The Wayward Gifted - Broken Point (19 page)

Steuart hit a bump. Ed lost his balance
and began to slide down and across Steuart’s shoulder. Ed caught himself by
thrusting his arms up and under Steuart’s hat and then hanging onto Steuart’s
earmuff. Sam and Trista watched in horror. Sam called out to her brother, her
voice drowned by the sound of construction workers and ice carvers. “Slow down!
Ed’s falling!”

Sam raced to catch up with her brother.
Steuart, determined to win the race, peddled harder. Ed hung onto Steuart’s ear
with both hands—his legs dangled in the air as he worked to regain his
balance. Trista peered from Sam’s coat, “I don’t believe he’s doing this!”

Again, Ed pulled his feet up and jumped
on top of Steuart’s shoulder. Maintaining his balance by holding onto the back
of Steuart’s hat, Ed swung his legs out, pulled his body up, and sat on top of
Steuart’s head. He waved at Sam who prayed aloud, “Dear God, don’t let him
fall!”

Trista watched from inside Sam’s coat,
“This is insane.”

Steuart peddled harder and faster along
the winter path, still unaware of what was taking place. He was so heavily
bundled that he didn’t feel or hear a thing. Sam’s heart pounded. Her breathing
became labored.

Most of the bicycle trail was shoveled
and clear, but black ice caused both Steuart and Sam to slide first on the
right side and then on the left, both of them almost falling more than a few
times. Again, Ed jumped up and stood on top of Steuart’s head. Steadying his
balance, Ed looked like a surfer riding a wave that was Steuart’s helmet.

Steuart hit another bump. Sam gasped. Trista
screamed. Ed lost his balance and tumbled, this time free-falling through the
air, sucked dangerously close to Steuart’s racing spokes. Ed grabbed onto the
bottom side of Steuart’s wire basket, which sat just above his back wheel.
Holding on with both hands, he worked to pull himself up into the basket.
Steuart’s speed made this impossible. To passersby, Ed looked like a small
windsock whipping about on a blustery day.

Thin sheets of ice continually forced
Sam to lower her speed. She continued efforts to catch her brother while
remaining aware of the need to protect Trista and herself. She peddled extra
hard, aware she could go down at any moment. Trista peeked cautiously out every
now and then, looking up and around before ducking back into Sam’s jacket.

The race was close with Ed and Steuart
finishing first. Steuart stopped his bike at a downtown corner next to a polar
bear ice sculpture. Trista and Sam were a close second. The group locked their
bikes in front of an ice cream parlor where they stopped to watch a busy artist
painting a winter scene on the inside window; a snow couple enjoying an ice
cream sundae.

Ed laughed. He bragged to the group.
“Wasn’t that the most amazing shoulder walking, head surfing, basket racing
acrobatics act that you’ve ever witnessed? Impressive, huh? Have you ever seen
anything so exciting?”

Sam looked at Ed and then doubled over
as she tried to catch her breath. “Yeah, right, that was one amazing shoulder
walking routine.” She coughed and stood. She moved directly in front of Ed’s
face. “I don’t think so. What I saw was a scared little man who had a series of
close calls.”

“You don’t have to yell,” Ed whispered.

Sam turned to her brother and yelled,
“What’s wrong with you? Ed’s your responsibility. You don’t know how close
things were back there. You couldn’t see what we saw. Ed could have been
killed!”

“What’d I do?” Steuart asked. “What are
you talking about?”

Sam reached into her coat and helped
Trista out. “What’s your opinion?”

Trista placed her hand over her heart
and took a deep breath, “I’m just a student. I came here to check out the light
and find inspiration for my art. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate going home in
one piece. Do you think that’s possible?”

Walking around the corner, the group
arrived at the East End, an historic part of downtown Maybell. This area, only
recently rediscovered, housed a number of new restaurants and boutiques. Tucked
in among these were a few of the original stores. It was time to think about
business.

* * *

The first store on the corner was
Ivy’s, a place long ago known as the finest antique store in the city. Now more
flea market than antique, Ivy’s stood as a memory of something that once was.
Faded wallpaper, dusty chandeliers and velvet oil paintings of old movie stars
hung high above moth-eaten mink coats, and yellowed, tea-stained silk gloves.
Milk glass vases, boxes of chipped Christmas ornaments and silver plate
Chihuahua ring holders sat beside tarnished menorahs, stacks of silver plate
coasters, and a large bowl of curled black and white photos—all on top of
an old ladies vanity—memories long ago forgotten. Empty perfume bottles,
stacks of orphaned kitchen utensils, deviled egg platters, and an entire wall
of ceramic cookie jars stood beside a dried out player piano. Standing tall in
the corner and guarding the room was a fourteen-foot, hand-carved, wooden,
Jamaican giraffe. A sign around its neck read:

Delightful, my things

Oh, so lovely to hold

Break a thing

Poor, poor you

I’ll mark it as sold

A sizable front portion of the shop
held buttons and political memorabilia. This is where Steuart and Sam met her
for the first time. A stench was
obvious; a mixture of body odor, urine, mothballs, honey-coated bath powder and
perfume. “Old person smell,” Steuart whispered.

“Shh, Grandmother doesn’t smell that
way.”

A woman came from a door at the back of
the store. She was tall and thin with a drawn face that looked as if it had
seen the plastic surgeon more than a few times.

“Puppet face,” Steuart whispered.
“She’s a lot older than Grandmother.”

“Hush,” Sam said. “That’s rude.”

The woman’s eyes bulged out. Neither
Sam nor Steuart had ever seen lower eyelids that were such a tense and
frightening red color. The woman wore multiple strands of pearls and three or
four brooches; all of this on top of a heavy ultra-marine swing coat. She had a
short bob that was white with streaks of yellow and long ago in need of a wash.
Her hair was pinned back on the longer side with a ruby and sequined hairpin.
The woman didn’t see Sam. She saw Steuart. She looked his way, stopped, and
then spoke.

“Oh, a little darling is visiting my
shop today.” She began waltzing down the center aisle towards the front of the
shop on a well-worn Oriental rug. She moved smoothly, kicking up dust in her
wake. Sam coughed.

Before the children were able to step
back and run out the door, the woman stood over them. She bent down and scooped
Steuart into her arms. “Lady, what are you doing? Let me down,” he yelled.

The woman twirled around, hugged Steuart
tightly, and planted a sloppy, wet, neon-pink kiss on his right cheek. She
continued dancing with Steuart and then, in full melodious voice said, “Don’t
worry about me dear, I’m a kisser. I’m a kisser. I kiss all the gentlemen who
enter my establishment.”

Steuart’s eyes bulged. He shook with
fear. He struggled to get away from the woman, gasped for air, and tried to
wipe her lipstick from his face at the same time. “I’m not! I’m not a kisser!
I’m not! I’m not! Let me down! Let me down—now!” He turned and called out
to his sister, “Sam, help me. Please!” Steuart’s legs and arms flailed about as
he struggled to get away.

“That’s okay dear. You can calm down,”
the woman said. She brushed Steuart’s hair away from his face. “Everything is
fine. I’m a kisser and I’ve always been a kisser. I never fight the urge.”

“Fight the urge,” Steuart screamed.
“Fight the urge!”

“I don’t believe there’s a thing that can
be done about it.” It was as if the woman didn’t hear Steuart. “Some people say
it’s a problem, especially at my woman’s group.” She paused for a moment,
looked up towards heaven and then at Steuart. She brushed his hair away from
his forehead again and gave him another kiss. “I’ve been told that I should
air kiss,
but I can’t do that. I can’t
help myself. Have you ever heard of anything as foolish as an air kiss? Imagine?
She shook her head, frowned, and stopped to consider her words. She shook her
head again, kissed Steuart, and began once more. “No, I don’t think so. It’s
not the same. No, it’s not the same at all. Did I tell you I’m a kisser?”

Sam didn’t move. Instead, she stood stunned
and watched helplessly while the woman gave Steuart three more big kisses and
counted them aloud. “One, two, three, kiss, kiss, kiss, I just enjoy men so
very much. I’m not even particular.”

The woman peered at Steuart. She held
his head in one hand and forced him to make eye contact. “You know I’m
completely harmless, don’t you? It’s true.” She pressed her index finger into
Steuart’s cheek. She smiled and spoke in a singsong voice. “Sweet little fella,
if you would smile, I could see those dimples all the while. Sweet little
fella, give us a smile?” The woman pouted. She dropped her voice, and then
demanded, “Come on kid. Let me see those dimples.”

Steuart yelled and refused, “
Evil lady
!”

The woman stopped. Her affect went
flat, “...or not.” It quickened as she began to giggle. “How embarrassing this
is. I think I failed to introduce myself. How awful of me. How rude I’ve
become. The name’s Della Ivy,” the woman’s voice was now deep and rich. She
cooed as she spoke, “Miss Della Ivy.” That’s what you may call me.” She put
another wet smooch on Steuart’s cheek, stopped again, looked at him and asked,
“What can I do for a little darling like you? What brings you into Della Ivy’s
today?”

 
“Harmless?” Steuart gulped. He looked at
Sam, made a crazy face, and then went limp like an antique rag doll.

Della laughed, shook Steuart, laughed
some more, and kissed him again. “Young man, you are adorable. You are beyond
cute. Truly, I believe I am in love. I do.” She paused, “Did I mention that I’m
a kisser?”

Sam stood in one spot, “Miss Ivy?”
Della was not listening. “Miss Ivy?” Sam tried again, “Miss Ivy?” Sam was
invisible. She raised her voice slightly, “Miss Ivy, down here, Miss Ivy,
Yoo-hoo. Miss Ivy,” she demanded, “We need boxes! We’re looking for boxes Miss
Ivy, can you help us please?”

Steuart stared at his sister as if she
should forget the boxes and rescue him. Sam tried to think of what to do.
Trista squirmed inside of Sam’s coat. Sam put her hand over her chest and
encouraged Trista to stay still. Whispering to Trista, Sam said, “We’ll get the
boxes and then we’ll all get out of here.”

Steuart continued to struggle. He
reached out with his leg and tried to kick Sam. He missed.

“Miss Ivy?” Sam tried again.

Della, now annoyed, whirled around,
looked at Sam and barked, “What? What is your problem kid? What do you want?”

Stunned, Sam recoiled and began to
shake.

“Did anyone teach you to wait your turn?
Can you not see that I am engaged?” Della gave Steuart a kiss as he continued
trying to get away. “Let me down lady,” he twisted and squirmed. He demanded,
“Let me down. Let me down!” He looked over at Sam, “
Sits bits unhitch!”
Della kissed Steuart again before speaking to Sam.
Her sentences became rapid. Della spoke so quickly and fast that it was
difficult to tell where one word stopped and the next began.

“Well, my dear. I didn’t realize you
were standing there—you two must be together. Boxes you say? What size do
you need? I have many options for you to see. You want boxes. I have boxes.”
Della’s voice dropped again. “Why would you want boxes when you can have
buttons? Little girls usually like buttons.” Della walked to the back of the
store and then back to the front where Sam stood waiting.

Della held onto Steuart as he continued
struggling and demanding, “Let me down right this minute.”

Again, Della walked towards the back of
the store. She turned and looked at Sam.
 
She didn’t speak, but Sam felt Della’s eyes asking the question:
What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know what
you should be doing?
“Well? Come on. What are you waiting for? Come on.”
Della began showing boxes of every type, size, and price, throwing her index
finger purposefully in the direction of the boxes as she pointed to them one by
one. She became insistent that Sam purchase boxes filled with music scrolls
from an old player piano. “These are my absolute favorites.” Della began
humming an old tune and continued to dance, waltzing with Steuart as he
struggled to escape.

“Just look at these,” Della pointed to
a barrel of boxes. “The ones with the pictures are the most valuable.” She
danced, “One, two, three, one, two, three, you can have, fun with these.” Della
continued her waltz and then stopped. She looked at Sam, “These would be more
fun for you. Why not buy one or more of these lovely items? Do you make art
projects?”

“We need cigar boxes,” Sam explained as
she followed Della and Steuart throughout the store.

Sam’s attention was briefly diverted to
a shelf of antique eggbeaters and shoehorns. She looked directly above at an
old sign advertising
Bitter Balm, a
ladies nighttime remedy
. Her eyes traveled down below to a crate of signs
where she noticed an advertisement for
Fresh
Peach Ladies.
The paper was beautiful with flowers and leaves, but Sam was
only interested in the colors. Briefly, she forgot herself and stood
transfixed, aware that she wanted to add that particular peach color to her
collection. Sam stood in the same spot until she noticed a pair of yellowing,
white gloves.