The Paper Cowboy

by Kristin Levine

  “American dream,” I said.

  “It good dream, Tommy. All men equal.”

  “But I found a copy of the Daily Worker in the truck after the paper drive.”

  She laughed again. “The Daily Worker is communist paper in English, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How I read it? You still teaching me English.”

  That was a good point.

  “Tommy,” she said. “I no communist.”

  “I know.” And I did. I stared at my feet, embarrassed and relieved. I didn’t want her to go to jail. But what was I going to do about Mr. McKenzie?

  “Tommy,” she repeated. “Why you asking about communist?”

  And there, in the dark and the cold of Thanksgiving evening, I told her about planting the paper in Mr. McKenzie’s store. When I was done, she was quiet.

  “Say something,” I said.

  “What you want me to say?”

  “That you know who the communist is. That it’s not my fault if Mr. McKenzie loses his store.” And in my head I went on: That it’s not my fault Mary Lou got burned.

  “It is your fault,” she said.

  It was weird, because I’d thought hearing someone else say the words that had been rattling around in my head would make me feel worse. But it didn’t. In some strange way, it actually made me feel better, because she was taking me seriously.

  Then she smiled. “But I know you, Tommy. You will find way to make it better.”

  She went inside and closed her door. As I walked back home, for the first time all day, I felt okay. She had faith in me. I would find a way to make it better. Even if I had no idea how.

  25

  ’TIS THE SEASON

  But despite my dizzy dreams on the dance floor, after Thanksgiving things didn’t get better, at least not with Mom. She seemed worse. Some days at dinnertime, I’d find the breakfast dishes still piled in the sink. Susie got a horrible diaper rash. I started changing her when I got home from school and giving her a bottle in case she was hungry because Mom had forgotten to feed her. When I asked Pinky what she did all day, she shrugged. “Played with my dolls. Mom slept a lot.”

  The weird thing was, Mary Lou was doing better. She was finally learning to walk again. But Mom’s moods no longer seemed to have anything to do with Mary Lou’s progress. They were as random as a roll of the dice in a saloon. Pinky got a wide-eyed look about her, like a rabbit startled by a rattlesnake. She never cried, though, unlike Susie, who got colic so bad, I thought she was never going to stop crying. Dad got more and more quiet, as if not mentioning Mom’s behavior meant it wasn’t happening. He started working later too. And I had to hold it all together. It didn’t seem fair. I was the kid. Sometimes, at night, I wished more than anything that Mom or Dad would take care of me.

  One day in early December, after school, I was waiting for Mom to pick me up when I saw Mr. McKenzie come out of the school building. Little Skinny was trailing behind him. They didn’t see me, but I wondered, were they going to the hospital too? Was his mother getting worse?

  The sun was shining, glaring off the snow, and Mr. McKenzie’s car was dirty. As they approached it, I could just make out a word someone had traced in the dirt on the grimy hood.

  Commie.

  Mr. McKenzie noticed it at the same time. I could tell, because he froze, like a bird on a branch when there is a cat in the yard. Little Skinny blushed, red as any Soviet.

  Mr. McKenzie picked up a handful of snow and scrubbed the words off the car. His fingers must have been freezing, because there were holes in his old brown gloves. Then he ushered Little Skinny into the car and drove off. My hands burned with cold, as if I were the one with the old gloves.

  Later that afternoon, I lugged my accordion up the steps to Mary Lou’s room. My arms started to ache, but the smile on my sister’s face when I finally got there made it all worthwhile.

  “You’re going to play!” Mary Lou squealed.

  I grinned. “What do you want to hear?”

  “‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.’ It’s my favorite.”

  “I knew it,” I said, and began to play. My fingers trembled at first, but after a moment, Mary Lou started to sing. Her voice was soft, but sweet as a lollipop, and it gave me confidence. I played better, my fingers finding the right keys without me thinking about it. By the end of the song, three nurses had gathered in the hallway.

  As I played “Joy to the World,” “Angels We Have Heard on High,” and even “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” more nurses and a few other patients gathered outside Mary Lou’s door. When I was done, everyone applauded. I caught sight of Little Skinny in the hallway, standing next to a pale woman in a wheelchair.

  “Oh, Tommy,” Mary Lou said, her eyes shining. “That was wonderful!”

  “Play another,” called out a nurse. “‘Jingle Bells’?”

  Everyone started calling out suggestions, but I went up to the woman in the wheelchair. She was so thin, I could see all the bones around her neck, and the shape of her skull. Her limp dark hair had faded to gray. She wore a yellow dressing gown with pink roses embroidered around the collar. “What would you like to hear?” I asked her.

  “‘Silent Night,’” she whispered.

  So I played it, and the whole time I was thinking, this is Little Skinny’s mother, the one who is so sick. And yet her eyes still blinked and her lips still moved as she sang along in a voice so quiet, I couldn’t hear a word. When I was done, I put the accordion away and went back into the hall, but Little Skinny and his mother were already gone.

  The next day at school, Eddie spent recess imitating his mother. “There won’t be any Christmas presents this year!” he yelled in an angry falsetto. “Your father doesn’t have a job and he spent all our savings on the bomb shelter!”

  “At least it makes a good hideout,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Eddie, “but it still means no presents.”

  “I can’t steal anymore,” I said.

  “What if we didn’t steal them?” Eddie said. “What if we got him”—he gestured to Little Skinny—“to give them to us?”

  “How?” I asked.

  So he told me. It was a good plan, the kind of idea I might have come up with myself. But after seeing Little Skinny’s mom in the hospital, just like Mary Lou, well, I kind of felt differently about him now. I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, come on, Tommy,” Eddie said. “It’s Little Skinny. You don’t even like him.”

  No, I didn’t. Not really. But he seemed like more of a person now and I didn’t know how to explain that to Eddie. So I just shrugged and followed Eddie across the cobblestones.

  “Little Skinny,” Eddie called out, “you’re the one.”

  “The one what?” Little Skinny asked hesitantly. Two buttons had popped off his too-small shirt, revealing a bit of white belly under his thick wool jacket.

  “The one we wanted to talk to,” I said.

  “Why?” asked Little Skinny.

  “Well, since it is Christmastime,” said Eddie, just as we had rehearsed, “we figured we should be a little nicer to you.”

  “Yeah,” I added. “’Cause we feel bad about the Halloween candy.” I really did feel bad about that.

  “Good,” said Little Skinny. “It was mean.”

  “So we had an idea,” Eddie continued smoothly, holding up an old sock. “We’ll each fill a stocking full of treats for you, and you do the same for us.”

  “Why?” asked Little Skinny.

  “So we all get some treats!” Eddie replied.

  “No,” said Little Skinny. “Even if I wanted to buy you guys presents, which I don’t, I don’t have any money.”

  “It doesn’t have to be anything expensive,” Eddie explained. “Maybe just bake some cookies or skip buying milk one da
y and put in some penny candy.”

  Little Skinny shook his head. “No.”

  “It’s okay, Little Skinny,” I said. I was glad he didn’t like the idea. That meant I didn’t have to decide if I was going to follow through on Eddie’s idea. “If you don’t want—”

  “My name is Sam,” he interrupted.

  “What?” Eddie asked.

  “My name is Sam,” he repeated. “You start calling me that, I’ll do it.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Sam.” Maybe he really was stupid. Why would anyone agree to this plan?

  Little Skinny nodded. “All right. When should I have the stockings ready?”

  Didn’t he know we were going to cheat him? Couldn’t he tell? Or maybe he was like a cowboy riding bravely into an ambush he knew he couldn’t win.

  “The last day of school before the Christmas holiday?” Eddie suggested.

  “Fine,” said Little Skinny.

  “Do you need a stocking?” I asked.

  “I got old socks,” Little Skinny joked.

  “Wonderful,” Eddie said in his sweetest voice. “Then I’ll just use this sock for you.”

  Little Skinny gave a hesitant smile and walked away. As he left, I realized Peter and Luke were standing around watching us. “Why didn’t you ask us to join in your little stocking exchange?” Peter asked.

  I couldn’t quite tell if he was angry or jealous.

  “Because they are going to trick him,” said Luke, his bad arm hanging at his side.

  “And what if we are?” I snapped. “You gonna tell him?”

  Luke stared me straight in the eyes. I’d never noticed, but his eyes were hazel, just like my mother’s, and his nose was as pert as Mary Lou’s. All I’d ever seen before was his arm.

  “No,” Luke said finally. “We mind our own business. Come on, Peter.” They walked away.

  Eddie chattered on, thrilled that his plan had worked, but I felt awful. Little Skinny was the brave one. I was the coward. The one who didn’t dare tell his best friend what he really thought—that his plan was a terrible idea.

  26

  GIFTS

  I couldn’t make up my mind. When I was with Eddie, I laughed about his plan to put coal in Little Skinny’s stocking. But when I was alone, I felt so guilty. I kept seeing his mom, picturing her chapped lips mouthing the words as I played the accordion. Maybe there was a compromise. Maybe I could put an orange or some penny candy in Little Skinny’s stocking instead. Maybe I could keep the bargain after all.

  I was still mulling it over one night while doing the dishes when my dad came in to speak to me. “Tommy,” he said quietly. “Do me a favor?”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I had an idea about your mother.”

  Finally. Finally, we were going to talk about Mom.

  “I know we have the bills for Mary Lou, but I managed to save a little extra.” He showed me a five-dollar bill. “What if tomorrow, on your paper route, you stopped by Mrs. Scully’s and asked her to make Mom a new dress for Christmas?”

  That was it? That was his big plan? A new dress? “Does she need a new dress?”

  “Well, she keeps complaining she has nothing to wear,” Dad said. “I thought it might cheer her up.” He handed me a bundle wrapped in brown paper. “Here’s one of her old dresses to use as a pattern.”

  I took the bundle from him.

  “Put it back in her closet when you’re done,” Dad instructed.

  I nodded. It was worth a try.

  The next morning when I arrived at Mrs. Scully’s house, I got off my bike and knocked on her front door. “Hello, Tommy,” she said sweetly. She was wearing a dress that looked like one of the fancy cakes in the bakery downtown, pink with white icing flowers. “Do you want some hot chocolate?”

  “No. I’d like to order a new dress for my mom for Christmas.”

  “Sure,” said Mrs. Scully. “Come inside.”

  The house was a mess. There were bolts of cloth everywhere and a dress pattern on the table flew up like a paper ghost as I walked by. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll get some fabric for you to look at.”

  Her dining room table was covered with newspapers, mail and patterns. There were a couple of dishes mixed in with all the papers. I automatically started to gather them up, accidentally knocking a pile of paper onto the floor as I did so. After placing the cups and saucers into the sink in the kitchen, I scurried back to the dining room to clean up the papers.

  On top of the pile was a pamphlet titled League of Women Voters. I wasn’t exactly sure what that was, so I opened the pamphlet. It contained a calendar of events. A list of members. Dates. The addresses of houses where they were meeting. My heart started beating faster. A series of discussion topics was listed: congressional investigations, subversive activity. In that John Wayne movie I’d seen, he’d broken up a secret communist cell in Hawaii. Was it possible that we really had a commie cell in Downers Grove? After all this time, had I stumbled onto the communist?

  “Now, I’ve got a couple of choices for you,” Mrs. Scully called from the hallway.

  I slipped the pamphlet into my pocket just as she came back into the room.

  She laid three bolts of cloth on the already crowded table. The pile of papers I’d knocked over fell off again. Mrs. Scully sighed. “Sorry, I’m a little disorganized.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  Mrs. Scully smiled and I turned my attention to the cloth. The first was brown, very practical, but it reminded me of the couch at the hospital. The second was yellow and way too bright. But the third one was green, and not green like the bookshelves, but green like an apple before it turns red. “That one,” I said. “It’ll match Mom’s eyes.”

  “Nice choice,” she said, putting the other bolts onto the floor.

  “Is five dollars enough?” I asked.

  “Exactly right,” she said.

  I reached into my pocket to pull out the money, but she waved me away. “Pay me when it’s done. Now, just tell me your mother’s measurements and I’ll get started on—”

  “I brought an old dress,” I said.

  Mrs. Scully pulled out her tape measure and got right to work, measuring and making notes in a little book. “Got it,” she said when she had finished.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “I know you do, Tommy.”

  I snuck the dress back into the closet that night while my mom was doing the dishes. She never even noticed it was gone.

  I’d decided I was going to buy Little Skinny something for his stocking after all, maybe some penny candy or a deck of cards. I still had a couple of dimes left over from my birthday. Little Skinny always worked the cash register on Saturdays, so I snuck off one day at recess. When I walked into the store, I found Mr. McKenzie was slumped on the floor, an open letter in his hands.

  He scrambled to his feet as I entered, and wiped his face with the white apron. His eyes were red, almost as if he had been crying. It had only been a couple of weeks since I’d seen him, but he looked thinner too, like a bear at the end of a long winter’s hibernation.

  “Tommy,” he asked, sounding surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He shook his head and held out the letter to me. “Another bill I can’t pay.”

  The letter was from the hospital, just like the one my dad had. Third notice, it read. Please pay immediately. I couldn’t bear to look at the amount. After a moment, I folded the letter and placed it on the counter. “What are you going to do?”

  Mr. McKenzie shrugged and slumped to the floor again. “I don’t know. Don’t tell Sam. We’ll stay open at least till Christmas. Maybe I can hang on a bit after that. But if things aren’t better by Valentine’s Day . . .” He shrugged again. “
I don’t know. I guess we’ll go back to Chicago. I’ve got a cousin there and . . .”

  He started to cry. I felt so awkward, like I should go, but I couldn’t just leave him there.

  “His mother is going to die. I keep telling him she’s going to get better, but it’s a lie.”

  Finally, I sat down next to him. I didn’t say a word, but we sat like that for a long, long time.

  27

  DECK THE HALLS

  Every year in December, Mary Lou and I linked together colorful rings of paper to hang on the tree. Since we couldn’t do it at home this year, I gathered an armful of paper and glue and took them to the hospital. Mary Lou was thrilled. “It’s so boring here, with nothing to do,” she complained. We spent the afternoon linking the rings together. The next week when I visited, she’d made a chain so long, it went all the way down the hall.

  I missed Mary Lou something terrible, especially in the evenings. There were carols on the radio, and Dad made hot chocolate, but it just didn’t seem like Christmastime. Mom usually went to her room right after dinner now, and was often asleep before we put Pinky to bed. In the morning Mom still seemed tired, and sometimes, if she’d taken one of Dr. Stanton’s sleeping pills, she woke with red-rimmed eyes.

  Even though Mary Lou and I always made the paper chains, we weren’t allowed to decorate the tree. Oh no. That was my mom’s job, because it had to be absolutely perfect. We might put the ornaments too close together or, God forbid, drop and break one. Mom decorated the tree alone on Christmas Eve, after we’d gone to bed, so that when we woke up the next morning, it would appear like magic, fully trimmed.

  But I was allowed to pick out the tree with my father. So one cold night, while my mom was doing the dishes from dinner, my dad and Boots and I went to find a tree.

  The Christmas tree lot was in a wooded area near the edge of town, and was run by an old man. He’d brought in a bunch of new trees that morning. A light snow was falling and the moon was bright, so all the trees glowed like they were covered with tinsel. While my dad talked to the old man about the price, I chose a tree. It was a huge Douglas fir, with branches as thick and strong as the tail of a horse. Boots ran in circles, snapping at the snowflakes, until he lay down dizzy in the snow.