by TL Travis
Ricky’s Uncle John, his mother’s brother, was freaking cool. He would come over on the weekends and hang out with us while his mom and Grandma would go shopping. He’d take us out for ice cream, or to the park, and sometimes we’d even go walking along the shore of the sound where we’d collect shells and poke at beached sea creatures and find tons of other cool stuff. He was more of a father to me than my own was. Ricky and I in a sense, had become brothers. I was accepted by his entire family as though I were one of their own.
I remember in the second grade, I fell off the monkey bars on the playground trying to land a backflip I’d seen one of the junior high boys do. Only I didn’t land it as I’d hoped and instead fell at an awkward angle and broke my left arm. The only saving grace was the fact that I was right handed. The nurse called my dad at work, telling him to come and get me and take me to the hospital. He wasn’t very happy when he showed up, but instead of yelling, he once again chose to ignore me which felt worse. I kept my crying to a minimum, even though my arm hurt like hell, because I didn’t want to give him anymore reasons to hate me. So I quietly cradled my arm against my chest during the ride to the hospital.
We sat in silence in the emergency room after checking in. There were people running in and out, coughing and sneezing, and here I sat holding my gimpy arm. Finally, a lady came out and called my name and took us back to a curtained area. My dad picked me up and sat me on the table while she closed the curtain around us and began asking my dad questions. I looked around, staring at the different tools they had out and then the lady put a plastic bracelet on my right wrist and left. A little while later, the doctor came in and introduced himself to us and explained what he was going to do.
After he finished making my cast, he told us I had to wear it for six weeks and would need to see the pediatrician to have it removed at that time. The nurse came back in and handed me a lollipop and my dad a stack of papers.
“You hungry?” my dad asked as we left the hospital.
“Mmm hmm,” I muttered.
“Okay, let’s go through the drive through and get you a kid’s meal on the way home.” He opened the truck door for me and helped me in before locking the seat belt around me.
To say I was thrilled would have been an understatement. I was spending much needed time with my dad, which I hoped was going to be a positive turning point for us, and he didn’t seem to be mad at me anymore. After we got our food, we headed home and when we pulled up in front of our house, Ricky and his mom came running over to us.
“Is he okay?” Ricky’s mom asked my dad.
“Yeah, the doctor said it was a clean break, but he has to wear the cast for six weeks,” he told her.
“Oh no, what about Halloween? It’s in three weeks?” she questioned.
Mine and Ricky’s ears pricked up at that. I’ll be the only Batman wearing a cast.
“It is?” my dad asked, scratching his head. “I guess I haven’t paid much attention since Joan left.”
The sadness in his words hit me hard, making me realize how much her leaving hurt him too.
“Now is not the time or the place for this conversation, Joe.” She looked over at Ricky and I before turning back to him. “I’ve already got their costumes. Here’s an idea, why don’t you paint his cast black for Halloween, so it doesn’t clash with his Batman outfit?”
“I can do that, Mary. I guess I should thank you for all you’ve done for my boy. I do appreciate it and I promise to do better,” he said, clearing his throat and glancing down at me.
She nodded and left it at that. Looking back, I can see she was reluctant to believe him.
“Mom,” Ricky asked, “can we get McDonald’s too?”
Laughing, she told him, “Come on, get in the car.” She turned to my dad. “Joe, if he needs anything – and I do mean anything at all, you let me know.”
“I will. And thank you, again Mary,” he told her as we headed inside.
Things went well for the first couple of weeks after my acrobatic incident. My dad quit going out every night and started cleaning up around the house. My mom was never much of a housekeeper to begin with, but my dad had literally let things pile up everywhere. The table in the entryway where he kept his keys had mail stacks piled high, but he took care of that. He even started running the vacuum and said some of the chores he was doing would become mine after the cast came off. I didn’t mind, I’d do anything to make him proud of me.
Halloween came, and he’d kept his promise to paint my cast. We went out back and he wrapped plastic bags around my arm outlining the cast and told me to turn my head before spray painting it a shiny black. When I put on my costume, it blended right in and the kids at school thought it was too cool.
He and Mary stayed at their houses to hand out candy while Uncle John came over to take us trick or treating. We hit every house in the neighborhood and man, we scored big time. Our bags were filled to the brim. Afterwards, we went back to Ricky’s house and poured it out on his living room floor and started trading with each other. Mary slinked by and snagged a fun size Snicker’s from both our piles.
The first couple of days after Halloween, I ate so much candy that I thought I’d puke, and by the following weekend mine was all gone. Ricky still had some left but had hidden his bag from me after he caught me taking pieces out of it. I had, and still have, quite a sweet tooth.
The week before Thanksgiving, my dad took a day off work and I got to miss school to go and get my cast removed.
A few minutes after the nurse took us back to one of the rooms, the doctor came in and looked from my cast to my dad questioningly.
“Batman costume,” my dad told him.
“Ah, that explains the black paint.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself while gathering the tools he needed for the removal and placed them on the metal tray between us.
My eyes were as big as saucers when he picked up the hand saw and came near me with it. I thought for sure he was going to cut off my arm.
“It’s okay, Joey, this won’t hurt. I promise,” he said in his calming doctor voice.
Curiously, I watched his every move.
Once the cast was off, I stared down at my arm concerned because it was wrinkly and pale. It reminded me of how my skin looked after I pulled off a bandage I’d had on for a couple of days.
The doctor must have seen the worry on my face as he quickly explained that it had healed up nicely and that I was good to go, but that he wouldn’t recommend I do any more aerial maneuvers on the playground.
“No more showing off for the girls,” he playfully scolded me.
My dad chuckled. “He’s still at the girls are icky stage so I think we’re okay there.”
I crinkled up my nose in disgust and they both laughed.
Thanksgiving day, my dad and I got invited next door to eat and spend the day with Ricky’s family. Since my dad wasn’t good at cooking, we showed up with a store-bought pumpkin pie and a can of whipped cream. My dad and Uncle John sat and watched football while Ricky’s mom and grandma made dinner for all of us. We played in his room until the food was ready because it was cold and rainy outside.
After everyone ate their fill and the kitchen was cleaned up, Uncle John left as did my dad because he had work the next day. My dad was a mechanic and rarely got week days off. I stayed over at Ricky’s, so Mary could watch me while he worked.
The change in my dad since I broke my arm was like night and day, but I wasn’t sure what to expect when Christmas came. The week before he’d surprised me by taking me to pick out a small tree to set up on the table inside the front window of our living room. I knew money was tight, so we grabbed a couple inexpensive decorations for it and a strand of lights. I didn’t care how big or small it was, or if it shined so brightly you could see it from the moon. To me it was the best tree ever because my dad and me picked it out and decorated it together.
On Christmas morning, my dad came in to wake me up.
“Merry Chr
istmas, sleepy head,” he said, pulling the covers off me. “Why aren’t you up yet?”
I shrugged, not willing to hurt his feeling by telling him I didn’t expect to find any presents under the tree.
“Come on, looks like Santa came last night,” he said, the twinkle in his eye told me he wasn’t kidding.
I bolted upright, wiping the sleep from my eyes and stared blankly back at him.
Amused at my reaction, he cracked-up. “Come on, let’s go.”
I ran out of my room and down the stairs, surprised I didn’t trip and tumble down them, and beat my dad to the living room. On the floor sat a large box with my name on it along with a couple smaller presents sitting on top of the table. And over the fireplace, was a stocking with my name on it and it was full. I couldn’t help the happy tears that came while taking it all in.
My dad hugged me, something he hadn’t done in a long time. “I think those have your name on them. Go ahead, dig in.”
I grabbed the big box off the floor first and ripped the paper to shreds opening it. Underneath the wrapping was my very first race track. The same one Ricky had. I ran my hand across the front of the box, afraid I was still asleep and dreaming all of this. I couldn’t believe my dad got it for me.
“Here’s the stocking Santa left for you.” He took it off the hook and handed it to me before taking a seat on the creaky old beat-up brown couch we had. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t believe in Santa because I didn’t want to burst his bubble. The elated look on his face as he watched me open everything made keeping that secret worthwhile.
Chapter
Two
Spring, 2003
It was spring break, and we were beyond bored. Not a good recipe for two pre-teens. My dad was at work, and Ricky and I were hanging out at my house with the promise that we would check in with Mary every couple of hours. We had the music blaring; our love for metal was well underway and were jamming out on our air instruments to Metallica’s Sanitarium.
When the song was over, we went to the kitchen to try and scrounge up something to eat, when Ricky stumbled upon a bottle of Stoli vodka that was tucked away in the back of one of the cabinets. It had been there for some time and I never saw my dad drink anything other than beer, so I’m guessing it belonged to my mom.
“Dude,” Ricky said, pulling it out of the cupboard and waving it around.
“Huh, what’s that?” I asked, leaving the pantry and heading for the refrigerator.
“Vodka bro, Stoli. Think your dad will be mad if we try it?” he asked, but the grin on his face let me know it wasn’t really a question. His mind was already set on doing so.
“I dunno. He got rid of all the bottled stuff a long time ago. He probably doesn’t even know it was up there.” I stuck my head in the fridge, hoping to find stuff to make sandwiches with. “Score!” I yelled, grabbing the loaf of bread, mustard and cheese slices. “Let’s go back to my room.”
Ricky brought the vodka with him and when we got up to my room, he opened it. I threw together a couple of sandwiches and handed him one. He took a swig out of the bottle and instantly started choking.
“It burns,” he howled.
“Ha, you sound like that chick from the Exorcist. It burns.” I attempted the voice while cracking up before taking a bite of my ghetto meal. To this day, I still crave my poor man’s sandwich fix. It reminds me of home when we’re on the road.
Ricky kept coughing. “Here, dude,” he handed me the bottle, “try it.”
What the hell, I thought taking a swig and spitting it out. “People really like this?”
He was rolling on the floor, laughing his ass off. “You’re a wuss, dude.” He took a big swig, making a face before swallowing it and was soon back to choking.
“I’m a wuss? At least I didn’t choke,” I reminded him.
“No, you spit it out. That’s even worse.” He took another drink. “After the first couple of swigs, it doesn’t burn so much anymore.”
We finished half the bottle when Ricky got what he considered to be another bright idea. “This crap you’re trying to feed me sucks. Let’s go to my house and get some real food.”
Upon standing, the room immediately began to spin. I grabbed the desk chair to steady myself. Ricky was hiccupping and broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. Somehow, we managed to get down the stairs without breaking our necks and over to his house. We stumbled through the front door, knocking over the end table, sending the lamp careening to the floor. My hands flew up to cover my mouth, but then we both started giggling again.
His mom came running into the room and looked from the broken lamp to us, then back to the lamp before meeting our eyes with that deadly mom stare. Ricky, being the smartass that he was uttered, “Dum, dum, dum, dummm.”
“What the hell is wrong with both of you?” she yelled.
I’d never heard her raise her voice before and I hoped I wouldn’t hear it again.
“We’re,” hiccup, “hungry,” he managed between hiccups, swinging the bottle joyfully in his hand.
I thought he’d left it back in my room.
“Are you two drunk?” She angrily grabbed the bottle from him.
“Uh, I don’t know,” I answered honestly, having never been drunk before.
“I think… Gonna puke!” Ricky covered his mouth and ran for the bathroom.
“I don’t feel so good. Why’s everything spinning?” I moved to lay down in the entryway.
“No, not there. Go join your brilliant friend in the bathroom.” She lifted me up by my elbow and pointed me in the direction he’d gone.
I didn’t want to cause any more problems, and she was clearly pissed, so I did as I’d been ordered. When I got to the bathroom, Ricky was leaning over the toilet puking. Suddenly I was glad that I hadn’t drank as much as he did, but I still wasn’t feeling too great myself. I curled up into a ball on the bathroom rug and passed out, while he finished emptying the contents of his stomach. I came to when his mom came in with two glasses of water and a bottle of aspirin in hand.
“I’m not sure which one of you came up with the idea to get drunk,” she turned an evil eye on Ricky while handing us the glasses, “but I’m certain I know where the booze came from.”
“Mom, I don’t want to drink this,” Ricky protested, handing the glass back to her.
She shook a couple pills out and gave them to him. “Shut up. Take these and drink that whole glass and then I want you both to go to your room and go straight to bed.” She handed me two aspirin as well. We choked it all down, handing her the empty glasses and literally crawled across the hall to his room and into bed.
We slept through the night and woke the next morning feeling like total shit as his mom called us down for breakfast. We migrated downstairs and vehemently tried to pass on the food, but she sat plates down in front of each of us loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast and demanded we eat every last bite. My head was throbbing, and my stomach was camping out in my throat, but there was no way in hell I was pissing her off any more than she already was.
“I don’t know whether to beat both your asses or to tell your dad what happened and let him handle you, Joey.”
I felt the blood drain from my face and thought I was going to pass out again. My dad and I were finally on the right path and I didn’t want anything to fuck that up.
Frozen mid bite, pleadingly, I glanced at Ricky hoping he could help me out this mess he got us into. Well, he started it, but I didn’t tell him no when I probably should have so I guess it was really our mess.
“Mom, it’s my fault. Please don’t tell Joey’s dad. I found the bottle in the cabinet when we were looking for something to eat yesterday,” he begged.
No matter what, outside of this vodka incident that is, Ricky always looked out for me and did his best to protect me.
“Well, you better not pull this again. And you both owe me a new lamp!” She stormed out of the kitchen, swinging the wooden spoon ar
ound while mumbling to herself. I thought I heard her utter dumbasses at one point.
“Sorry, Joey.”
“It’s okay. I could’ve told you no, but I didn’t.” I stood, grabbing both our empty plates and taking them to the sink to wash them.
Mary stomped back into the kitchen, pointing the wooden spoon at us. “Fine, I won’t tell your dad, but I swear to God you two better never pull another stunt like this again.”
I’d never been afraid of Mary before, but the look on her face and the frightful spoon swinging put the fear into me.
We immediately agreed not to do this again, as it was something we’d never soon forget.
“You’re both on yard duty for the rest of the school year. Every weekend, you’ll be cleaning up the yards of both our houses and if your dad asks, Joey, you tell him you wanted to help him out. But I’ll give you guys this, at least you didn’t drink the cheap vodka.”
And so, Ricky’s nickname Stoli came to be. But it was a long time before our dumbasses got drunk again.
Mary wasn’t lying, not that she ever had, but the following Saturday she got Ricky and I out of bed early. After we ate breakfast, she grabbed the key to the shed out back off the hook by the door and led us outside.
“In here is everything you’ll need. Lawn mower, weed eater, waste bags, rakes, and shovels.” She pulled the mower out and proceeded to show us how to start it and how to operate the weed eater. “While one of you mows, the other edges with the weed eater. When the bag on the mower gets full, you take if off like so, dump it into the waste bag, and get back to work. Put the bags in the big trash bin at the side of the house when it’s full. Now, get to work,” Mary ordered before storming off.