Banana Man (a Novella)

by Christian Blake

  “So I’m sitting at the light in my truck and listening to the Emeralds lose their fourth in a row when this Honda loses control in the rain. It drifts, gets clipped by a big rig doing about sixty. The Honda skips off the highway and punches into the building. Big rig knocks over the telephone pole. The high wires snap and start whipping around, sparks are flying. Pole crashes onto the building. Gasoline ignites, and everything goes up in flames. The driver is screaming the whole time. Even in all that rain, the electrical fire and that gasoline burned for hours before they got it under control –”

  The bulldozer fired up. It caught Danny’s attention. He watched a muscular man drive the hulking piece of machinery off the back of the flatbed. It took several minutes. All the while, the man standing in the middle of the intersecting and directing traffic kept the cars at a stand still. Traffic had backed up considerably. The line of cars continued down the road as far as Danny could see.

  Danny got on his bike, and started riding toward the post office.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Peter Duncan

  His mother’s favorite market was in the same shopping center as the post office. When Danny saw the grocery store, he couldn’t help but think of grocery shopping with his mom.

  She claimed the market had the best prices in town. Saving money was important to her, and every penny counted. Pennies add up, she’d say, they add up to nickels and dimes! She liked to park the car at the far end of the parking lot so they could scout for change while they walked to the store. His dad wouldn’t let her do it if he was there. It embarrassed him. But Danny didn’t care. He even found a $5 bill in the parking lot one time. She said he was the luckiest boy in town. He bought comics with it, of course.

  Every Thursday the market published a full page of coupons in The Valley Tribune. She and Danny would sit at the kitchen table and cut them out. She’d stuff them in a jar for safekeeping, and whenever it was time to buy groceries, she’d dump them onto the table and Danny would flatten them out as best he could. She always waited until he got home from school to clip the coupons. For her, any time spent with her son was quality time.

  They would walk the aisles at the grocery store together, mother and son holding hands. She’d put an item into the basket, and Danny would double check to make sure they had a coupon for it. It was his job to make sure everything that went into the basket had one, otherwise they couldn’t buy it. Each week, they could pick one item that wasn’t on sale. She always picked cherry cola, and he always picked peanut butter cookies from the bakery.

  Danny liked grocery shopping. He liked holding his mom’s hand. Every once in a while she would say, Someday when you’re older, you won’t hold my hand anymore. He thought that was silly. No matter how old he got he’d always want to hold her hand.

  As Danny neared the post office, he spotted two boys in the empty lot behind it: Peter and Justin. They were two grades older than Danny, and both were notorious trouble makers. Danny could see the boys were up to no good. They were chucking mud balls at cars on the highway. It would be a matter of time before they broke a windshield or caused a wreck, and a driver stopped to scold the boys or call the police. Peter and Justin weren’t stupid though; the lot backed up to a forest, and they would dash into the woods at the first sign of trouble.

  The nicer of the two kids, Justin Werth, played along with whatever mean-spirited adventure Peter dreamed up. Justin rarely instigated but always participated, and everything was funny to him. Justin was Peter’s sidekick. They did everything together.

  Peter Duncan was entirely different. He was a villain. He pummeled smaller kids on a weekly basis and dished out black eyes whenever he could. Sometimes he got what he deserved; Danny had seen him sporting black eyes and bruises of his own. Every teacher knew Peter on a first name basis, and every teacher had broken up a Peter Duncan fight at one time or another. The kid was mean to the bone, like something wretched festered inside him. He was practically a permanent member of after school detention. In fact, when Danny first saw Peter behind the post office, he wondered why Peter wasn’t in detention.

  As Danny rode his muddy bike closer and closer to the two boys, he watched their bombardment of passing traffic, and silently hoped he could get to the post office unnoticed.

  Justin targeted the cars with as much precision as a youngster could. His throws were purposeful and focused. Unlike Justin, Peter’s throws were short and jerky, and fast – as if the more mud he flung into the air, the better.

  Justin took steady aim through a squinted eye at an approaching van. At precisely the right moment, he let fly a hefty chunk of mud. It sailed through the air with near perfect timing and struck the van’s side, thunk! Even though he scored a hit, the break lights didn’t pop on. Apparently the driver didn’t know the car had been struck, or maybe he didn’t care. The van roared down the road, oblivious to the blob of mud stuck to its side panel. Justin packed another mud missile.

  When Danny finally got close enough for the boys to see him, Peter pointed at Danny and yelled, “Did the little boy fall down in the mud?” Justin took a quick moment to laugh at his friend’s comment, and then returned his focus to pelting the passing cars.

  Danny ignored Peter’s remark, and simply said, “Hi Peter. Hi Justin.” He didn’t care for Peter or Justin, but he wasn’t afraid of them either.

  Peter eyeballed Danny as if trying to size him up. Then he flashed an evil grin. He chuckled to himself while he mashed together a baseball-sized mud ball. He didn’t try to hide what he was preparing to do, and Danny kept a wary eye on him. Then Peter took the whole idea to a dangerous level: he grabbed a jagged rock and pressed it into the mud baseball, just enough to leave a sharp edge exposed. With angry and sudden compulsion, he cocked his arm and threw it at Danny. He missed wide, but Danny still ducked, and the mud ball splattered against the side of the post office, narrowly missing a window. Peter laughed. “Go home and wash your face and your bike!”

  “At least I have a bike!” Danny said, and immediately regretted it. Sometimes he blurted out whatever thought came to mind. Danny hustled his bike toward the front door of the post office. Peter’s wrath was not to be taken lightly, and sure as the falling rain, it was coming quick and fast.

  Justin took another quick pause – long enough to laugh at what Danny said – and then continued throwing mud at the passing cars. He wasn’t terribly interested in Danny.

  Peter stood there and fumed, clenching his fists, and breathing in short, angry breaths. He contained his rage for as long as he could, which amounted to a few seconds, and then it burst free and he screamed. He bolted after Danny. By the time he rounded the building’s corner, Danny was pushing his bike through the crowd of folks waiting to get inside the post office. There were too many people for Peter to do anything rash. Peter glared at Danny, and then he turned sharply and walked away.

  Danny knew he made a mistake by saying what he did, but there was no mulling over it now. He had to get inside and get the mail so he could get home and buy Banana Man.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Post Office

  Danny tried to wedge his muddy bike through the front door but the postal worker behind the service counter shouted, “Hey! Leave that bike outside!”

  Danny always locked his bike wherever he went. He was careful that way. And if he couldn’t lock it, he left it within eyeshot. At the moment he couldn’t do either since his lock was at home on the kitchen table. He wasn’t too happy about that, but there wasn’t much he could do.

  He leaned his bike against the outside wall near the front door, right beside the line of customers. It would only take a minute to check the mail, and there were lots of people outside. They would watch it.

  Inside, there were four customer service windows. One was open. A line of thirty annoyed customers stretched from the lone window to out the front door.

  Danny was glad he wasn’t waiting in line.

  Some of the folks noticed Danny was covered
in mud. They didn’t comment. They just looked him up and down. Some smiled. As he walked, a path opened up before him. Apparently nobody wanted to brush up against a muddy kid.

  Danny made his way over to the P.O. boxes. He stood on the tips of his toes and stuck the key into box #407 and opened it. At first glance it appeared empty. Then he jumped so he could see inside, and caught a glimpse of blue. He poked a couple fingers in and slid out a blue slip. It read: Pick Up Mail At Service Window.

  “Dang,” he said to himself. It looked like he would be waiting in line after all.

  As he started to go outside to join the back of the line, a postal employee stepped from a side door. He asked everyone, “Anyone just picking up mail? Not making a purchase?”

  Danny raised his hand. The employee noted him and then stepped halfway out the front door and asked everyone outside, “Anyone just picking up mail?” Nobody answered. The postman waved for Danny to follow him to the side door, and then he snatched the blue slip from Danny’s hand.

  Danny felt relieved at not having to stand in line. If he had to wait like everyone else, thirty minutes or so would have gone by before he left the post office. He wondered if maybe his luck was changing.

  Danny watched the people in line while he waited.

  A businessman whistled a quiet tune to himself, and kept glancing at his watch and tapping a stack of letters he held in one hand. The fat lady behind him wore open toed sandals. She shifted her big body from one chubby-toed foot to the other, and shook her head at nobody in particular. She whispered to anyone that made eye contact with her, “I got to go. I don’t have time for this.”

  The postal worker returned with a bundle of mail and asked, “Are you Steve Zuco?”

  “That’s my dad,” Danny said. “He sent me to get the mail.”

  The man noticed Danny was covered in mud. He grinned at the young boy’s adventurous appearance. “Looks like you’re having a fun day.”

  “Not really,” Danny said. He read the man’s name tag: MANAGER.

  The man lifted a white envelope. “This one needs your dad’s signature.”

  Two overweight women came through the front door and pushed their way through the customers. They were postal workers. One of them whispered something funny to the other, and then both snickered and tried to keep their laughter in check.

  The man helping Danny made direct eye contact with them. He was clearly displeased. “Ladies! Lunch ended thirty minutes ago.” He tapped his watch at them several times.

  One of them said defensively, “It’s not our fault! They stopped traffic for a bulldozer. We got stuck for twenty minutes.”

  The line of waiting customers let out a collective sigh at the arrival of additional employees. They knew they would soon be helped. The long wait was coming to an end.

  While the manager glared menacingly at the two workers, both women squeezed passed him and through the side door. A moment later they sat behind the counter at their stations, and began helping customers.

  The manager maintained his disapproving glare until they were each helping someone. At that point he seemed satisfied with his role as an angry boss and returned his attention to Danny with a smile. “Where were we?” he said, and then remembered just as quickly, snapping a finger in the air and pointing at Danny. “Signature. Right. What’s your phone number? I’ll call your dad.” Danny gave him the number, and the man said, “Be right back.”

  Danny waited patiently for several minutes.

  With two additional clerks, things sped up, and the line of customers diminished. It wouldn’t be much longer before the line was completely gone.

  The manager returned awhile later. “I talked to your dad. I think I woke him up. He said you can sign for it.” He slid a signature card across the counter. Danny grabbed a pen that was chained to a metallic base and signed the card. The manager handed over a large bundle of mail. He pointed at the letter on top. “That one required the signature. Don’t lose it.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  As Danny inserted the bundle of mail into his backpack, the rubber band holding it all together snapped, and all the pieces dumped inside into one big mess. At least the mail fell into his backpack and not all over the floor. He was thankful for that.

  When he turned to leave, the line of people was gone. Only one person was in the room with him. The teenage girl stood at the counter digging through her purse, trying to find change. She was buying a single stamp.

  Danny stepped outside. Strips of sunlight snuck through the grey clouds and shined in his eye. He liked it. He hoped the rains were gone for the day. It would make for an easier ride home.

  He turned to grab his bike but it was gone. A trail of muddy tire tracks led away from the front of the post office. He followed after them. They led around the back of the building and into the empty field. Danny kept following until he stood at the edge of the dirt lot. The tire tracks continued, winding their way down a path that went into the forest.

  Someone had stolen his bike. After a moment thinking about that, he realized Peter and Justin were nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Breaking The Law

  Danny began the long walk down the highway toward the traffic signal.

  He couldn’t help but think about his mom when he thought of his bike. She gave it to him for his birthday. It was another one of her fun gifts. Although he knew there was nothing he could do about it, he still felt frustrated. Maybe a little angry too. For a moment, he thought about throwing rocks at passing cars, like Peter and Justin, but he quickly dismissed that as a dumb idea. He knew the difference between right and wrong. Busting someone’s windshield wouldn’t bring his bike back. It was gone, probably forever. Danny wished he could go back in time and take back what he said to Peter. Maybe they wouldn’t have stolen his bike if he hadn’t made Peter angry. The boys were probably taking turns riding it and laughing about how they stole it while he was inside the post office.

  The return trip home was going to take much longer on foot, and that meant it would take much longer to get to Cleary’s Market. Buying Banana Man and framing it and hanging it on his bedroom wall would have to wait a while longer.

  He was glad he talked to Farmer Cleary about holding a copy of Banana Man for him. Then again, that old farmer loved to sell the comics the day they arrived. Keeping the shelves empty and the magazine rack clear was always Mr. Cleary’s first priority. If Chris made it to Cleary’s Market before Danny and asked for Banana Man, Mr. Cleary would probably sell it to him without hesitation.

  Danny stopped walking for a moment and thought about that, and quickly came to a realization: Mr. Cleary wouldn’t keep his promise. He would sell the issue to the first boy who offered him a buck for it. That was the real truth of it.

  Losing his bike was bad enough, but it would be even worse to lose his bike and the second issue of Banana Man on the same day.

  He glanced back at the railroad tracks. He hadn’t walked very far yet. If he crossed over the highway and back over the train tracks, and then cut through Tucker Street Alley one more time, there was a chance he might make it to Cleary’s before his friend Chris. Granted, it was a mighty slim chance, but what did he have to lose? If he could get there first, Mr. Cleary wouldn’t be tempted to sell the last copy to someone else. Danny decided it was worth the risk.

  As casually as he could, he scouted the streets and the small shopping center for any sign of Officer Tibbs. He didn’t see any police cars, and there were no trains coming down the tracks. He checked both directions of the highway for traffic, and there was none. No cops in sight and no cars on the highway and no trains on the tracks. It was the perfect moment to make a run for it, and he did.

  The little boy covered in mud and wearing a backpack full of mail dashed across the highway and up the gravel slope and across the railroad tracks. He kept on running for two blocks until he reached the beginning of Tucker Street Alley. He didn’t glance over his shoulder o
nce. He ran as fast as his little legs would take him, and that was pretty fast. At least he thought so.

  For the second time that afternoon, he had broken the law and trespassed on railroad property. His stomach felt a little queasy about that, and the thought of defying Officer Tibbs made him nervous. If Tibbs saw him he would give him a ticket for sure, and Danny’s dad would be angry. But it looked like he made it okay. There were no police cars in sight.

  Danny halted at the beginning of Tucker Street Alley and took several measured breaths. If he relaxed for a minute or two and caught his wind, he figured he could make another sprint through the entire length of the alley, or at least most if it. Hopefully he could blaze right passed the bushes, and Charlie the dog wouldn’t have enough free chain to catch him in time.

  He took a few cautious steps into the mouth of the alley and scanned ahead, mentally charting the path he would take. It looked like a clear shot. If he skirted along the edge he could avoid the deepest part of the mud which was at the very center of the alley. The firm ground would offer steady footing which would help him get to the other side faster.