“The same,” Dad said. “The doctors don’t know if—” His voice broke and he turned away so I couldn’t see his face.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up.”
8
DUCK AND COVER
I’d thought getting up at 4:30 a.m. was hard the day before. I’d been wrong. It was nothing compared to the torture of pulling myself out of bed that second day. My rear end was sore, so I rode standing up, which meant my calves hurt before I’d even gone a mile. I wasn’t used to so much exercise, and with the beating on top of that, every muscle in my body ached, even my eyes from squinting against the wind. I was so tired, if Khrushchev himself had appeared on my street, I’m not sure I would have noticed. My balance was terrible and I fell off three or four times, but I kept getting back on that bike.
Ma and Pa were out in front of their house, chasing three escaped chickens that were running in circles in the street in the predawn light. Pa, tall and thin with whiskers like a broom, sighed when I handed him the paper.
“In my country, Tommy, I was a doctor. Here, I chase poultry and sell eggs to make a living.” He smiled, but the wrinkled skin around his gray eyes still made him look sad.
“Got one!” Ma yelled, holding a hen high up in the air. “She’s our best layer!”
Pa sighed again and went to help his wife.
At McKenzie’s store, I threw the paper at the door without even stopping. The lights were already on at Mrs. Scully’s and with a dress mannequin in every window it looked like she was having a breakfast party. The Russian lady was playing the accordion, a hymn we sometimes sang at school, even though I’d never seen her at our church. The only good thing about the paper route was that it meant I didn’t have time to have breakfast with Mom.
School was slightly better than the day before. Instead of going to our classrooms after Mass, we all shuffled upstairs to the big assembly room and were shown a film. The movie started with a silly little cartoon turtle named Bert and a funny song that went, “Duck and cover. Duck and cover.” But only the really little kids giggled, because the movie was about how to get ready for an atomic bomb.
According to the film, if there was the threat of an atomic bomb attack, a siren would sound and we should all stop what we were doing and get to a safe place. That might be a basement or a hallway. Even ducking under a desk would help, as long as you remembered to cover your head and neck.
Eddie nudged me as we watched the film. “You can come to my bomb shelter.”
“Thanks,” I whispered back.
But if there wasn’t a warning, if the civil defense hadn’t noticed the bomb in time, the first sign of an atomic bomb would be a huge, bright flash, brighter than any light you’ve ever seen before.
“The bomb could explode any time of the year, day or night,” the narrator instructed. “We must be ready all day, every day. All the time. Even on the school bus. Or riding our bikes to Boy Scouts. Or playing ball with our friends.”
This was the part of fighting commies I didn’t like, worrying about how I’d protect myself and my sisters. When the movie was finally over, everyone was quiet. Sister Ann led us back to our classroom.
“We are going to do our very own air-raid drill,” she informed us. “Just like you saw in the movie. I will count to three, and when I get to three, you will all get under your desks and duck and cover just like you saw in the film. You will stay in that position, absolutely quiet, until I give the all clear. Are there any questions?”
Lizzie shook her head. No one said a word.
“One. Two. Three.”
Everyone leaped out of their seats and dove under their desks. I curled myself up into a ball, and pressed my hands over my head and neck, just like Mary Lou had instinctively done when she’d been burned. I could picture her, smell the fire and her burned skin.
And suddenly I couldn’t stay in that position another second, not even if there was a real atomic bomb. I picked my head up and looked around the classroom.
All the students were huddled obediently under their desks, their eyes hidden. Even Sister Ann was squeezed under the big desk at the front of the room, her wimple providing extra protection for her head and neck.
It was all too much to handle. How could we worry every second of the day and night? I had to do something, anything, to break the tension. Lizzie’s foot was just a few inches in front of me. I reached forward and pulled her black Mary Jane right off her lacy white sock.
“Eeeek!” Lizzie screamed.
I dropped the shoe and curled back up into my duck-and-cover position, peeking out between my fingers.
“Who said that?” Sister Ann demanded from underneath her desk. “I said absolute quiet. Lizzie Johnson, was that you?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Someone took off my shoe.”
“If there were a real atomic bomb,” Sister Ann reminded her, “the last thing you’d be worried about was your shoe.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I could feel Lizzie’s gaze on the back of my neck, sure she was going to rat me out. But the seconds ticked by and she didn’t say a word.
Finally, Sister Ann crawled out from under her desk. “It has been a minute now. You may all stand up.”
At least everyone was too distracted by the drill to ask me about my sister.
Later that day, despite being more tired than an Indian pony on a buffalo hunt, I started winning the marble game at recess. I had knuckled down and captured all of Peter’s marbles and was working on Eddie’s last big shooter, when, wouldn’t you know, Little Skinny walked by. Of course his shoe was untied. A normal person would have just stumbled or something, but oh no, he tripped and he fell right onto me, pushing me into our game and scattering the shiny glass cat’s eyes I’d won all over the blacktop.
“You idiot!” I yelled at him. “Now look what you made me do!”
“I didn’t do anything,” he mumbled. He’d scraped his arm and I could see a little drop of blood run down his elbow, like the red yo-yo Mom had gotten from Mr. McKenzie.
Suddenly, like a great wave was washing over me, I was furious. “You told on me!”
“What?” asked Little Skinny, confused.
“You told your dad about the yo-yos!” I screamed. “You’re a rat!”
“No, I’m not,” he protested. But his lip trembled and it would have been obvious even to Pinky that he was lying.
Eddie jumped up. “Tattletale!”
“I didn’t say anything!” Little Skinny wailed.
I grabbed his tie, tight around his fat neck. “Admit it!”
He stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the ground.
The choirboys gathered around, watching like we were in a television show.
“You are going to be sorry you were ever born!” yelled Eddie.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “now I have to go help in your stupid shop every Saturday.” I bunched his collar up in my fist. The scar on his face glistened with sweat, like a stop sign in the rain. “Admit it!”
Tears leaked out of Little Skinny’s eyes. “Okay, I told.”
I punched him in the stomach.
He bent over double and glanced at me, bewildered. “But I admitted it!”
My heart was beating faster than ever.
“You can get expelled for fighting,” Peter said.
“Shut up!” I yelled. Even though it was true. You could get expelled. “You gonna go tattle to Sister Ann?”
“No,” Peter said, backing away, as if he were scared of me.
That made me feel even worse. I’d never actually hit anyone at school before. Mary Lou always stopped me. But she wasn’t there and I hadn’t heard her say anything, even in my mind. Had she died?
I ran to the bathroom and threw up. It took a long time for my heart to slow down. Finally, I washed my mouth out with w
ater and returned to the street.
No one seemed to have noticed I’d been gone. Eddie was off tossing a ball with another guy from our class. The nuns were tut-tutting over Little Skinny’s cut arm. Lizzie was jumping rope. I wanted to thank her for not telling on me about the shoe, but I didn’t. The choirboys were busy gathering up all the marbles, the blue ones and the green ones, and even the big shooter with the silver and gold sparkles inside. I knew tomorrow they’d suggest we play again, and would divide them up fairly. But I still felt so angry, I wanted to cry.
9
VISITING MARY LOU
After school, before I could get on the bus, Mom met me on the front steps. At first glance, she looked okay. Her dress was neat and ironed; she’d combed her hair and put on a necklace and lipstick. But her eyes were wild, a mix of brown and green. For a moment, I thought she’d heard about the incident on the playground. But she only grabbed my arm and said, “Come on. We’re going to go see Mary Lou.”
I was relieved. If Mary Lou was allowed to have visitors, it must mean she was doing better! What I discovered, after forty-five minutes in the car, was that Mom and the baby were going to see Mary Lou, not me. I was so disappointed, I wanted to scream. But there was Pinky, holding my hand, looking up at me with big brown eyes.
We sat in the waiting room for two hours. I gave Pinky an old piece of paper from my school satchel and she drew big round scribbles over and over while I did my homework. After a few minutes, her paper ripped and she started to cry. Pinky climbed into my lap and I rocked her and sang “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” about fifty-seven times.
I was so frustrated about not seeing Mary Lou, I felt like I was going to explode. Finally, Pinky fell asleep and I placed her on the couch. She rolled over, but didn’t wake up. This was my chance. I ran for the stairs.
I reached the stairwell just before my mother and a doctor walked into the lobby. I could hear Mom wailing, “Morphine? But she’ll become an addict!”
“We know what we’re doing,” said the doctor, his voice low and soothing. “There’s nothing else to control the pain. We can wean her off it slowly and . . .”
I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I ran up the stairs two at a time and poked my head out into the hall. No one was there. I was pretty sure Mary Lou’s room number was 320, so I ducked into that room and pulled the curtain.
The figure in the bed didn’t move. It was wrapped up in bandages, lots of them, like a mummy I’d seen in the encyclopedia Mom had at home. The person was turned away, facing the wall, so all I could see was long brown hair. There was a brush on the bedside table, and the hair was smooth, as if someone had just finished combing it.
I crept over to look at the person in the bed.
It was Mary Lou. I couldn’t speak. She looked both better and worse than I had expected. Her legs were covered with bandages so thick, they resembled sausages. Her face was puffy but unmarked, except for a scar on her forehead that her hair would cover. As I stared at the freckles on her nose—just the same as they’d always been—her eyelashes fluttered, like spiders dancing on her eyelids.
“Mary Lou,” I whispered. “It’s me.”
Her eyes opened for a moment, looking big and unfocused. “Tommy?” she mumbled.
I waited a long time, but she didn’t open her eyes again. Her breathing was slow and steady, as if she were asleep. But she was breathing. She was alive.
Finally, I turned to go. I hurried down the hall, then sat in the stairwell for a minute, just to catch my breath. That’s when I started crying. Really sobbing. My sister was alive and I knew I should be happy and thanking God, but I couldn’t stop crying. It was embarrassing. All I could think was, cowboys do not sob like babies. But then I remembered that Mary Lou might end up looking like Little Skinny, and the thought only made me sob harder.
Suddenly, I heard a door open on a floor above me. I held my breath. Someone else was in the stairwell with me. I jumped up and started down the stairs, wanting to avoid whoever it was.
But the door hadn’t been on the floor above me, it had been on the floor below, which meant I ran smack into a boy standing in the stairwell.
It was Little Skinny.
Even though I’d just been thinking about him, he was the last person I expected to see. For a moment, I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t breathe. There I was, my eyes all red, my face smudged and dirty. That was when I realized he was crying too, great big silent tears that fell down his red scar onto the white, starched collar of his shirt.
“Are you going to hit me again?” he asked.
I didn’t answer, just pushed past him and ran back to the lobby. Mom, Susie and Pinky were sitting on the couch, waiting for me.
“Where have you been?” Mom snapped.
“I had to go to the bathroom,” I said.
“Well, come on,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”
Mom didn’t cry or yell as we got in the car, but she started driving way too fast. I didn’t dare ask her to slow down.
10
WORKING FOR MR. MCKENZIE
Little Skinny stayed out of my way all that week at school. I was glad. Every time I saw him, I wondered why he’d been at the hospital, and if Mary Lou’s scars were going to end up looking like his.
I didn’t want to spend my Saturday helping in Mr. McKenzie’s store, so I decided to give back the yo-yos. Then my debt would be repaid and I’d never have to set foot in his store again. I still had the yellow yo-yo and the red one too. Eddie gave me the blue one back and I promised not to rat him out. “I know,” he said. “We keep each other’s secrets.”
Saturday, September 19, was raining and miserable. It took me a long time to do the paper route. I kept imagining what I’d do if I saw that bright flash that meant an atomic bomb, kept looking for places where I could duck and cover. A wall. An embankment. Something like that. I saw no one. Everyone else was safe and snug in their beds, even the chickens. But Boots loyally came along, his black-and-white fur sticking to his sides, making him look like an oversized rat in the rain. By the time I was done, I was soaked through. I put the yo-yos, wrapped in brown paper, into my school satchel and walked slowly to the store.
When I arrived, there were a couple of customers walking up and down the aisles. Little Skinny sat at the front counter working the cash register. He flinched when he saw me and had to count out change for the little old lady buying eggs three times before he got it right. I’d decided to leave the yo-yos on the counter and get out of there, when Mr. McKenzie hurried out of the back room.
“Tommy!” His voice was a big, booming growl. “You’re late.”
I shrugged.
He put his hands on his hips, looking like a huge, angry bear. “Why did you do this to me? I would have given you a yo-yo had you asked!”
I didn’t answer.
He sighed and held out a broom and dustpan. “Sweep out the store. Front to back.”
“Actually . . .” I let the words trail off.
“Actually, what?” His bushy eyebrows huddled together, like a caterpillar on his face.
I gave him my sweetest, most innocent smile. “I decided to just return them,” I said, handing over the small package.
His face froze, as if an ice storm had suddenly blown into town. Stiffly, he unwrapped the paper.
“See,” I said, grinning even broader. “Good as new.”
Mr. McKenzie did not reply.
“Well,” I said. “See you around!” I turned to go.
He grabbed my shirt. “No.”
I jerked away. “What do you mean, no?”
“How long do you think I would stay in business if I allowed boys to ‘borrow’ items whenever they wanted?” Now he spoke so softly, I had to strain to hear him. “No, the deal with your mother was you’d work for me on Saturday mornings, from nine until twelve.”
“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “Then give me back the yo-yos.”
“Oh, Tommy.” He laughed. “You are a funny boy!” He held out the broom again.
I glared at him.
“Sweep,” Mr. McKenzie said. “Front to back.”
I took the broom. “Yes, sir,” I said, sarcastic as can be. He didn’t even look at me as he walked off.
So I started sweeping. Every time I thought I was done, he pointed out another spot I’d missed. Five times. Even Mom wasn’t that picky.
When I was finished with the floors, I had to wash the windows. And dry them, even though it was still raining. Then it was carry boxes from here to there and there to here. While all Little Skinny did was wrap up the items people bought in old newspapers and work the register, pecking at the keys like a hungry bird.
My anger grew with each new task. Sure, I’d known it was wrong to take the yo-yos, but to make me work when I’d returned them? That was ridiculous!
It was almost noon, almost time for me to go, and the store was crowded. Little Skinny complained that he was hungry.
“You go on back and make yourself a sandwich,” Mr. McKenzie said. “I’ll take over at the register for a while.”
I was hungry too. And my feet hurt. But no one offered me a break. No, I just had to keep on restocking canning jars on a shelf. I was paying attention, I really was, but one of the jars was wet, which was probably why I dropped it.
The jar bounced and then shattered loudly into a million pieces.
Everyone came scurrying over to my aisle to see what had happened. Mr. McKenzie walked up and inspected the broken glass on the floor, like he’d never seen a broken jar before.
“Clumsy,” he said finally.
All the customers were looking at me. It was embarrassing. I’ve been up since 4:30, I wanted to yell at them. I’m tired!
Mr. McKenzie clucked his tongue. “Tommy, that was careless.”
I was so furious, I wanted to slug him. Deal or no deal, I wasn’t going to take that. I turned on my heel and walked off.
The Paper Cowboy Page 5
