Running up the stairs

Our mother couldn’t watch us constantly, even though it would have been a good idea. We were always into mischief. I was three and my brother was just two. We’d often gazed into the mystery of the myriad of items in our kitchen pantry.  

 

Our mother kept a variety of bottles, jars, and boxes . We didn't of course know what any of them contained. We'd always been curious as to what goodies were on those shelves in our large pantry. There were six compelling shelves to explore.

 

I did the climbing and Mickey did the coaching. The first five shelves were a disappointment to both of us. Everything seemed to be boxed up or tied up or secured in some way. Ah, but there was a little brown bottle of something on the tippity-top top shelf.

  

I showed Mickey a few things on the lower shelves. There was really nothing of interest for either of us. He encouraged me to go higher. I was excited to climb to the highest shelf I'd ever reached. We were really going to find stuff we may never have seen before. We were presented with an exciting treasure hunt.

 

This was a great adventure for both of us. Even back then at the earliest stage he could remember,  Mickey loved Adventure. loved Danger. He urged me to go higher on the shelves. He had to know what was in that brown bottle.  Our sometimes dangerous ADD, Attention Deficit Disorder captured our attention.

 

We zeroed in on the last level at the same time.  It was a brown bottle of something. We wondered if the stuff inside the bottle was brown or if it was just the color of the bottle. We would not rest until we discovered the answer to our puzzle.

 

Of course, Mother had chosen the highest shelf in the pantry to safely store that little brown bottle of medicine. Being so high, she probably hadn’t seen a need to secure the cap. She knew how to carefully lower the bottle when needed for little emergencies.

 

The irony was something used for a mishap here or there mushroomed into a full-flung crisis, with our introduction to the small-town hospital.  As we already know, this was the first of many visits from us and our neighborhood kids.

  

Slowly stretching on tiptoes, I was able to lift down the tiny brown bottle. Mickey needed a closer look to inspect just what that spellbinding bottle was. Enraptured with what I was carefully grasping and excited to investigate for myself I was hurrying a little more than was wise.

 

The brown medicine stain that was beginning to form on my fingers should have been a signal. As I tipped the bottle, the top fell off and the liquid inside spilled, covering Nike’s face. We were lucky only a few drops went into his eye.  I can still picture him standing in his roomy hospital crib, with a brownish-red stain down one side of his face. 

****

 

Off that same hallway was Nike’s room with a spacious closet, a safe place for both of us. I don’t remember why we went there to hide among the heavy overcoats, way in the back on the floor.  

 

I know it wasn’t to get away from Nike because I’d often meet him there. He’d be planted on a high shelf above me, covered with more coats.  If I got there ahead of him, I’d have him cover me with coats previous to his climb to his hiding place. 

 

 After a while, the pattern of coats was pretty well established and I would just run and dive under them before our mother came up the stairs.  When I think back, it doesn’t feel like it was a game. I don’t know what happened initially. 

 

It must have been something that angered our mother. I don’t imagine she’d do anything to us if she ever caught us. As she peered into the darkened closet she may have smiled knowing just where we were and walked away leaving us with the belief we had outsmarted her.

 

There were times when we played tricks on our mother. Plans were hatched in that same hallway.  You see, my family was one of the first in the neighborhood to get black and white television.

 

Because my father had to have the lamp off, I imagined myself to be like Abraham Lincoln who had to read by the light from a candle or fireplace. I wonder if he got an astigmatism as I did as a result from doing my homework by the light of Hop-a-long Cassidy’s campfire. 

 

Those television shows gave us fodder for activities to act out. We loved playing hotel,  not the sort kids might play today. This was modeled after Billy the Kid and Whip Lash Wilson.  No Annie Oakley for me; my little sister got to play her.  

 

My grandfather, who died when I was three, left behind a ledger from his blacksmith business and Mother let us use it for our hotel ledger.  Later Mother said, “That that ledger was probably worth a lot of money before you kids scribbled all over it with your favorite crayon.” 

 

I bet it would be worth even more money now with all of our famous signatures in it.  I wonder where it is now and who is raking in all of the dough.

 

We had a rule that you had to check your guns at the desk when you signed in.  It seemed to be on the honor system as there was no one to be the desk clerk, We were busy robbing banks, with Annie Oakley tagging along. 

 

The bank was actually a low cupboard in the kitchen, not used for very much except storing Mother’s loot.  Because each feared the other would get more candy, we fought so much that Mother said we had to divide up the spoils. 

 

Being the oldest usually meant being blamed for stuff I didn’t do, but this time it worked out for the better. I got to divide up the three bags of various flavors of candy and make some of the rules.  It was decided that the leftovers, those not in multiple of three, would go to Mother.  We agreed to put them safely in the cupboard for her. She was going to have all of the leftovers.

 

We went back to our hotel to rest, checking our guns at the desk.  One might imagine we didn’t take a very long rest and were soon grabbing our guns, to hold up an otherwise occupied bank clerk.

  

It seemed Mother was always in the kitchen cooking, washing dishes,  or cleaning up.  This made it quite easy to sneak up on her, dial open the imaginary combination to the safe, grab the goods, and high-tail it back to the hotel to divide up the day’s take. 

 

The yummy, coveted, sweet, chewy leftovers, numbering one or two, were placed back in the safe, ensuring our fun would continue until the next bank deposit. When that was carried out a fresh plan for another stickup could be formulated.