FanStory.com - The Sidekickby Wayne Fowler

Ohmie lay in his bed, sleep afar off though it was an hour past his bedtime. His friend, Blado, a child’s rendering of Bladwell, had piqued his seven-year-old brain, claiming to be his sidekick. Ohmie wanted Blado, who was nearly a year older, to be his partner, his co-equal, his friend.

“Nope. Sidekick.” Blado was insistent. “See the main dude, he has to kiss the girls and give the speeches at the end of the show. An’ I ain’t doin’ either one!”

Those were his last words as he ran down the block to his home. “Besides,” Blado had said, “you are the one always thinking up the games, the plot of our Cowboy and Indians, cops and robbers, pirates, and the alien invasions. I’m like, just tryin’ ta keep up.”

Ohmie had no response.

The next morning Blado was at Ohmie’s house just as he finished his breakfast.

“Hey, Blado. Wanna play detectives?”

“Sure, I’m, Sergeant Friday. Just the facts, Ma’am.” Blado had perfectly mimicked Officer Bill Gannon, Joe Friday’s sidekick. “We should inter…”

“Interrogate,” Ohmie supplied.

“Yeah, interrogate your mom. She always leads us to somebody else but she’s the one that done it.”

“You know Joe Friday and Bill Gannon were partners, right?”

Blado shook his head. “Nope, Friday was a sergeant and Gannon only an Officer.”

“But…”

Blado interrupted Ohmie. “Sidekick, like Froggy for Gene Autry, or Pat Brady and Roy Rogers.”

“Roy had lots of sidekicks. How about Laurel and Hardy?”

“I’m Stan.”

“Abbot and Costello,” Ohmie offered.

“Lou Costello.”

Attempting to stymie Blado, Ohmie pitched the Three Stooges.

“You’re Moe. I’m one of the other ones. You would be Batman, but I’m not playin’ Robin.”

“How ‘bout the Robin in the movie? The one who rode a motorcycle?”

Blado thought a minute. “Well, maybe. Superman didn’t really have a sidekick. Unless you’re thinkin’ of the TV show. There, he had Jimmy Olsen.”

Ohmie changed directions. “The Hardy Boys, Frank and Joe?”

“Ahhh. Really tryin’ ta trick me. You think I don’t read, don’tcha?” Blado laughed. “On TV and the movies they’re ‘bout the same. But in the books, Frank is four years older. An’ that’s a lot. Makes Joe the sidekick. And before you ask, Andy and Barney from Mayberry.”

Blado’s smirking expression inspired Ohmie. “Bullwinkle.”

“Hah! Bullwinkle. Rocky is the brains. “Tom and Jerry?” Blado challenged, defying Ohmie to name their order.

“Tryin’ ta trick me again, huh?” Ohmie grinned. “It’s not the same. They’re not good guy and sidekick. Anyway, Jerry’s the boss. Yogi Bear?”

“Boo-boo,” Blado retorted dismissively.

“Quick Draw McGraw?”

“Baba Looie.”

“Winnie the Pooh,” Ohmie threw out, laughing.

“Piglet.” Blado shook his head at the ridiculousness of the duo.

“Huckleberry Hound?”

Blado pinched his eyes shut, finally yelling out “Ding Dong.”

The two boys quieted, careening their ears as Ohmie’s mother chuckled to herself in the neighboring room at Blado’s response.

“Close. I’ll give it to ya. It’s Ding-A-Ling Wolf.”

“Oh, yeah. Ding-A-Ling. Well, Huckleberry Finn?” Blado cocked his chin, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Depends on which book,” Ohmie replied. “It’s Tom Sawyer in Huckleberry’s book, and Huckleberry in Tom Sawyer’s book.”

Blado dropped his chin as well as his arms.

“Tom Terrific?” Feeling sorry for his friend, Ohmie offered a softball pitch.

Blado recovered himself, snapping out “Mighty Manfred the Wonder Dog!”

“I haven’t heard any girl sidekicks,” Ohmie’s mother said from the adjoining room, loud enough to momentarily stop the boys cold.

“Lois Lane,” they both shouted in unison.

“Sweet Polly Purebred,” Ohmie said, followed by Blado’s offering of Olive Oyl.

“And …” Ohmie looked to Blado, whispering “The Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Marion!” Blado shouted.

“In The Raiders of the Lost Ark,” Ohmie clarified.

Ohmie’s mother walked into the same room as the boys, clapping her hands. “Very, very well played, boys. How about pizza for lunch?”

Both boys danced and spun like four-year-olds, laughing and acting silly.

“All right then, outside with you. Ride your bikes, or play ball, or something until lunchtime.

Racing toward the front door, Blado shouted, “I’m Tonto!”

Ohmie’s mother just shook her head.

+++

On the street behind the one that the boys lived on, there was a vacant, acre-and-a-half lot that, being in legal limbo, was overgrown and untended. Neighborhood kids created a bicycle race track with moguls and ramps. On their first circuit around, Ohmie, who was then in the lead, entered the moguls wrong and landed in a heap, tangled in the sprocket of his upended bike.

Blado saw it happen directly in front of him. He also saw the timber rattler coiled and rising to strike Ohmie, only inches from his face.

While Ohmie was terror-stricken, frozen in place, Blado cast his bike aside and leaped toward the snake. With a one-footed landing, balanced by his left hand on a prickly burweed, he snatched the rattler by its neck just behind its head, exactly as he’d seen on a nature show on TV. In nearly a continuous motion, Blado righted himself and made a shot-putter’s spinning move to cast the snake dozens of yards distant.

Ohmie stared at his friend in awe. “Never call yourself a sidekick again, Blado. You’re the hero.”

Blado reached to help Ohmie to his feet, smiling at his friend.