The Paper Cowboy (15 page)

PAIN PILLS

If Christmas Day was bad, the week afterward was even worse. I guess I'd thought I'd spend the break with my sister, talking and playing games, like we always had before. But Mary Lou's bandages needed to be changed every few hours and ointments needed to be applied. Mom insisted
she
was the only one who could do it properly, since she had picked Mary Lou up from the hospital and been instructed by the nurses. More than once, I found Mom clutching a soiled bandage, tears running down her face. Every time I offered to help, she shook her head and told me to go away.

I discovered that when Mary Lou said she could walk from the bed to the bathroom, she meant if she had twenty minutes and an hour to lie down afterward. Mom went after her like a drill sergeant, yelling and screaming and cursing at her to do the stretches from the hospital or to hobble down the hall one more time. Mary Lou yelled back at first: “I'm trying!” or “Get out of my way!” Then it changed to “I can't do it,” and “Leave me alone,” and finally she just meekly tried to comply, tears running down her face.

Mom and Dad started arguing too, screaming behind closed doors, as if a skinny old wooden bedroom door would prevent us from hearing what they had to say. “I thought you said they were suggestions,” Dad argued. “It's vacation. You don't have to force her to do them every single day.”

In the living room, Mary Lou and I concentrated on our game of checkers. Pinky watched intently.

“They said it would be good for her!” Mom countered. “Don't you want what's best for your daughter?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“You don't care if she's deformed or can't walk. If she doesn't get better, no one will ever want to marry her and we'll be stuck with—”

Pinky's eyes were wide. “Is Mary Lou going to turn into a monster?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Take her outside,” said Mary Lou. “She doesn't need to hear this.”

“You come too,” I said.

Mary Lou shook her head. “It's too cold for me since I can't . . . move around fast enough to stay warm.”

“But—”

“You take Pinky. It doesn't bother me, Tommy.”

But I knew it did bother her. The next day when I got up at 4:30 to do the paper route, I heard Mary Lou crying in her room. When I opened the door to check on her, she rolled over and pretended to be asleep. I couldn't wait for school to start again so I could escape to St. Joe's. I missed Eddie, but he had gone out of town to visit relatives. I thought about playing marbles with Peter and Luke. Heck, I would even have been happy to see Little Skinny.

And if the yelling wasn't enough, Mom started rationing Mary Lou's pain pills too, stretching out the time between doses a little bit more every day, or cutting the tablets in half. “You're stronger than that,” Mom told Mary Lou when she complained.

When the pain got so bad that all Mary Lou could do was lie on her bed and cry, I snuck into the bathroom and got the other half of the pill that she was supposed to have had in the first place.

Those days were so awful, I jumped out of bed at 4:30 each morning, relieved to have an excuse to get away from the house for a few hours. One morning when I returned from the route, Mom was waiting for me in the kitchen, holding the bottle of pain pills in her hand.

“Yesterday when I counted these pills, there were six. Why are there now only four?”

“Mary Lou was in pain,” I explained. “She hurt so much she couldn't even sleep.”

“Do you want to turn your sister into a drug addict?” Her face was red with anger, her jaw clenched.

“The doctor prescribed them!”

“I'm doing what's best for her.” Mom's hair flew out of her bun as she shook the bottle of pills.

“But Dr. Stanton prescribed those sleeping pills for you.”

“Tommy!”

“You don't seem to have any problem taking them!” That's when I saw she already had Dad's belt curled up in her hand.

“Don't speak to me in that tone!” she screamed.

“It doesn't matter what I say,” I muttered. “You're going to hit me anyway.”

And she did. And I let her. Pulled down my pants and just stood there. I hated her for punishing me this way, when I was just trying to help my sister. And even though I swore I wouldn't, I starting crying, not from the pain, but because I was so angry.

Mom yelled at me to stop, and I tried to, I really did. I wanted to be tough and stoic, but the tears kept coming.

'Course crying only made it worse, 'cause Mary Lou heard me. She hobbled into the kitchen, holding on to the door frame to keep her balance. “Stop it, Mom! Stop!” she shrieked. “I don't need the pills. I won't take them anymore.”

I knew Mary Lou was trying to help, but it was mortifying to have my older sister see me, my pants around my ankles, crying like a baby. I wanted to scream at her to go away, but I couldn't get out the words.

Mom just ignored Mary Lou and kept hitting me.

Boots joined in then, barking desperately, although he stayed in the doorway at Mary Lou's feet, not daring to set foot in the kitchen.

“Catherine!” Dad boomed, appearing behind Mary Lou.

Mom paused, the belt dangling from her hand.

Thank God. Was Dad going to finally step up for me?

Mom was breathing hard, sweat on her forehead, even though it was cold in the room.

Mary Lou was weeping quietly now. “Take me back to the hospital. Please, take me back! I can't stand it here another minute!”

Dad led her out of the room. Boots stayed, watching me and whining softly.

Mom hit me once more with the belt, then dropped it on the floor. The house was still. It seemed, suddenly, too quiet with no one yelling or crying.

“I have a headache,” said Mom. “I'm going back to bed.” She left the room without even picking up the belt.

As I pulled up my pants, I heard the car roar to life. They were leaving now? Didn't Mary Lou need to pack? I ran to the garage to say good-bye, but they were already gone.

Boots and I sat in the garage all afternoon, waiting for my dad to return. It was cold and my backside ached. My hands felt numb, even as I buried them in Boots's warm fur.

Finally, my dad returned. “Tommy, what are you doing here?” His long gray overcoat fluttered as he slammed the car door.

“Why didn't you stop her?” I asked.

“You disobeyed your mother.”

“Mary Lou should have had those pills in the first place. You know that!”

“What do you want me to do, Tommy?” Dad screamed. “What do you want me to do!”

“Nothing,” I said. I went inside and lay down on my bed. Boots pressed up against my side and I cried myself to sleep.

AT THE HOSPITAL

It was the Sunday after New Year's and I was sitting in the waiting room at the hospital again, coloring with Pinky. Mom was upstairs with Mary Lou. I hadn't seen my sister since the argument about the pain pills. I wasn't sure what I would say when I did.

The stairway door opened and Little Skinny slipped out. He walked toward the waiting room, but froze when he saw Pinky and me.

“Hey, Little Skinny!” I called.

He turned and headed back toward the stairs.

I ran after him, catching up with him just as he was pushing open the door. “Little Skinny!” I said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“My name is
Sam,
” he said.

I felt awful then. I'd forgotten I'd promised to call him by his name.

“And I don't want to talk to you.” Little Skinny crossed his arms.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I get it.”

He glared at me.

“You were so mean!” he said.

After everything that had happened over Christmas, I had almost pushed the coal stockings out of my mind. Add that to my list of things I wished I could forget. I shrugged. “It was just a joke.”

“It was not a joke,” he said. “It was horrible!” Little Skinny turned bright red as he got more and more worked up. “You're a different person at the store, Tommy. I don't know how you can be so cruel at school.”

“Did you even look in the stocking I made?” I asked. “There was an orange and a nickel and a tin soldier.”

“No,” he said. “It was filled with coal.”

“I only put a couple of pieces on top so Eddie wouldn't know.”

“So Eddie wouldn't know what?” he asked. “That you were being nice to me? That sometimes you act like you're my friend, and then you're horrible again?”

“I—I—” I didn't know what to say. “It was Eddie's idea,” I finished lamely.

“It doesn't matter whose idea it was! It was really mean.”

It was mean. I knew that.

“It's not fair, Tommy,” Little Skinny went on. “Just 'cause you're good-looking and clever and know how to charm people doesn't mean you get to stomp on the rest of us. You're lucky and you don't even appreciate it!”

“Oh, so you think my life is so perfect, huh?” We were practically yelling now.

“It's looking pretty good from where I sit.”

“You need to get your eyes examined. My sister is half burned up!” I was screaming now. “She almost died!”

“But she didn't,” Little Skinny screamed back. “And my mom's going to!”

Little Skinny and I stood in the doorway, glaring at each other. In the waiting room, Pinky colored so hard, her crayon snapped. The nurse at the reception desk stared, wide-eyed, not even pretending she wasn't listening.

The worst part was, Little Skinny had a point. Mary Lou was getting better. And his mom wasn't. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm so sorry. About your mom and everything else.”

He rubbed his eyes and we both pretended not to notice he was crying. “We're going to have to leave, you know. My dad said we're closing up the store the last week in January and going to live with his cousin in Chicago.”

That was my fault too. But at least he didn't say it.

“Mom will have to stay here,” Little Skinny went on. “She's been in the hospital since August.”

“That's not fair,” I said.

“No,” he agreed. “It isn't.”

“Really,” I said softly. “I'm sorry.”

Little Skinny said nothing. But he came back to the waiting room and sat down on the brown couch. “I'm not scared of you anymore. With Mom dying, you just don't seem that important.”

I smiled and sat down next to him. “How was your Christmas?”

Little Skinny snorted.

“That good, huh?”

We both giggled a bit, though I saw a tear run down his scar.

“Yeah,” I said. “Mine was about the same.”

He didn't say a word. We sat in silence for a while, until Pinky said she had to go potty and Little Skinny stood up and said, “I'll take her.” As they walked off, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be an only child like Little Skinny. At least I had Pinky and Susie to take care of and Mary Lou to give me advice. I had a dog to lick my face when I was sad and Mrs. Glazov to play accordion with me.

I wasn't sure I deserved it. I'd been mean to Luke and Peter on the bus, and awful to Little Skinny. I'd destroyed Mr. McKenzie's reputation, sworn I'd clear his name and then gotten caught up in my own problems. I didn't keep my word. I wasn't a nice friend.

It was a new year and I wanted to change.

RACING WITH LITTLE SKINNY

Every January, the nuns took us over to Prince Pond for an afternoon of skating. Prince Pond was a small pond, about the length of one block, that froze over every winter. With the money from the paper drive, the homeowners' association had constructed an open shelter at one end where you could build a fire to stay warm.

Sister Ann and the other nuns chatted on the bank, their arms tucked under their habits so that they looked like giant bowling pins waiting to be knocked over. Peter was fooling around, skating in circles and throwing snowballs at any girl who turned her back. Little Skinny sat in the shelter with Lizzie Johnson and some of the other girls from our class. Every now and then one of them would add a bit of wood to the fire.

Not that we really needed a fire. The past ten days had been unseasonably warm, making it above freezing for a good portion of each day. It was probably 35 or 36 degrees that afternoon, not cold at all for Downers Grove in the winter. In any case, hot from all the skating, I'd left my jacket on the bank.

Eddie had just beaten Peter and Luke in a race and he threw himself down on the ice, breathing hard. “So,” he called out, confident as a cowboy on a prize-winning steed, “who's going to race me next?” He leaned back on his hands like he was at the beach. Everyone stared at him. “No takers?”

Little Skinny walked slowly over from the shelter. He still had his shoes on and he slipped, almost falling, waving his arms like a bird to catch himself. “I'll race you,” he said. “But I don't have any skates.” He looked over at me.

It was like he was challenging me to see if I'd be nice to him at school, in front of the others. I took the dare.

“I'll loan you mine,” I said. I pulled off my skates and gave them a little push so they glided across the ice to Little Skinny.

He smiled and put them on quickly, almost without looking at the laces. “Three times around the pond?” Little Skinny suggested.

Eddie nodded. “Fine with me.”

They both skated over to the charcoal line we'd been using as a starting mark. There was a large ring of stones around the middle of the pond. The other boys and I had placed them there when we'd first arrived, creating a makeshift lane around the edge for racing. That way the girls could skate in the middle without getting in our way.

“Here are the rules,” I said. “Stay in the lane, three times around, no funny business—no tripping, pushing, stuff like that.”

They nodded.

“On your mark,” I said. “Get set. Go!”

During the first lap, Eddie and Little Skinny stayed pretty even. I was surprised. Little Skinny was actually a good skater, moving smoothly across the ice. By the time the second lap was done, Little Skinny was slightly ahead.

“Come on, Eddie!” Luke called.

I wasn't sure who to root for.

Eddie skated faster, really giving it his all. But Little Skinny did too, pulling ahead a little bit more. By the final turn, it wasn't even a contest. Little Skinny was a full body length ahead. A moment later he crossed the finish line first and raised his hands in the air. “I won!”

Everyone, on the ice and in the shelter, was looking at him.

Angry, Eddie purposely crashed into the lane, sending the rocks flying. “You can skate!”

Little Skinny grinned. “Ever since I could walk,” he said proudly. “I can ski too. Everyone can, where I'm from. There were lots of mountains.”

“You tricked me!” Eddie said.

“What's wrong, Eddie?” Little Skinny taunted. “Did I embarrass you in front of your friends?”

“You little communist!” Eddie yelled, and took a swing at Little Skinny.

Little Skinny ducked and stumbled on the ice, but he didn't fall.

“He's not a communist,” I said quietly.

“Well, his dad sure is,” said Eddie. “I heard my father talking about it.”

I grabbed Eddie's arm and pulled him a couple of steps away from Little Skinny. “Take it back!”

“No, I won't,” he said. “And why do you care, Tommy?”

“It's not true,” I argued. “You shouldn't be spreading lies about Mr. McKenzie!”

“But everybody knows he's a communist. It's why no one shops there anymore,” said Eddie.

“It's not true!”

“How do you know?” asked Eddie.

My stomach hurt like I'd been punched. “Because I was the one who put the copy of the
Daily Worker
in his store.”

“What?” said Eddie. “The one you found on the paper drive?”

I nodded. “Didn't you figure it out?”

“But I thought Mr. McKenzie was the communist?”

Luke and Peter stood watching us, taking in every word.

“It was just a joke,” I said. “I didn't know everyone would take it so seriously!”

The nuns rang a bell then, signaling it was time to return to school. I started obediently back to the bank, but Eddie stood there in the center of the pond.

So did Little Skinny. And something had snapped in him, because his eyes were no longer sad, they were mad.

“One time,” he said. “I got the best of you one time. And you had to go and ruin it!” He took a deep breath like he was going to start crying. Instead, he punched Eddie in the stomach.

I was so surprised, it took me a moment to react. By that point, Little Skinny had his full weight on top of Eddie and was pounding away. One hit after another. I could see the blood spurting out of Eddie's nose.

Eddie was yelling and I tried to pull Little Skinny off, but he threw me aside, like a bear with a dog. For the first time, I could see Mr. McKenzie's toughness in Little Skinny. He kept pounding Eddie, but maybe Eddie deserved it. For the coal. And the candy. And all the ways we'd hurt Little Skinny. Maybe I deserved to be beaten too.

The nuns were gathered around the edge of the pond, yelling. None of them had skates on and they kept slipping as they tried to venture onto the ice. Then there was a loud cracking sound, almost like thunder.

“Stop,” I yelled. “Sam, stop!”

Little Skinny stopped pounding Eddie and turned to look at me. The pond rumbled again.

Eddie scrambled to his feet.

“The ice!” cried a girl from the bank.

Everyone scattered, Eddie and I reaching solid ice just in time. But Little Skinny stood still for just a moment too long. By the time he started to move, there was another
crack,
even louder this time, and the ice broke up beneath him. He fell into the water.

The pond was only three feet deep, so it wasn't like he was going to drown or anything. But when Little Skinny stood up, he just looked so cold and miserable with the water running down his face.

Peter started to laugh. I pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Eddie. He pressed it against his nose to stop the bleeding.

Little Skinny tried to pull himself onto the solid ice, but his weight was too much and the ice kept cracking as he tried to scramble out.

The nuns screamed for someone to find a rope. Peter kept laughing. I had another idea. I ran to the shelter and grabbed the fire poker. Then I ran, sliding without my skates, back onto the ice. When I got close to the hole, I lay down on the ice and held out the poker.

“Grab it,” I said.

Little Skinny did. With a huge effort, I managed to pull him onto the ice. He followed me, crawling almost all the way back to the bank before daring to stand up again.

Peter was laughing so hard, he was doubled over, clutching his stomach. I knew he expected me to join in too, play it off as a huge joke, but I just couldn't. Luke wasn't laughing, but he wasn't helping either.

The nuns came running over. “Are you all right, Samuel?” Sister Ann cried.

“Cold,” he choked out. He was shivering so badly, I thought his skeleton would shake right out of his body. I grabbed my coat from the bank and handed it to him.

Sister Ann ushered Little Skinny over to the fire. But once he warmed up a bit, she started to lecture. “Samuel,” she said sternly, “we saw you hitting Eddie. Fighting is strictly forbidden at St. Joe's. I'm afraid you'll—”

“No,” I said suddenly. “It wasn't his fault. Eddie hit first.”

Eddie looked at me, surprised and bewildered. We didn't rat each other out. We kept each other's secrets.

But I went on. “Eddie provoked him,” I said. “Called his dad a communist.”

Sister Ann sighed. “Even if Eddie was teasing him, that's no reason to—”

“No,” I insisted. “His dad is going to lose his store because of those rumors. And it's my fault too because I was the one who started them.”

Everyone was suddenly quiet and staring at me. Even Lizzie was looking at me with a little half smile on her face that made me think maybe she didn't hate my guts quite so much anymore.

Sister Ann, however, looked exhausted. “Eddie, are you hurt?” she asked.

“Yes!” He held up the bloody handkerchief.

“Do you need a doctor?”

“No,” Eddie admitted.

“Good. Samuel, are you okay?”

“Cold.” Little Skinny's teeth chattered and he was shivering violently.

Sister Ann nodded decisively. “Tommy, take Samuel home and get him some dry clothes. Everyone else, back to school!”