It's short story time. I've written this from the point of view of a five year old, but it is for the adult short story market. If anyone spots any places where the main character doesn't sound childlike enough, let me know.
Tricky Dick and the Marlboro Man My Daddy is an important man. He must be. The newspaper wrote a story about him. It took up a whole page. They showed a picture of Daddy in front of his big dairy barn and feed elevators and another picture of Daddy getting into Big Red, the giant truck Daddy drives to Kansas to get feed for the cows. And they showed a picture of us too—Momma, my sister, Tabby, and me—waving goodbye to Daddy as he leaves to go to the dairy barn. Tabby and I are wearing matching blue and white sailor dresses we got for Easter. I am waving goodbye from the front steps while Momma smiles and holds Tabby. Daddy is waving back at us. He is tall in his boots and cowboy hat. I like to wear those boots. They come up to the top of my legs, but I still like to put them on.
I ask Momma what the words under the picture say. I like words and I am trying to read them, but Sesame Street has not covered all the letters yet. Mama reads, “Sean O’Brady waves goodbye to his little girls, Angie and Tabitha, and his wife, Jackie, before heading to his Dairy for a hard day’s work.” I am proud that my name is in the paper and that I waved like the picture man asked. Tabby was too shy, but she is only three. Maybe when she is four, almost five, like me, she will be brave. But I doubt it.
Momma reads me the rest of the article, which is long and has lots of big words I don’t know. But I understand this: my daddy has the most productive small dairy in the state. He is a smart, important man. But I already knew that.
Daddy watches as Momma cuts the article out, folds it nice and straight, and puts it in the big cigar box. In there, she has baby pictures of Tabby and me, Daddy’s handsome Marine Corps picture, a flattened out rose from their wedding, and many other little things. Daddy bends over and kisses her on the shoulder. “1973 was a pretty good year for us, huh?”
Momma smiles and answers, “Yes. I hope this year is just as good.”
Daddy grins real big and tickles me on the ribs. “It will be. Won’t it, Sugar?”
I nod and know that it is true. My daddy is always right.
A few months have passed since the newspaper wrote about Daddy. I am five now and Momma enrolled me in school for next fall. They gave me a few tests and an old man who is supposed to be the principal talked to me. Then they decided I should go to first grade instead of kindergarten because I am “advanced.” I think that means I’m too smart, but Momma says don’t brag.
Daddy says that since I’m starting school soon, I won’t be able to go to Kansas on the feed trips with him. This is my last trip on Big Red for a while. Daddy loads me in and I look down at Momma and Tabby from the high seat. Tabby’s face is puffed up all jealous as she looks up at me. This makes me happy and I wave big as we pull away.
It is hard for me not to squirm on this long drive. I try to talk to Daddy, but he is not listening. His whiskered jaw is set and his eyes are far away, like he is thinking about something important. Out the window, the country whizzes by. We pass a big ice cream sign with the Paint pony on it. The pony is dark brown all over with a big white spot on his bottom that looks like a scoop of vanilla ice cream got plopped right on his tail.
We pass another big sign that has a man on a horse smoking a cigarette. The letters on the cigarette pack look like the letters on Daddy’s cigarettes—M-A-R-L-B-O-R-O. In fact, the whole sign reminds me of Daddy because he is tall like the man, wears the same kind of hat, and sits on his horse smoking a cigarette.
Sometimes when Daddy lets me climb on his lap and dig in his front pocket for pens and mints, I see his cigarettes there. But I don’t ever touch them. They are bad for you. Momma told me so. I tried to tell Daddy this one day, but I think he got mad. I’m not sure about it because he hardly ever gets mad at me. But when I said, “Daddy, you need to quit those things. They’re not good for you,” he set me down off his lap and told me to go play outside. After that, I didn’t tell him not to smoke cigarettes anymore. But I always think it.
Momma says we shouldn’t be too hard on Daddy for smoking. She says has lots of bad habits because of the war. She says that’s why he chews paper, tearing little bitty bits off paper back book covers, chewing them and spitting them out. She says that’s why he gnaws his fingernails down and why he can never sit still. She also says the war is why he never cries. But I don’t know for sure, because Daddy will never talk about it.
Here is another big sign that has a word with the letter K. I know that letter well—it was the big letter yesterday on Sesame Street.
“K,” I say. “Kuh-kuh-kuh. Kay.”
Daddy grins. I can tell he is proud of me for being so smart. “That’s right honey. K is for Kansas. We’re crossing the state line.”
I start to bounce in my seat. “You mean we’re almost there?”
“Just a couple more minutes.”
Soon we pass through a small town and then pull up to a yard with big grain elevators. Daddy rolls down the windows and tells me to wait in the truck while he goes to talk to the man in charge. As soon as he gets a few feet away from the truck, I open the glove compartment to see what is inside.
The glove compartment in Big Red is not nearly as interesting as the glove compartment in Daddy’s brown Ford pickup. Daddy’s Ford has wire cutters, a flash light, three pairs of gloves, and a pouch of Red Man tobacco. I have a secret about Red Man Tobacco that only I and Brown Pickup know. One day, while Daddy was inside eating lunch, I went into his truck and got Red Man out. Red Man is in a green pouch with an Indian head on it. The Indian chief has big beautiful feathers growing out of his head. Momma says that my great-great-great grandpa was a Cherokee chief. She says he wore plain street clothes like the white man, but I always imagine that he looks like Red Man. That day at the pickup, I opened Red Man’s pouch and caught a whiff of the tobacco. It smelled like my Daddy’s breath. I took a pinch out, just as I had seen Daddy do and put it into my mouth. It tasted awful and before I could help it, I swallowed a little bit. All of a sudden, I felt so sick and I threw up all over the ground beside the truck. I threw up so long I thought I would never stop. Then, when I quit, I laid down in the truck until the world stopped spinning like that cup ride at the carnival. I got up, folded Red Man just like it had been before, and placed it carefully back in the glove compartment.
“No one needs to know about this, Brown Pickup,” I said before I got out.
Big Red’s glove compartment has nothing to get me into trouble. There is only one pair of gloves in there and a flashlight that doesn’t work. I try the gloves on, but they are way too big.
I hear Daddy’s voice so I slam the glove compartment quick and scramble back up into my seat. I peek out the front window and see a man in a baseball cap pointing toward the biggest grain elevator and telling Daddy where to drive. When Daddy climbs up into the truck, his face and ears are red and his teeth are all clenched.
“This is bullshit! How am I supposed to make any money when these grain prices keep going up?” he shouts. “Tricky Dick puts a stop on milk prices, but he sure as hell don’t do nothin’ about the feed.”
Daddy has just said not one but two cuss words, but I dare not say anything when he is mad like this. I’ll tell Mama later.
“Are we still going to get the feed, Daddy?”
“We got to. Ain’t got not choice, the cows got to eat.”
“But can’t they eat hay?”
Daddy smiles a little. “They can honey, but they need feed to make good milk. If the milk’s no good, we can’t sell it. And we’ve got to sell our milk to make money so we can eat. Do you see?”
I nod. I want Daddy to know I’m smart enough to understand big things like this.
After they pour our big truck full at the grain elevator, we head for home. Daddy turns on the radio and we listen to twangy country music. Daddy usually sings with the radio, but today he just pats the steering wheel with the music. In a little town called Bushyhead, Daddy stops to get gas in the truck. After a minute or two, he brings back a tiny brown sack and hands it to me.
“Want some candy?” he asks.
I nod big time. I never get candy. Momma says sugar sends me through the roof. Excited, I look inside the bag. It is licorice. I hate licorice almost as bad as I hate Red Man tobacco. But I don’t want to hurt Daddy’s feelings, so I pull out a piece and pretend to gnaw on it. Daddy loves licorice and I can tell as he chews on his piece as we get back on the highway. He sings with the music after that.
A few weeks have passed since the trip in Big Red. We are in the field. Momma is driving the pickup and Daddy is on the back, throwing hay to the cows. Then we see a cow standing beside a big cottonwood tree. White slimy stuff mixed with blood is oozing out of her behind. Daddy yells for Momma to stop and he runs toward the cow. Before he can get there, she falls over onto her side.
“What’s wrong with her Momma?” I ask.
Momma shakes her head like she doesn’t know, but her face looks afraid. Daddy runs back to the pickup and Momma scoots over, loading Tabby onto her lap. “We’ve got to get the vet,” Daddy says and we drive off quick, bumping across the pasture.
About twenty of Daddy’s cows have died since that one, and Daddy seems to get madder each time one dies. Daddy gets mad a lot anyway, but he always gets over it really quick. He even throws big fits, but he never hurts anybody and he is smiling again in five minutes. Momma always lets the storm pass before she talks to him real quiet and then they hug and kiss. Momma’s voice makes it hard for me to listen in on their conversations. But I have no trouble hearing her today.
I’m supposed to be taking a nap, but I never can sleep during the day. I always try to talk to Tabby, but she falls right to sleep and leaves me laying there to think about nothing. I cannot believe she is not waking up now. Daddy and Momma’s voices are getting louder and louder.
“I’d have never let you talk me into taking out that loan if I’d have known this was going to happen!” Daddy says.
“I didn’t know anything bad was going to happen—and we both thought that loan was best, so don’t blame it all on me!”
“You don’t seem to understand, we’re flat broke!” Daddy yells.
“Maybe so, but you don’t have to take it out on me!” Momma yells back.
I slip off the bed and go to the door, peeking out the crack.
“I’m doing the best I can, dammit!” Daddy says.
They holler some more, words I don’t really understand about cattle prices, feed prices, and Tricky Dick. Daddy’s always talking about Tricky Dick and I still don’t really know who he is, but he must be a pretty bad person to make Mama and Daddy fight so much. Finally, Daddy stomps toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Momma says.
“I don’t know. And I don’t know when I’ll be back either.”
“Well maybe you just shouldn’t come back!” Momma shouts as the door slams.
My stomach jumps like a million little frogs have got in there and I open the door a bit. I can see Momma staring at the door, tears running down her cheeks.
“Momma?”
She jumps and wipes her cheeks with her bare hands. “What are you doing up?”
“Momma, are you and Daddy going to get divorced?”
“Don’t be so silly!” she snaps and pointed to the bed. “Go finish your nap!”
I run to the bed and hide my head under the pillow. Tabby has slept through the whole thing.
Daddy doesn’t come home that night. Momma brings in the cows herself and then takes Tabby and I into the milking pit with her. We like the milking pit. Daddy has a pet bullfrog down there that eats flies and Daddy can sure use help with that. There are flies everywhere in that barn. They catch on the long fly strips that Daddy hangs from the doors and buzz around the cows tails as Momma hooks the cows up to the milking machines. Tabby tries to catch the bullfrog while I watch the milk go up through the clear pipe above my head and into the next room where the milk tank is.
When the cows are finished, Mama takes us over to the house yard where we watch through the fence as she scrapes manure off the lots. She wears long wading boots up to her hips. After that, she takes us in and feeds us dinner. We are having hamburger stew. I hate hamburger stew but I crunch up some crackers in it and it isn’t so bad.
“Momma,” I say. “When is Daddy coming home?”
Momma picks at the food on her plate. She always tells me not to do that, but here she is. “I don’t know. Soon.”
It is so quiet after that, I cannot stand it, so I say, “Momma? When do we go shopping for my school clothes?”
I don’t know why, but Momma’s eyes fill up with tears when I say this. Momma hardly ever cries, but now she’s done it twice in one day. Frogs start jumping in my tummy again. “Clothes are expensive right now, sweetie. We’ll wait for the sales.”
It is quiet again, and then I remember an important question I had to ask. “Momma,” I say. “What does Bank-rup-sy mean?”
Momma jumps up from the table and leaves the room.
I listen all night for Daddy to open the front door. I fall asleep when the night gets its darkest, still waiting.
The next morning, I go into the living room to find Daddy lying on the couch. I go close to him. He smells funny, like old rotten grain at the bottom of the feed trough. Momma walks through and puts her finger to her lips to shush me. Every time she looks at Daddy, her eyes get mean and mad.
I play outside with Tabby for most of the day. We play the parts of our favorite movie, The Wizard of Oz. One of us plays Dorothy and the other plays all the other parts. We skip up and down our long gravel driveway, pretending it is made of yellow brick and singing “We’re off to see the Wizard…”
Our farm is right by the railroad tracks and Highway 66. A train shouts a whistle and rumbles down the tracks like this—bump, bump, clickety clack. Tabby and I stop to watch it go by. When the caboose appears, we wave until our arms feel like they are going to fall off. The caboose man waves until he disappears from sight. A pickup truck on the other side of the tracks pulls across when the way is clear and then turns into our driveway. Tabby and I stand by the bull pen and watch as a man gets out of the truck and goes to the door. Daddy comes outside and I can tell even from far away that he doesn’t have on his boots and his hair is all messy from sleep. I am embarrassed that my important Daddy looks like this and I wish he would put on his hat.
Daddy is gesturing big with his hands, like he does when he is mad. I can hear him yelling, but I can’t tell what he is saying. After a while, he points to the shed and slams into the house. The man walks out and soon drives out the riding lawn mower Daddy bought last summer. He drives it right up to his pickup truck and another man I didn’t know was there got out of the other side of the truck and helped him load it in.
Tabby and I run toward the truck as it is driving away. “Hey!” I holler. “Hey, that’s our mower! Bring it back!” We pick up rocks and throw them toward the truck.
But the truck won’t stop. It drives right on, leaving Tabby and me in a big old cloud of dust.
Other things have been taken away now. Our pony that Grandpa Earl bought us last fall, but that Daddy never got time to teach us to ride. The big mean black and white bull that Tabby and I are always so afraid of. Big Red is gone now and so is Brown Pickup. I wondered if the man that drove it away knew about Red Man in the glove compartment.
Momma and Daddy don’t fight as much and Daddy is finally sleeping back in their bed. Right now, Daddy is sitting in his recliner watching the news. Suddenly, something very important is happening and Daddy sits straight up. There is a man on the television, an ugly man with a big forehead and a flat nose. When I ask who it is, Daddy shushes me and says, “It’s the president.”.
The man says he is “resigning.”
“Well, hell, why couldn’t you have done that before you froze the milk prices, you Horse’s Ass?” Daddy says. That’s two cuss words again, but I’ve stopped counting by now. Daddy says too many bad words lately for me to keep up.
It is my first day of school. Momma has dressed me in a new outfit that Grandma bought me and I have on my yellow raincoat and hat because it is sprinkling. I am very excited to go to school, because it is not fun at home anymore. Daddy is mad, Momma is sad, and half our cows are gone. I never get to go out while Daddy pitches hay to the cows anymore or watch my pony Peanut and dream of the day I will ride him.
I see the bus cross the railroad tracks. Momma gives me a kiss and nudges me on. Tabby is sad I’m going. She will be lonely, Momma says, but I run toward the bus with no thought for my little sister.
The bus doesn’t stop. I yell at it and wave my arms. I can see children in the back who see me, I can see them calling to the bus driver. But the bus drives on around by the dairy barn and around the curve.
“Stop!” I cry. “I’m here! I’m here!”
I cannot stop crying as I walk back to the house. It seems silly to cry over the bus leaving me, but I cannot help it. I feel unimportant and forgotten. Momma hugs me when I reach the house. “It’s okay,” she says. “The bus driver is just not used to you being there yet. He didn’t see you.”
But I run to my room and cry even harder. It seems like I have been saving up tears for a long time and that they are now running loose, like coins out of a broken piggy bank.
The bus driver has not forgotten me again, but it doesn’t matter now, because we are moving. Daddy’s cows have all been sold and there is a For Sale sign on our farm. We have packed up a million boxes and moved them to a house in town. Daddy says he is going to work at a different place and that he is going to go back to school. I am confused by this. I cannot imagine Daddy sitting in one of those little desks in my classroom, with his long legs and cowboy boots. When I tell Momma this, she laughs. “Not school like yours, Angie. He’s going to college. And I’m going to go there, too.”
My Daddy is a very important man. He must be. He is in the newspaper again and so is Momma. The story takes up almost a whole page, and in the picture both Daddy and Momma are sitting on a set of long concrete steps in front of a big important building. I can read most of the writing under the picture by myself this time. It says, “Patrick O’Brady and his wife, Jackie, join the ranks of adults who are now going back for higher education.”
Momma cuts the article out, folds it, and puts in the cigar box with the pictures and the rose and Daddy’s last Marlboro cigarette, which he never smoked. Daddy says, “1974 may not have been a very good year. But I think 1975 is turning out to be a lot better.” He hugs me around the shoulders. “What do you think, Sugar?”
I smile and nod big time. It must be true. Because my daddy is always right.
At least most of the time.
Labels: Story Time Children
