1953
It had been the hottest nine days I had ever known. People were hardly coming out anymore. The last few had been 'only if you have to go out' days.
There was a scent in the air that said thank god it's 3 o'clock Sunday afternoon. Church and lunch obligations were done with.
The streets were next to bare downtown. The air was so dry and without wind; I felt like John Wayne in a ghost town.
I was taking the bus across town to visit my cousin Mick. My mother had sent along some of her homemade marmalade for me to give to Aunt Fiona. I hate the stuff. Just looking at it made my nose prickle.
I was waiting at the bus stop, kicking lazily at loose stones, wishing it was not so hot or I would have rode my bike. I could not wait to get out to the stream with Mick. Being in the water fishing for our trophy trout would make things seem cooler.
Mick and I used to be the best of friends until his parents moved across town 2 years a go. Thick as thieves. Comrades. Sneaking out after dark when we were suppose to be in bed with flashlights; to roam in our backyards, searching for worms to use at the stream the next day. I swear, we have been fishing together since we were in diapers.
They needed to get a bigger house when Beattie was born. Uncle Marvin was in that moving truck honking at Mick to hurry up and we just stood there. What a long moment in time that was.
Mom finally came up to us. "You boys hug now and then get moving, Mick."
Embarrassed, we did and we both started to cry. We unhinged ourselves from each other and we shuffled our feet briefly. He spit fist, then I did.
"See ya 'round," he had muttered, as he took off running for the truck.
The people in my home felt sorry for me for the next few days, but nobody liked me. You tend to get nastier in temperament, the more bored you get.
The bus pulled up, a beast in white and light green and I paid my 15 cents to get on. I looked down the long aisle to an empty bus, save one negro man sitting near the rear.
I took a seat close to the middle, near one of the open windows. I looked out it, not really noticing the stores that passed by. I saw them everyday.
I was disappointed. Even in a moving vehicle, there was not even the slightest of breeze to dry some of the sweat on my forehead. I love taking in the air that is usually made in this fashion. Sucking it deep into my lungs and having to find the effort required to push it back out. Not being able to do this made me want to get across town even quicker.
The next bus stop was in front of the local swimming pool. I was too busy looking at the water to at first notice who was getting on the bus.
The sound of a strangled, deep laugh made me look up. I could feel my shoulders hunch up. I could not believe my eyes. Retards. And lots of them were climbing up on to the bus. I was taken aback by the sea of bent-over, goofy smiling people in swim suits. There had to be at least 20 of them.
Now normally, I can handle a retard or two. They pop up occasionally around town, when one wanders off. They are housed in a place called Lillyville, a few blocks from the edge of town. It is suppose to be a school for them. It is just a way to keep them hidden.
But this was a little much. As they took seats, I could feel a strong sense of unease fill my belly.
I looked back to share a glance with the black man but he was busy reading the newspaper.
The retards' chatter was animated and excited. "Did you see my bellyflop?", "Water makes me think of fish.", "Bobby said it would be funny if my top fell off when I got out of the water." I was suprised my ears adjusted so fast to the sounds of their voices; that I could understand them.
They filled every seat around me, but the one right in front of me. A short drooling girl in a green bathing suit with yellow polka dots grinned at me. She still had on her swim cap and orange life jacket. "Arghhha," she gargled at me.
A ogre of a boy said "Hi. How are-how are-how are you?"
"Fine", I forced myself to squeak out and then I turned to look back at the window. I did not want any of them to talk to me again.
The bus had just started again, when I heard a melodic "Do dee doo doo."
"Dee doo boooo nee." It was a lower voice.
"Boo neee doooo deeee," a female voice answered. I turned to look.
Suddenly, they were all speaking this way. "Bee neee dooo deeee."
I watched as they repeated this chant to each other, sometimes with deep giggles.
Suddenly, I became very dizzy. I felt like I was going to vomit and the day seemed to gain another 10 degrees. It seemed to me like I had grown smaller. Fear tore and gnawed at my belly.
What were they saying to each other?
What if they were talking about hacking up the normal people on the bus? Why were they all leering at me? Are they thinking I would be tasty with ketchup? Are they plotting ways to tickle me to death? Or is there just a booger hanging out of my nose?
I almost gagged at the bitter taste of bile that rose in my throat and I looked back again at the black man. This time our eyes met. He does not feel what I do. He is just glad for the first time in his life, he is not the person on the bus people are staring at with mild revulsion. Today, he gets to feel ordinary.
I ripped my eyes from the scene to stare back out the window.
I know I am being foolish. There is really nothing to fear on the bus, but I could not get over the feeling the retards were like a pack of rabid wolves.
I blocked the rest of the ride and seemed to just wake-up when Sam's Variety came into view. My stop.
I jumped up and did not reply to the choruses of bungled good-byes I heard behind me. I almost could not stop myself from running.
I stood still and let out a huge sigh of relief when the bus pulled away. I bent over, putting my hands on my knees. I wanted to cry.
"You gonna be okay?" questioned a voice.
I turned to look at the black man who had been on the bus with me.
"You look a little pale. You have a rough ride, there, boy?" he continued.
"Yeah," I managed to get out, shaky and low. His eyes held mine. I had never seen a black man with blue eyes before.
"I got me a bottle of pop here. Maybe you need a swallow? You look thirsty. Might calm you down." he offered.
I looked carefully at the man. There is always some crazy stories people like to tell about negros. Some people will scare others any way they know how.
"Yeah, mister, please. That would be awful kind of you," I smiled at him.
"Well, good," he said, nodding before he broke into a wide, white grin. "My name is William. What's yours, lad?"
It had been the hottest nine days I had ever known. People were hardly coming out anymore. The last few had been 'only if you have to go out' days.
There was a scent in the air that said thank god it's 3 o'clock Sunday afternoon. Church and lunch obligations were done with.
The streets were next to bare downtown. The air was so dry and without wind; I felt like John Wayne in a ghost town.
I was taking the bus across town to visit my cousin Mick. My mother had sent along some of her homemade marmalade for me to give to Aunt Fiona. I hate the stuff. Just looking at it made my nose prickle.
I was waiting at the bus stop, kicking lazily at loose stones, wishing it was not so hot or I would have rode my bike. I could not wait to get out to the stream with Mick. Being in the water fishing for our trophy trout would make things seem cooler.
Mick and I used to be the best of friends until his parents moved across town 2 years a go. Thick as thieves. Comrades. Sneaking out after dark when we were suppose to be in bed with flashlights; to roam in our backyards, searching for worms to use at the stream the next day. I swear, we have been fishing together since we were in diapers.
They needed to get a bigger house when Beattie was born. Uncle Marvin was in that moving truck honking at Mick to hurry up and we just stood there. What a long moment in time that was.
Mom finally came up to us. "You boys hug now and then get moving, Mick."
Embarrassed, we did and we both started to cry. We unhinged ourselves from each other and we shuffled our feet briefly. He spit fist, then I did.
"See ya 'round," he had muttered, as he took off running for the truck.
The people in my home felt sorry for me for the next few days, but nobody liked me. You tend to get nastier in temperament, the more bored you get.
The bus pulled up, a beast in white and light green and I paid my 15 cents to get on. I looked down the long aisle to an empty bus, save one negro man sitting near the rear.
I took a seat close to the middle, near one of the open windows. I looked out it, not really noticing the stores that passed by. I saw them everyday.
I was disappointed. Even in a moving vehicle, there was not even the slightest of breeze to dry some of the sweat on my forehead. I love taking in the air that is usually made in this fashion. Sucking it deep into my lungs and having to find the effort required to push it back out. Not being able to do this made me want to get across town even quicker.
The next bus stop was in front of the local swimming pool. I was too busy looking at the water to at first notice who was getting on the bus.
The sound of a strangled, deep laugh made me look up. I could feel my shoulders hunch up. I could not believe my eyes. Retards. And lots of them were climbing up on to the bus. I was taken aback by the sea of bent-over, goofy smiling people in swim suits. There had to be at least 20 of them.
Now normally, I can handle a retard or two. They pop up occasionally around town, when one wanders off. They are housed in a place called Lillyville, a few blocks from the edge of town. It is suppose to be a school for them. It is just a way to keep them hidden.
But this was a little much. As they took seats, I could feel a strong sense of unease fill my belly.
I looked back to share a glance with the black man but he was busy reading the newspaper.
The retards' chatter was animated and excited. "Did you see my bellyflop?", "Water makes me think of fish.", "Bobby said it would be funny if my top fell off when I got out of the water." I was suprised my ears adjusted so fast to the sounds of their voices; that I could understand them.
They filled every seat around me, but the one right in front of me. A short drooling girl in a green bathing suit with yellow polka dots grinned at me. She still had on her swim cap and orange life jacket. "Arghhha," she gargled at me.
A ogre of a boy said "Hi. How are-how are-how are you?"
"Fine", I forced myself to squeak out and then I turned to look back at the window. I did not want any of them to talk to me again.
The bus had just started again, when I heard a melodic "Do dee doo doo."
"Dee doo boooo nee." It was a lower voice.
"Boo neee doooo deeee," a female voice answered. I turned to look.
Suddenly, they were all speaking this way. "Bee neee dooo deeee."
I watched as they repeated this chant to each other, sometimes with deep giggles.
Suddenly, I became very dizzy. I felt like I was going to vomit and the day seemed to gain another 10 degrees. It seemed to me like I had grown smaller. Fear tore and gnawed at my belly.
What were they saying to each other?
What if they were talking about hacking up the normal people on the bus? Why were they all leering at me? Are they thinking I would be tasty with ketchup? Are they plotting ways to tickle me to death? Or is there just a booger hanging out of my nose?
I almost gagged at the bitter taste of bile that rose in my throat and I looked back again at the black man. This time our eyes met. He does not feel what I do. He is just glad for the first time in his life, he is not the person on the bus people are staring at with mild revulsion. Today, he gets to feel ordinary.
I ripped my eyes from the scene to stare back out the window.
I know I am being foolish. There is really nothing to fear on the bus, but I could not get over the feeling the retards were like a pack of rabid wolves.
I blocked the rest of the ride and seemed to just wake-up when Sam's Variety came into view. My stop.
I jumped up and did not reply to the choruses of bungled good-byes I heard behind me. I almost could not stop myself from running.
I stood still and let out a huge sigh of relief when the bus pulled away. I bent over, putting my hands on my knees. I wanted to cry.
"You gonna be okay?" questioned a voice.
I turned to look at the black man who had been on the bus with me.
"You look a little pale. You have a rough ride, there, boy?" he continued.
"Yeah," I managed to get out, shaky and low. His eyes held mine. I had never seen a black man with blue eyes before.
"I got me a bottle of pop here. Maybe you need a swallow? You look thirsty. Might calm you down." he offered.
I looked carefully at the man. There is always some crazy stories people like to tell about negros. Some people will scare others any way they know how.
"Yeah, mister, please. That would be awful kind of you," I smiled at him.
"Well, good," he said, nodding before he broke into a wide, white grin. "My name is William. What's yours, lad?"
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