The summer was long and Penny wanted to get back to school more than anything. She was alone most of the time. Since her mother began letting her bicycle to the library by herself, she was there every day. She read and read and read.
During the summer Penny would see Tommy on occasion but those instances were infrequent and fleeting. When September came around Penny wasn’t even sure he would be back by her fence.
She waited beside the school after her first day back. Penny stalled her sister as long as she could but he was nowhere in sight.
She got home and sat beside the fence and waited and waited and just before the sun got too low he appeared. She didn’t see him appear but she could feel the slight jolt as he sat on the other side of the fence. He was panting.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he whispered. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
Penny was speechless, elated, and did the only thing she knew to do. She read.
Tommy relaxed on the other side of the fence and listened. All summer he had missed this but he was unsure how long he could keep it up.
“Where were you?” accused Vincent, his older brother’s best friend, a fixture in their household.
“Why?”
“Why aren’t you answering?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Tommy’s up to something,” Vincent reported to Rick, the eldest brother.
“Whatta you up to?” Rick asked.
“Nothing.”
Rick Senior, their father, entered with a big brown bag of deep fried food.
“Tommy’s up to something,” Rick reported up the line.
Tommy sighed.
His father just looked at him. Without words he pulled an explanation out of his son.
“I was just hanging out with one of my friend’s after school.”
Senior shrugged nonchalantly. “What’s wrong with that?”
“He doesn’t help us anymore,” Rick said.
“I was in school.”
Senior considered this as the hot bag began to burn through his thin tshirt and leave a hidden pink mark on his bulging stomach.
“Another year of school wouldn’t hurt.”
“I just go in the mornings,” Vincent said.
“I don’t go at all; I’m committed to this house,” Rick said.
Senior put the bag down on the table and let the boys have at it.
“Help your brothers when they need it,” Senior said. “And let him go to school.”
It was solved. Everything was black and white. Senior ran his house like it was his empire.
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
We all came in on different ships, but we're all in the same boat now. (Martin Luther King Jr)
Her father didn’t need her help. He pitied her out on the grass alone reading to herself. He occupied her with menial task after menial task and she grew increasingly restless but she didn’t complain. Soon her mother returned and then Penny was transferred to dinner duty. Before everyone sat down to eat as the sun began to sink in the sky, Penny cut in that she had to run outside and get her books.
Her mother nodded as the family took their seats.
Penny ran across the grass to the pile of books abandoned beneath the tall tree. Tommy was gone. She stacked her books and slowly trudged into the house. She looked back but he was still gone.
The following day after school Penny walked home with her sister as always but she noticed Tommy. On the other side of the street, trailing by a hundred feet or so, Tommy followed her home. Penny rushed through her chores and asked to go outside.
Penny grabbed Charlotte’s Web as she tore through the front door. She went to the tree and rested her back against the fence. He was there waiting on the other side.
Again she began to read aloud and as she turned the page she said under her breath,
“Sorry I didn’t come back yesterday.”
“No worries.”
And she kept reading.
When the rumble of the old station wagon would sound in the distance Tommy would depart as to not be spotted by her father as he made his way home from another long hard day of work. This routine continued until summer. Tommy was put to work for his father. No one was entirely sure what his father did for a living. All Tommy’s brothers worked around the house at the quasi home headquarters.
Tommy’s house was big, huge, massive, but it wasn’t fancy by any means. The décor was basic and there was little furniture and never food. Once Tommy confessed he was jealous when Penny had to go help with dinner for he had gone without homemade food for weeks. The only thing his father could make was toast and eggs. He purchased greasy takeout food every day. Penny told Tommy she was jealous of that, but he told her she wouldn’t be if she was him. Penny rarely ate out and if she did her family would never take food from a restaurant home to eat. Eating out was a big deal to them. Eating out was reserved for only the most special occasions or on an arbitrary Sunday after church when the sermon encouraged such indulgences, and that was rare.
Her mother nodded as the family took their seats.
Penny ran across the grass to the pile of books abandoned beneath the tall tree. Tommy was gone. She stacked her books and slowly trudged into the house. She looked back but he was still gone.
The following day after school Penny walked home with her sister as always but she noticed Tommy. On the other side of the street, trailing by a hundred feet or so, Tommy followed her home. Penny rushed through her chores and asked to go outside.
Penny grabbed Charlotte’s Web as she tore through the front door. She went to the tree and rested her back against the fence. He was there waiting on the other side.
Again she began to read aloud and as she turned the page she said under her breath,
“Sorry I didn’t come back yesterday.”
“No worries.”
And she kept reading.
When the rumble of the old station wagon would sound in the distance Tommy would depart as to not be spotted by her father as he made his way home from another long hard day of work. This routine continued until summer. Tommy was put to work for his father. No one was entirely sure what his father did for a living. All Tommy’s brothers worked around the house at the quasi home headquarters.
Tommy’s house was big, huge, massive, but it wasn’t fancy by any means. The décor was basic and there was little furniture and never food. Once Tommy confessed he was jealous when Penny had to go help with dinner for he had gone without homemade food for weeks. The only thing his father could make was toast and eggs. He purchased greasy takeout food every day. Penny told Tommy she was jealous of that, but he told her she wouldn’t be if she was him. Penny rarely ate out and if she did her family would never take food from a restaurant home to eat. Eating out was a big deal to them. Eating out was reserved for only the most special occasions or on an arbitrary Sunday after church when the sermon encouraged such indulgences, and that was rare.
Monday, 2 January 2012
You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. (Charlotte/E.B. White)
But in a moment he returned.
“I’ve never been to the library.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Do you have a lot of books at home?”
“None, I don’t know how to read.”
“Wow,” she gasped. “So your mom always has to read to you?”
“I don’t have a mom.”
Penny’s heart broke.
“Wait, one second.” She promised, “I’ll be right back.”
She ran into the house and he sat on the hot concrete sidewalk. He leaned against the fence and chips of white paint parted with the old wood and attached to his brother’s shirt.
Penny returned with a stack of books beneath her arm and sat beside him. But for the old wooden fence their backs were touching as she read to him the titles: The Family Under the Bridge, The Hundred Dresses, and Charlotte’s Web. The latter was her favourite but she didn’t voice her bias.
“All of them.”
“All of them,” Penny repeated. “That will take a long time.”
“I can come back.”
Penny smiled.
She cleared her throat and began.
Chapter One – Before Breakfast:
“Penny,” called her father from the porch door, “do you want to come out back and help me for a second?”
Penny pursed her lips and like a ventriloquist she murmured, “I’ll be right back.”
She left her pile of books on the uncut grass and ran toward her house. She didn’t like to leave Tommy there like that and even more she didn’t like leaving with Wilbur about to be chopped up by Mr. Arable. Every time she read the book it was as if it were the first time.
“I’ve never been to the library.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Do you have a lot of books at home?”
“None, I don’t know how to read.”
“Wow,” she gasped. “So your mom always has to read to you?”
“I don’t have a mom.”
Penny’s heart broke.
“Wait, one second.” She promised, “I’ll be right back.”
She ran into the house and he sat on the hot concrete sidewalk. He leaned against the fence and chips of white paint parted with the old wood and attached to his brother’s shirt.
Penny returned with a stack of books beneath her arm and sat beside him. But for the old wooden fence their backs were touching as she read to him the titles: The Family Under the Bridge, The Hundred Dresses, and Charlotte’s Web. The latter was her favourite but she didn’t voice her bias.
“All of them.”
“All of them,” Penny repeated. “That will take a long time.”
“I can come back.”
Penny smiled.
She cleared her throat and began.
Chapter One – Before Breakfast:
“Where’s Papa going with that ax?” Fern said to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.
“Out to the hoghouse,” replied Mrs. Arable. “Some pigs were born last night.”
“I don’t see why he needs an ax,” said Fern, who was only eight.
“Well,” said her mother, “one of the pigs is a runt. It’s very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it.”
“Do away with it?” shrieked Fern. “You mean kill it? Just because it’s smaller than the others?”
Mrs. Arable put a pitcher of cream on the table. “Don’t yell, Fern! Your father is right. The pig would probably die anyway.”
Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors. The grass was wet and the earth smelled of springtime. Fern’s sneakers were sopping by the time she caught up with her father.
“Penny,” called her father from the porch door, “do you want to come out back and help me for a second?”
Penny pursed her lips and like a ventriloquist she murmured, “I’ll be right back.”
She left her pile of books on the uncut grass and ran toward her house. She didn’t like to leave Tommy there like that and even more she didn’t like leaving with Wilbur about to be chopped up by Mr. Arable. Every time she read the book it was as if it were the first time.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting. (Peter Pan/J.M. Barrie)
“Penny,” her mother called. “Do you want to go to the library?”
Penny was startled and she dropped her mashed daisy. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up and her stomach ached with betrayal.
She swallowed hard before turning to her mother and politely declining.
“Are you okay out here alone?”
Penny nodded.
“Dad is out back if you need him.”
Penny nodded again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go? You love the library.”
“I’m sure,” she answered.
“Okay honey, see you soon.” Her mother made her way down the step and into their old rumbling brown station wagon.
Penny peered through the fence and he was gone.
Her heart sunk as the loud hum of the station wagon got further away. She thought about running after it. She had sacrificed a chance to go to the library and she wouldn’t get another chance until next Saturday, maybe it would take even longer than that, and for what? He was gone and she felt more alone than before. She felt betrayed.
Penny was startled and she dropped her mashed daisy. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up and her stomach ached with betrayal.
She swallowed hard before turning to her mother and politely declining.
“Are you okay out here alone?”
Penny nodded.
“Dad is out back if you need him.”
Penny nodded again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go? You love the library.”
“I’m sure,” she answered.
“Okay honey, see you soon.” Her mother made her way down the step and into their old rumbling brown station wagon.
Penny peered through the fence and he was gone.
Her heart sunk as the loud hum of the station wagon got further away. She thought about running after it. She had sacrificed a chance to go to the library and she wouldn’t get another chance until next Saturday, maybe it would take even longer than that, and for what? He was gone and she felt more alone than before. She felt betrayed.
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Behind every beautiful thing there's been some kind of pain. (Bob Dylan)
Penny had never seen a fight before. She didn’t like it. She started to cry. She wanted to leave but she was frozen in place. She wanted, more than anything, for it to stop.
“God please,” she whispered, “please, please stop this.”
A teacher broke up the fight.
Penny didn’t feel better. She was relieved that it was over, but she couldn’t stop crying.
That would be the first of many times that Tommy would make her cry. As the teacher escorted the boys inside to call their parents, Tommy spotted Penny. The anger disappeared from his eyes and he was suddenly sorry.
Penny didn’t see Tommy again until Saturday and at first she didn’t even see him then. Penny was playing alone in the grass while her sister was off with her friends again. Penny didn’t mind. She looked up at the oak shading her from the sun and thought about climbing it. She wished she didn’t have to wear a skirt, playing would be so much better in pants.
While contemplating the oak tree she heard his hushed voice. She looked to the fence with its chipped white paint and through the cracks she spotted Tommy crouched on the other side.
“Hey,” he gasped.
Penny just looked nervously toward her house. She knew she could get in trouble if she wasn’t careful.
“Penny.” He mashed a daisy between the pickets. “I’m sorry.”
Cautiously she stepped toward the fence and slowly pulled the crushed flower through.
“Why?”
“For making you cry.”
She didn’t know what to say. It was then she realized Tommy was good and no matter what would come after that, she couldn’t go back to thinking he was bad.
“God please,” she whispered, “please, please stop this.”
A teacher broke up the fight.
Penny didn’t feel better. She was relieved that it was over, but she couldn’t stop crying.
That would be the first of many times that Tommy would make her cry. As the teacher escorted the boys inside to call their parents, Tommy spotted Penny. The anger disappeared from his eyes and he was suddenly sorry.
Penny didn’t see Tommy again until Saturday and at first she didn’t even see him then. Penny was playing alone in the grass while her sister was off with her friends again. Penny didn’t mind. She looked up at the oak shading her from the sun and thought about climbing it. She wished she didn’t have to wear a skirt, playing would be so much better in pants.
While contemplating the oak tree she heard his hushed voice. She looked to the fence with its chipped white paint and through the cracks she spotted Tommy crouched on the other side.
“Hey,” he gasped.
Penny just looked nervously toward her house. She knew she could get in trouble if she wasn’t careful.
“Penny.” He mashed a daisy between the pickets. “I’m sorry.”
Cautiously she stepped toward the fence and slowly pulled the crushed flower through.
“Why?”
“For making you cry.”
She didn’t know what to say. It was then she realized Tommy was good and no matter what would come after that, she couldn’t go back to thinking he was bad.
Friday, 30 December 2011
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost. (J.R.R. Tolkein)
“Penny Lane, is in my ear and in my eyes,” he sang out.
She was taken back but she smiled now and mustered a little giggle as he continued.
In an instant Penny’s father and mother both emerged from the house. My grandfather escorted the boy, who would become my father, off our property with stern orders to stay away from Penny if he knew what was good for him. If there was one thing Tommy didn’t know it was what was good for him.
He stayed anywhere but away.
That night my grandfather scolded my aunt for leaving my mother alone. They talked of the horrors of what could have happened: kidnapped, beaten, frightened – she must have been so frightened. Penny didn’t speak, she rarely did. She sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap and her feet dangling from the piano stool. Her eyes were fixed on the band of white lace that circled her ankle at the top of her church socks. All winter long she waited for the sun and the warmth and the privilege to tuck her feet into cute little socks instead of stretching scratchy white tights over her lengthening legs in an unpleasant struggle. She loved these socks and sometimes in the winter she tried to sneak past her mother with her church socks on but she was always caught.
“You’ll catch a cold! It’s freezing out there.”
How a transparent layer of itchy material would keep her from catching a cold she would never understand, but she obeyed without protest.
She kicked her feet gracefully back and forth letting them swing under the piano stool before peeking out from beneath the fringe of her skirt. She smiled at her socks and forgot about the lecture her sister was getting beside her until her mother took her hand.
Penny slid off the stool and walked with her mother to the picture of Jesus above the mantle on their fireplace. She knelt with her family and prayed.
Dear Heavenly Father,
My family and I come humbly before you and enter into your presence with praise. We thank You Lord for all we have and ask that others may be so blessed. I thank You, Lord, for my daughters and I thank You for my wife. I am blessed to have such wonderful women in my life. I pray dear Lord that you will keep them safe, that you will protect them from harm and evildoers. I pray that you will watch over them and prosper them all the days of their lives.
Amen.
“Amen,” they recited in chorus.
But Penny prayed her own prayer that night while she knelt at her bed. She went through her usual round of thanks and requests and once she had attended to all requests on behalf of the starving children in Africa and the sick kids in hospitals everywhere and the poor, Jesus help the poor, she grew silent in case her parents were outside listening. She knew sometimes they did, not to be nosey or intrusive but because they were blessed by their daughter’s faith and diligent prayers. Penny felt honoured that her prayers were so profound to her parents. She felt something special when she prayed; she loved more and was loved more through her prayers – she knew it.
But that night she had something to ask that they would not be blessed to hear, in fact it was something she was sure they would not appreciate at all.
And Lord, she said silently, can you help Tommy? I think he is poor so maybe I have already prayed for him but I really want you to help him because he might be a nice boy and he doesn’t deserve to be poor. He helped me today, I’m not sure if you saw that. My father yelled at him and I don’t know why but it seemed like Tommy knew why. Maybe he’s a sinner but I’m a sinner too, I disobey my parents sometimes, I think I might be disobeying them right now even.But Lord, I think I’m good enough to go to Heaven. I love you and I try to be good and I go to church every Sunday, so if I’m good enough to go to Heaven and Tommy isn’t, I want you to take him in my place. I think that he might be good if he knew how but I don’t think anyone taught him. Maybe you can help him. Maybe I can help him. I will pray more tomorrow. I love you. Amen.
The next day Penny left school with her sister and they were walking home when they saw Tommy. He was beating up another boy or another boy was beating him up, it wasn’t clear.
“Oh look," sneered her sister. “It’s your boyfriend.”
“He is not my boyfriend.”
She was taken back but she smiled now and mustered a little giggle as he continued.
In an instant Penny’s father and mother both emerged from the house. My grandfather escorted the boy, who would become my father, off our property with stern orders to stay away from Penny if he knew what was good for him. If there was one thing Tommy didn’t know it was what was good for him.
He stayed anywhere but away.
That night my grandfather scolded my aunt for leaving my mother alone. They talked of the horrors of what could have happened: kidnapped, beaten, frightened – she must have been so frightened. Penny didn’t speak, she rarely did. She sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap and her feet dangling from the piano stool. Her eyes were fixed on the band of white lace that circled her ankle at the top of her church socks. All winter long she waited for the sun and the warmth and the privilege to tuck her feet into cute little socks instead of stretching scratchy white tights over her lengthening legs in an unpleasant struggle. She loved these socks and sometimes in the winter she tried to sneak past her mother with her church socks on but she was always caught.
“You’ll catch a cold! It’s freezing out there.”
How a transparent layer of itchy material would keep her from catching a cold she would never understand, but she obeyed without protest.
She kicked her feet gracefully back and forth letting them swing under the piano stool before peeking out from beneath the fringe of her skirt. She smiled at her socks and forgot about the lecture her sister was getting beside her until her mother took her hand.
Penny slid off the stool and walked with her mother to the picture of Jesus above the mantle on their fireplace. She knelt with her family and prayed.
Dear Heavenly Father,
My family and I come humbly before you and enter into your presence with praise. We thank You Lord for all we have and ask that others may be so blessed. I thank You, Lord, for my daughters and I thank You for my wife. I am blessed to have such wonderful women in my life. I pray dear Lord that you will keep them safe, that you will protect them from harm and evildoers. I pray that you will watch over them and prosper them all the days of their lives.
Amen.
“Amen,” they recited in chorus.
But Penny prayed her own prayer that night while she knelt at her bed. She went through her usual round of thanks and requests and once she had attended to all requests on behalf of the starving children in Africa and the sick kids in hospitals everywhere and the poor, Jesus help the poor, she grew silent in case her parents were outside listening. She knew sometimes they did, not to be nosey or intrusive but because they were blessed by their daughter’s faith and diligent prayers. Penny felt honoured that her prayers were so profound to her parents. She felt something special when she prayed; she loved more and was loved more through her prayers – she knew it.
But that night she had something to ask that they would not be blessed to hear, in fact it was something she was sure they would not appreciate at all.
And Lord, she said silently, can you help Tommy? I think he is poor so maybe I have already prayed for him but I really want you to help him because he might be a nice boy and he doesn’t deserve to be poor. He helped me today, I’m not sure if you saw that. My father yelled at him and I don’t know why but it seemed like Tommy knew why. Maybe he’s a sinner but I’m a sinner too, I disobey my parents sometimes, I think I might be disobeying them right now even.But Lord, I think I’m good enough to go to Heaven. I love you and I try to be good and I go to church every Sunday, so if I’m good enough to go to Heaven and Tommy isn’t, I want you to take him in my place. I think that he might be good if he knew how but I don’t think anyone taught him. Maybe you can help him. Maybe I can help him. I will pray more tomorrow. I love you. Amen.
The next day Penny left school with her sister and they were walking home when they saw Tommy. He was beating up another boy or another boy was beating him up, it wasn’t clear.
“Oh look," sneered her sister. “It’s your boyfriend.”
“He is not my boyfriend.”
Thursday, 29 December 2011
Isn't it funny how sometimes it's the smallest decisions that change your life forever?
My story began like all stories do: a man met a woman and they became my parents.
My father was a hard case and my mother was an angel. They grew up on the outskirts of Philadelphia but the outskirts became the city.
When they met, my father was thirteen and my mother was ten, almost eleven, but she told him she was twelve. She had her hair in braids and she was hop scotching alone. Her older sister had left her to walk to the local diner with her friends and get milkshakes (code for waiting for boys). She didn’t mind, she was okay by herself. She hopped and hummed and didn’t notice my future father watching from the sidewalk.
He was only thirteen but he was smoking a cigarette as he leaned against my grandfather’s truck. He might not have said anything to her at all that day if not for what happened next. He could have been content just watching her silently, admiring her white skirt flying gracefully out from her body with each hop, but when she picked up the rock she cut her hand.
The rock fell to the ground as did her smile. Tears came to her eyes as the blood flooded from her torn flesh. The cut wasn’t deep but it was a particularly hot summer day, coupled with her active frolicking about the driveway and so the blood ran and the tears ran and my father ran.
“Do you need help?”
Taken back by the strange boy in her space, she bit her lip and didn’t say anything.
He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket.
“I get hurt a lot.” He moved to wrap the dirty piece of cloth around the palm of her hand but she pulled away.
“Sorry, I guess I should introduce myself first. My name’s Tommy.” He held out his hand but she didn’t shake it. She looked at him with apprehensive eyes.
“It’ll help if you wrap it up.”
She waited another little while before she offered her hand to the unkempt teenager who was just a little taller than her but seemed a lot older. She looked over his muddy clothes and wondered how long it had been since he had had a bath. She wanted to wipe away the smudge of soil on his face as he tied his handkerchief carefully around her fragile hand.
She devoted her attention to his surgical securing of the scrap of cloth around her hand. She noticed how dark his fingers were in contrast to her pale white skin. She couldn’t tell if he had a dark complexion or if his hands merely needed a thorough encounter with a bar of soap.
He smiled at her when he was done, amused by her serious stare.
“Do you have a name?”
She nodded with pursed lips.
“My name is Penny.”
My father was a hard case and my mother was an angel. They grew up on the outskirts of Philadelphia but the outskirts became the city.
When they met, my father was thirteen and my mother was ten, almost eleven, but she told him she was twelve. She had her hair in braids and she was hop scotching alone. Her older sister had left her to walk to the local diner with her friends and get milkshakes (code for waiting for boys). She didn’t mind, she was okay by herself. She hopped and hummed and didn’t notice my future father watching from the sidewalk.
He was only thirteen but he was smoking a cigarette as he leaned against my grandfather’s truck. He might not have said anything to her at all that day if not for what happened next. He could have been content just watching her silently, admiring her white skirt flying gracefully out from her body with each hop, but when she picked up the rock she cut her hand.
The rock fell to the ground as did her smile. Tears came to her eyes as the blood flooded from her torn flesh. The cut wasn’t deep but it was a particularly hot summer day, coupled with her active frolicking about the driveway and so the blood ran and the tears ran and my father ran.
“Do you need help?”
Taken back by the strange boy in her space, she bit her lip and didn’t say anything.
He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket.
“I get hurt a lot.” He moved to wrap the dirty piece of cloth around the palm of her hand but she pulled away.
“Sorry, I guess I should introduce myself first. My name’s Tommy.” He held out his hand but she didn’t shake it. She looked at him with apprehensive eyes.
“It’ll help if you wrap it up.”
She waited another little while before she offered her hand to the unkempt teenager who was just a little taller than her but seemed a lot older. She looked over his muddy clothes and wondered how long it had been since he had had a bath. She wanted to wipe away the smudge of soil on his face as he tied his handkerchief carefully around her fragile hand.
She devoted her attention to his surgical securing of the scrap of cloth around her hand. She noticed how dark his fingers were in contrast to her pale white skin. She couldn’t tell if he had a dark complexion or if his hands merely needed a thorough encounter with a bar of soap.
He smiled at her when he was done, amused by her serious stare.
“Do you have a name?”
She nodded with pursed lips.
“My name is Penny.”
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