Page 17 - What They Did to the Kid

What They Did to the Kid 5

She measured out her words, sit down, like venom from an eye-
dropper. He sat down. His obedience shocked me. Sometimes they
fought so loud we could hear it upstairs and my mom and dad shook
their heads. We had lived in Peoria Miller’s house a long time, from
even before I could remember, when they moved in. I felt that gave
me first dibs on the porch swing to do whatever I wanted which was
anything he hated, especially winding the big swing up, twisting it
around and around until the two chains tangled into one thick knot
that lifted the double seat high above the floor. Then anyone could
jump up into it and ride it down while it jerked and lurched faster
and faster to the floor.
Once when I banged the swing into the house wall, hard, Mer-
edith came running out from their apartment. He had jumped
up from the dinner table with one of Beverly’s dish-towels tucked
around his middle, screaming he’d kick my fanny, lickety-lickety,
over the rail into the bridal wreath bushes if I ever did that again
because the sudden bang made the war sound like it had come to
our corner of Ayres and Cooper streets.
I did it again. After Beverly made peace between Meredith and
my parents, and everyone agreed not to quarrel over the children, we
sat long and late on the front porch. But this summer hadn’t near the
dash of the few summers before, the first I could remember, when
the lights had to be turned off and the air-raid wardens patrolled
the sidewalks.
Across our river, the factory where my father worked had turned
into a war plant and steamed day and night because even as far
inland as the Midwest everyone feared the bombs could come. At
first to me the blackouts were all as much a game as teasing Meredith
who a Christmas or two later, panicking nervous, dropped dead at
the produce counter in Kroger’s Grocery where he worked. I never
felt I caused him to keel over and fall in an avalanche of cabbages
and potatoes any more than I felt I caused the war. But somehow I
understood his fear.
They’re coming, Mommy. Big and ugly. Germans. Mommy-Annie
Laurie, help me run. Help me, Daddy. Tojo will get me. Help me, oh
help me. Crying. Screaming. Falling out of bed. Hiding from dreams
under the covers at night, nobody loves me, grew out of the cold

©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
HOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK