Dixie wondered a thousand times what her dad was really like, but the thought process was always circular. She would start out thinking he was a turd of sorts, then she would entertain thoughts about him having good reasons for not sticking around. Maybe he didn’t even know Mom was pregnant; maybe if he knew he would’ve married Mom, and they would’ve moved to Los Angeles, and she would’ve grown up in a nice home with a big lawn and a garden, with a butler, maybe, and she would’ve been a movie star. Or Miss America.
But then she would always think how difficult it was living with her mother. The yelling. She was always yelling, part of a daily routine. And that was why it became so easy for Dixie to lie, to keep the yell-able things unknown or twist the truth to escape the pain of her mother’s screams. Fib and avoid punishment. Her modus operandi was to gain the respect and street-love of the low-life people, as her mother called them, the people who had the same pain, who had little yellow pills that made the ache go away.
She thought, for a moment, about those yellow pills in grammar school, how they made her feel good about herself. They numbed her reality and helped her believe her own lies. And then one day, Dixie forgot exactly when, the pills stopped working. The numbness turned into darkness. Loneliness.
But then another flip-flop in her thinking process. Her mother worked hard at the restaurant. It wasn’t easy for her. She struggled to make ends meet and never, never went on Social Services. That was important to Mom. And then she found God, or went to church at least and that was supposed to make everything okay and change things. But it didn’t. She still yelled.
Dixie glanced over at the mothers and saw the hawkish women looking her way. She turned her attention to Henry who was standing on the bench ready for another take off. He crouched down and flew off the bench and for a brief moment he was held suspended in the air. For that fraction of a second it seemed to Dixie that Henry had conquered gravity and was about to fly freely and buzz around them like a superman with great powers. But the moment was fleeting and Henry landed belly first in the snow that had already covered the ground five inches high.
Henry rose to his feet and brushed off the snow. He tried to stretch his body as tall as he could and marched over to the bench again.
* * *
TOMMY WAS absolutely enthralled that a real live adult was paying this kind of attention to him, his starship commander who saved him in battle when he was outnumbered a thousand-to-one. He watched Henry intently, wishing he would soar around the park like a falcon.
“Aside, wench,” Henry confronted Dixie as he pushed her away.
Tommy covered his mouth. He didn’t know what wench meant, but he knew Henry shouldn’t have said it. He knew, too, he wouldn’t be sharing it any time soon at the dinner table.
“Aside, wench,” Tommy yelled without even thinking.
Dixie gave Tommy an ‘Oh, really’ look, and packed some snow and plunked it on Tommy’s head. He shivered as the snow leaked down his back.
Everyone laughed, except for Henry.
“I didn’t have enough speed during take-off,” he said. “I’m carrying too much cargo.”
He got up and jumped again and again, until, finally, Danny said, “You can’t fly.”
Henry stood up and took a deep breath. He looked confident, not beaten. “But at least I tried,” he said with his head held high.
“Let me try. Let me try,” Tommy said as he jumped on the bench and spread his wings.
“Now take aim, Tommy,” Henry said from his mission control position off to the side. “Crouch down. You’re an angel. You can fly.”
Tommy jumped, landing face first into the snow.
Then everyone took a turn and jumped. Like free spirits who didn’t have a care in the world, they all lay in the snow and waved their arms up and down and spread their feet back and forth like butterflies.
“You can’t really fly, can you?” Tommy asked.
“I believe I can fly,” Henry said. “And that’s all that matters.”
Danny threw a snowball at Henry, which whizzed by his shoulder and walloped Dixie in the head. Dixie immediately chased Danny.
Henry leaned into Tommy and said, “There are going to be reparations if she ever catches him.” Tommy didn’t know exactly what that meant, except he knew he didn’t want to be in Danny’s shoes right now.
* * *
MRS. MALTIN SAW Henry alone with Tommy, which made her very nervous. She saw Henry kneel down and grab Tommy’s shoulders. Mrs. Maltin felt extremely uneasy watching this intimate conversation take place between her son and a fully-grown man. “Call me a fuddy-duddy, Mrs. Hodges,” she said, “but I think it’s time to rescue Tommy and go home. TOMMY,” she yelled, and then took leave of Mrs. Hodges and marched with authority towards her son.
Mrs. Maltin marched halfway to her son and saw Henry was still talking to Tommy. She broadened her stride. Finally, Tommy broke free of Henry and yelled, “Mom. Mom. Watch me fly!” Tommy hopped on the bench and jumped off.
“Tommy,” Mrs. Maltin’s voice echoed. Thirty yards to go. She quickened her pace. “Home!” she shouted like a one-word command whose tone had more meaning than the word itself.
The sloshing of her feet against the snow and the scraping of her corduroy pants were sounds of someone marching to do battle. “Tommy!” she roared. She trudged forward one last step and the marching sound abruptly ended. She stood over Tommy, hovered like a general who had come to witness the capitulation of the vanquished. Tommy picked his head up out of the snow and looked up at her. He surrendered.
Mrs. Maltin reached for her son’s hand and pulled him up. Henry struggled to get up from one knee. She faced Henry. At first she wanted to say something to him, but noticed a friendly look on his face and decided to just turn away and go home.
* * *
DIXIE PINNED Danny to the ground as the two Maltins marched towards them. She sat on his chest and then looked up at Mrs. Maltin as she approached carrying a smug gaze, like someone who had assembled all the facts, weighed all the hearsay evidence, and had come to an irrefutable verdict. She pulled Tommy by the arm with an extra tug as they passed Dixie by.
What are you looking at, witch, Dixie wanted to say but didn’t. A sudden rush, a feeling of emptiness took hold of her and she got off Danny.
Tommy looked back and sung loudly to Henry, “I believe I can fly.”
“Stop that. Stop that right now,” Mrs. Maltin said while yanking on his arm. She quickened her pace as if a hoodlum was stalking her.
* * *
HENRY NOTICED Dixie’s childlike temperament change. She suddenly appeared angry. Older. Then, a sort of a lifeless, hopeless, empty look took over her face.
The games were over.
Chapter 10
The storm finally passed, but before it did, it left behind an eerie, white landscape, an absence of color as far as the eye could see. Henry and his two young friends talked while they sloshed their way towards Main Street.
* * *
HENRY FELT exhausted from playing in the park. He dragged his boots through the sludge; each step was an ordeal.
The plows had already made a pass down the street on both sides, and the drifts they left in their wake had buried several parked cars on the side of the road.
“Did you see the way she looked at me?” Dixie asked.
“Looks don’t hurt,” Henry said.
“Sticks and stones hurt,” Danny chimed in.
“She’s a butt-head,” Dixie said without reservation. “I shudda smacked her with this.” She threw out her fist and shook it in the air. “She’s a witch. And I could say worse, but I won’t.”
“Watch your mouth.” Danny punched Dixie hard on the arm.
“You little … turd,” she yelled. “That hurt.”
“Will you stop talking that way,” Henry commanded.
Danny lunged to throw another punch, but Dixie raised her fist, cocked her eyes at him, and kept her dagger stare on his face unti
l he backed off. “Smart move, turd-for-brains.”
Henry grabbed her chin and said, “If you don’t stop with that mouth … how is the rest of the world going to understand you if every time you get angry you call them a butt-head.”
“She called me turd. Don’t forget that,” Danny added.
“I can handle this, Danny,” Henry said and then directed his attention back to Dixie. “What are you trying to say? That she’s a snob? Or that she’s ugly? What? The word ‘witch’ doesn’t tell me what you mean. And, as Danny pointed out, you called him a ‘turd’. What does that mean? I’m sure Danny’s equally concerned about your ability to communicate properly, aren’t you, Danny?”
“Damn right, I am.”
“Okay,” Dixie said. “You want a better word for Danny. He’s a jerk, then.”
Henry thought about that word for a beat.
“What?” Dixie exclaimed. “You need someone to tell you what a ‘jerk’ means now?”
“I guess that word is okay.”
“Good. Because Tommy’s mother is a jerk, too.”
Henry threw his hands up in surrender. Danny mimicked Henry. It was unanimous – Dixie was a lost cause. At least for the moment.
“I’m hungry. Let’s go eat,” Henry said and the three of them marched off to town.
Moments later, they turned the corner on Main Street and walked past the pharmacy. A ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window caught Henry’s eye. He peeked into the window.
“What are you looking for?” Dixie asked.
“For Asa Adler. The owner. He’s a friend of the family for a long time.” Henry pointed to the help wanted sign. “It seems he’s looking for help.”
“You looking for a job?” she asked.
“I might be. Christmas is right around the corner.”
“What makes you think he’d hire you?”
“He went to school with Robin, my daughter. Came up to the house quite often. That was years ago, though. I haven’t seen much of him these days.”
Henry peered through the window into the dark shadows but he couldn’t find Asa, so he turned and led his friends to the bench nearby. “Let’s sit for a second,” he said.
Dixie and Danny followed Henry. They brushed off the snow from the bench and sat for a few moments. Henry slouched, thrust his elbows on his thighs and let his head fall into the palms of his hands. “I’m exhausted,” he added.
Several seconds of silence passed, then Danny shouted out, “I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” Dixie said. “I thought we were going to get something to eat.”
Danny reached into his pocket and brought out a twenty-five cent piece.
“I don’t have much money either,” Dixie said as she tapped her hip. “My funds are quite low at the moment. I made some bad investments.”
“No matter,” Henry chimed as he pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.
They all got up, buddies pooling all their loose change to share in the purchase of some sustenance. They walked briskly to the diner. Dixie hesitated for a second but Henry shuffled her into the entrance and, before she knew it, all three found themselves waiting to be escorted to a booth by the owner, a short, husky lady who was barely taller than Danny but twice his bulk.
“You’re brave souls to be out today,” the owner said and then escorted them to a booth.
“The worst of it is over,” Henry replied, trying to be cordial.
Once seated, they all hovered over their menus like scavengers who hadn’t eaten in days. After a couple of beats, Dixie’s mother stood over them, a towering monolith casting a shadow over the whole table. She looked at Danny, then at Henry, then at Danny again, and finally said to Henry, “Well, I see you picked up another stray dog.”
Henry looked at Danny and nodded. “Yeah, he’s a mutt, all right.”
* * *
DANNY SENSED a matronly presence in Mrs. Swanson whose chest represented the largest set of mammary glands he had ever laid his eyes on. He tried to keep focused on the menu, but Mrs. Swanson’s great protuberances captivated him. He giggled a little, then saw that Dixie and Henry were looking at him, so he tried to stop laughing but couldn’t. He covered his mouth and silently prayed for someone to say something to break the awkward silence.
Dixie’s stare intimidated Danny a bit, as if she knew what he was thinking about. She kicked him.
“Ooow,” Danny squealed. “What’s your problem?”
“I saw what you were looking at. Pervert.”
“Hey, hey. Stop it,” Henry said, then slapped his twenty dollars on the table. “Come on, cough up your twenty-five cents.”
Danny slapped his twenty-five cents down and Dixie reached deep into her pockets and donated her loose change.
“Well, aren’t we the big spenders,” Mrs. Swanson said.
“We can’t spend more than this,” Henry said after gathering all the money in one pile.
“Okay,” Mrs. Swanson acknowledged. She smiled for the first time while looking squarely at Danny. “What’s your poison, little-big-man?”
“I don’t want any poison,” Danny said. “I want pancakes with a lot of butter and two eggs.”
Mrs. Swanson nodded and scribbled in her pad. She shot a look Dixie’s way and then faced Danny. “How do you want your eggs?”
“I don’t know. I guess all beat up.”
Dixie shook her head. “It’s called scrambled.”
Mrs. Swanson made a notation in her pad and then waited.
“And I’ll take some sausage and bacon,” Danny continued. Mrs. Swanson scribbled on her pad again and waited. “And I’ll have some of those stringy fried potatoes that are all crumpled together,” Danny continued.
“Hash browns,” Mrs. Swanson declared.
“Yeah, hash browns. I want them, too.”
“That’s a number three, ‘The Hearty Man’s’ breakfast with a side order of meat. It comes with coffee and juice.”
“Oh, I don’t want any coffee. But I’ll take some juice.”
“What kind? Orange, grapefruit or tomato.”
“Orange and tomato juice.”
“You’re only suppose to pick one, schmuck,” Dixie said. “Take the orange juice and stop ordering. The rest of us want to eat, too, you know.”
“Tomato juice,” Danny said, then stuck his tongue out at Dixie.
“Good choice,” Henry piped in.
“How about a glass of milk?” Mrs. Swanson seemed helpful. “A young boy like yourself should be drinking milk.”
“Okay.” That sounded good to Danny.
Dixie stared at him with death-ray eyes, and he slumped back in his seat. “I’m done,” he said.
“What do you want,” Mrs. Swanson asked her daughter.
* * *
DIXIE LOOKED wide-eyed at Danny. “Well, let me see. With the two dollars that we have left …” she snapped, then looked at her menu. “I’ll take the number two with extra bacon and coffee and TOMATO juice,” Dixie recited without taking a breath. She then leered Danny’s way, issued a little head-bob, suggesting that this was the proper way to place an order.
There was also an edge to Dixie’s voice that was meant for her mother, an obscure message declaring that her life was, in fact, turning around. She was committed to it, and there wouldn’t be any disappointments this time. Of course, she couldn’t voice such a proclamation because there were too many promises in the past and too much disappointment. But the commitment was there and she would be successful this time.
Dixie’s mother worked at the restaurant for several years and this was the first time Dixie had come in and ordered something in a very long time. Dixie knew her mother guessed why she didn’t appear for weeks at a time. It usually meant Dixie was parked in some alleyway or crashed in some addict’s house where she didn’t want the world to see her condition, especially her mother.
Mrs. Swanson finished scribing in her pad, and then looked directly at Henry who nodded several t
imes, grunted a little and tapped his fingers on the table. “Hmm, let me see,” he said. “How much is that so far?”
“Fourteen dollars give or take.”
“Well, I guess I’m not all that hungry really. So, agh … just give me a bowl of Cheerios. Have to leave a tip, right?”
“Don’t you want some milk with that?” Danny asked.
“Absolutely,” Henry said. “I’m a growing boy, too.” Henry let out a bigger laugh than the occasion merited, Dixie thought. Her mother just shook her head at the feeble attempt to amuse, and buried the pencil in her hair, and then disappeared with the order.
* * *
DANNY STRUMMED his fingers on the table and looked around for someone to start a conversation.
“Well. What do you want to talk about?” Henry finally broke the ice.
“The waitress,” Danny giggled.
“What about the waitress?” Henry asked.
“Her boobs. They were Godzilla boobs.” He really giggled now.
“You want to talk about Dixie’s mother’s boobs?” Henry asked.
“She’s your mother?” Danny stopped laughing.
Dixie cocked her head and Danny heard a very large and sarcastic, “Duh.”
“No kidding. Wow. How come you don’t have boobs like her?”
Henry’s wide-eyed look and Dixie’s menacing stare intimidated Danny a little. “What? What’s the matter?” he queried. “She’s got a humongous chest. They’re like watermelons.”
* * *
DIXIE POSSESSED conflicting feelings about Danny. She had no siblings to play with while growing up. She had often thought about how nice it would’ve been to have a brother or sister. The fact that she had no knowledge of her own father led her to think about the probability there was a sibling in the world somewhere, a brother maybe, who was equally abrasive or ignorant as the boy who was sitting in front of her, presently talking about her mother’s boobs.
South of Main Street Page 17
