by John Siwicki
Stunned—the boy’s jaws fell open.
Sam jumped up. I’m getting the last one before he kills it, he said, and grabbed the black and white kitten from the box. Let’s get the hell out of a here!
They ran. Sam carried the little kitten close to his chest with its claws buried in his skin.
Holiday chased the boys, but couldn’t keep up, finally waved them off like he didn’t care.
Come on back when you got more kittens, then walked back to his trailer laughing.
That guy’s a lunatic, Sam said. Who told you he takes kittens and finds them homes?
No one really told me. I just heard it around town. What are we going to do with this one?
Letting it go would be better than giving it to Holiday.
I’ll find it a home, or keep it, Sam said.
Sam had one more experience with Holiday when he was walking home from school one day. Holiday drove by slowly, and asked, You want a ride.
Sam said. No, thanks.
Holiday, asked again, and said in a friendly way after he recognized Sam, I’m sorry about what I did to the cats. I’ll give you ride anywhere you’d like to go. Let’s be friends.
Okay, Sam said, and, just as he grabbed the car door handle to open it, Holiday floored the car and drove off in a cloud of dust, dragging Sam in the gravel until he let go. Sam watched Holiday wave as he picked himself up. He vowed to stay away from Holiday after that.
LIFE GOES ON
Whenever Sam got into a conversation about his dad, sketchy images of him lying in a coffin in the funeral home popped into his head. His father was the first dead person he’d ever seen, and it was his first funeral. He didn’t like talking about it. And when the subject came up, would say, Don’t want to talk about it. His dad’s brothers, sisters, and friends were at the funeral that day. A crowd of mourners mingled outside the funeral home when he arrived with his mother. Sam studied the throng of old and young faces in suits and uniforms. As they got closer the crowd parted and made way for them to walk through the makeshift lane, then into the dark parlor where the powerful aroma of sad flowers hit. He’d never had so many eyes staring at him at the same time. Why do they want to see a dead person? Sam wondered.
Waiting at the end of the gauntlet was a thin, pale faced man in a black suit who opened the door to the entrance. The man’s face, and his pencil thin moustache, forever burned in Sam’s memory. He’d never met him, didn’t know his name, but didn’t like him—he was an undertaker. A man who carried death on the air around him. As Sam entered the parlor his eyes locked forward on the silver gray metallic casket at the far end of the room. It was surrounded by mounds of flowers on either side. There was a kneeler for people, so they could say a prayer, and have one last look. After they stepped through the door, a swarm of people made their way in. Sam and his mother walked the final leg, stepping slowly down the narrow aisle between the metal folding chairs, and sat in the front row.
Go up and say a prayer, his mother said. You’ll never see your father again. Go up, Sam, she whispered.
The body had already been on display for a few days, and this was the last chance for Sam to see his dad before he’d be put to bed in the earth. He stood, and made his way to the kneeler. There on his knees he studied his dad’s frozen face and hands. He wondered if he should touch him one last time. Sam clenched his hands in prayer, but couldn’t remember his dad ever hugging him. All he wanted now was for his dad to sit up, and give him a great big hug. He remembered being around him when he built their garage, worked on their car, and went on fishing trips to the backwaters near the Mississippi. He’d never gotten a real hug, and never went to the hospital to see him before he died. One Saturday morning after breakfast, while just sitting in the living room at home watching cartoons, he got the news that his dad had died. It was delivered by an aunt he rarely saw—why she was there he had no idea. Then, like being clubbed over the head with a 2x4—the shock of it set in.
One last hug, Sam thought, but his dad did not move, and he didn’t blink, his eyes were closed. Goodbye, he whispered, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Sam stood, and turned to the faces of the people staring at him. He wanted to say something, but there were no words. He wiped his face and sat down. Soon after a stream of relatives and friends, took turns walking to the casket to have a last look, give their condolences, and shake Sam’s hand on the way back to their chairs. The final prayers were said as everyone filed out, then six pallbearers seized the handles of the casket in a tight grip. All heads turned as they carried it down the aisle, then outside, and loaded it into the black wagon. All the cars turned their headlights on, and the convoy slowly drove through town to the final destination—Calvary Cemetery.
These events played out in Sam’s head again and again. Going to the funeral home, staring at his dad’s frozen body, and driving to the cemetery. The priest saying the eulogy, an Honor Guard firing into the air twenty-one times, the trumpet playing taps. The flag folded thirteen times, then handed to his mother—the metal box lowered into the ground.
At the luncheon he listened to stories about things his dad had done. People laughed, ate, talked about the past, and he heard about a guy he never knew. The life cycle had become apparent to Sam on that day. He realized the same thing would happen to everyone. Sooner or later all memories, except for a few special ones, slowly fade and melt away.
Sam began to form a crazy scenario that started after he found some old family albums. The photographs intrigued him, especially the ones of his dad, and he questioned the resemblance.
I don’t really look like him. Was he my father? Maybe my real dad’s alive, and it’s been kept from me. Maybe I am the barber or architect’s son. Why else would so many people always say I looked like them? But there’s no way Holiday’s my father, he’s a maniac.
The thoughts lay buried in Sam’s mind like his dad was buried in the ground. Ideas festered for years after the funeral, and occasionally he dreamed about it. Sometimes while waiting his turn at the barber shop he’d read magazines, and watch the barber. He’d marvel at his adept dexterity with a comb and scissors, and be fascinated listening to the interesting conversations he had with customers.
How does he know so much about so many things? He has an opinion on everything.
Sam would gaze from behind a magazine, and check the color of the barber’s hair, the shape of his nose, his ears. Sam thought, I have to say something to him, but wondered what to say, and a few times had wanted to ask, Are you my father? But he never did.
Then one day when Sam was playing at school something happened, and the whole idea of being somebody else’s son was dropped. Forgotten completely as he stood paralyzed at the bottom of the playground slippery slide, watching kids slide down, and run back up the steps.
I must be dreaming, he thought, then—whispered it.
She stepped to the top when her turn came, looked at Sam, smiled, and slid down waving at him like she was his best friend. Who are you? he thought.
After landing at the bottom of the slide, she jumped to her feet, then grabbed and kissed him on the lips. Not just a little peck. It was a full-press, juicy fruit, wish-from-a-falling- star kiss like in the movies, and seemed to last an eternity. Exactly like what he’d read in a science magazine about the theory of relativity. Einstein explained relativity using a beautiful girl, hot stove example. It was clear, and Sam now understood precisely what relativity meant.
He always remembered how he fell for Esther the first time they met. That slippery slide moment was always fresh like yesterday; happening in his mind for the first time—every time. That first glance, her smile, her hair, her voice, and the taste of her lips were all chiseled in his cranium.
After the kiss she asked, Where have you been all of my life, handsome? It seemed an unusual and remarkable thing for a little girl to say, and smiles grew on their faces right after she said it.
He squeaked out a question. What’s your name?
Esther, she said. What’s yours? she asked without hesitation.
I’m Sam. You new here?
My first day, she said, and winked. I really like this slide. It’s a lot of fun. Hey, she said, and socked him in the shoulder. I’ll race you to that big tree over there.
Okay, you say get ready-set-go, Sam said, and crouched in a running stance.
You say it? Esther said, then looked at Sam, smiled and yelled, Go! She was off the line before he could say mixed biscuits even once, let alone three times.
Hey! he shouted, then chased after, grabbing at her arm, and caught up after running full out. Hey! Catching his breath, said, I was supposed to say go.
Esther, still in the lead, turned. What’s wrong? Can’t keep up with a girl?
You’re fast, Sam said, but my hand touched the tree first.
Okay, you win, she said.
Winded, breathless, coughing, and gulping air, Esther looked up to the sky as she leaned on the oak tree. Let’s rest a while.
Good idea, Sam said exhausted and wheezing. His legs buckled, he fell to the ground, and sat back against the tree staring up through the branches and leaves. He raised his arm, and pointed up at the white puffs of floating swirls above the green, and into the blur of sky beyond. Look at those ships up there.
Ships? What ships? Is that what you see?
Yeah, ships. Cloud ships floating out, and away into space to another time.
The oak they sat under was the center piece and guardian of the playground. Kids had climbed, played in, and fallen out of the huge tree for as long as anyone could remember. The oak had thick grey bark, and its fat twisted roots jutted up through the ground all around the perimeter. With stretched arms linked in a circle it took at least ten kids to make a chain to embrace it. Looking from beneath the tree up to the sky the sturdy thick pillar’s limbs rose, and spread out like a huge umbrella. This oak had withstood years of abuse from the elements, animals, and probing humans. It would continue to do so for some time to come. No one really knew how long it had been in the middle of the grassy part of the playground, but it seemed since the beginning of time. Sitting on a high limb the oak was a vista for a kid. You could see the town, courthouse tower, and with a little imagination, the world—maybe the future.
Carve your name into the tree, Esther, I did. It’s okay, Sam said. Look at all of the names. This one’s from a hundred years ago, and that one’s from yesterday. Look, TOM HANDBUSTER, he’s the barber, ALAN ROGERS, the famous architect, and JOHN HOLIDAY, cat killer.
Cat killer? Esther said surprised by the way he’d said it.
Yeah, cat killer! It’s a long story. Take it from me, he’s killed cats, and who knows what else.
You saw him do it?
I don’t want to talk about it; just brings back bad memories, but I did save Harley from him.
Who’s Harley? Esther asked.
My cat, the one I saved. You can see him if you come over to my house.
Okay, can’t wait to see him. How did he get the name Harley?
Named him after the motorcycle.
Look, Sam pointed and said, SPRATT, JOE CONRAD, PUNKY, STEVE. Joe sits behind me in class. He’s a big guy, and there’s my friend Spratt’s name. He thinks he’s a pirate ever since going to the Barnum & Bailey circus last year. The whole class went on a field trip to see it. All he talks about is the pirate flag, and other pirate stuff he bought at the circus. Steve died last year, he had leukemia, I miss him.
Okay, I’ll carve my name, Esther said, but I don’t have anything to do it with.
Here! Sam proudly barked, and yanked out a pocket knife. It locks, he said. It’s safe. Sam opened the blade, locked it, and threw it at the tree. It was my dad’s knife, he said after it stuck.
Your dad didn’t want it anymore?
He died—
Oh, sorry. How’d it happen?
They told me it was a heart attack.
To change the subject Esther said, Hey, let me try that, then aimed, and threw the knife.
Wow! That’s pretty good, he said. Put your name right under mine. Right where you stuck the knife.
Okay, and what else?
Don’t know, just your name, I guess, Sam said.
Go ahead, or you want me to do it?
You, the boy who almost lost the race to a girl, I’ll do it! she said. After she carved an E, asked, How does that look so far?
You’re doing fine. How does it feel to be part of oak tree history?
We’ll always be together, she said, and smiled at Sam. This will be here forever, Esther said, and handed Sam his knife. We’ll always have this memory. When we come back to this tree, and think about this moment, it’ll be like everything was, and is . . . a dream.
What about the year?
Yeah, okay she said, and carved the year next to her name. They sat under the oak again, peering up at the blue sky in the silence of the afternoon.
What are you going to be when you grow up?
Don’t know, but I’d like to travel all over the world, she said. What about you?
I want to make movies, be a director like John Houston, a storyteller, and live every day, every minute, every second. I’ve watched some of his movies over and over, he was a great director. You’ll be my leading lady, and become a big famous star.
What’s your first movie going to be about?
You know, Sam muttered deep in thought, that’s a good question. I wonder where all of the people who’ve carved their names in the oak are now? Maybe I can make a movie about them. About the people who’ve carved their names in this tree. You can play yourself now that you’ve carved your name.
He looked at Esther, kissed her on the cheek, then took her hand. Let’s have a secret handshake. They clasped their hands in a strong grip, their eyes met, they laughed and sat quietly under the tree letting their imagination run wild until the school bell rang.
TOGETHER
He looks like a Panda, Esther said, after seeing Harley.
That’s what everyone says when they see him.
Why’d you name him Harley?
I told you, I saw one drive by when I was taking him home.
Well, guess that’s as good a reason as any.
Want to see him do a trick?
What kind of trick?
Watch this, Sam said, and pointing his finger at Harley, said, Sleep! Harley flopped over on his side, and laid on the floor until Sam snapped his fingers, then he sat back up.
That’s a great trick, she said. Can he do anything else?
He plays tag. He’ll run until you tag him, then turn around, and chase you.
Can I try?
Sure, just say, tag Harley, and chase him.
Esther played with Harley on many occasions, then one day Sam let him out, and he just up and disappeared. Sam had the idea that Holiday kidnapped him, but had no proof. They looked everywhere, but never found him, and he never came back. A few weeks later while sitting under the oak, they decided to carve Harley’s name in the tree next to theirs.
You know it’s funny how things work out.
What do you mean, Sam?
About Harley, he was a moment from sure death when I saved him from Holiday, then he just disappears. Life sure keeps a person guessing.
After Sam finished carving Harley’s name he asked, How does it look?
I think he’d like it, Esther said. He’d like it a lot!
Sam and Esther were inseparable after that day. They walked to school, swam, rode bikes, and went to movies together. They re-played the roles of the famous actors from the movies they liked. In every class they had together Sam sat next to, behind, or in front of Esther. They were in their first play, A Christmas Carol, the year they met. They wore skeleton costumes that glowed in the dark, danced along with sound effects, bones shaking in a bag, then on cue screamed an eerie dying screech that drew an un-ending applause from the audience.
Because his friends liked sports Sam joined the baseball team
in high school, but ended up polishing the bench with the seat of his pants. And after playing one season of football he’d had enough. Next he tried wrestling, but had his body twisted into a pretzel at every practice, so he gave that up too. Golf was next, and thought he’d be good at it, but only hooked and sliced his way on the fairways. He chased the little-white-ball through every obstacle as if it were deliberately mapped out that way. Tennis was his best game, and if he could have served without double faulting, would have done well.
His sixteenth birthday was special because he had gotten a camera, but there was no name on the box, and he always wondered why. He had a good eye for composition, and had fun taking pictures, especially when Esther modeled for him. Everyone praised his pictures. With a few tips from his uncle, and a passion to learn how to use light, shutter speeds, and aperture settings, he had found what he did best and loved it.
Sam got a part-time job shooting weddings for a studio while he studied architecture. One day he drove by the building where he used to get his hair cut. Hanging in the window was a for sale sign, and telephone number. He remembered going there to get haircuts, reading the magazines, and thought about the interesting guy who knew a lot about everything.
He should have been a teacher instead of a barber, he thought.
The barber had sold the building, and left town. Now it was for sale, and the new owner just wanted to dump it, even at a loss, because he couldn’t make it in the haircutting business. It was at the corner of an intersection, and had big display windows. Sam made a deal with the owner, knocked out some walls, built backgrounds, and after a few months, his studio, LOCATION PHOTOGRAPHY, was in business.
Esther worked at the hospital and nursing home. She told Sam working there was sometimes like talking to people from another country who couldn’t understand English. But she enjoyed taking care of them to help make their golden years happy. Sometimes the old men pulled down their pants, and walked around with a big smile showing off their business until they were helped back to their room. A few of the old folks were in a lot of pain, and moaned all day. But some were spry for their age, and enjoyed the activities and events the home held.