“Yes,” Nan replied, a bit unconvinced. She didn’t think she’d been overly gullible. If she couldn’t trust her brothers, who could she trust? How could her mother not see that she was not at fault here? But it was clear Elsie wasn’t interested in debating the finer points so Nan stayed quiet.
“Good,” Elsie said going back to her cooking.
She began ladling thick batter into her black iron fry pan and the smell of pancakes filled the small room. It beat the heck out of their usual breakfast of cooked oats the consistency of wallpaper paste. That said, Nan was thankful they had anything to eat at all since their father, as she’d overheard time and again, wasn’t much of a provider.
Nan’s stomach gurgled as she sat down at the kitchen table, deliberately choosing the one chair without a split in the plastic seat. No matter how careful she was, the cracks in the others always pinched her thighs when she moved to stand up. Like most of the battered furnishings they owned, the life span of the chairs could be one more day or one more year. No matter how long they might last, they were best approached gingerly.
Frost on the window told her that it was cold outside, maybe even cold enough to snow. Spring in New England was a tricky bitch, Nan’s father said often. Snow in the morning and seventy degrees by afternoon or vice versa if Mother Nature was in one of her moods. Nan began to absentmindedly stamp footprints in the glaze on the panes. A thump with the side of her closed fist left an imprint of the ball and heel. Five dots with her fingertip became toes. She’d made three or four when she remembered it was Saturday and a whole weekend stretched luxuriously in front of her. Her teacher had loaned her a new Nancy Drew book and she thought curling back up in her bed with it sounded like the perfect way to while away the morning.
But Elsie had other plans.
“After breakfast, I want you to go out and play with your brothers.”
“Why?” Nan asked with a whine. The boys were meeting friends at the ball field and she had no desire to go sit in the cold and watch them. Even though there was a playground, the thought of putting her butt on the icy slide made the chair pinch seem mild in comparison.
“I have things to do and I don’t need you underfoot all morning,” Elsie responded without turning around from the stove.
Nan wondered if the reason her mother wanted to get rid of her had anything to do with the fight between her parents the night before. She pushed the thought out of her mind, not wanting to think about the ugliness she’d overheard between Elsie and Sam.
“I won’t be underfoot. I just want to go to my room and read,” Nan said, keeping her tone as grown up as she could. If she begged and pleaded her mother would think she was being a pest and her case would be dead in the water.
“Nancy Elaine Bower there is no reason on earth why you can’t go out and play. All you ever do is stay in the house with your nose in a book. The fresh air will do you good.”
“Mama, it’s cold,” Nan said, as if that explained everything.
“So you can wear your long underwear,” Elsie replied. “You are going with your brothers and that’s that.”
Oh great, Nan thought. Now, I’ll not only be cold, I’ll be itchy to boot. But her mother’s tone informed her she was licked. In a small measure of defiance, the only kind she dared attempt, she stuck her tongue out at Elsie’s back.
John and Arthur tripped back into the kitchen arguing at the top of their lungs, with a sullen and tired looking Buddy trailing behind them.
“I’m playing shortstop,” John insisted.
“No you’re not,” Arthur replied. “You played shortstop last time.”
“That’s because you stink,” John retorted.
“That’s enough. Sit down and eat,” their mother interjected, doling out plates like a black jack dealer.
“Hey Buddy, mama says you have to take me with you to the park,” Nan said, handing the syrup to him. She secretly hoped he’d resist the idea and perhaps sway their mother in a way she could not.
“What?” Buddy groaned. “Ma, c’mon, I wanna’ play ball! If I gotta’ babysit Nan, I can’t concentrate.”
Despite her optimism that Buddy could change Elsie’s mind, Nan was offended at Buddy’s use of the word babysit.
“Hey!” Nan exclaimed. “I’m not a baby and I can take care of myself. Probably better than you could.”
“Listen to me Robert,” Elsie said, putting the kibosh on the simmering argument. “Nan is old enough to play on the playground by herself. She’s almost nine, for heaven sake. But Nan,” her mother said turning in her direction. “Your brother is responsible for getting you to and from the playground and he has the last word when it comes to that. Got it?”
“Yes mama,” Nan surrendered.
“Sheesh,” Buddy grumbled, casting Nan a sideways glance. She knew the look meant ‘don’t cause me trouble’, but she also knew that for all his bravado, he would never harm a hair on her head. John and Arthur thought nothing of smacking her sideways, but Buddy was five years older than Nan and drew the line at getting physical with her. This didn’t mean he didn’t have other ways of getting under her skin, like the time he told some of his friends she still sucked her thumb after she informed their mother she saw him kiss a girl. Nan smiled at Buddy, trying to make nice and prevent future embarrassment, but he just rolled his eyes.
After finishing breakfast, the four children went to dress. Nan layered on two pairs of wool socks and her long underwear beneath her overalls. Few things screamed baby like overalls and despite her frequent begging for her mother to sew her some regular pants, Elsie wouldn’t replace them unless they were no longer wearable. Nan thought about ripping out one of the knees, but knew that there wasn’t any money for material and if she wrecked the overalls she could end up back in last school year’s frilly dresses. That would undoubtedly be worse than the hand-me-down Osh Kosh’s.
At the door, Nan’s mother helped her with her hat and mittens, then wrapped a red scarf around her neck. Her brothers hopped around as they put on their boots, elbowing and kicking each other in the process. Finally, after slinging their cleats over their shoulders and grabbing their mitts, Nan and the boys were ready to go. As they opened the door, Elsie tugged Buddy’s shoulder.
“The rest of you wait on the porch. I need to talk with Buddy for a minute,” she said, shooing Nan and the other two kids out.
“Poor Buddy,” Nan said miserably once outside.
“Yeah,” John agreed. “It’s not fair.”
“I thought ma was gonna’ kill him for sure,” piped in Arthur, referring not to their brother, but their father.
Fights between Sam and Elsie were not new. On the contrary, they were nearly as regular and remarkable as thunderstorms in July. But they were getting worse and the one from the night before had been almost apocalyptic. Nan hoped that the screaming intensity had diffused some of the pressure building in their house, much as popping the cap on a shaken up Coca-Cola would. But her mother’s face as she called Buddy back told her that things were still mighty unsettled.
Buddy came bursting through the door, eyes dark and jaw set.
“Let’s go,” he barked and stalked off the porch.
As Nan reached in to pull the door closed, her mother stepped into the foyer, a single fat tear rolling down her cheek.
“Mama?” Nan asked softly.
Standing there in her faded housedress, bun disheveled and eyes wet, Elsie looked completely used up. Nan wanted to run and throw her arms around her, tell her everything would be okay. Remind her that Bowers knew how to fight and knew how to win. Before she could though, Buddy yelled.
“C’mon! Let’s go!”
Nan looked away quickly and shut the door. Their mother never cried. The sight was so unnerving that she almost missed the top step and went tumbling down to the walkway. She tried to catch Buddy’s eye, but he focused on the road in front of them and charged ahead.
Reflecting their mood, the sky was sharp blue and the wind
even sharper. It felt more like late November than early April and though she’d never admit it to her mother, Nan was glad she had her long-johns on. She just wished the underwear had the power to warm the cold fear deep inside that her mother’s tear produced.
As soon as they turned a corner and were out of sight of the house, Buddy pulled a pack of Marlboro reds from his back pocket and matches from his front. Nan’s eyes grew wide as she watched her brother expertly light it despite the blustery wind. Obviously this wasn’t his first time.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Seeing Buddy smoke cigarettes was only a small part of her surprise, although that was certainly weird. What really alarmed her was that she was pretty sure he’d stolen the pack from Sam.
“What if dad catches you?” Arthur asked in a worried voice.
Their mother was the disciplinarian of the house, but there had been a marked change in their father’s demeanor over the past year. He was drinking more and more and hiding it less and less. His perpetual five-o-clock shadow had evolved into an unkempt, sometimes stinky beard, and the far off look in his eyes was now constantly framed by a starburst of broken red blood vessels.
There was something else too. A quickness in his temper that hadn’t been there before. Up until the last six months or so, even with Sam’s ever present coffee cup filled with whiskey and ice, there’d been a song in his voice as he tooled around the house. Despite the regular go ‘rounds with Elsie, he had always been easy with the kids. And even when Nan’s parents were fighting, there had been a line Sam wouldn’t cross. But something was different and now Nan’s father seemed to volley between silent and violent rage. Mostly Sam took his anger out on the shabby furniture, like the night right after Christmas when he sent their coffee table crashing into a wall at Elsie’s proclamation that he was a bum. The sight of the splintered and broken wood had frightened Nan as she was introduced to her father’s strength and fury.
“He’s not gonna’ find out,” Buddy replied. “I took ‘em right out of his pocket while he was sleeping in the chair. Never so much as twitched.”
Buddy blew the silver-blue smoke out in a series of perfect circles. Nan thought they were beautiful.
“Besides, it ain’t like he never stole from me, right?”
Nan winced at the truth in her brother’s words.
“I don’t know Buddy,” Arthur said with uncertainty. “I think your takin’ a chance. I hope I’m not around if he gets wind.”
“Well, as long as you keep your trap shut, he’s not gonna’ find out, capiche?”
“I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’,” John interrupted, snapping his lapels and walking with an exaggerated swagger. “I ain’t no stoolie, see?”
Buddy swung his hand intending to cuff John upside the head, but John ducked and Buddy missed. It was John’s style to lighten the load with humor, and he was mostly successful that morning.
“Quit cuttin’ up and keep walking,” Buddy said, some of the sharpness dropping out of his voice.
“Okey dokey, artichokey” John replied, attempting to bounce his step like Buddy.
The four walked the familiar tree-lined streets of the neighborhood they’d lived in all their lives. Densely packed rows of two-story brick duplexes and triplexes hugged both sides of the street. Each was fronted with a small square yard filled with toys and the occasional barking dog. Although most of the buildings looked defeated, Nan wished her house was more like them. It wasn’t in any worse shape, in fact it was better than most, but the Bower house was covered with faded gray clapboard not brick like the rest. And it was the only single family home in the neighborhood. Nan hated that it was different, as if shouting ‘look at me’. It had originally belonged to her grandpa, a man she had never met, and when he died it was left to her mother. She asked Elsie once if they could cover the clapboard with bricks, but her mother had only looked at her like she was crazy.
As they neared Hislop Park, a white police cruiser turned the corner and began crawling up the road toward them.
“Beep, beep…it’s the fuzz,” John said punching Buddy’s arm lightly.
“Beep, beep…it’s the fuzz,” Buddy said, pile driving Arthur’s arm much harder than John had hit him.
If there had been more boys, the punching would have gone on and on until every last arm had been nailed. Because Nan was a girl she was exempt, and since there were no punch backs allowed, the game ended with Buddy’s hit. Nan didn’t know where or how the ritual had started, but like most things boys did, it didn’t have to make sense to be so. The police car drove by them and the passenger side officer gave them a cursory wave. Nan was the only one to wave back.
Arthur and John started bickering again about who would play short stop, though in Nan’s estimation they’d both be better off in right field. Not like Buddy. He was a natural. No matter what position he played, pitching, hitting and making jaw-dropping catches in the outfield, Buddy was amazing to watch. Coaches from the high school had started coming down to the field the year before to scout him, even though he had only been twelve at the time.
When they got to the field it was empty. The wind started picking up and rattled the chain link fence that encircled it. Buddy didn’t slow his pace at the vacant lot, but led Nan and her brothers past the bleachers, pausing impatiently while Arthur and John walked across the bottom bench like a balance beam. He looked like he wanted to slug them.
The playground lay dead ahead, and Nan asked Buddy if he’d give her a push on the merry-go-round. He didn’t answer, just flicked his cigarette away and kept walking toward the woods beyond it instead. John and Arthur followed him but Nan stood in her spot. As her brothers neared the tree line, she could just make out the start of a well-worn path that wound far further than her range of sight.
“C’mon,” Buddy yelled to her. “Let’s go!”
Nan had never been into any of the wooded areas that surrounded the neighborhood. Her mother, while not specific about why, warned her never to dare. Something in Elsie’s voice made it clear that there was no room for argument.
“Buddy,” she said walking slowly toward them. “Mama said I’m not allowed in the woods.”
Buddy gave her a crooked smile.
“Did she ever tell you not to go in with me?” he asked.
“No,” Nan replied. “but…”
“No buts about it then,” he told her. “And just so you don’t get in trouble, we won’t say anything, right guys?”
She didn’t realize then that Buddy would be in the doghouse beside her for bringing her out here in the first place and was ironically grateful for the loyalty.
“Okay, thanks,” she said, still unsure but following anyway.
A thick carpet of dead, brown pine needles made the ground slippery and Nan worried about losing her footing. She knew her brothers would never let her live it down, and after the way she cried that morning over the April Fools joke, she was anxious to recover a little face. She kept her eyes fixed on her boots and hoped if anyone was going to fall it would be one of the boys instead.
There were many forks in the path but Buddy took each turn without hesitation. It appeared he knew where they were going and she wondered where exactly that might be. A bird cawed from the trees above and Nan looked up. Beyond the naked branches she saw snatches of ash gray sky that now replaced the earlier frosty blue. Snow was more than a possibility now. It was a certainty.
Eventually they came upon a large, clumsy wooden structure with a piece of rusted wavy tin for a roof. It was surrounded by bicycles and junk, and smoke trickled out from the side of it. For one brief and alarming moment, the morning’s antics still fresh in her mind, Nan wondered if the fort was on fire. But she could hear voices from inside, and they didn’t sound as if they were choking or coughing.
Buddy stepped up to the door and tapped out a rhythmic knock. The voices stopped and Nan heard a similar knock in return. Three more short raps from Buddy and then the door s
wung open.
“Hey Baldy,” Buddy said.
“Hey Bowery,” replied a boy Nan recognized.
The kid stepped out of the way and let them in. Two other boys were inside, preoccupied with large pieces of paper strewn across a table in the corner. Nan knew who they all were since each had been to the house at one time or another. Marty Bald, a friend of Buddy’s since Kindergarten, was the one who answered the door. The other two, Butch Slovich and Charlie Parker, were in the seventh grade, one year behind Buddy and one ahead of Arthur.
“Watcha’ doing?” asked Buddy. “You knuckleheads up for a game?”
“Sure!” Marty replied. “Anyone else coming along?” he asked as he plopped himself down on a stained love seat. The smell of mothballs whooshed up from the cushions and stung the inside of Nan’s nostrils.
“Yeah, unless the cold turns ‘em all into pussies,” Buddy said.
Nan wrinkled her nose. She loved her brother but didn’t like it when he talked dirty. He usually didn’t in front of her, but after the morning’s disappointment, she decided to cut him a little slack. She wouldn’t even threaten to tell on him.
“What are they doing? Building an A bomb?” Buddy asked pointing Charlie and Butch. Arthur and John were at the table, obviously impressed by whatever the papers were.
“Nah, Charlie here has some big ideas about decking this place out. Turnin’ it into the effin’ Taj Mahal.”
“Cool,” Buddy replied.
Nan didn’t know much about how forts were supposed to be, but thought this one was already in pretty good shape. In addition to the scads of furniture, which sad to say was no worse for wear than what filled the Bower home, a lit woodstove sat against the far wall and kept the room cozy. There was a glass paned window in one of the sturdy looking poster covered walls and the tin roof didn’t allow for any daylight that she could see.
Nan's Story Page 4
