The Paper Cowboy

by Kristin Levine

  “And we need the money,” Dad added.

  “Yeah.”

  I waited. It was a dark night, our headlights shining on the lonely road.

  “It’s like that movie,” I said. “It’s a Wonderful Life. Bedford Falls helped Jimmy Stewart. Let our town help us now.”

  “Okay,” Dad said finally. “I’m proud of you, Tommy. It still makes me a little uncomfortable, but . . .”

  “You’re uncomfortable?” I teased. “I’m the one who has to be up there in front of everyone playing the accordion!”

  Dad laughed. “Well then, you’d better get practicing.”

  44

  TALKING TO EDDIE

  For the rest of February and the first half of March, Mrs. Glazov and I practiced the accordion every night after dinner. Dad did the dishes while Pinky and Susie played on the floor and listened. Dad knew how to give Susie a bottle now. And Mrs. Glazov’s cooking seemed to agree with him, because his face started to fill out, the crevices looking not quite as deep.

  We’d settled into a nice routine at home. No yelling. No moods. One day, as I was doing the paper route, I realized home was no longer the wild saloon, where I had to stop if I wanted a drink. No, now it was more like a peaceful watering hole, where I could pull my hat down over my eyes and take a rest.

  But if things were going okay at home for once, school was another matter. Recess was now my least favorite time of day. Eddie wouldn’t speak to me while we cleaned the bathrooms, and worse, he spent his lunch hour harassing Sam, tripping him or stealing his jacket. I didn’t know what to do. I liked Sam, but I liked Eddie too, at least the old Eddie who used to do things with me.

  One day, I was standing by the horses watching Eddie and Peter chasing Sam around the street, trying to figure out what to say to get them to stop, when Luke came up to me. That was kind of odd. He and Peter usually did everything together. “Hi, Tommy,” he said.

  “Hi,” I said. “Why aren’t you with Peter?”

  “He and Eddie are teasing Sam.” Luke shrugged. “It makes me feel kind of bad.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Me too.”

  “Come on, Tommy,” Luke scoffed. “We saw what you did to Sam with those stockings before Christmas. And everyone heard what you said on the bus.”

  I’d forgotten about that. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that about your arm.”

  Luke shrugged. “I know it’s the only thing that’s protected me from your teasing in the past. No one wants to mention it. They don’t want to have the bad luck to get polio too.”

  “I really do feel bad about how I treated Sam,” I admitted. “I guess I wanted to be a cowboy, big and strong and tough.”

  “I’d like to be a cowboy too,” Luke said. “But there aren’t any cowboys with polio.”

  “FDR had polio,” I said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Luke admitted. “Being president is pretty cool. But not as cool as Gary Cooper. Sometimes I’d just like to . . .”

  “Scream?” I suggested.

  “Yeah,” Luke agreed. “Or hit someone. But, well . . .” He gestured to his arm.

  We both laughed. It felt good to actually talk about those open secrets that everyone knew.

  “Maybe I should go tell Eddie to knock it off,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Luke agreed. “Maybe you should.”

  I didn’t get up the nerve to talk to Eddie until that afternoon when we were scrubbing the bathroom. Usually Eddie did one side and I did the other, but that day I walked over to his section. “Eddie, I—”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Come on, Eddie. You can’t give me the silent treatment forever.”

  He threw down his brush. “Why?” he screamed. “Why did you turn on me?”

  Eddie sounded like me when I’d thrown that glass. He sounded like my mom. I didn’t like it. “I didn’t turn on you,” I said.

  “Sure feels like it! I always kept your secrets. How many times did I get punished and you didn’t, only because I kept my mouth shut?”

  It had been a lot of times. “I’m sorry.” It seemed like I was always apologizing now.

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Anything else you wanted to say?”

  “Actually, yeah.” I took a deep breath. “I think you should stop teasing Sam.”

  “Why?” he asked. “It’s fun. You had fun picking on him too.”

  It had been kind of fun. “I know,” I admitted. “But . . .” How could I explain it in a way Eddie would understand? “It’s like Luke. Would you ever tease Luke about his arm?”

  “No!” protested Eddie.

  “Why not? You don’t like him much. Don’t you think he’s kind of stuck up?”

  “Yeah, but it just wouldn’t be right,” said Eddie. “He didn’t ask to get polio.”

  “Do you think Sam asked for that bomb?” I said. “Or to be born in Nazi Germany? How is Sam’s face any different from Luke’s arm?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “It’s not different,” I said. “Except you didn’t grow up with him.”

  Eddie was silent for a long time.

  “It was all in fun,” said Eddie. “Not my fault if he can’t take a joke.”

  “But you wouldn’t play that kind of a joke on Luke,” I pointed out again.

  Eddie looked thoughtful. “No,” he said quietly, “we all play kick ball with him.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “You’re the one who started calling him Little Skinny! Why are you so high-and-mighty now?”

  I shrugged. “He’s not a bad guy.”

  “He’s a communist!”

  “No—I told you. That was my fault. I planted the paper there.”

  “Yeah, but it had to come from somewhere. It was probably them.”

  I shook my head again. “No, I know where it came from.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Eddie picked up his brush and started scrubbing again.

  “I really do.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me?”

  I shook my head. “I promised to keep it a secret.”

  “Well,” Eddie snapped. “I’m not the one who’s bad at keeping secrets.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No,” Eddie said, “you just meant that you don’t trust me. Even though I haven’t given you any reason not to!”

  I felt as mixed up as a lost calf in the middle of a cattle drive. He was right. And I didn’t want to lose Eddie as a friend. There was only one way to show him that I still trusted him.

  “All right,” I said finally. “I’ll tell you.”

  Eddie put down his scrub brush and put his hands on his hips.

  I glanced around to make sure no one else was in the bathroom with us, even though I knew full well that it was deserted. Pa hadn’t thought it was a big deal. Maybe Eddie wouldn’t either.

  “Well?”

  I took a deep breath, trying to pretend my heart wasn’t going thump, thump, thump. “The paper was from my dad.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” He picked up the scrub brush and returned to work.

  “No, really,” I said. “He attended a couple of meetings in college and . . .”

  Eddie sat back on his heels and stared at me. His hair stuck out like bits of hay and his eyes were wide. “You’re serious?”

  I nodded, my words caught in my throat.

  “Your dad is a communist?”

  “No, not a communist. He just read about it a little.”

  “But you said he attended a couple of meetings?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “That makes him a communist.”

  This was a mistake. Dad had warned me that I was impulsive. I’d wanted t
o win Eddie back over to my side, to let him know I trusted him, to let him know he really was still my friend. But now that I’d told him, I’d made our family vulnerable. What if he started a rumor about us, the way I had about Mr. McKenzie? “Eddie! You’ve known my dad your whole life.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve known you too. I didn’t think you would betray me either.”

  “Communism is just an idea,” I said, and I realized I sounded like Dad. “A bad idea but . . . haven’t you ever had a bad idea?”

  “Yeah,” said Eddie. “Being friends with you.”

  I snorted and laughed. A big nervous laugh. “Yeah, that was a pretty bad idea.”

  Eddie frowned harder.

  “Look, Sam is helping me organize a concert for Mary Lou.”

  “For Mary Lou?” he asked.

  Maybe that was the way to win him over. Of course he wanted to help her.

  “Yeah. I’m getting up at four o’clock on Sunday morning to put flyers about the concert in the paper,” I said.

  “Four o’clock in the morning?” asked Eddie.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “That’s awful early,” he said.

  “It’s when I’m getting up,” I repeated. “You want to help, come to my house then.”

  I picked up my brush and started scrubbing, desperately trying to rub away the thought that I’d made another mistake by telling Eddie about my dad. “Seriously,” I said. “You know we were awful to Sam.”

  “Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “I guess we were.”

  We cleaned the floor in silence for a while. “Really?” Eddie asked suddenly. “Your dad’s the communist?”

  “Eddie!” I exclaimed. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I mean it! Look what happened to Mr. McKenzie.”

  “I know.” He scrubbed harder, putting all his concentration onto one little spot of dirty floor. “I know how to keep a secret.” And something about the way he said it, something about the way his eyes flashed dark as midnight for just a moment, made me wonder what secrets Eddie was keeping from me.

  “Not anyone,” I repeated.

  “I don’t rat out my friends,” he said. “Unlike some people I know.”

  “Guess I deserved that,” I said.

  “Sure did.” He turned and grinned at me.

  I grinned back. I told myself Eddie would keep my secret.

  But I wasn’t completely sure.

  45

  THE FLYERS

  The third Saturday in March, after my paper route, I stopped by Sam’s to pick up the flyers. There were lots of changes to the store already. (The insurance money had been enough to pay the back rent and then some.) The shelves had been ripped out and a black-and-white tile floor was being put in. Mr. McKenzie was busy showing a workman where to put the soda counter. “Sam’s upstairs,” he called to me. “Go on up!”

  Sam was in the living room, with piles of paper surrounding him. His hands were covered with purple ink and the whole room smelled like chemicals. “Don’t touch anything!” he said. “I’ve got everything ready to go.” Methodically, he stacked the flyers and placed them in a large blue bag. He handed the bag to me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Tommy?”

  I looked at him.

  “Do you need help delivering the flyers?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I asked Eddie to help.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  “You already did the printing,” I said. “You don’t want to get up at four a.m.”

  “And Eddie doesn’t like me,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I added. “That too.”

  He snorted. “Of course, I didn’t like you either, at first.”

  “The feeling was mutual.”

  And we both smiled.

  Sunday morning, my alarm went off at four o’clock. I pulled on my clothes and cowboy boots and grabbed Sam’s bag.

  It was only thirty minutes earlier than normal, but the darkness felt thick and heavy. As I sat on my front porch, folding and placing a flyer in each newspaper, my heart felt heavy too. Eddie hadn’t shown up. No one ever told you that doing the right thing would be so hard. Or feel so lonely. Even Boots was still inside, asleep on my pillow. He needed his rest and I didn’t have the heart to wake him. Mechanically, I kept folding.

  “Tommy?”

  I whirled around. Standing in the shadows was Sam.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Helping, of course,” he said.

  “Thanks.” I shoved a pile of flyers at him. Unfortunately, it had rained the night before. Spring was coming soon, which was nice, except that the papers fell right into a puddle.

  “Don’t worry,” Sam said. “I brought extras.”

  “Really,” I said. “You didn’t need to come.”

  “Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “To you, I’m sure it doesn’t feel like much. But to me, sneaking out of the house in the early morning feels like an exciting adventure!” Sam grinned, and for the first time since his mom had died a month and a half before, the smile reached all the way to his eyes.

  “Ah,” I said, remembering his words from the day he’d fallen in the lake. “You always wanted to steal some yo-yos.”

  “Don’t do it,” Eddie called out. He was approaching from the other direction. “It leads to getting up at four a.m.”

  He’d come after all. Maybe we really were friends again. “Good to see you,” I said.

  “Yeah, well . . . ,” Eddie mumbled.

  “Hello, Eddie,” said Sam.

  Eddie looked at him, directly at his scar. Sam stood still without flinching.

  “Hello . . . Sam,” he said.

  Sam smiled. We all sat down and started folding and stuffing. We didn’t really talk—it was too early and I didn’t want to wake my family, but it was still nice. Almost like a party. I used to think being a cowboy meant dividing the world up into good guys and bad guys. Eddie and I were a posse, the rest of them were Indians. But maybe that wasn’t really how it worked. Maybe sometimes the cowboys and Indians could be friends.

  “Give me some more,” Eddie said.

  Sam passed them over, like a peace pipe, and before I knew it, we were done. I was ready to go at my normal time. “Well, um, thanks,” I said.

  They both nodded and went home. And I got on my bike to ride off into the sunrise.

  That afternoon, I stopped by home to pick up some of Dad’s tools and then went over to Ma and Pa’s to fix their chicken-coop door. I was nervous about maybe seeing Mom again, but cowboys always keep their promises. I snuck around back without even letting anyone know I was there and started working.

  It felt good to concentrate on something I knew I could fix. Felt good to pry out the broken door and frame up a new one. I was almost done when I heard footsteps behind me. I caught a whiff of perfume. I’d bought Mom a bottle of perfume last year on her birthday, right before Busia had died. She’d burst into tears when she’d opened it. Apparently, she’d wanted the yellow bottle and I’d gotten the green one.

  “You’ve done a great job,” Mom said.

  I shrugged.

  “We got your flyer,” she went on.

  I shrugged again.

  “At first I was upset,” she admitted. “I don’t accept charity! I don’t want everyone to know we’re having money troubles.”

  I still didn’t say anything. I wasn’t doing the concert for her.

  She took a deep breath. “But then I remembered what Pa is always telling me. I don’t have to do everything alone. I don’t have to give in to the dark moods when they come. I can wait until they pass. Or if they don’t pass, I’m supposed to ask for help. I will ask for help.”

  I concentrated intently on pounding the nail straight into the
door frame. “Mary Lou said charity is just another word for help.”

  “I think she’s right,” said Mom. “Tommy—”

  “You don’t have to say anything else,” I said, cutting her off. We weren’t arguing. She’d been nice. I didn’t want to push our luck.

  “I don’t know if I can change,” Mom went on. “But I want to try.”

  She walked back into the house. I’d never even turned to look at her. But as I packed the tools away, I noticed I was crying.

  46

  THE CONCERT

  The first week in April, Dad gave me one of his old suits to wear to the concert. It was a little too big. “Not bad,” he said. “But let’s walk over and ask Mrs. Scully to make it fit just right.” So after dinner, Dad and I walked Boots over to Mrs. Scully’s house.

  “Tommy,” Dad said, “Mom is going to come home next week, after your performance.”

  I didn’t answer. She’d been gone for almost two months now. And the truth was, even though she seemed better, I wasn’t sure I wanted her to come home.

  “It makes me a little nervous,” Dad admitted, reading my mind. “It’s been kind of nice without her, hasn’t it? Calm and peaceful.”

  I nodded. I hadn’t realized Dad felt that way too.

  “But when Mom’s not angry or upset,” Dad continued, “well, she’s fun. She’s energetic and lively and makes me laugh. And at times, she can be so thoughtful. Remember when she baked those pies for all the nurses at the hospital?”

  Yeah, I remembered.

  Dad took a deep breath. “I want to give her another chance. People can change.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. But I guessed I hoped they could.

  “And,” Dad went on, “if things don’t change . . . well, I don’t want to send her away. But if I have to, I will.”

  Even if I didn’t feel quite ready to have her home, I didn’t really want her gone either. And if Dad was willing to send her away, willing to actually do something for us, I guess that was proof that people could change. My dad had. And I had stopped being mean to Sam. I supposed that it was possible my mom could change too.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll give a try.”