by mike Evans
Billy tiptoed to the bathroom, stripping off his pajamas in exchange for his one suit that—with the support of one more growth spurt—would leave him looking a fool in it. He’d thought about his best friend James, and how he’d gotten this one after he’d gone through a growth spurt. If James didn’t have another one, there would be no new hand-me-down suit for him. Billy wondered if the church would still let him be an altar boy in a ratty pair of jeans. He thought of his garments for it and knew they were long enough that people would just barely see his feet.
He’d been the opposite of James when he’d decided to be an altar boy. James had said that he’d been required to because all good Clapper men did, and his father hadn’t given him a choice. Billy had jumped at the chance because he knew from listening to the older boys doing it that they got free Cubs tickets occasionally from the priests, and if there was leftover donuts from those brought in for Sunday service, they were able to take the extras home. He knew any extra food that could be brought in would not be an issue with his parents. His dad had barked the first few times that he had done it, but Billy had realized over time that his father seemed to complain less and less about the free food, and seemed to perk up a bit when he came home if he hadn’t still been on a bender from the night before.
Billy also knew the second benefit of volunteering to be an altar boy was the one simple fact that it was just that much more time that he would not be at home. It was hard to procure bruises when one wasn’t at home to be hit.
He didn’t go to the kitchen for breakfast; he knew nothing would be waiting for him or there to eat.
Billy walked out into the hallway, adjusting his tie. He watched his dad’s chest rhythmically rising and lowering, as he slept on the couch. Billy surveyed the rest of the living room; the black and white television was showing nothing but fuzz, the rabbit ears stuck up in the only way that they were able to pick up one of the three channels that came in. The light from the lamp downstairs was flickering as well, but not nearly as bad as what it had been doing in their room.
He secretly hoped his dad would wake and find somewhere else to infect with his time while they were at church, so he could watch the Bears’ game in peace and safety. If the television decided to die, he knew he could at least listen to the game. He saw the malt whiskey bottle lying on its side, long empty, and could smell it in the air.
Even in the cool morning, his dad was still sweating. He shuddered when he thought of his father speaking to him and smelling the cigarette-liquor breath that was his normal smell. He knew that some parents—like his mother, for example—smelled sweet and safe; but his father was not the same.
Chapter 3
Billy got his bike and carried it down the cracked concrete steps. He mimicked his dad smoking, making smoke rings in the cold air with his breath. Billy smiled, thinking of the hill which was only fun on the way to James’ house. He kicked up the stand on his bike, sliding on a pair of gloves, and ducked down low, thinking of the bobsledders he’d seen the previous year in the Olympics. The cool morning air cut into his cheeks, turning them a rosy red. Billy’s smile could not have been wider as he raced down the hill. He nodded to the newspaper boys he was friends with from school, and as he got closer to James’ house, started to swerve the bike to help slow it down. He wasn’t a mechanic, but knew the hand-me-down bike he’d been given by his dad was probably on its last leg and would not survive long enough to make it to Tony, nor would it stop on a dime if forced to. He skidded to a stop, resting it against James’ porch, and ran up the steps and began knocking.
James opened the door—waving goodbye to his father—and smiled, looking at his best friend’s cheeks. “How fast did you get it going this morning?”
Billy shrugged, “I don’t know, probably a thousand miles per hour.”
“No way.”
“I guess only me and God are going to know, aren’t we?” Billy said proudly.
“You mean God and I?” James corrected.
“Whatever, teacher’s pet, come on. We don’t want to be late; we know how Father Michaels is when we run late, James.”
“I don’t need to be told. Get your bike, Billy, and let’s get out of here. Hey, do you need something to eat before we go, just in case they don’t have any donuts there for you.”
“Uh, you eat them too, James.”
“Right, but I also eat breakfast before I go to church, that’s the difference between us. It isn’t a big deal if you want to put down a bowl before we leave. My dad is already up; I'm sure that he won’t care. Come on, the last thing you want to do is go into church with your stomach gurgling through service, right? We can get there real quick anyways. It’s awesome you guys moved so close to us.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t like my dad was trying to be nice, he only got the cheapest house that he could, hoping that there was plenty of time before we lost this one. He only got it because the guy owed my dad some money, he probably thought that if he gave him a deal on a house, that they’d be in the clear, and my dad would leave them alone. Man did that guy not know anything about my dad. Besides my stomach is always upset in the morning. I don’t know if it is in the air or something.”
“Does Tony get it, or is it just you?”
“Honestly, I think it is all of us, but good luck getting my dad to admit to it. It’s only in the mornings though, I don’t know what it is. Kind of seems like everything’s going to crap since we moved into that house.”
“I'm not your mother, Billy, but if you aren’t smart enough to eat when you got a meal getting offered, then don’t say anything later about how hungry you are.”
“Have I ever complained about being hungry? I learned a long time ago that complaining about getting food, and finding a way to get it, are two different roads.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Billy,” James sympathized.
“It isn’t real hard when you don’t have any options but to do it. I could complain about food all day, but it ain’t going to put anything in my mouth if I do.”
“You know that makes you two things right?” James said.
“What is that?”
James ran with his bike until it was practically standing on its own before launching off the ground onto it and coasting down the remainder of the hill. He screamed over his arm, “That makes you second place in getting there, and a fool for not eating. Catch me if you can, slow poke.”
Billy smiled, shaking his head as his friend looked like he’d just punched the gas on his bike. He got on running to catch up. The only thing he had going for him was a lighter bike and very little left over in the baby fat days. He didn’t have to worry about going to bed stuffed until it hurt like some kids at school. He knew James was not spoiled, but he was still jealous of the safe home life that he got to live, without the added threat of getting a whooping laid down on him from time to time, when his dad—who to his knowledge, didn’t even drink—felt like brawling.
He put his head down, ignoring the stop signs and pumped his legs until they burned. The further he got from his house, the better his stomach was feeling as well. When James looked back to see if he was going to win, that was when Billy pumped that much harder, soaring past his friend with his fingers gripping the bars until his knuckles turned white. James wanted to yell that he was a filthy cheater but thought about it, refraining. He knew that title would only be fitting and bestowed upon him. James could only smile as he watched his best friend take the lead, never slowing down. His red scarf made it look like superman was on the bike as it flapped behind him.
James had never had the competitive spirit that Billy had. He always figured it was because he had nothing and had to earn everything. James knew that his friend would rather die, than lose at something. Even the kids at school didn’t have the go-for-it attitude that Billy did. He’d always figured that if he’d had to want for something for so long, that he’d try harder than he probably could.
Billy ignored the wear and tear on his b
ike, skidding to a stop and leaving a five-foot trail of black tire skid on the sidewalk in front of the church. He’d bent the handles at the same time, putting a foot down as he slid to a stop, twisting the bike to show off just that much more.
James slid into a stop behind him and the two had a laughing fit. Father Michaels rose from the bench near the church, exhaling what was left of his cigarette. He smiled at the two boys, brushing back his black hair out of his eyes. “I’ve never seen any altar boys in that big of a rush to do God’s work. It moves my heart Mr. Clapper, Mr. Parker. You must’ve heard of the sermon I’ve been working on this week. Is that why you came to the house of God on this beautiful day, or did you want to pray for the Bears a little longer than normal? Billy, I know that you are a devoted young man.”
Billy laughed, shaking his head no. “No, sir, Father. I don’t need to pray for the Bears.”
“You’d rather pray for forgiveness, or for something else?”
“I’m going to pray for a hot meal when I get home, Father.”
Michaels opened his mouth to say something and couldn’t think of anything that the faith the boy had wouldn’t do for him. “I’ll see if there’s anything that you can maybe take home with you. We have so much food sent here on a regular basis that it can go bad if we don’t make sure to pass it on. We can only eat so much food, and just between you boys and myself, there’s a lot of us priests who end up eating double desserts. If we do that too often, we will end up with a little extra around our belly.” Michaels patted his mid-section, which wasn’t quite plump yet, but definitely had the makings of it happening if he didn’t listen to his own warnings of the priests and their appetites.
Billy rubbed at his belly that was rumbling, thinking that there wasn’t a chance that his bony frame would ever be confused with the word plump. He hoped one day in his life that he might have a warm place to sleep and a warm meal to be served without question. The boys stood there awkwardly for another minute before Michaels hooked a thumb for them to go inside and get ready. He checked his watch, seeing he had some time before he needed to go in, and shook out one more Camel.
Chapter 4
The cool air was picking up. Joan and Tony were practically running down the street. She felt sick to her stomach when the church bells began to ring. The street was desolate except for two bums. One stood clapping for them as they ran. Tony smiled, waving happily at them, used to seeing them, knowing they were only there for money from those feeling extra holy after mass had concluded. The second tried standing, but fell right back down when the previous night’s malt liquor hit him.
Joan said, “I waited for your father for a half hour to get ready because he said he would and what does he do? He goes to the bar.”
“The bells are ringing, Momma, doesn’t that mean that we are late? Huh, Momma, aren’t we late?”
“Yes, honey, that means we are late.”
The two bums both clapped for her. She gave them a cold stare that made the pair clap a little quieter. The man that couldn’t stand on his own hollered at them. “Hey, you guys say a prayer for us, would you?”
Joan yelled back, “It’d do the both of you some good to get off your lazy butts and get in there and pray for yourself!”
The man who was capable of standing yelled back. “But how am I going to get Earl here, inside? He can’t stand!”
Tony smiled as they made it up the steps. The fall leaves danced at their feet as they made their way up to the large oak doors, which were older than any of the priests doing sermons today. Joan always hated going in late, even more so because the two doors had been shut for those who had been on time. Joan looked at the drunks one more time, doing the sign of the cross and kissing her rosary beads that she was carrying. Tony walked in leaving his mother behind. She ran to catch up, but knew that this was his favorite part of church. His small shoes echoed on the stone entryway.
Joan was aware that they lived in the smallest house on the block, and she’d long ago come to terms with the fact that no, they would not ever live in a big house, unless her husband David had a fatal accident at work; but she figured he’d have to have a steady job before life insurance would be a possibility. She loved that this place was the one place in the city where she could take the boys where they had the opportunity to be treated like equals.
Tony walked quickly through the hall looking up, his eyes filled with amazement. Tony looked at his arms as the tinted glass from the different biblical scenes depicted colored him. He saw the bright colors painted above each of the three arches in the room that had Da Vinci’s painting of the last supper. The pillars rising in the church were painted proudly with gold crosses and the roof looked as real as day. Tony pointed up to the ceiling, smiling at the angels that were painted resting on clouds. Tony whispered to his mom, “Are one of those my angel?”
Joan, who had been as embarrassed as could be about being late, stopped. The question pulled her out of her own worries. She looked around, then up, seeing what he was speaking about, and saw the angels painted. She took a moment for herself, remembering how wonderful this church truly was that they were blessed enough to have in their lives. She bent down kissing the top of his head and whispered, “No, honey, those aren’t guardian angels. They are just pictures on the ceiling, sweetie.”
Tony slumped a little, kicking at the plush red carpet. “Oh, okay, I was just hoping that I had one, Momma.”
She rubbed his shoulders and kissed his head again. “Your guardian angel is much closer, was all that I was going to say. They have to be,” she patted his back and Tony winced, yelping. Joan pulled down the back of his dress shirt until she could see the dark bruise running in a line on his spine. She did the sign of the cross thinking what she’d do if her husband had bruised this boy and it had not been an accident. “Honey, how did you get this bruise on your back? It’s okay, you can tell me, don’t be scared.”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know, Momma, I didn’t know it hurt until you touched it."
Joan pinched the bridge of her nose and knew this wasn’t really the time to bring it up or to get the answers. She took his tiny hand in hers and the two entered and walked down the filled rows until the two of them found a seat in the back. Tony had to stand in the pew to be able to see what was going on. He lost interest only a minute after sitting down. Joan hadn’t missed but two services in five years except for once, when she’d been beaten too badly to go out in public, and the other when she’d given birth to Tony.
She pulled a few Hot Wheels out from her purse, handing them to Tony, whose eyes lit up when he saw them. Tony hopped from the pew to the floor, kneeling down, turning what had been his seat into a new demolition derby spot. Joan patted him on the head, trying to quiet him a bit as he made race car noises that, of course, ended with screeching wheels and collisions to follow. The single members stared at him, shaking their head ever so slightly. Joan ignored them and looked to the front of the church's entrance. When they kept looking, she finally snapped a mother’s whisper not to be ignored. “Well, at least he came to church. I’m sorry that he isn’t as interested as an adult in what is going on. Maybe he hasn’t sinned as much as some who really need to be worried about it.”
The front doors opened and her heart warmed at the sight of Billy and James in their freshly washed white cassocks. Their hair was neat, which she thought: for Billy, at least one day a week was better than none. She was the one responsible for cutting the men’s hair in the family, and she’d gotten halfway decent, but still had a long way to go.
The congregation stood when they entered, walking slowly, holding up the golden crosses on the long poles. They asked to sit, and she sat smiling, watching the two boys sitting there.
The priest was giving his sermon and James leaned over. “You want to watch the game at my house today? My mom’s making pot roast; it’s as big as your head.”
Billy’s stomach rumbled at the thought of a feast, especially one that had roast
involved, or for that matter meat in general. He was confident that his mother would be making one of her many varieties of potato soup for the day. He’d trade all the potatoes in the world for just one bite of succulent beef. But he didn’t want to leave Tony and his mother at home on their own, with no one to watch out for them. “I can’t, I got some stuff going on.”
James, who spoke without thinking said, “What could you possibly have going on? We both know you aren’t going to do homework or read. Your dad got a job or something he needs a free helper on or something?”
“Something like that, I’ll tell you about it Monday.”
A voice seemed like it came from nowhere. A slight breeze blew on both of the boys’ necks as he spoke. Father Joseph said, “Great sermon today, isn’t it, boys?”
The two jumped, spinning in their pews to see the new priest Father Joseph. He had only been there for a short time and they had yet to get to know him like they had with the rest of the priests in the church. They weren’t scared of him though, as his smile was wide and inviting and had that grandfatherly look to it that made you want to trust him.
James cleared his throat, not used to being called out if they were speaking. “Uh, yes, sir, he did a great job on it. I can’t imagine where he will go with it, sir.”
Billy stared gawking at him, shaking his head. He knew as well as James did that neither of the two of them had been paying any attention to a single word spoken by the man since they began talking about football. Billy smiled uneasily, not having quite the knack for telling a white lie that his best friend James did. “Yes, sir, sorry. We will listen, I promise.”
Father Joseph patted his shoulder, leaning back in his pew looking over his bifocals at his sermon book. When the boys turned around, each giving one another a serious look, the father whispered, “Proverbs 12:22: The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in people who are trustworthy.”