Banana Man (a Novella)

by Christian Blake

  Danny remembered the drive out of town and how the morning sun peeked over one side of the mountain range. His dad called it a fire in the sky. That sunrise glowed hot behind the mountains for several minutes. Then it crept over the hills. Crimson light streaked across the sky, igniting several trapped clouds that floated high above the valley floor.

  Not far outside the city, his dad spun the wheel and that big truck took a hard left off the highway and onto a bumpy dirt road with big rocks and boulders. The truck jostled and shook its way down a narrow dirt path. Danny could still remember the dust and the occasional sound of tires spinning freely beneath the truck. His dad slowed the truck down to a crawl, pressed a button on the dash, and the truck lurched to a stop. Then he pulled down hard on a big lever on the floor of the cab. That kicked in the four-wheel drive, and the engine growled low. The truck pushed forward once again, steady and strong, but at a much slower pace.

  The slow, bumpy drive continued for another twenty minutes. All the while, Danny watched the sun inch higher into the sky, and took his time munching on his donut and drinking his milk.

  It wasn’t long before the big truck stopped beside a shallow creek. They got their poles ready under the rising sunlight. He remembered his dad’s words of wisdom: The best time to fish a river is sunrise, sunset, and especially after a hard rain. That’s when the fish come up to eat because rain knocks debris into the rising water, and goodies float downstream.

  He could see clusters of fish just off shore, wading casually beneath the clear water’s surface, their little mouths gaping open and shut.

  While his dad tried to educate him on the fineries of casting and reeling, Danny simply plunked the bait into the water, let it float a bit, and then repeated the process. He didn’t bother casting. He could see the bait floating directly in front of the fish’s mouth; there was no reason to cast. Just keep teasing the fish and they would eventually bite. And they did: the third time he dropped the bait into the water, Danny snagged a fat trout that caught him by surprise and almost yanked him into the creek. The fishing pole bowed and the reel screamed as the fish fled downstream. His dad grabbed hold of the pole and took over for the most part, but Danny kept his hands on the reel and helped land that first one.

  For the next hour, they both hauled in good sized trout. His dad strung them up through the gills on a yellow string line. Right before they left for home, another fisherman happened to show up. His dad asked the man to take a picture of the two of them using his Vivitar camera, which he always kept in the glove box.

  They were done fishing within a few hours after they left the house. Then the rain came, and the stream swelled. Black clouds poured over the mountains and down into the valley. Thunder and lightning followed thereafter, and a heavy downpour seemingly came out of nowhere. During the ride home, Danny remembered hearing a weather warning on the radio about flash floods hitting certain parts of the county. But like his dad promised his mom, they were safely in the big truck and on their way back home before the storm worsened.

  The next photo frame on the mantel contained a strip of black and white snapshots of Danny and his mom. They took a family trip to a beach town and spent a sunny afternoon and a cool evening at an amusement park built right on the sand. It was the first time he had ever been to the beach. The strip of photos was from a photo booth. Danny and his mom climbed into one, stuck a bunch of quarters into the slot, and then smiled and laughed and ate pink cotton candy for the camera.

  He remembered the throng of people on that summer night, and the giant Ferris wheel spinning on the edge of the wooden pier. He also remembered being so afraid and nervous that he almost puked up the cotton candy and the plain hot dog he ate for dinner.

  All those spinning lights in the night sky made the steel structure look too big and too heavy, like its weight would crush the pier at any moment. And all those people, hundreds of them, milling around on the old pier, eating buttered popcorn, drinking sodas, and walking around under the stars without a worry on their mind. Danny kept thinking the pier’s wooden planks would snap and dump everyone into the sea.

  His mom convinced him to go on the Ferris wheel. At first he was apprehensive, but when they climbed into one of the cages, and the attendant pulled down the safety bar, Danny got excited – he suddenly couldn’t wait to get up in the air.

  He bounced in his seat, and dangled his feet out of the cage. He waved excitedly at the other little kids on the pier. He kept looking up at the top of the Ferris wheel, eager to get higher so he could see what the city lights looked like from high above.

  His excitement didn’t last long.

  When that Ferris wheel rolled their cage close to the top, an ocean wind kicked up, and the cage started swaying and squeaking. Danny got scared. It was just too high in the air. He almost got sick right then and there. His little hands squeezed the safety bar real tight. He crammed himself into the corner of the cage as far as he could, and braced himself with his legs, pushing his feet against the floor, as if he might somehow slide out and fall.

  His eyes widened and he looked down at the pier, realizing they were high in the sky. If he fell out, it would be a death fall. He’d go splat on the pier in front of everybody. He didn’t want to die.

  He glanced over at his mom and saw that she wasn’t scared one bit. Her eyes were closed. She had a pleasant smile on her face and her hair was flying around in the wind. She took deep breaths, enjoying the ocean air. She looked happy. She looked free.

  And when they started to roll back down to the bottom, it felt like the entire Ferris wheel was going to tumble off the pier and sink into the ocean. The sensation of rolling into the water frightened him.

  When Danny started trembling, she felt it, and she snapped out of her enjoyment and saw her terror stricken child backed into the corner of the cage and holding onto the safety bar for dear life. She scooted real close and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and held his hand. The moment she held him, a warm, safe feeling swept through his body, and his fear vanished. His tension eased. His muscles relaxed, and he took a deep, calm breath. She held him close until the Ferris wheel returned them to the ground. Then she promised he didn’t have to go on that ride again.

  Danny never forgot that ride on the Ferris wheel, and he never forgot how his mom could make him feel safe whenever he got scared.

  While Danny and his mom ate cotton candy and threw darts at balloons and rode the rides, his dad sat on an old wooden bench at the end of the pier facing the water. He sat silently and enjoyed the night, taking tiny sips from his coffee and listening to the sound of crashing waves.

  Between the two of them, his mom was the fun one, and his dad the practical one. When his dad taught him how to build a fire, his mom taught him how to play hop scotch. That was the way it worked when it came to gifts as well. His dad bought useful stuff while his mom gave him what he wanted. For his last birthday his dad bought him a fishing pole and a tackle box full of gear, and his mom bought him a new bike and a comic book. His mom wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to have fun and she did everything she could to keep him smiling.

  While Danny daydreamed about the photographs, the rain slowed to a drizzle. The crackling fire was the only sound in the shadowy living room. With the slowing of the rain, the clouds dispersed and let some of the afternoon sun escape. The living room filled with a warm glow.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Earning A Dollar

  His dad’s work truck rumbled outside the kitchen window, its steel service bed squeaking and groaning as metal rubbed against metal, the truck easing its way onto the slab of concrete on the side of the house. A moment later the engine went dead, and his dad slammed shut the truck door. He entered the house through the kitchen, and then entered the living room. The big man wore layers of thick, dirty clothing and weathered construction boots.

  “Hey Danny.”

  “Hi dad.” Danny wanted to ask his dad for a buck so he could get over to Cleary’s an
d buy the comic book, but he figured he should let his dad relax first, at least for a few minutes. Danny sat quietly while his dad settled in.

  His dad worked construction, and he worked hard every day. He left the house before sunrise and came home late afternoon. He smelled of dirt and oil. Danny could smell his clothes over the burning fire. That was how his clothes always smelled.

  His dad sat down near the fireplace, slow and careful, exhausted from a long day of work. He rubbed his calloused hands in front of the flames. “I got to work ten hours today.” He opened the fireplace grill and poked at the fire with a metal rod. “Pine is almost burned through.” He lifted a heavy piece of oak and fed it into the fire. The oak crushed down on the pine, and the fire spit sparks and embers. He swung the grill shut, leaned the poker against the brick, and gazed into the flames. His shoulders slumped a little, and for a moment Danny saw sadness in his eyes.

  Danny couldn’t contain himself any longer and blurted out, “I need to borrow money. You can take it out of my allowance. I know it’s not Friday but I want to get Banana Man. It came out today and the guys will be out of detention soon and there’s only one copy left.” He was talking fast but he couldn’t help it. He always talked fast when he was nervous or he wanted something. “Mr. Cleary only buys three copies. I need a dollar dad. Can I have a dollar?” He forgot to mention that Mr. Cleary promised to keep the last copy aside. There really wasn’t a rush, but Danny wanted to buy the comic as soon as possible.

  His dad laughed. “Banana Man? What kind of super hero is that?”

  “Please dad?”

  “Tell you what. I’m going to get out of these clothes and take a shower. You ride your bike over to the post office and get the mail. When you get back, I’ll give you a buck for your comic. I won’t take it out of your allowance.”

  “That’s not fair. Billy and Tommy’s mom already bought theirs. Chris is going to beat me to Cleary’s and get the last one. I know it. Let me buy it first and then I’ll get the mail.”

  But his dad had already left the room. He yelled from down the hallway, “Take your backpack. I haven’t checked the mail for a week and there’s going to be a lot. And don’t get it wet.”

  For as long as Danny could remember, his dad always had the mail delivered to the post office instead of the house. Privacy was important to him. He told Danny on more than one occasion he didn’t like strangers knocking on their front door, and that included the mailman.

  Danny checked his watch: 3:30.

  His friends would get out of detention at four. That gave him thirty minutes to get to the post office and back home and over to Cleary’s Market. Although Farmer Cleary promised to hold the comic for him, he didn’t entirely trust that old man, not when it came to earning a dollar.

  If Chris’s mom picked him up from detention at four o’clock sharp and drove him straight to the store, he would get there by four-fifteen at the latest. There was no way Danny would make it to Cleary’s in time if he took the long way to the post office. He would have to take the shortcut through Tucker Street Alley.

  Danny put on his wet sneakers. He dumped the contents of his backpack onto the kitchen table, and then slung it over his shoulders and strapped it down. He grabbed the mailbox key from the hook on the kitchen wall and left the house.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tucker Street Alley

  Tucker Street Alley was in a bad neighborhood.

  Danny’s dad warned him not to ride his bike anywhere near Tucker Street and definitely not to walk through it. His buddies received similar caution from their parents, and for the most part, Danny and his pals avoided the entire block. But it wasn’t their warnings that kept the young boys away. It was the dog.

  The most notable part of the alley was Charlie the dog. It was his alley. Some of the kids at school learned the truth of that fact the hard way by trekking through his domain and getting chased and sometimes bitten. The smart kids respected the rumors. They steered clear.

  Supposedly Charlie piled his victim’s shoes in the bushes somewhere. Danny never knew if that rumor was true or not, but on several occasions he noticed the mailman wore mismatched shoes; not that one was completely different than the other, but that one shoe was definitely newer than the other, as if he mysteriously lost a shoe along his route.

  Getting bitten by a dog over a comic seemed like a stupid risk to take, but trusting Mr. Cleary to keep his promise was equally risky. If he didn’t get to the store and buy the last copy with his own hands, chances were he would never get it. The publisher – a small press out of Eugene, Oregon – kept its distribution limited, and no other store in town carried it. Mr. Cleary unknowingly purchased an already obscure comic when he first ordered it.

  He stopped his bike at the beginning of the alley before the asphalt ended and the mud began.

  Danny was a smart kid. He knew better than to think it would be an easy ride through the alley after so much rain. He hopped off his bike and poked a finger into the mud to test its depth. It was soft; his finger sank pretty easily. He’d have to slog through it on his bike between the weeds and trash bins.

  Tucker Street Alley wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t narrow at the exact spot where Charlie lived. The dog always hid in a stretch of wild bushes that extended from a home with backyard overgrowth so thick it was impossible to see the back of the house. The dog would lurk somewhere in that jungle, and wait for an unsuspecting kid to get close.

  Directly opposite where Charlie lived – on the other side of the alley – was a crumbling block wall. Between the wild bushes and the wall, the alley narrowed, squeezing anyone walking through it and forcing them within arms reach of the bushes. There wasn’t much space either; barely enough room for two kids to walk side by side. It was the perfect spot for an ambush.

  He figured he’d get a head start on his bike, hoping to get up enough speed to shoot by the bushes. If he could make it through the alley, the rest of the trip to the post office would be a breeze, and he would easily save ten minutes each direction. Of course, he would have to carry his bike across the tracks but that wasn’t a big deal. He’d done it before.

  He positioned his bike a good distance away from the mud, took a deep breath, and started pedaling hard, racing across the asphalt toward the alley. For a moment it seemed he’d built up enough speed to zoom by Charlie, but once his bike rode onto the mud, his tires bogged down. The further he rode, the slower his bike rolled.

  It didn’t take long before his tires sank up to the spokes. His speed slowed so much that he struggled to keep his balance, but he kept on pedaling. His legs started to burn, and he got winded. Even with all his effort, the bike barely inched forward.

  Danny looked down and noticed the back tire had dug a trench; it was spinning freely. The mud was too deep to continue on bike. He would have to walk.

  He gave up pedaling and got off the bike and almost slipped, his sneakers squishing into the slimy mud. His first thought was to head back, but when he twisted around to see how far he traveled, he realized he had already gone a good distance into the alley. His plan had sort of worked. He might as well push forward.

  He held his bike by the handle bars and kept it on his left side – the same side as Charlie’s bushes – and began the muddy walk to the other end of the alley.

  Charlie had tried to bite Danny one time before. He hadn’t forgot that. And here he was doing the very same thing: taking a shortcut to get to the post office.

  Cutting through the alley probably wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Charlie The Dog

  The air was calm, and the alley quiet. The clouds had thinned, and the late afternoon sun peeked through and painted the alley in streaks of golden light.

  Danny trudged onward through the mud, dragging his bike alongside him, getting closer and closer to the choke point; the bushes coming up on his left and the cinder block on his right. The mud sucked at his shoes with each squishy step
, making it tough to keep his footing. His sneakers nearly shot out from under him several times. Dogs had good hearing. If Charlie was in the bushes, which he probably was, he heard Danny getting closer. There would be no sneaking by.

  Although the dog hadn’t made a sound yet, the boy sensed it watching him. Charlie was probably eyeballing Danny’s sneakers, at least what he could see of them. Danny couldn’t imagine they’d be very tasty with all that mud on them.

  The only mild comfort was that his bike shielded him somewhat from Charlie’s side of the alley. Other than possibly blocking the dog’s attack, his bike was more of a hindrance than a help, and had become dead weight. He could fling it at Charlie if necessary, but he didn’t want to do that.