeting to get to.”
She devoured her sandwich in record time, and also swallowed some orange juice, while keeping up with my steps. I knew she was hungry.
We reached the theater. It suddenly dawned on me-What do I do with her, now? I can’t leave her outside, alone in the city!
There was only one thing to do. She had to tag along with me, inside.
Ridley Scott was there already, sitting high and wise in a chair on the stage, looking down on me.
I gently tugged the little girl into a front row seat.
I walked up to the stage.
Before I could utter a word, Scott asked, “Who’s the kid?”
“Just a girl,” I replied.
“Whose girl?”
“I don’t know!”
Scott jumped up. “This interview is over!” he said.
Soon, I was straddling the pavement again, with her by my side.
“You know, girl, you cost me a very high-class job!” I said, grimly. Then laughed. “Oh, what the heck? I didn’t want that job, anyhow!”
I knew my next stop should have been the police station. Somehow, it felt good to have someone, anyone by my side that made me feel necessary again.
“Little girl, I’ve got a lot of time on my hands now. Would you like to go to the library?”
I looked at her. She nodded “yes.”
I should’ve realized it sooner. This girl could hear, but couldn’t speak.
“Honey,” I said, “I don’t know your name, and you cannot tell it to me. May I call you Suzy?-I’ve got to call you something!”
She gave me a little smile and nodded. “Yes.”
As we walked past the huge stone Lions, Suzy rubbed the head of one.
“Would you like to ride on his back?” I asked.
She smiled agreeably once more.
I lifted her and she straddled the lion. She tried to laugh, you could tell, but the sounds wouldn’t come out right. I couldn’t imagine her being happier.
Then, she entered the huge doorway with me holding her hand. Her eyes searched everywhere. She was totally enchanted by this atmosphere.
I led her to the children’s section and pulled out a large yellow book.
“Now, Suzy, sit at this table, and I’ll read a story to you!”
“ It just so happened that the wife of a rich man fell sick: and when she felt that her end drew nigh, she called her only daughter to her bedside, and said, "Always be a good girl, and I will look down from heaven and watch over you." Soon afterwards she shut her eyes and died, and was buried in the garden; and the little girl went every day to her grave and wept, and was always good and kind to all about her. And the snow spread a beautiful white covering over the grave; but by the time the sun had melted it away again, her father had married another wife. This new wife had two daughters of her own: they were fair in face but foul at heart, and it was now a sorry time for the poor little girl. "What does the good-for-nothing thing want in the parlor?" said they; and they took away her fine clothes, and gave her an old frock to put on, and laughed at her and turned her into the kitchen…”
Suzy seemed enthralled in the story. She waved her hands and fingers in a sort of communication I could not understand.
As I read to her about the laughter, I actually heard laughter stemming from a neighboring table. It was a group of pre-teens mimicking Suzy’s gestures.
I tossed the book down and stomped over to their table.
“What’s wrong with you kids? Are you so proud you can talk that you mock someone who can’t?”
They silently left their table.
I finished reading the tale.
“Suzy,” I said, “I enjoy being with you, but we’ve got to get you home!”
She looked at me with pleading eyes.
“Oh, what the heck?” I said, “Let’s enjoy some more time together! Where would you like to go?”
She raised her arms, touching one another, and waving them in exaggerated movements up and down.
“Oh, I get it!” I said, “A roller coaster!”
Suzy excitedly nodded her head up and down.
“Have you ever been to Coney Island?” I asked
Suzy frowned and shook her head. “No.”
“Then that’s where we’re going now! Suzy, there’s thirty seven rides out there and we’re going on just as many as we can! There’s The Cyclone, The Speedboats, the carousel…”
Suzy smiled in delight.
We walked down a couple of blocks and got on the subway. The cars were completely taken over by graffiti. Suzy took it all in with wonder.
We got off at Coney.
“Now, Suzy, what’s the first thing you do when you get to Coney?” I asked.
Suzy shrugged her shoulders.
“You got to get a hot dog!” I shouted. “Let’s go!”
We skipped over to Nathan’s and Suzy gobbled a hot dog and chased it down with root beer.
“Now, Suzy, this is where the gentleman wins a doll for his special girlfriend!”
Suzy followed, her head twisting in all directions merrily, taking in all the sights.
We stopped at the target shooting booth.
“Suzy,” I explained, “Guns are not for playthings!” I laughed, “I learned how to shoot a long time ago, but don’t worry! I don’t carry!”
Displaying my amazing skill, I hit all targets. I won a doll for Suzy that was half her size!
Suzy proudly carried her prize from one attraction to another.
Soon, we found ourselves in the speedboats.
“Suzy, some day you’ll find out there’s just something special about a man, a woman, and the water!”
Suzy broke out in that cute little smile I had grown to love to see.
On the Airplane ride, Suzy dangled out her arms, as if grasping for clouds.
Next, I took her to the cotton candy stand where Suzy enjoyed what must have been her first taste of pink fluffiness. I wondered if she imagined if I were feeding her delicious clouds.
On the Carousel, Suzy delighted to the music of The Blue Danube while accepting the brass ring I caught, specially for her.
As dusk settled in, I knew our time together would be drawing to an end.
We boarded that farewell subway car. Suzy still snuggled with her trophy doll.
I politely hugged Suzy and said, “Thank you for spending this special day with me. I don’t think you know what it really meant to me.”
Suzy gave me that quizzical look.
“Suzy, what I’m trying to say is, I’ve been lonely. I lost someone dear to me. You brightened my heart more than I can tell you!”
We exited the subway. I bowed down and looked deep into Suzy’s eyes.
“Suzy, you belong to someone. Someone who this moment misses you very much. You have to return to them.”
Suzy burst into tears and groans that struggled to cry aloud.
I held her hand as we walked up the police station stairs, her face covered now in tears. She dragged along that doll.
I walked up to the desk and said, “I’ve got a missing child.”
A sergeant from the back peeked out and shouted, “It’s the Griswold girl! Take care of her and bring that man in here!”
I found myself in the midst of a hard interrogation.
The sergeant repeated that question over and over. “You say, she appeared at your doorstep this morning?”
“Yes Yes! That’s how it happened!”
“And you waited all day to report this?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand!”
At that moment, a police detective motioned the sergeant over. He whispered, but I could hear him. “She is a victim of abuse. She wasn’t spared anything!”
I was thrown into a holding cell.
In the lonely cramped lockup, my mind lived the agonies over and over.
The absolute pain of seeing my best buddy die by increments, and being helpless to alleviate the suffering.
The pain of a lonely life made brighter for a day by that adorable little face.
The pain surges on.
Things will get worse before they get better.
I’ll come out okay.
| Author Notes |
|
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