Me, Johnny, and The Babe

by Mark Wirtshafter

falling towards the tracks. Before I knew what happened, I was on the ground laying face down on the jagged black rocks that divided the two tracks with Johnny lying on top of me. He had pushed me down so hard that my face smashed into the rocks and I could feel blood oozing down my cheek. He held me down with all his weight as if he thought I might try to fight him and get up. I wasn’t getting up and probably could not have moved even if I wanted to.

  Paralyzed with fear, I felt the rumble of the two trains as they roared by us in opposite directions. The ground shook as if an earthquake, even though I had no idea what an earthquake felt like. Both trains were blaring out their warning sirens and the noise was unforgettably ear splitting. The trains seemed endlessly long, as we lay motionless between the massive steel machines zooming by. I guess their horns were blaring to warn us, as if we did not already know we were in a bit of danger. I couldn’t speak, but wanted to tell Johnny to stop pushing my face into the rocks. I prayed for the trains to pass. I just wanted to get back to my home. Finally, and almost at the same exact instant, both trains had passed. It was over. We were still alive.

  Johnny got up and looked around making sure that the danger had really passed. He reached down and pulled me back to my feet. My dizziness and nausea passed and the blood began circulating back into my legs and arms. I started to limp off the overpass in the direction of home.

  Johnny yelled, “Hey where you going?”

  “What are you talking about, I’m going home!” I yelled back.

  “What about the pennies?”

  “I don’t care about the pennies; you go get them if you want them so bad,” I said. “You must be crazy worrying about the stupid pennies.”

  I turned back and walked towards the entrance of the overpass. Johnny walked back to where the pennies were. As I got to the edge of the overpass, I could see Johnny reach over and pick up the coins. He put them in his right hand and started towards me. As he slowly walked in my direction, I saw him staring into his hand, carefully inspecting the coins. I kept moving away from the bridge and was near the top of the hill by the time Johnny had caught up.

  “Hey look at your face,” he said.

  “What wrong with my face?”

  “Well just look at it, you’re bleeding like a woman.”

  I reached up and touched my cheek; I could feel the warm smear of blood right under my eye socket. I moved my fingers around in a circular motion to see what the damage was. I felt them smearing blood all over my face. I looked down on my white shirt and saw bright red stains all over it.

  On the ground below me, I saw the blood mixing with the dirt into an ugly reddish brown color. I pulled my shirt up and squeezed it against my face to try to stop the bleeding.

  “Let’s go home,” I said to Johnny.

  “Alright, let’s go.”

  On the long walk home, we didn’t say much to each other. The walk seemed much longer that it had on the way up. Finally, we passed the corner store on Tioga Street where I should have been buying my father his newspaper, no sign of Billy Brannigan this time. When we got to the front stoop on my house, Johnny reached in his pocket and pulled out one of the pennies. It was still in perfect condition, as if the train had never touched it.

  “This one didn’t work, it fell off the track,” Johnny said. “You can have it back.”

  “What about the other one?”

  He lifted up his closed fist and slowly opened his fingers exposing a perfectly flattened penny. The penny was still round but about twice its original size. All the markings were gone and it was completely blank. It was beautiful. Johnny held it up; in front of my bleeding face, but when I went to grab it, he quickly pulled it away.

  “Can’t I see it?” I asked.

  “Yea, you can see it; I just don’t want you touchin’ it.”

  “Are you keeping that one?”

  “Yep, this one was mine, I decided that when I first put them on the tracks,” he replied. “This is gonna be my lucky penny, and I’m going to carry it with me every day.”

  Arguing with Johnny was always futile and I knew I couldn’t win in a fight with him, so I let him keep the “lucky penny” and I went into my house.

  “Hey didn’t you forget something?” Johnny said.

  “No,” I replied shortly.

  “What about your dad’s newspaper?”

  “Let me go get it for you,” he said disappearing inside his front door. He was gone for a minute or two and I almost went inside my house, no longer caring much about the newspaper. Just as I reached for the door handle, I felt a newspaper smack me on the back of my head.

  “Here. This should keep you out of trouble,” I heard Johnny say.

  I reached back over my shoulder and grabbed the paper.

  “You see what a good friend I am? Always keeping you out of trouble,” Johnny said.

  I gave him halfhearted thanks and again reached for the door handle. As I was opening the door, I looked down at the paper only to find it was the wrong one. It was the Philadelphia Inquirer, my dad only read the Philadelphia Bulletin. He had told me a thousand times to make sure I bought the right paper. He was surely going to be furious. What a great day this turned out to be!

  3

  I was now challenged on two different fronts. First, I had to get the newspaper into the house without my dad seeing me so that I would not have to explain the blood on my face and shirt. Second, I had to be out of shouting distance when he opened up the newspaper and found out it was the wrong one. I quietly slipped inside the front door, closing it slowly and silently behind me. I tiptoed into the dining room completely undetected; put the newspaper down on the dining room table. Turning slowly to go up the steps to the bathroom, I heard my parents talking quietly in the kitchen as I crept up the staircase. I reached the bathroom undetected, feeling as though my secret mission was succeeding so far.

  I pulled my shirt over my head and dabbed the drying blood off my cheeks and around my nose and mouth. Dunking my shirt in cold water, I used it to clean my face as best I could, all the time peering in the mirror to see if I looked any better. The cuts were fresh and raw, but I was able to get all the dried blood off. I wrung the water and blood out of my shirt and looked for something to throw it into so I could sneak it into the trash. It would not be any fun trying to explain to my mom how I had ruined a perfectly good shirt.

  Even with the bathroom door shut, I could hear my father walking out of the kitchen and into the dining room. The row house where we lived had loud creaky floorboards and you could always tell where everyone in the house was if you listened closely. It also had very thin walls and you got to know a lot about your neighbors, and what they had to say to each other. Sometimes I could hear Johnny’s parents yelling at each other through the walls.

  “If you made some money maybe I could afford to buy some better food and my cooking might improve,” yelled Johnny’s mom. “And if you were at home at night and helped me with the kids I would have a little more time to straighten up the house.”

  “It don’t matter how much money I would make your cookin’ wouldn’t get any better, and I can’t stand sitting around the house looking at you all night long.”

  “With all these kids you expect me to do all the work by myself?”

  “No, you should get the kids to help do the work.”

  I always felt sad for Johnny when I heard the yelling seeping out through the walls, it must have been very hard for him being right in the house.

  I pressed my ear against the door waiting for the inevitable yell from my dad when he picked up the newspaper. Should I answer him or pretend that I wasn’t home? I listened and listened, but heard nothing. I stuffed my wet and bloody shirt into my underpants and quietly tiptoed into my bedroom. Reaching under the bed, I grabbed a brown paper bag that had some old penny candy in it. I stuffed my wet shirt into the bag and put on a nice clean one. I jammed the whole bag back into my underpants and went out into the hallway to see if the coast was clear.<
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  Reaching the top of the steps, I knelt and tried to peek down to see if I could get to the front door undetected. I was almost sure that my dad had gone back in the kitchen and that I could slip out the front door and get rid of the bag without anyone noticing. I quietly moved down the staircase without making even the slightest sound. I glanced back at the kitchen and saw that the door was closed, so I knew that I could make a clean getaway. Just as I reached for the handle of the front door, I heard my father say, “going somewhere?” I felt my heart jump as I heard his voice. I thought about just walking out the door and pretending that I hadn’t heard him, but thought better of it.

  “I was just going next door to Johnny’s to give him something,” I replied, keeping my back towards him.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, “I wanted to thank you for getting my newspaper.”

  I knew I couldn’t have a long conversation without eventually turning around and facing him, so I tried to mumble something as I continued out the door. Unfortunately, by the time I twisted the doorknob I could feel my dad’s hand come down on my shoulder. He squeezed his hand on top of my left shoulder blade and tightened his grip.

  “What’s your hurry?” he asked.

  Well I knew my plan had fallen apart. I couldn’t run out now and knew I had to face my dad. He would certainly be very angry about the newspaper and I would have to come up with some story as to why my face was so battered.