by Mike Hopper
“That means our resources are limited.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard. I heard you. You don’t need a lot of money. You need a brain.” Ed nodded, “We need cigar boxes.”
“What?” Steuart asked.
“Cigar boxes.”
“Our mother doesn’t smoke. What do you need cigar boxes for?”
“That doesn’t matter. You need to find them. We need two—one for Trista and one for moi.”
“Trista gave Ed a puzzled glance. “Cigar boxes?”
“Shh,” Ed looked at Trista before turning to Sam and Steuart. “Some things are personal. We need older boxes. I can’t deal with the smell of cigars. The brand doesn’t matter.” Ed scratched his head and frowned. “Is this going to be a problem for you?” He looked from Steuart to Sam and then again at Steuart, “We can always talk with someone else.”
“It’s going to be a challenge,” Sam said.
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Steuart repeated. “I don’t know if we can find cigar boxes. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen one.”
Ed let out a sigh and stood to leave. “I see. The two of you want me to teach you about the magnificent wonders of travel from one universe to another, but you’re going to whine like little babies about the difficulties of locating something as small and insignificant as a cigar box?” Ed paced the floor. He shrugged his shoulders, “If you can’t find a cigar box, I’m going to have to question whether or not you have the right personality for this kind of adventure. Maybe this is a—mistake.”
“No,” Sam insisted.
“I think it’s time for you to take us back to Dr. Klesel.” Ed looked at Trista, “It’s time to stop wasting their time—and ours. Obviously the good doctor made a mistake. We weren’t intended to visit with these two. Let’s go now. I’ll call a cat.” Ed snapped his fingers and began calling, “Here kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
Steuart turned to his sister, “Do you think we can locate the boxes?”
“We can try.”
Steuart turned to Ed, “Okay, we’ll get your boxes.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s okay if you can’t do this—we can all shake hands and say good-bye now—no hard feelings.”
“We’ll find them,” Sam said, “sure-as-Matt.”
“Is that code for something?”
Steuart smiled and nodded, “It’s a family thing. Don’t worry, we’ll get your boxes.”
“Good—tomorrow?”
Steuart nodded, “Tomorrow.”
Ed clapped his hands together, “That’s great. Well then, that’s it for today.”
“It?” Sam asked.
“There’s no reason for us to continue until you have the boxes.”
Trista stood and walked towards Ed. “Aren’t you are being a little tough on the kids?”
“Who’s in charge here?” Ed snapped.
Trista bit her lip and threw her hands into the air. “Sorry kids. This is new to me too.” She shook her head and sat down.
“Don’t worry Trista. It’s okay,” Sam insisted. “We like a challenge. We’ll get them tomorrow.”
“So,” Steuart looked at Ed, “Where are you from?”
Ed shook his head, and put his hands in his pockets, “Sorry pal, boxes first, answers second. I think it’s time for us to call it a day.”
ELEVEN
The following morning, with Trista in Sam’s backpack and Ed inside of Steuart’s, the children set out on their bikes for an appointment with Dr. Klesel. Once at the doctor’s office, Sam and Steuart sat on the floor and leaned back against the sofa. They removed the dolls from their backpacks and placed them on the couch as they watched for the doctor’s reaction.
“Well, what do you think of the dolls?” Dr. Klesel asked.
“Magic,” Sam said.
“Yes, authentic magic.” Steuart agreed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means they’re a lot of fun,” Steuart said.
Sam nodded, “We like them.”
“A great deal,” Steuart said.
“Yes, we do,” Sam smiled. “A great deal.”
Dr. Klesel sat quietly and wrote on his clipboard before looking up. “What do you like about them?”
“We like everything,” Sam said.
“Exactly,” Steuart agreed. “Everything.”
The three sat quietly for a few minutes. Sam reached over and held Trista in her hands. “Trista’s a good friend.” Sam looked at Dr. Klesel and asked, “Is there anything you’d like to tell us about the dolls?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Maybe you should tell us,” Sam said.
Sam and Steuart watched the doctor closely. He gave no indication of understanding the question.
* * *
Leaving Dr. Klesel’s office, Sam and Steuart were two children on a mission. With everyone in place, the team hopped on their bikes and started peddling as they began the trek towards downtown.
Heavily bundled, wearing down winter coats, matching wool hats and bicycle helmets, Sam and Steuart stayed warm in the below freezing temperature. Their boots were bright, shiny and new. Sam’s were fire engine red while Steuart’s were a dark glossy black. Their hats, gloves and scarves were colorful and thick, all perfectly hand-made by their mother.
A cloudless sky allowed the sun to reflect harshly against the day’s fresh accumulation of snow. With Steuart leading the way, he and Sam biked onto the bridge and noticed the river, now mostly covered by winter. Across the river, three huge snowmen stood happily, each one wearing a black top hat and scarf. This was a day most children wished for, especially two little southerners experiencing their first winter in cold temperatures. Neither Sam nor Steuart realized how bitter cold the winter day actually was.
They continued biking along the path and through the Preserve before turning to move onwards towards the hospital. They followed the western circle onto the hospital grounds, peddled up the hill and around the sharp curve by The Women’s and Children’s Center where construction continued night and day on a new building.
Not far from the Emergency Room entrance, but far enough to be officially off hospital property, a group of smokers huddled together under a bus stop shelter. One member of the group stood as if at a cocktail party, holding an IV pole in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The patient’s hospital gown hung inches below a bright plaid car coat. Large white bandages covered most of her head. An emergency helicopter, just yards away, hovered low as it prepared to land.
The children rode alongside the dental school, next to the student art gallery, through the dormitory quadrangle, and beside the engineering school before crossing in front of the North Union building and finding themselves in downtown Maybell on day two of the annual ice festival. A large banner hanging across Main Street proclaimed: Maybell Winter Ice Festival—35 Years—Coolest in Town.
The children raced to see who would make it to their destination first, stopping only once for a small group of protesters. Signs carried by the group implied they were upset because of a recent campus policy regarding red meat and a drum group. Once the protesters crossed Main Street, Steuart noticed Sam’s attention still focused on the crowd. He surprised his sister by taking off quickly and increasing his lead. Sam tried to catch up, and at one point, was close enough to see Ed climbing out from Steuart’s backpack. Ed stood on Steuart’s shoulder and began waving to Sam and Trista. His long red and black scarf trailed in the air.
Steuart hit a bump. Ed lost his balance and began to slide down and across Steuart’s shoulder. Ed caught himself by thrusting his arms up and under Steuart’s hat and then hanging onto Steuart’s earmuff. Sam and Trista watched in horror. Sam called out to her brother, her voice drowned by the sound of construction workers and ice carvers. “Slow down! Ed’s falling!”
Sam raced to catch up with her brother. Steuart, determined to win the race, peddled harder. Ed hung onto Steuart’s ear with both hands—his legs dang
led in the air as he worked to regain his balance. Trista peered from Sam’s coat, “I don’t believe he’s doing this!”
Again, Ed pulled his feet up and jumped on top of Steuart’s shoulder. Maintaining his balance by holding onto the back of Steuart’s hat, Ed swung his legs out, pulled his body up, and sat on top of Steuart’s head. He waved at Sam who prayed aloud, “Dear God, don’t let him fall!”
Trista watched from inside Sam’s coat, “This is insane.”
Steuart peddled harder and faster along the winter path, still unaware of what was taking place. He was so heavily bundled that he didn’t feel or hear a thing. Sam’s heart pounded. Her breathing became labored.
Most of the bicycle trail was shoveled and clear, but black ice caused both Steuart and Sam to slide first on the right side and then on the left, both of them almost falling more than a few times. Again, Ed jumped up and stood on top of Steuart’s head. Steadying his balance, Ed looked like a surfer riding a wave that was Steuart’s helmet.
Steuart hit another bump. Sam gasped. Trista screamed. Ed lost his balance and tumbled, this time free-falling through the air, sucked dangerously close to Steuart’s racing spokes. Ed grabbed onto the bottom side of Steuart’s wire basket, which sat just above his back wheel. Holding on with both hands, he worked to pull himself up into the basket. Steuart’s speed made this impossible. To passersby, Ed looked like a small windsock whipping about on a blustery day.
Thin sheets of ice continually forced Sam to lower her speed. She continued efforts to catch her brother while remaining aware of the need to protect Trista and herself. She peddled extra hard, aware she could go down at any moment. Trista peeked cautiously out every now and then, looking up and around before ducking back into Sam’s jacket.
The race was close with Ed and Steuart finishing first. Steuart stopped his bike at a downtown corner next to a polar bear ice sculpture. Trista and Sam were a close second. The group locked their bikes in front of an ice cream parlor where they stopped to watch a busy artist painting a winter scene on the inside window; a snow couple enjoying an ice cream sundae.
Ed laughed. He bragged to the group. “Wasn’t that the most amazing shoulder walking, head surfing, basket racing acrobatics act that you’ve ever witnessed? Impressive, huh? Have you ever seen anything so exciting?”
Sam looked at Ed and then doubled over as she tried to catch her breath. “Yeah, right, that was one amazing shoulder walking routine.” She coughed and stood. She moved directly in front of Ed’s face. “I don’t think so. What I saw was a scared little man who had a series of close calls.”
“You don’t have to yell,” Ed whispered.
Sam turned to her brother and yelled, “What’s wrong with you? Ed’s your responsibility. You don’t know how close things were back there. You couldn’t see what we saw. Ed could have been killed!”
“What’d I do?” Steuart asked. “What are you talking about?”
Sam reached into her coat and helped Trista out. “What’s your opinion?”
Trista placed her hand over her heart and took a deep breath, “I’m just a student. I came here to check out the light and find inspiration for my art. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate going home in one piece. Do you think that’s possible?”
Walking around the corner, the group arrived at the East End, an historic part of downtown Maybell. This area, only recently rediscovered, housed a number of new restaurants and boutiques. Tucked in among these were a few of the original stores. It was time to think about business.
* * *
The first store on the corner was Ivy’s, a place long ago known as the finest antique store in the city. Now more flea market than antique, Ivy’s stood as a memory of something that once was. Faded wallpaper, dusty chandeliers and velvet oil paintings of old movie stars hung high above moth-eaten mink coats, and yellowed, tea-stained silk gloves. Milk glass vases, boxes of chipped Christmas ornaments and silver plate Chihuahua ring holders sat beside tarnished menorahs, stacks of silver plate coasters, and a large bowl of curled black and white photos—all on top of an old ladies vanity—memories long ago forgotten. Empty perfume bottles, stacks of orphaned kitchen utensils, deviled egg platters, and an entire wall of ceramic cookie jars stood beside a dried out player piano. Standing tall in the corner and guarding the room was a fourteen-foot, hand-carved, wooden, Jamaican giraffe. A sign around its neck read:
Delightful, my things
Oh, so lovely to hold
Break a thing
Poor, poor you
I’ll mark it as sold
A sizable front portion of the shop held buttons and political memorabilia. This is where Steuart and Sam met her for the first time. A stench was obvious; a mixture of body odor, urine, mothballs, honey-coated bath powder and perfume. “Old person smell,” Steuart whispered.
“Shh, Grandmother doesn’t smell that way.”
A woman came from a door at the back of the store. She was tall and thin with a drawn face that looked as if it had seen the plastic surgeon more than a few times.
“Puppet face,” Steuart whispered. “She’s a lot older than Grandmother.”
“Hush,” Sam said. “That’s rude.”
The woman’s eyes bulged out. Neither Sam nor Steuart had ever seen lower eyelids that were such a tense and frightening red color. The woman wore multiple strands of pearls and three or four brooches; all of this on top of a heavy ultra-marine swing coat. She had a short bob that was white with streaks of yellow and long ago in need of a wash. Her hair was pinned back on the longer side with a ruby and sequined hairpin. The woman didn’t see Sam. She saw Steuart. She looked his way, stopped, and then spoke.
“Oh, a little darling is visiting my shop today.” She began waltzing down the center aisle towards the front of the shop on a well-worn Oriental rug. She moved smoothly, kicking up dust in her wake. Sam coughed.
Before the children were able to step back and run out the door, the woman stood over them. She bent down and scooped Steuart into her arms. “Lady, what are you doing? Let me down,” he yelled.
The woman twirled around, hugged Steuart tightly, and planted a sloppy, wet, neon-pink kiss on his right cheek. She continued dancing with Steuart and then, in full melodious voice said, “Don’t worry about me dear, I’m a kisser. I’m a kisser. I kiss all the gentlemen who enter my establishment.”
Steuart’s eyes bulged. He shook with fear. He struggled to get away from the woman, gasped for air, and tried to wipe her lipstick from his face at the same time. “I’m not! I’m not a kisser! I’m not! I’m not! Let me down! Let me down—now!” He turned and called out to his sister, “Sam, help me. Please!” Steuart’s legs and arms flailed about as he struggled to get away.
“That’s okay dear. You can calm down,” the woman said. She brushed Steuart’s hair away from his face. “Everything is fine. I’m a kisser and I’ve always been a kisser. I never fight the urge.”
“Fight the urge,” Steuart screamed. “Fight the urge!”
“I don’t believe there’s a thing that can be done about it.” It was as if the woman didn’t hear Steuart. “Some people say it’s a problem, especially at my woman’s group.” She paused for a moment, looked up towards heaven and then at Steuart. She brushed his hair away from his forehead again and gave him another kiss. “I’ve been told that I should air kiss, but I can’t do that. I can’t help myself. Have you ever heard of anything as foolish as an air kiss? Imagine? She shook her head, frowned, and stopped to consider her words. She shook her head again, kissed Steuart, and began once more. “No, I don’t think so. It’s not the same. No, it’s not the same at all. Did I tell you I’m a kisser?”
Sam didn’t move. Instead, she stood stunned and watched helplessly while the woman gave Steuart three more big kisses and counted them aloud. “One, two, three, kiss, kiss, kiss, I just enjoy men so very much. I’m not even particular.”
The woman peered at Steuart. She held his head in one hand and forced him to ma
ke eye contact. “You know I’m completely harmless, don’t you? It’s true.” She pressed her index finger into Steuart’s cheek. She smiled and spoke in a singsong voice. “Sweet little fella, if you would smile, I could see those dimples all the while. Sweet little fella, give us a smile?” The woman pouted. She dropped her voice, and then demanded, “Come on kid. Let me see those dimples.”
Steuart yelled and refused, “Evil lady!”
The woman stopped. Her affect went flat, “...or not.” It quickened as she began to giggle. “How embarrassing this is. I think I failed to introduce myself. How awful of me. How rude I’ve become. The name’s Della Ivy,” the woman’s voice was now deep and rich. She cooed as she spoke, “Miss Della Ivy.” That’s what you may call me.” She put another wet smooch on Steuart’s cheek, stopped again, looked at him and asked, “What can I do for a little darling like you? What brings you into Della Ivy’s today?”
“Harmless?” Steuart gulped. He looked at Sam, made a crazy face, and then went limp like an antique rag doll.
Della laughed, shook Steuart, laughed some more, and kissed him again. “Young man, you are adorable. You are beyond cute. Truly, I believe I am in love. I do.” She paused, “Did I mention that I’m a kisser?”
Sam stood in one spot, “Miss Ivy?” Della was not listening. “Miss Ivy?” Sam tried again, “Miss Ivy?” Sam was invisible. She raised her voice slightly, “Miss Ivy, down here, Miss Ivy, Yoo-hoo. Miss Ivy,” she demanded, “We need boxes! We’re looking for boxes Miss Ivy, can you help us please?”
Steuart stared at his sister as if she should forget the boxes and rescue him. Sam tried to think of what to do. Trista squirmed inside of Sam’s coat. Sam put her hand over her chest and encouraged Trista to stay still. Whispering to Trista, Sam said, “We’ll get the boxes and then we’ll all get out of here.”
Steuart continued to struggle. He reached out with his leg and tried to kick Sam. He missed.
“Miss Ivy?” Sam tried again.
Della, now annoyed, whirled around, looked at Sam and barked, “What? What is your problem kid? What do you want?”