The Wayward Gifted - Broken Point

by Mike Hopper

  Stunned, Sam recoiled and began to shake.

  “Did anyone teach you to wait your turn? Can you not see that I am engaged?” Della gave Steuart a kiss as he continued trying to get away. “Let me down lady,” he twisted and squirmed. He demanded, “Let me down. Let me down!” He looked over at Sam, “Sits bits unhitch!” Della kissed Steuart again before speaking to Sam. Her sentences became rapid. Della spoke so quickly and fast that it was difficult to tell where one word stopped and the next began.

  “Well, my dear. I didn’t realize you were standing there—you two must be together. Boxes you say? What size do you need? I have many options for you to see. You want boxes. I have boxes.” Della’s voice dropped again. “Why would you want boxes when you can have buttons? Little girls usually like buttons.” Della walked to the back of the store and then back to the front where Sam stood waiting.

  Della held onto Steuart as he continued struggling and demanding, “Let me down right this minute.”

  Again, Della walked towards the back of the store. She turned and looked at Sam. She didn’t speak, but Sam felt Della’s eyes asking the question: What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know what you should be doing? “Well? Come on. What are you waiting for? Come on.” Della began showing boxes of every type, size, and price, throwing her index finger purposefully in the direction of the boxes as she pointed to them one by one. She became insistent that Sam purchase boxes filled with music scrolls from an old player piano. “These are my absolute favorites.” Della began humming an old tune and continued to dance, waltzing with Steuart as he struggled to escape.

  “Just look at these,” Della pointed to a barrel of boxes. “The ones with the pictures are the most valuable.” She danced, “One, two, three, one, two, three, you can have, fun with these.” Della continued her waltz and then stopped. She looked at Sam, “These would be more fun for you. Why not buy one or more of these lovely items? Do you make art projects?”

  “We need cigar boxes,” Sam explained as she followed Della and Steuart throughout the store.

  Sam’s attention was briefly diverted to a shelf of antique eggbeaters and shoehorns. She looked directly above at an old sign advertising Bitter Balm, a ladies nighttime remedy. Her eyes traveled down below to a crate of signs where she noticed an advertisement for Fresh Peach Ladies. The paper was beautiful with flowers and leaves, but Sam was only interested in the colors. Briefly, she forgot herself and stood transfixed, aware that she wanted to add that particular peach color to her collection. Sam stood in the same spot until she noticed a pair of yellowing, white gloves.

  She heard Steuart’s voice, “If you don’t mind, Lady, I’d like to get down now. You’re cutting off my circulation. Lady, I can’t breathe. My arm’s asleep.” Steuart went limp again like a rag doll and pretended to be dead. He opened his mouth and hung his head towards his chest. Della acted as if she didn’t hear Steuart and continued to tote him around the shop, pausing occasionally to plant another kiss on his cheek.

  She pointed to boxes. “Lunch box, match box, music box? I have no cigar boxes.” She shook her head. “No, no, no, I have buttons. Buttons are much nicer than boxes, especially cigar boxes, although some of them have lovely graphics, that is true, but if you absolutely must have boxes you children should choose these.” She pointed towards boxes holding music scrolls for player pianos. “The graphics are superior and the paper rolls are wonderful for art projects. I’m sure you realize that children need to be creative.” She cocked her head. “Young lady, do you make crafts? You can do all sorts of things with music scrolls. The only thing you can do with a cigar box is clutter the damn thing with stickers and junk.” Della kissed Steuart again. “Oh, you are so irresistible, you dear, sweet little man-one-day-to-be.”

  This time Steuart turned his head and pretended to vomit. Trying to keep Della on topic Sam composed herself, “No, ma’am, we’re only looking for cigar boxes. We need them for our dolls.”

  Della stopped. “Dolls? Dolls?” She moved closer to Sam. “You have dolls? What type of dolls? I love dolls. Why didn’t you tell me? Dolls are important...” her voice trailed into a whisper, “I’m not certain why.” Della’s voice became sharp, “What’ve you got kid?”

  Quietly, Sam pulled Trista from her coat. “This is my doll.” Trista and Sam held as still as the broken grandfather clock leaning against the far wall. Della’s eyes lit up as she leaned in close for a look. For the first time since entering the shop, Della was interested in Sam.

  “Little darling, little dear, oh, my darling, please come here and tell me, please…” Della moved closer, “Where did you get this doll?” Della stopped to compose herself. She lowered her voice and bent down reaching for Trista with her left hand while continuing to hold Steuart with her right arm.

  Sam took a step back. Della inched closer and asked, “Where did you get this lovely treasure, so beautiful and so...” Della took a deep breath, pursed her lips and looked as if she might faint. Her skin became even whiter than white; all the while she moved closer towards Trista, reaching to take her from Sam, “Let me see her,” Della demanded as Sam stepped back. “Let me see her….”

  Sam and her brother were frightened. Trista was mortified. Ed was hiding. The children looked towards the door knowing they had to leave right away. Sam stepped back and held Trista close to her chest. Trista sneezed. Della reached for the doll while holding Steuart. Steuart managed to pull his arms free. Sam prepared to run but knew that she would not leave her little brother or her friends. Pop! The front door slammed. Ding! The bell on the counter pinged. A man stood at the counter. “Good morning,” he said in a cheerful voice. “I was told this is the place to visit for buttons. Is the button lady here? Sapphire blue, circa 1922, I’m told that you...”

  Della stood straight and whipped around to respond. Steuart pushed his elbows into Della’s ribs and finally broke free. He ran from the shop. Sam immediately followed.

  “Sapphire blue,” Della repeated. “My dear man, you are in luck today.”

  * * *

  Steuart ran hard, stopping at the end of the street to catch his breath. Once she caught up, Sam couldn’t help staring at her brother who was covered in vulgar, garish pink. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Steuart rubbed his face across the arm of his jacket. He looked at Sam and sneered, “No thanks to you.”

  “I was doing my best.”

  “To help me get kidnapped? Why didn’t you help me?”

  “I was trying to help.”

  “That woman’s crazy. She needs to be locked away. What were you thinking? Why didn’t you help me?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I was trying to help. I didn’t know if I should grab you and run, or if I should stay and look for boxes.”

  “Forget the boxes—Grab and run.”

  “Trista peeked from the front of Sam’s jacket, “Don’t bicker you guys. We were all scared. I thought that woman was going to snatch me from Sam’s hands.”

  “I know, I thought the same thing,” Sam said.

  “Grab and run. That’s all you need to remember. Grab and run.”

  “I’m thankful she didn’t grab me,” Trista looked at Steuart. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, but at least you’re bigger than Ed and me.”

  Steuart stared down the alley and whispered, “Not—big—enough.”

  “I was frightened too,” Sam said. “Trista, did you see how she looked at you?”

  “What about me?” Steuart asked.

  “I was confused. I was worried about helping you. I was worried about protecting Trista. I didn’t know what I’d do if she got Trista too. I’ve never chased after an old person before.”

  “She’s a strange lady.” Trista said. “I’m sorry that I sneezed. I thought we were done for.”

  “The dust in that place is terrible. You couldn’t help sneezing. I think she wanted you more than she wanted Steuart.

  Ed pushed open the front pocket of Steuart’s bac
kpack, and peered out. “Are we safe?”

  “You’re safe,” Steuart said.

  Climbing out of Steuart’s backpack, Ed walked across his shoulders, slid down his arm and then jumped into his hands. Looking up at Steuart’s face, he laughed, “Whoa. That’s a picture.”

  “Where were you? Why didn’t you help me?” Steuart asked.

  “Where was I? I was doing what I’m supposed to do in a crisis situation.”

  “I didn’t see you do anything.”

  “Exactly.” Ed nodded, “I was hiding. There was nothing I could do.” He pointed his finger at Trista, “You should have stayed hidden too. I’m responsible for you young lady.” He looked at Sam, “In the future, heed your brother’s words—grab and run.”

  “We were in danger Ed. You should have helped. That woman is dangerous,” Steuart said.

  “What would you have had me do—tell her a joke? She’s such a lovely dear thing.”

  Sam, Steuart and Trista scowled at Ed.

  “She’s dangerous,” Sam said.

  “Dangerous,” Trista agreed.

  “Awe, come on girls. Lighten up. How can you talk that way about Steuart’s new girlfriend?” Ed looked at Steuart and frowned before continuing, “Seriously mate, I think ruby red is a much better color for your complexion.”

  “That old skeleton isn’t my girlfriend and I don’t wear lipstick.”

  “Hey,” Ed put his hands up. “Don’t get upset with me.” He put his hand across his mouth and spoke to the girls in a stage whisper. “Obviously the kid has yet to see a mirror.”

  “Hush,” Steuart said.

  Ed laughed. “There’s nothing like an actual skin test. I’m not trying to hurt your delicate feelings. I just think you’d look better in red.”

  “Be quiet,” Steuart said.

  Ed continued laughing, “I think your new lady love has different ideas, huh?”

  “Ed, I am not amused. Pot sit!”

  Ed looked at Sam, “What’s he saying now.”

  “He wants you to stop.”

  Ed glanced at Steuart, “Our communication might be easier if you would speak a language I can understand.”

  “Mat a rue.”

  “I give up.” Ed threw his hands in the air, and looked at Sam, “I think it’s amusing. Perhaps you’re being a little overly sensitive.” He turned to the girls, “Don’t you think it’s amusing?”

  The girls frowned.

  Ed laughed again. “We know I’m right. See, ruby red is a much better color for you Stew Boy. You’re blushing pal. If you weren’t wearing that cap, I’m sure we’d see ruby red ears.”

  “Ed, stop it,” Steuart raised his voice. “That’s enough!”

  “The ruby red doesn’t go too well with that nasty hot pink.”

  “I said stop it. I’m a lot bigger than you.”

  “You look good in lipstick. It’s not your fault that Della chose a bad shade.”

  Steuart tensed, “I just realized something. You’re not a real comedian.”

  “What? Not a comedian? What do you mean?”

  “You’re not. You’re an obnoxious little man.”

  “Stew Boy, Comedians are supposed to be obnoxious. So, be honest with me, how’d you like that dance?”

  Ed’s teasing continued until Della’s voice was heard coming up the street behind her last customer. “Wait, sir. Wait! Don’t leave. You’ve not seen my complete selection…”

  Ed clung to Steuart’s arm, “Quick! Dragon Burn Awn!”

  “What?” Steuart asked. “I don’t understand.”

  Ed screamed, “Grab and run—now!”

  Steuart held onto Ed while Sam helped Trista move safely into her jacket pocket. The group of four ducked inside the closest shop. The sign over the door read: I.M.Felphul—Used Books and Items of Interest.

  A bell was triggered as the children entered. Other than that, the place was quiet and appeared to be empty. Sam let out a sigh of relief. She checked to see that Trista was okay.

  “Fine down here. What about you Sam?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Let’s go home,” Ed whispered to Steuart.

  “I thought you were doing all of this for the adventure. Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

  “Some adventures should never be repeated.”

  “I understand.” Steuart smiled. “It’s okay. You can apologize now.”

  Ed rolled his eyes and chuckled, “Girth.”

  Sam looked at the store, “Maybe we should leave.”

  “Just be cautious,” Trista whispered.

  “See what you can find.” Steuart said. “Ed and I’ve had more than enough excitement. We’re going to stay close to the front.”

  “You don’t think Trista and I were frightened?”

  Steuart looked at his sister, and whispered, “I don’t believe you were being held captive by a crazy woman with a puppet face and dinosaur lips.”

  “At least it doesn’t smell like pee in here,” Ed whispered. “I could barely breathe at Ivy’s.”

  Sam pointed to a sign, “Look: items of interest. I’ll ask if they have cigar boxes.” She unzipped her jacket and reached in for Trista. “Ready?”

  Trista gave Sam a squeeze, “Let’s do this.”

  * * *

  I.M. Felphul’s bookstore was narrow and deep. The store was in a cold, older building with high ceilings, exposed pipes, and vintage institutional green walls. Fluorescent tube lighting buzzed and occasionally crackled overhead. Dark, heavy bookshelves stood tall guarding a community of stools and ladders that waited patiently for visitors. Worn plank floors held stacks of books. Towards the back of the shop, a small area was devoted to comic books and graphic novels.

  It’s true that a good bookstore can help a child forget even the worst of days. Steuart eagerly dove into the shelves of books and was soon lost inside the fantasy hub. He began searching for new words. He climbed around the shelves as he opened and closed books. He read paragraphs, looked at inscriptions, and then stopped to write several new words on his cards. Lanate, flibbertigibbet and moribund were three of his favorites.

  A clerk sat at the back counter with his head down. Sam began walking towards the back, stopping first to flip through a couple of art books. She found a museum catalog with a new color floating inside. She looked at the clerk. His head still down, she reached into her backpack, pulled out a small pair of scissors and snipped a corner sample from the loose page. She slid the color into her satchel. “That’s good,” she sighed. It was a cool teal, more blue than green, with a light hint of red that added a beautiful depth to the hue.

  “Shouldn’t we be getting down to business?” Trista whispered.

  “You’re right. Sorry.” Sam walked to the desk and stared at the man who sat reading. “Hello Sir, we have a particular interest today. I’m hoping you can help us.”

  He didn’t look up until after Sam completed her sentence. He was a large and gruff looking man with a bulbous nose and smallish blue eyes that were a bit too far apart for his tiny round wire frames. His hair, pulled into a ponytail, disappeared behind his back. The man wore a wrinkled surplus army jacket over a brain zap t-shirt. He looked in need of a haircut, shave, and maybe a shower. Sam imagined him as a person who arrived for college, forty or more years ago and stayed. She pulled Trista from her coat. She held the doll with both hands. “Can you help us? This is my doll. She’d like a cigar box. Do you have any?”

  The man looked at Sam. He put his book down. He reached across the desk, taking Trista into his hands before Sam realized what was happening. Trista remained motionless. Sam wondered if she should grab Trista and run.

  The man examined Trista and then looked at Sam. He placed the doll back into her hands. He stared at Sam for what felt like several minutes before speaking. “I can see what you have here. Are you new in town?”

  “What do you mean? Why do you ask?”

  “My name is Mr. Felphul. I.M. Felphul,” he pointed to th
e sign above the door. “I’ve never seen you here.”

  Sam nodded. Mr. Felphul reached into his pocket, unwrapped a piece of hard candy and put it into his mouth. “This is my bookstore. First time visitors are usually here for a football game—or they’re new in town.” He shook his head, “There’s no football game today.”

  Sam nodded again, “We just moved here. That’s my little brother,” she pointed towards the front of the store where Steuart continued climbing and looking at books. Her voice began to shake, “Did we do something wrong? We weren’t trying to do anything wrong.” She touched her backpack.

  “No.” Mr. Felphul shook his head. Biting his candy he stopped and looked at Trista and then at Sam. He leaned in as closely as possible without getting up from his chair. “Sam,” he whispered, “your doll is nice.”

  Sam nodded, “She is.”

  “What you have here is a treasure.”

  “Thank you,” Sam pulled Trista close.

  “There are people in Maybell who would love to get their hands on this doll. These dolls are quite special and unique.” Mr. Felphul looked towards Steuart. “Little brother came from Ivy’s?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sam lowered her head.

  “You need to understand that Miss Ivy is one such...”

  “One such?”

  “One such,” Mr. Felphul nodded.

  “One such?”

  “Exactly.”

  Steuart continued looking at books. He stepped down to browse a lower shelf and then climbed across to pull a book from the other side. He paid no attention to Sam or Mr. Felphul.

  Sam asked again, “One such what, sir? Miss Ivy is one such what?”

  “Just that...” Mr. Felphul replied, “one such.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Mr. Felphul leaned in again, this time he lowered his voice. “She is one such who would like to get her hands on your doll.”

  “Oh, she already saw my doll.”

  Steuart climbed over to pull down another book. This was closer to the front of the store and up a little higher.