FOUR
As we neared our house back at the bottom of the street, I noticed that our father’s blue Fiat was no longer parked on the right hand side of the driveway. Our dad was an eighth grade English teacher at Corona Junior High during the normal school year of September through June. But from June to August he taught summer school at Norco Junior High. Norco is a small town north of Corona, hence the name?
Jason and I passed our house and started across the street to Cory’s just as the screen door to our house flew open and our mother yelled, “Where in heavens have you two been? I was scared to death when I went into your room this morning and you weren’t there. Where did you go?”
I guess we thought we’d be back before our parents knew that we were gone or that they would just assume that we had gone out to play early. We constantly worried our mother this way. It’s a surprise her hair didn’t turn gray at thirty.
“Just up to the construction site,” my brother answered.
Our three-year-old sister Susan came out of the house, stuck one of her thumbs in her mouth, and grabbed a hold of our mother’s leg just as she started to scold us again. “Well I knew you hadn’t been kidnapped because I got a call from Mrs. Miller up the street about a half hour ago. She was very upset.”
My brother looked at me and sucked air through his teeth, knowing that we were busted for what we had done earlier at Donald’s window. Our mother dropped her tone some and took a few steps towards us and said, “Boys, Donald is a very sick little boy. He needs all the rest he can get. It doesn’t help him for you to be banging on his window at six in the morning.”
Banging on his window? What had Mrs. Miller told her? “We didn’t-” My brother started to protest in a futile attempt, but our mother cut him off.
“His parents are going through an awful time right now. God knows what I’d do if one of you were sick like him.” She pointed a finger at us-not unlike someone else had done that morning-and said, “Now, I want you boys to promise me that you wont go sneaking around the Miller’s house like that anymore.”
What was with all the promise making that morning?
“Promise,” we both said in unison with our heads bowed, our feet kicking at blades of grass.
We all stood there in silence for a few moments on our front lawn enveloped in one of the most gorgeous summer mornings of our youth, our mother, her hair in a ponytail, wearing a blouse and shorts, sandals on her feet. She was beautiful. My sister wore nothing but her little girl panties and had her thumb stuck two knuckles deep in her mouth, index finger curled around the bridge of her nose. Jason and I had on t-shirts and corduroy O.P. shorts and Vans slip-ons, his shoes with red checkers and mine with blue.
Our mom used the top of her right foot to scratch her left calf and said, “Before your father left this morning he asked me to tell the two of you to start weeding the hill. He’s been telling you boys that he wants it done by the end of the week, so you need to get on it.”
“We will, mom, but can we go down to 7-Eleven first and turn in our bottles?” My brother pleaded.
“Jason, you have chores to do, you know that,” she said.
“Come on mom,” I begged. “We’ll just go down real quick and come right back. Please.”
Jason piped in again. “Yeah, come on. Please?”
We knew how to work our mother. Begging a few times would usually result in her letting us have our way. We never did this to our father though and never to our mother when our father was around. It wasn’t that we feared our dad; it was that we respected him. Him and the hand that would tan our hides if we got out of line.
“Okay. Okay, fine, “our mother said raising her arm to look at her watch. “Its five after seven right now. I want you boys back here by eight thirty and not a second later. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, mom. Thanks,” Jason said and started toward the street.
“Thanks, mom,” I echoed, trailing him.
“Ricky?” She said and took another few steps in my direction. “What happened to your shirt?”
We rarely lied to our mother and I saw no reason to do it now. It was an old play shirt anyway. “I caught it on the fence at Mr. Gagner’s house getting an orange.”
“You know he doesn’t like anybody touching his orange trees. Did he see you?”
“Nope,” both my brother and I said at the same time.
“Good. At least I won’t be getting a call from him too,” she said and threw up her hands. “Just put the shirt in the sewing pile when you’re done with the hill later. Have fun and be back at eight-thirty.”
“We will.”
As our mother turned and headed back into the house, with our sister in tow, Jason ran across the street to Cory’s. I eased my wagon down the curb, a few bottles falling over inside of it, and followed.
I was approaching the curb on Cory’s side of the street as they both began walking back down his driveway toward the sidewalk. Apparently he had been watching the conversation we had been having with our mother in our front yard from his bedroom window and as they came into earshot I heard Cory say, “…7-Eleven, and I started putting my clothes on. I got two bucks in quarters I swiped from my old man’s ashtray. I’m going to play the hell out of Asteroids when I get there.” He turned to me and said, “What’s up runt?” and accompanied the comment with a punch to my arm.
The best way to describe Cory’s personality was that he was pretty cool half the time, and a fucking asshole the other half. The kid had ADD-before they were even calling it that. He was only a month younger than Jason but was a year behind him in school. It wasn’t that he was dumb; he was just a little inattentive.
Although his punches always hurt, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing him my pain, so I gritted my teeth and held my breath, staring at him the whole time. Of course all that did was provoke him to want to hit me again until I screamed, which is what he was about to do until Jason jumped in, “Come on. We only got till eight-thirty. Let’s get going.” And with that Cory turned his attention to my brother and the three of us headed toward the store.
Frisbee Page 6