“Good gracious!” Jane exclaimed, holding her hand to her face. Gerald roared with laughter. Alice did the same. Jack jumped off the chair, grabbed his book bag, and slipped the strap over his shoulder.
“Well done, my boy,” Gerald said, holding out his hand, which Jack took and pumped vigorously. Jack feigned excruciating pain and buckled at the knees.
“Oh, sir!” Jack said. “You have a bear-like grip, no match for Zeus!”
Gerald, charmed by Jack’s antics said, “Boy, you are one of a kind.”
“Thank you, Gerald, sir!”
Jane proffered the Tupperware of food to Jack, who took it, and saluted to everyone with one hand.
“We’ll see ya tomorrow, Jack?” Alice said.
“Of course!” Jack said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I can’t defeat all these bad numbers on my own.”
“Bye, Jack,” Alice said.
“Bye, dear Alice,” Jack said. “Bye sweet Jane. Bye Gerald, sir!”
Jack opened the door with his free hand and stepped onto the porch. It was not drizzling now, but it was still cool. He moved down the steps with a buoyant air about him and down the sidewalk. Boxer followed, wagged his tail, jumped, and yelped, wanting to play.
Jack made it to the gate, opened it, making sure Boxer stayed in the yard. Alice, Gerald, and Jane watched him from the porch. Jack closed the gate behind him. Almost immediately—on his way home—he began to shout: “Down goes the Three!”—making his free hand into a pistol, firing, and providing the sound effects. “Down goes the Two! Hey number One, where do you think you’re going? Ooww! That’s gotta hurt! Didn’t expect that, did you, Five, you villainous traitor! How about you, Seven? You want some? You good for nothing, mealy-mouthed, number! Blam Blam Blam! Step aside, you ugly fractions! This town ain’t big enough for all of us! You got to get up earlier than the cock crows to outwit Sheriff Bristol! Why, he’ll reduce you to numbers below zero!”
With that, Jack crested the hill, west of the Skylar house, and out of sight.
*
Jack’s lessons grew increasingly successful as school progressed. Soon, Jack and Alice met only three times a week instead of five. In school, Jack continued to get better grades. He smiled as he got these assignments returned to him; Mrs. Dermott was smiling at him now, too, and even Alice looked over at Jack, giving him a ‘thumbs up.’ Once, Jack got one of his math tests back, he held it up for Alice. A huge, A+ spoke loudly from the top of the page beside a red smiley face. 100% the paper read, and Jack beamed. He was ecstatic! School could be fun when you actually succeeded, he thought. Sometimes, during the assignments, mainly Math, Alice could hear Jack mumbling under his breath, “Down ya go! Down ya go!”—making gunfire sounds with his mouth. Alice smiled to herself.
Jack liked studying with Alice’s parents as well, and they were always happy to see him. They laughed at his antics, his ruthless imagination. When the lessons concluded, and Jack said goodbye, Jane always put a plate together for Jack to take home to his father. Everyone was getting something out of Jack’s progress.
The weather turned chillier and October came. Fall was noticeable in the sights and the air. Storyville’s streets became laden with thick, wet leaves. Barren trees revealed more of a grayer sky. The wind blew constantly, harboring its own deep chill, and the leaves—what remained—continued to blow and scatter over cars, porches, rooftops, and yards. The smell of lighted pumpkins tinged the air.
*
During one of these cold, drizzly, late October days, Jack Bristol and his father, Phillip, pulled up in front of the Skylar house in a rusted, white and yellow Ford pickup truck. ‘It looks like a jalopy, but runs like a charm,’ Phillip always said, and Jack agreed. The truck pulled to a stop and they both got out, shutting the doors. Jack went to the back of the truck, opened the tailgate, and reached inside.
“Got it?” Phillip asked his son. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, used for excursions, jaunts into town, and the sometime special occasion.
“Ugh!” Jack said, rolling the twenty-four pound turkey out of the bed of the truck. It was still frozen, wrapped in air-tight plastic. Jack got a hold of the frozen bird and balanced it precariously in his arms. He could barely see over the top.
“Want me to help?” Phillip asked.
“I got it!” Jack said, not indignant, just out of breath. Phillip smiled at his son.
Jack carried the bird with both hands, forearms bulging tight with what small muscles he had. Already, his face was strained and red. He was panting. As he made his way down the walkway, he looked one way around the bird, then the other, trying to see the path in front of him. Luckily, Boxer was inside today, otherwise Jack might trip over the dog.
“You can’t even see where you’re going, can you?” Phillip said.
“I’m fine, sir!” Jack said. “I got eyes in the back of my head, and I just walk backwards.”
Jack, of course, did not have eyes in the back of his head, nor was he walking backwards. Phillip smiled at his son and guided him down the walkway.
“There’s a crack in the road right here, Jack,” Phillip said, pointing. “Like a huge crater. Step lightly, son! And watch out for those dandelions! Mean as a snake. They’ll get you every time! Hey, there’s twelve foot croc-o-gator at high noon, and boy, does he look hungry! I think he’s eyeing you more than the bird, Jacky-boy! Dirty buggers! Whip-slash him, son! Step on his tail, just don’t drop the bird!”
“Dad!” Jack reprimanded, but he giggled nonetheless. He stumbled only because of the weight of the bird, not because of the croc-o-gator, the dandelion, or the chasm in the sidewalk.
“There’s a snake swinging from that flagpole, Jack!” Phillip went on, though, there wasn’t a flagpole, either. Phillip, like his son, was improvising along the way, and had just as vivid an imagination. Like his boy, he liked to play, too. “Look out! Careful, he’s disguising himself pretty well. I think it’s a python. He’ll swallow you whole! He’s got a top hat on, and he’s wearing sunglasses, too! Clever bugger. Why, you can hardly see ’em!”
“Dad!” Jack said, but couldn’t help but giggle.
Despite the danger, they finally made it up the steps, and to the porch. Phillip rang the doorbell, and they waited.
“Getting heavy?” Phillip said.
“Yes, sir!”
“Just a few more hours. Hang in there!”
Jack giggled again, which only made the bird seem heavier, the strain of carrying it, more painful. Jack used his thigh to reposition the bird, and got a better hold of the turkey.
Soon, footsteps sounded inside; the knob clicked, and the door swung wide. It was Jane.
“The castle gates have opened, Jacky,” Phillip said, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You must have said the magic word.”
“I didn’t say anything, sir!” Jack said, and almost dropped the bird.
“Well, what have we here?” Jane exclaimed with obvious surprise, looking toward Jack, then to Phillip.
“Hello, ma’am,” Phillip said, and took off his hat. He surprised Jane by bowing slightly. “You don’t know me. My name is Phillip Joseph Bristol, and this here is Jack, whom, I think, you do know. He’s right there, though you’d never know it. He looks like a big frozen turkey with little boy legs. Say hi to the audience, Jack.”
“Ugh,” Jack said, out of breath. “Hello to my audience. It’s a pleasure to meetcha.”
Phillip squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “Turkey talks,” Phillip said, and smiled at Jane. “I know you don’t believe me, ma’am, but Jack is somewhere behind all that bird. He’s such a tiny lad, and it’s such a big bird, he might as well be invisible. You should see him carry watermelons. Why, just this summer Jack was—”
“Dad, this thing’s getting heavy!” Jack’s voice emerged from the bird.
“Anyway,” Phillip went on, patting his son now on the shoulder, as if he hadn’t heard Jack at all. “As I was saying. Those watermelons are awfully huge. Massive! Som
e are just as big as this bird here, which is, of course, from me and Jacky-boy to you and your family for helping Jack with his lessons and all. That little Alice helped him tremendously. Jack brought his report card home just today, and I suggest we drop by the store and get you the biggest bird we could find. This was the biggest bird, I might add, and Jack has been a sport, carrying it all the way here. Why, we we’re gonna walk, cause Jack needs the exercise, but we thought we’d drive instead. So, anyway, here is the bird, the boy—though you can’t see him, I promise you he is there—and this here bird from us to you. So, Happy Hanukah, Cinco de Mayo, or Halloween. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Why, in all my foolishness, I seem to have forgotten my watermelon story! Well, never mind!”
“Land sakes,” Jane exclaimed, with tears in her eyes.
“Dad!” Jack said, his knees buckling, his balance shifting one way because of the bird.
“Caramelized Onions!” Phillip said, relieving Jack of the bird, which he did with some dexterity, and just as quickly deposited it in the arms of Jane, who almost stumbled back and out of sight. Jack stood gasping, one arm stretched out against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath, red and face. He regained his composure after some heavy breathing. Jane stood in the doorway, holding the bird, as if she didn’t quite know what to say or do. Phillip (who’d put his hat back on) simply stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, smiling to himself, and tipped his hat at the lady in the doorway. Phillip seemed rather proud of himself.
“Who is it, dear?” Gerald called, and emerged tall and lanky with his spectacles on. He stood behind his wife and peered over her shoulder at the massive bird she was carrying.
“My, oh, my!” he said, eyes lighting up.
“That’s what I said!” Jane exclaimed.
“I think it was more along the lines of ‘Land Sakes!’” Phillip corrected.
Alice came into view now, peering through the tiny space beside her mother and under her father’s elbow, looking at the bird in Jane’s arms.
“Hi, Ja—Holy roses!” she said. “Is that a turkey?”
“It is a turkey, yes,” Phillip said. “A little token of our thanks, yep! For helping little Jacky-boy here. Give him a second. I still think he’s trying to catch his breath.”
Jack blushed, seemed to catch his breath, breathed a little easier, and now stood beside his father. “Yes, Alice,” he said. “It’s a turkey.”
“I guess Christmas comes early,” Gerald said.
“That’s what Mr. Bristol said,” Jane said.
“Actually, I think it was along the lines of Happy Hanukah, Cinco de Mayo, or Halloween, or something,” Phillip said. “But, whatever.”
“But we’re not Jewish,” Gerald said.
Phillip thought this amazingly funny and burst out laughing. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, patting it proudly. Jack was now smiling wide, revealing all his teeth.
“Thank you, Alice,” Jack said. “I was telling Dad about how much you’ve been helping me with Mrs. Jane here, and Gerald sir, and he was pleased as punch. He insisted we do something nice, especially when he saw my report card. A ‘C’ was my lowest grade. A ‘C+’ I might say. So, here we are in all our glory. Happy Hanukah!”
“Land sakes!’ Alice exclaimed.
“Don’t say it, Mr. Bristol,” Jane said, who was on the verge of saying it, but clamped his mouth shut.
“Here, Gerald,” Jane said, depositing the turkey into her husband’s arms. “This thing’s getting heavy.”
“Why, that’s what Jacky-boy’s been saying for the last two hours,” Phillip couldn’t resist. He and Jack roared with laughter, did a little dance with their arms locked, clapped each other on the back, and simply stood giddy on the porch like the children they were.
CHAPTER VII
HAPPY HEARTS MAKE FOR GOOD HOLIDAYS
Summer was gone. The chill was constant, and everyone in Storyville could feel it. Soon, the trees dropped the last of their leaves, and all of them were barren. The grass turned a light shade of dead brown. The wind blew with more consistency, and the leaves on the ground were wet from an endless, misty rain. People gathered the last of their fruits and vegetable from their gardens; the corn stalks withered to beige that would green again only in spring and summer. People chopped wood and the sound echoed over town. Fires burned in the hearths of every home, making the smell of wood-smoke a constant. Lazy tendrils from chimneys drifted into the skies.
It was shaping up to be a pleasant autumn in Storyville. As October progressed, the Halloween decorations came out: skeletons in wacky positions made from cardboard paper adorned every door. Witches on broomsticks, ghosts made from bed-sheets, and makeshift cemeteries filled the yards. A creepy, ghoulish time of year had found Storyville enthusiastic for the holidays. Everyone approached Halloween with excitement. Kids were anxious to dress up in their favorite costumes as their favorite monsters, villains, heroes, and idols. They had a lot to look forward to. The adults, too, were not remiss on the celebration. They pulled out the old costumes, decorated their houses, just as eager for the celebration.
Jack insisted on being Mr. Hyde. He was fascinated with the split-personality aspect, the symbolic schizophrenia Mr. Hyde represented, and Mr. Hyde was—all around—a very ‘Bad Dude.’ Alice thought Jack liked wearing a top hat and cape was all, and couldn’t think of any other characters who wore them—especially on Halloween. Jack admitted with much gusto, that yes, he liked wearing a top hat and cape.
Alice decided to be a demented princess, a pretty, red-haired girl in a frilly white dress, wearing a crown, but covered in blood with a knife jutting out of her head. Jack though it was perfect and couldn’t wait to see her all dressed up.
At school, Jack continued to excel with Alice’s help. His grades were improving, much to his father’s, and even Mrs. Dermott’s delight. In turn, Jack was now more his old self, not the introverted, secluded child he’d been at the beginning of the year. Seeing Jack this way—excited about school—was a relief to Alice. He was—just as quickly—the playful, buoyant, imaginary Jack Bristol she’d spent the summer with.
At school, the teachers, in every class, made announcement concerning a pumpkin carving contest. It would take place in the school gym from 6 pm to 9 pm on Friday, the 29th, two days before Halloween, which happened to fall on a Sunday that year. Every child in Storyville Elementary—accompanied by one parent—was invited to attend.
Jack, for whatever reason, was more anxious to attend the festivities than anyone.
“Just talk to your dad, Jack,” Alice said. “He’ll go with you. I’ll get my dad to go, and we can all sit at the same table. It’ll be fun.”
They were sitting in class after Mrs. Dermott had made this announcement. Jack was looking at the flier the teacher had handed out, an orange piece of paper with black writing. A smiling black pumpkin was in the top corner, a ghost in the opposite corner, and a skeleton on the bottom right. The date, hours, prizes, snacks, and punch were all mentioned.
“I’ll ask Dad, and see what he says,” Jack said, but didn’t sound convinced. He looked over at Alice and smiled. “I just can’t remember what happened to my costume from last year. I looked for it, but I can’t find it anywhere. I guess I’ll have to make a new one.”
“Your dad’s pretty handy,” Alice said. “I bet he could make one. He is a carpenter after all.”
“And a shoemaker,” Jack said.
“And a clockmaker,” Alice said.
“And an overall good guy,” Jack said. “I guess we’ll have to find an outfit for him, too.”
*
But, for whatever reason, Jack kept forgetting to ask his dad. In fact, he had only brought it up one time. Phillip, of course, had already assented, but Jack wondered if his father had stored this information in the back of his mind, and completely forgotten. Phillip was preoccupied with the shop a lot these days. People were bringing in their old shoes, boots, and w
inter wear, and Phillip was the only man in town who could repair them. Storyville could not make it through the winter months without something warm on their feet, so Phillip arrived home from work later than usual these days. Jack, of course, didn’t want to bother his dad after he’d put in such long hours. So, on the day of the pumpkin carving contest, Jack had all but negated the idea of going, thinking he wouldn’t have the opportunity anyway, because he hadn’t a costume, and it seemed easier to forget about it and just wait until next year. Yet, his mind wouldn’t let him forget it, and Jack wanted to go very badly. Carving pumpkins, dressed as Mr. Hyde with his father, seemed a very cool thing to do, and Jack couldn’t stop thinking about it.
On that particular Friday, the 29th, Jack’s father came home earlier than even Jack suspected. It was 4:30 pm when the Ford pulled up in front of the cottage-style house. Jack watched his father anxiously from the window. He glanced at the clock on the wall. An hour and a half to go. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, Jack told himself. Phillip hopped out of the truck, wearing long pants, boots, and a thick, heavy jacket. Jack met him at the door.
“Hey, champ,” Phillip said, closing the door behind him. “What’s up?”
“Hi, Dad,” Jack said, shoving his hands deep his pockets. “How’s clocks and shoes?”
“Business has been good, Jacky-boy. Maybe we’ll get you that pony for Christmas, after all. We need the money, but man, I’ll tell you, the days are long and tiring. Today was a slower day than usual, maybe cause it’s Friday, and everyone has their shoes fixed.”
“We should get a pony for Alice, Dad. She’d like that.”
“Hmmm,” Phillip said, pondering this idea. “A horse for Alice for Christmas. Do you think her parents would let her have one? Do we know anyone with horses since Heathrow moved out of town?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, pa, but I don’t know if they’re for sale.”
“Is that a fact?” Phillip said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door. He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took a long slug off the water jug. “Ah, that tastes crisp! How was school, Jacky-boy?”
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