3rd Moanin' of Christmas

 

2-19-01

 

Greetings from somewhere in time,


The screen door slams open and the little boy storms out into the yard.  He stomps down the sidewalk, his feet pounding the Keds onto the pavement in angry slaps.  His face is set in an angry frown, his brow furrowed below the severe cowlick that etches his hairline.  He marches down the sidewalk, does not look back to see his mother watching him from the door.

He crosses the street, does not stop, look or listen.  He is transfixed in anger.  He tromps down the other side of the street, kicking a small rock in front of him.  Down the street past three houses towards the store to which his mother has sent him.

He is five.  His world is toy cars and Lincoln logs and comic books and crayons.  He was deep in this world when his mother gave him the edict to travel one block to the store.  Clenched in his fist is a note with a short list and some dollar bills.  He has been warned not to lose these. 

His pace lessens slightly as he approaches the alley that runs behind the row of stores.  He stops at the alley, bends at the waist and cranes his neck to look down the little road.  The older boys in the neighborhood have told him stories of rats that are big as dogs, rats big enough to eat small boys.  He hurries across and around the corner to the front of the stores.

He swings open the screen door at Mrs.Dodge's grocery, and strides in.  He slams the crumpled note and the money on the counter and steps back. His arms are folded on his chest, chin tucked in and he glares at Mrs. Dodge.

She stands with a broom behind the counter of the small shop, framed by shelves that extend nearly to the ceiling.  Cereal boxes, bread, canned goods, jars of pickles, form a mosaic behind her.  A white apron is stretched across her print dress, there is a pencil wedged in her gray hair, swept up into a bun behind her head.    She reaches out to the counter, and smoothes out the wrinkled note there.  She tries a few conciliatory words to the boy, but he is defiant.

Mrs. Dodge packs the few things on the list into a small bag, drops the change in the bottom and slides the bag across the counter.  She offers the boy a sucker from the jar on the counter.  He shakes his head.

Sliced bread is packaged in cellophane, lined in the bottom by a thin piece of cardboard.  Mrs. Dodge slides this liner out of a bag of bread and shows it to the little boy.  Printed there is a cartoon rendering of  a jolly King, smiling and waving.  The boy's countenance cracks.  He smiles.

Mrs. Dodge pulls scissors from her apron pocket, and frees the little King from the cardboard, and presents it to the little boy.  He beams at her.  He remembers his manners, and then picks up the bag of groceries and walks out, exchanging goodbyes over his shoulder.

All the way home the boy chats with the King, making the noises and laughs that five year old boys make.  He announces his arrival at home, brandishes his gift at his mother, and retires to his room.  The King is placed in a position of honor, next to his bed.

Weeks later the little boy is in the store with his mother, and baby sister. Mrs. Dodge is chatting and sweeping, and the little boy interrupts, expressing a desire for a sucker.  His mother chides him for his lack of manners, and denies him any candy.   The little boy looks to Mrs. Dodge for support, but finds she is allied with his mother.  He is betrayed.  Tears well in his dark eyes, and he runs out of the store.

He runs past the alley, down the block and across the street to his house, in the front door and to his room.  He swipes the King from the bedside and dashes back out of the house.  His arms and legs pumping furiously, he runs past his mother on the sidewalk, ignoring her call.  Across the alleyway with no glance for monster rats, he careens around the corner to the store.

He bursts into Mrs. Dodge's store and slams the King on the counter.  He is breathless from his run, but she knows what he means to say.  She looks at his tear stained face, and she reaches out her hand.  He spins around and runs back out.

The little boy and his family move away to another neighborhood.  Occasionally they visit, but time eventually erodes connection with their old neighbors.   The boy becomes a young man, not quite so prone to outbursts of defiance.  Fourteen summers pass, and one day his picture is in the local paper for some accomplishment.  He is handsome, confident, content, smiling out from under his beard.  Only a close friend might recognize the little boy that he was once.

And a close friend does.  A week after the newspaper article, the young man receives mail from Mrs. Dodge.  Inside is a card with a brief note.  And folded in a sheet of paper, the King.

The young man travels back to his old neighborhood.  He stands in front of his first home, which has been shrunk by time to tiny proportions. He walks down the sidewalk, across the street to the alley.  He stands and looks at the trash strewn there, and feels no glimmer of fear of rats. 

Around the corner he walks into the store.  A man is behind the counter; he eyes the visitor with suspicion.  The young man asks for Mrs. Dodge.  He is told that she could no longer work in the store.  The last time she was robbed, they locked her in the walk-in cooler, and scared her into retirement.  The young man remembers his manners, and walks out into the summer sun, holding the King in his hand.

Twenty four summers pass.  The young man's cowlick has vanished as his hairline crept away.

All manner of events have swirled around him over time, more good than bad, etching into him the character his parents hoped for when he was a born.  Happily, his wife saw this potential, and did not dismiss him as a defiant boy.

He is surrounded by his children, sitting on the floor of his bedroom, looking through old pictures and letters.  Amid the memories, an envelope with his name on it.  He empties it on the carpet and there smiling at him again is the jolly King from Mrs. Dodge.  A reminder of an act of kindness, patience, and of forgiveness.  Three strong elements of friendship.

The King is tattered after all his travels, missing the hand that once was his salute.  But his smile is there, and the man is reminded of his childhood friend every time he looks at it.

Like I am right now.

Hope this finds you in reverie.

David