The Paper Cowboy (4 page)

THE YO-YOS

Main Street in Downers Grove was only a few blocks long. There was a hardware store, a drugstore, a bakery, Toon Funeral Home and Mr. McKenzie's store. A new, bigger supermarket had recently opened across town on Ogden, but Mom still preferred McKenzie's because it was so close to everything else.

Mr. McKenzie was outside opening a box when Eddie and I arrived. He was sweating and had his sleeves rolled up. I could see some sort of a tattoo on his left forearm. Even though there was a razor cut on his chin, he already looked like he needed another shave.

“Tommy!” he exclaimed, as if we were great friends.

“Hello,” I said.

“Who is this?” he asked, referring to Eddie.

“I'm Eddie Sullivan, sir,” Eddie said. “Nice to meet you.”

Mr. McKenzie shook his hand eagerly. “You boys go to school with my Sam.”

“Who?” asked Eddie.

“Sam,” I said, nudging him. “You know, the new boy.”

“Oh,” Eddie said. “The one with the scar.”

“Yes,” Mr. McKenzie said. “It happened in the war. There was an air raid and we'd made it to the shelter. We thought we were safe.” He stared off into the distance. “But a bomb caused a water heater to explode and it scalded his face.”

Eddie and I looked at each other. We didn't know what to say.

“But enough talk of sad things,” Mr. McKenzie said, shaking his head as if that would shake off the bad memories. “Look what I got in today!” He gestured to the box.

Eddie and I peeked inside. There were rows and rows of yo-yos. They looked like huge Life Savers, red and green, yellow and blue, pressed up in a roll together, just like the candy. They were so bright and shiny. Like happiness on a string.

I winked at Eddie. He nodded. We were going to steal them.

Don't do it,
I heard Mary Lou tell me.

I ignored her.

“Only twenty-five cents each,” Mr. McKenzie said.

I looked at Eddie again. We had a whole technique. One person distracts and charms. The other takes something.

No!

Shut up, Mary Lou,
I said.
After all that's happened, I deserve a treat!

And she was quiet.

“Yo-yos are great,” I said. “But actually we need some chalk.”

“If you have some, please,” Eddie added.

Mr. McKenzie nodded. “Of course, of course. Come on in.”

Eddie followed him. I scuffed my shoe in the dirt, like I'd just noticed there was something on it. As Eddie passed me, he whispered softly, “Hi-Yo, Silver!” That was the signal.

As soon as they were gone, I reached into the box and picked up a yo-yo. A blue one. Like a ripe plum. I stuck it in my pocket.

It was too easy.

I could hear Eddie and Mr. McKenzie talking in the shop. No one had seen me. My pulse beat faster, like it always did when we nicked something. I picked up a yellow one, slipped it into my other pocket. Just like picking a lemon. One for me and one for Eddie.

They came back then, and Mr. McKenzie gave me a funny look. For a moment, I thought he
had
seen me steal the yo-yos. They felt huge in my pockets, large as eggs and heavy as rocks. We'd always taken little things from Mr. O'Malley, the previous store owner, gum and matches and things like that. He'd never caught us, not once. 'Course he was old and half-blind, but that wasn't why. I knew the trick of stealing things. You've got to be bold.

I smiled at Mr. McKenzie and held his gaze. “Thanks for your help, sir.”

Mr. McKenzie smiled back. “Nice to see you both,” he said, and went back to unpacking the yo-yos. My breath caught in my throat. Would he notice that two were missing? No, he didn't say a word.

Eddie waited until we were halfway back to school before he elbowed me in the ribs. “All right, Tommy. What'd you get?”

I pulled out the blue yo-yo and handed it to him.

“Cool!” Eddie breathed. “You're the best.”

I felt great that we'd pulled one over on a grown-up, and even ended up with loot. When we reached the playground, I pulled out the yellow yo-yo, and skinned the cat and rocked the baby, and the third and fourth graders gathered around, oohing and aahing like I was a hero. But the whole time, I could feel someone watching me. I looked around.

Sister Ann was walking toward me. “You're back already?”

“Yeah,” I said, uncertain. Should I hide the yo-yo, or pretend like I already had it? “The new guy doesn't like to chat like old O'Malley.”

Eddie handed her the chalk. She took it with a nod and walked away, then stopped and turned back.

“Nice yo-yos,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Got them for my birthday.”

“That's right. Happy birthday, Tommy.” She smiled as she walked off.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd gotten away with it. Again.

But a few minutes later when Sister Ann rang the bell that signaled recess was over, Little Skinny caught my eye. I realized that he could tell his father that Eddie and I had come back to school with yo-yos. Of course, he probably wouldn't. Why would it even come up? But I didn't sound very convincing, even to myself.

After school, as I got off the bus and started walking toward our house, my stomach knotted up again. I thought about riding my bike over to Eddie's. Sometimes I did that. But honestly, I wanted to know if there was any news about Mary Lou. As I stood on our stoop gathering my courage, Boots ran up to me. I scratched behind his ears and tried to imagine I was as brave as Gary Cooper before he goes to face the villains in the final shoot-out. Finally, as Boots bounded off to chase a squirrel, I took a deep breath and I pulled the front door open.

“Mom,” I called, “I'm home!”

There was no answer. Of course, there wasn't any crying either, so that was a good sign. I walked into the living room and took off my tie. “Have you heard anything about Mary—”

Someone cleared her throat and I looked up.

Mom stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing a navy-blue dress with white trim. She held a red yo-yo in her hands. “I stopped by Mr. McKenzie's store this afternoon,” she said. The small, jeweled body rolled up and down the string like a drop of blood.

“I needed to pick up a few items for supper. He was in quite a tizzy when I arrived. Apparently someone stole two yo-yos—like this one—from his new display this morning.”

“It wasn't me,” I said automatically, then cursed myself for my stupidity. Nothing says
I've done it
more than denying it before Mom even asked. The yellow yo-yo felt hot as a coal in my pocket.

Mom ignored me. “Mr. McKenzie was quite sure it was one of the public high school boys who'd taken them, until his son came home from St. Joe's.”

Crap. Little Skinny.

“He said you had two new yo-yos at recess today,” Mom continued. “Just like this one.”

She made the yo-yo fly over toward me, so that it hit me in the chest. “Do you know anything about that?”

I froze, knowing there was no right answer. Finally I shook my head.

It was like a dam broke in my mom then, and all her rage came pouring out.

“Why, Tommy?” she screamed. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Why? I didn't know why. They were shiny and they were there and it had never been a big deal before. Still, I knew it was wrong. Outlaws steal, not cowboys. So I just shook my head again.

“You embarrassed me!” she yelled, a vein bulging out of her forehead. “You're going to have to go back and help him on Saturday mornings to make up for it! The two you stole and this one too!”

She kept bouncing the yo-yo, up and down, frantically. My heart beat faster and faster too, in time with the toy. Finally, the string slipped off her finger and the yo-yo went sailing across the room. It hit a vase on a side table. The vase teetered, then crashed to the floor. I winced.

“Psia krew i cholera!”
Mom shrieked. Busia had sometimes lapsed into Polish when she was happy or excited. But Mom only spoke Polish when she was really angry. It sent a shiver up my spine.

“Sit down on that couch and stay there until your father gets home!”

That meant a whipping. Dad always gave us one lash for each birthday. This'd be my first time getting twelve. I sat down on the couch and sighed.

“What did you say?” Mom demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Tommy, I heard you!”

“I just sighed!”

The vein on her forehead pulsed. “I changed my mind,” Mom fumed, eyes wild. “I'm not going to wait for Dad. Don't move!” She stormed out of the room.

I couldn't help shaking a bit as I waited for her to come back.
Stop it,
I told myself. You've gotten a spanking a million times before. But Mom had never whipped me.

Mom returned with Dad's spare belt coiled in her hand. It was dark brown leather and a little worn around the edges. “Go into the kitchen,” Mom ordered.

“But—”

“Stand up!” she screamed.

So I did. I walked into the kitchen with Mom following close behind. The afternoon sun shone in through the window over the sink, bouncing off the yellow tiles on the walls.

“Your pants,” Mom prompted.

This was standard procedure for a whipping. I didn't mind so much with my dad, but it was humiliating pulling down my pants and underwear in front of my mom. I put my hands on the kitchen counter.

The sun was shining in my eyes, blinding me, but I could hear the sound of the leather as it flew through the air.

One. It hurt. The first few hits were always the worst, and I hadn't braced myself for it. Two, three and four weren't as bad.

Mom started yelling again, but I didn't listen to what she was saying. Five, six and seven. The belt whipped through the air. Eight, nine. It made a whistle and then a slap as it hit me. Ten, eleven.

Twelve.

I relaxed.

Then she hit me again.

After three more, I said, “Mom, that was fifteen.”

But she kept hitting me. Mom hit harder than Dad, and I had to bite my tongue not to cry. I glanced back, and for the first time, I noticed Pinky cowering under the kitchen table, watching with wide eyes.

“Mom!” I cried.

She didn't stop. Mom kept hitting me, again and again, until finally the belt snapped back and hit her on the chin. She yelped and stopped.

In the quiet, I could feel each individual welt on my buttocks. There were tears on my face, but I wiped them away.

“It's all right,” I said, pulling up my pants. I had stolen the yo-yos. Mom had to punish me.

The anger ran out of Mom's face, her cheeks changing from flushed to pale. If she started crying, I didn't think I could handle it. I had to say something, anything.

“I d-d-deserved it,” I sputtered.

“Yes.” Mom bit her lip. “Yes, you did.” She slowly rolled up the belt and left the room.

“Tommy,” Pinky said, crawling out from under the table once Mom was gone. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She touched my arm as if she was going to give me a hug.

I jerked away from her.

Pinky began to cry.

I picked her up and let her sob on my shoulder. “It's okay, Pinky,” I said. “I stole the yo-yos. Mom had to punish me. It's okay.”

But it wasn't. My butt hurt and I wanted to cry too. I'd never seen Mom so out of control before. But I had to hold it together for my sister.

Dad came home early, as Pinky and I were picking up the pieces of the broken vase.

“What happened?” he asked, taking off his overcoat.

I told him about stealing the yo-yos and Mom punishing me. As I talked, he sat down on the couch, as if I was sinking him with my words. “She wouldn't stop, Dad. She just wouldn't stop.”

“Oh, Thomas.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You shouldn't provoke your mother like that!”

“I know it was wrong to take the yo-yos, but I've never seen Mom like that.”

He didn't believe me. “Tommy, she is having a hard time. With Busia dying and the new baby and now Mary Lou . . . we just need to be a little more . . . patient.”

I couldn't explain it right. If only Mary Lou were here, she'd make him understand. “How is Mary Lou?” I asked.

“The same,” Dad said. “The doctors don't know if—” His voice broke and he turned away so I couldn't see his face.

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let's get this mess cleaned up.”

DUCK AND COVER

I'd thought getting up at 4:30 a.m. was hard the day before. I'd been wrong. It was
nothing
compared to the torture of pulling myself out of bed that second day. My rear end was sore, so I rode standing up, which meant my calves hurt before I'd even gone a mile. I wasn't used to so much exercise, and with the beating on top of that, every muscle in my body ached, even my eyes from squinting against the wind. I was so tired, if Khrushchev himself had appeared on my street, I'm not sure I would have noticed. My balance was terrible and I fell off three or four times, but I kept getting back on that bike.

Ma and Pa were out in front of their house, chasing three escaped chickens that were running in circles in the street in the predawn light. Pa, tall and thin with whiskers like a broom, sighed when I handed him the paper.

“In my country, Tommy, I was a doctor. Here, I chase poultry and sell eggs to make a living.” He smiled, but the wrinkled skin around his gray eyes still made him look sad.

“Got one!” Ma yelled, holding a hen high up in the air. “She's our best layer!”

Pa sighed again and went to help his wife.

At McKenzie's store, I threw the paper at the door without even stopping. The lights were already on at Mrs. Scully's and with a dress mannequin in every window it looked like she was having a breakfast party. The Russian lady was playing the accordion, a hymn we sometimes sang at school, even though I'd never seen her at our church. The only good thing about the paper route was that it meant I didn't have time to have breakfast with Mom.

School was slightly better than the day before. Instead of going to our classrooms after Mass, we all shuffled upstairs to the big assembly room and were shown a film. The movie started with a silly little cartoon turtle named Bert and a funny song that went, “Duck and cover. Duck and cover.” But only the really little kids giggled, because the movie was about how to get ready for an atomic bomb.

According to the film, if there was the threat of an atomic bomb attack, a siren would sound and we should all stop what we were doing and get to a safe place. That might be a basement or a hallway. Even ducking under a desk would help, as long as you remembered to cover your head and neck.

Eddie nudged me as we watched the film. “You can come to my bomb shelter.”

“Thanks,” I whispered back.

But if there wasn't a warning, if the civil defense hadn't noticed the bomb in time, the first sign of an atomic bomb would be a huge, bright flash, brighter than any light you've ever seen before.

“The bomb could explode any time of the year, day or night,” the narrator instructed. “We must be ready all day, every day. All the time. Even on the school bus. Or riding our bikes to Boy Scouts. Or playing ball with our friends.”

This was the part of fighting commies I didn't like, worrying about how I'd protect myself and my sisters. When the movie was finally over, everyone was quiet. Sister Ann led us back to our classroom.

“We are going to do our very own air-raid drill,” she informed us. “Just like you saw in the movie. I will count to three, and when I get to three, you will all get under your desks and duck and cover just like you saw in the film. You will stay in that position, absolutely quiet, until I give the all clear. Are there any questions?”

Lizzie shook her head. No one said a word.

“One. Two. Three.”

Everyone leaped out of their seats and dove under their desks. I curled myself up into a ball, and pressed my hands over my head and neck, just like Mary Lou had instinctively done when she'd been burned. I could picture her, smell the fire and her burned skin.

And suddenly I couldn't stay in that position another second, not even if there was a real atomic bomb. I picked my head up and looked around the classroom.

All the students were huddled obediently under their desks, their eyes hidden. Even Sister Ann was squeezed under the big desk at the front of the room, her wimple providing extra protection for her head and neck.

It was all too much to handle. How could we worry every second of the day and night? I had to do something, anything, to break the tension. Lizzie's foot was just a few inches in front of me. I reached forward and pulled her black Mary Jane right off her lacy white sock.

“Eeeek!” Lizzie screamed.

I dropped the shoe and curled back up into my duck-and-cover position, peeking out between my fingers.

“Who said that?” Sister Ann demanded from underneath her desk. “I said absolute quiet. Lizzie Johnson, was that you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Someone took off my shoe.”

“If there were a real atomic bomb,” Sister Ann reminded her, “the last thing you'd be worried about was your shoe.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I could feel Lizzie's gaze on the back of my neck, sure she was going to rat me out. But the seconds ticked by and she didn't say a word.

Finally, Sister Ann crawled out from under her desk. “It has been a minute now. You may all stand up.”

At least everyone was too distracted by the drill to ask me about my sister.

Later that day, despite being more tired than an Indian pony on a buffalo hunt, I started winning the marble game at recess. I had knuckled down and captured all of Peter's marbles and was working on Eddie's last big shooter, when, wouldn't you know, Little Skinny walked by. Of course his shoe was untied. A normal person would have just stumbled or something, but oh no, he tripped and he fell right onto me, pushing me into our game and scattering the shiny glass cat's eyes I'd won all over the blacktop.

“You idiot!” I yelled at him. “Now look what you made me do!”

“I didn't do anything,” he mumbled. He'd scraped his arm and I could see a little drop of blood run down his elbow, like the red yo-yo Mom had gotten from Mr. McKenzie.

Suddenly, like a great wave was washing over me, I was furious. “You told on me!”

“What?” asked Little Skinny, confused.

“You told your dad about the yo-yos!” I screamed. “You're a rat!”

“No, I'm not,” he protested. But his lip trembled and it would have been obvious even to Pinky that he was lying.

Eddie jumped up. “Tattletale!”

“I didn't say anything!” Little Skinny wailed.

I grabbed his tie, tight around his fat neck. “Admit it!”

He stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the ground.

The choirboys gathered around, watching like we were in a television show.

“You are going to be sorry you were ever born!” yelled Eddie.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “now I have to go help in your stupid shop every Saturday.” I bunched his collar up in my fist. The scar on his face glistened with sweat, like a stop sign in the rain. “Admit it!”

Tears leaked out of Little Skinny's eyes. “Okay, I told.”

I punched him in the stomach.

He bent over double and glanced at me, bewildered. “But I admitted it!”

My heart was beating faster than ever.

“You can get expelled for fighting,” Peter said.

“Shut up!” I yelled. Even though it was true. You
could
get expelled. “You gonna go tattle to Sister Ann?”

“No,” Peter said, backing away, as if he were scared of me.

That made me feel even worse. I'd never actually hit anyone at school before. Mary Lou always stopped me. But she wasn't there and I hadn't heard her say anything, even in my mind. Had she died?

I ran to the bathroom and threw up. It took a long time for my heart to slow down. Finally, I washed my mouth out with water and returned to the street.

No one seemed to have noticed I'd been gone. Eddie was off tossing a ball with another guy from our class. The nuns were tut-tutting over Little Skinny's cut arm. Lizzie was jumping rope. I wanted to thank her for not telling on me about the shoe, but I didn't. The choirboys were busy gathering up all the marbles, the blue ones and the green ones, and even the big shooter with the silver and gold sparkles inside. I knew tomorrow they'd suggest we play again, and would divide them up fairly. But I still felt so angry, I wanted to cry.