Scraps & Chum (6 page)

The flesh on his arm began to itch, and a bead of blood formed on the wound. For a little kid, thought Nicky, he sure pinches hard.

From the salon next to the candy store a bug-eyed woman appeared and grabbed the little boy
’
s arm, yanked him away. For some reason Nicky couldn
’
t decipher, she wouldn
’
t look the boy in the face as she yelled at him, just kept her eyes on the ground, as if she were scolding his
feet.
“
There you are! How many times do I have to tell you not to wander off! You made Mommy worry!
”

“
The little brat pinched me,
”
Nicky said, presenting his arm for her inspection. Behind him, Willy and Greg sucked in their breath, amazed at his impudence.

The woman leered at the three boys, a frown spreading across her face, her head shaking as if it was
them
tha
t were bothering her son
, and yanked the boy down the sidewalk to a parked SUV. She hurriedly strapped him in the backseat and got behind the wheel, glancing sidelong at Nicky
’
s arm and whispering,
“
No.
”
The kind of
no
not said in annoyance, but said to affirm that what she was seeing was simply not true.

Which meant nothing
to Nick
y and his buddies
.

The boys watched the woman
through the SUV
’
s win
dow as she fumbled the keys in
her lap, snatched them up, and jammed them into the ignition. A tear ran down her cheek as the vehicle pulled away from the curb and drove off. In the rear window, the little boy rudely stuck his tongue out, and Nicky could have sworn the boy
’
s one good eye was
red.

Dark red, he thought, like it was filled with blood.

“
What the hell was her problem?
”
Willy asked, shoving a Milk D
ud into his mouth.

The SUV turned at the intersection, taking the corner fast enough to make the tires squeal, and was gone.

Nicky looked at his arm once again, saw the wound had swollen to a light purple bump, felt the itchiness intensify. It reminded him of last summer, when he got poison ivy playing in the empty lot at the top of his street where the old gas station had been torn down. Yet this was just a tiny mark, hardly something that should bother him as much as it was. Scratching it, he discovered, only made it worse.

“
Did you see his eye patch?
”
Greg asked.

“
Yeah, I wonder what happened,
”
Willy responded.
“
You think he only has one eye, like maybe he was born without it?
”

“
Or maybe he poked it out somehow,
”
Greg said.
“
My Mom said that her friend poked her eye out running with scissors. The eye rolled near the dog dish and the dog ate it.
”

There was a collective
“
Eewwww!
”

“
Aw, that can
’
t be true,
”
said Nicky, still rubbing the welt.
“
She
’
s just trying to scare you. Like when she told you not to make faces because you
’
d stay that way, and you were afraid to stick your tongue out when the doctor wanted to check your tonsils.
”

“
It really happened. I swear!
”

“
No it didn
’
t.
”

“
Yeah it did!
”

“
Did not!
”

“
Come on,
”
Willy said.
“
Let
’
s get home before
Star Trek
starts. It
’
s the one where Q tires to kill Piccard.
”

“
Q always tries to kill Piccard,
”
Greg said, rolling his eyes.
“
What
’
s new about that?
”

They jumped on their BMX bikes like cowboys mounting stallions, and crossed the main road at the intersection, heading toward Sunders Lane and Nicky
’
s house.
T
hey each made sure to jump the same sidewalk cracks and spit at Ms. Hutchinson
’
s mailbox--she lived on the corner of Sunders and never gave out Halloween candy. At the vacant lot that used to be the gas station, they jumped the bike ramp they
’
d made earlier in the day—-a piece of plywood angled up onto a cinderblock.

With each pump of his feet, Nicky felt the bruise on his arm growing larger, hotter,
itchier. He scratched it repeatedly as he pedaled, a couple times even taking both hands off the handlebars. Could it be infected? God knew what crud the brat had touched that day. And then he remembered the eye. The one reddish eye. Was it really red, he wondered, or was I seeing things, a trick of sunlight through the window?

They skidded into Nicky
’
s driveway, gravel spitting into the air, dropped their bikes on the grass and raced to the front door. Together they went to the rumpus room downstairs to watch
Star Trek
and satisfy their sweettooths before they had to disband for dinner.

Nicky kept rubbing the welt.

***

At dinner, he told his parents he
’
d been stung by a bee. The mark on his arm was now a full-blown red and purple wound, like a bright strawberry birthmark. If he didn
’
t know better he
’
d swear he
’
d been bitten by some kind of large, venomous bug. When he touched it, it felt soft, like a rotten peach. But the few beads of blood that had formed on top had faded away into a tiny scab.

“
Stop itching it,
”
his mother told him,
“
and go wash it off before you get it infected.
”

“
Mom, I don
’
t feel—
”
Vomit shot out of his body with such force he pulled a muscle in his neck.

“
Jesus, Nicky!
”
Helping him to the toilet, his mother rubbed his back as he expelled his dinner. When he was done he flushed, closed the lid, and sat on the toilet rubbing his arm.

“
You don
’
t look good, Nicky,
”
his mother cooed to him.
“
That thing looks li
ke it might be genuinely infected
. You
’
ve never been allergic to bees before. You
’
re burning up, though.
”
As she spoke she inspected the wound, twisting his arm to see it in the light.
“
It doesn
’
t look like a bee sting.
”

“
Mom?
”

“
Yes, Nickums?
”
She only called him Nickums when he was sick. It had been his baby nickname.

“
I lied. I went to Candy Mountain. That
’
s where I got the bite. Only it
’
s not a bite. A stupid boy pinched me.
”

“
You went to the store? Dammit, Nicky—
”

“
I
’
m sorry, Mom.
”

“
How many times have I told you—
”

“
I know, but I had that five bucks from Nana...and anyway a boy with an eyepatch…
”

His mother gave him a look that said she
’
d discuss his punishment later, but that right now she was too concerned about his arm.
“
Don
’
t know any boys with eyepatches,
”
she said.
“
But if I ever see him I
’
m gonna give both him and his mother a lecture on hygiene. You probably got yourself an infection from his dirty hands.

“
Well, swab it with Peroxide and hop in bed and we
’
ll see if it
’
s any better in the morning. I
’
ll call the doctor when I wake up and see if he can squeeze you in. I hope you realize I have to take time out of work now because you disobeyed my wishes. You may have the summer off but I have to work. I have to make money so you can have all the nice things you want, like bikes to break my rules with.
”

Nicky hung his head. The nausea had passed, but his arm still burned and itched, and on top of that, he felt guilty for disrespecting his mother.
“
I
’
m sorry,
”
he said.

He shuffled out of the bathroom, instinctively picking at the scab on the wound.

“
Don
’
t pick it,
”
his mother shouted.
“
That
’
ll only make it worse. Get in bed and don
’
t pick it.
”