Winter GiftsA Story by Samuel Dickens Story number six in my Charley and Buster series.
December 3, 1960
Charley walked briskly through the evening chill, heading for the
movie theater. As he approached Main Street, the bright Christmas decorations
came into view.
Wow, look at this... they’ve
got decorations everywhere!
Oakville may have been a small town with limited revenue, but the
whole three blocks from the courthouse to Minnie’s Café was ablaze with
Christmas lights. In addition to the usual decorations adorning each shop and
storefront, huge red and white plastic Christmas bells were
strung across the street, from one side to the other.
I’ve never seen anything
like this. It’s just so Christmas-ee!
Enthralled by the magnificent sight, he started across Main Street
in a daze.
Honk-honk!
Oh, crap, Mr. Stone almost
hit me. I’d better pay better attention.
Charley darted across the street to the theater and jumped into
the already-forming ticket line. He’d stood there for about forty-five seconds
when, “Corn-fed” Corbett walked up to him.
“Hey, Charley, how’s it hangin’?”
“Oh, hi, Corn-fed. It’s hangin’ okay, I guess. How 'bout you?”
“I’m here to see this good movie!” said Corn-fed, looking all
about and snickering.
Charley wasn't quite sure what he meant. “It’s just one
of those Alfred Hitchcock movies, isn’t it?”
Loud enough for everyone within thirty feet to hear him, Corn-fed
replied, “Hell, I don’t know! I just know you get to see a nekid woman takin’ a
shower and she gets stabbed a whole bunch of times and blood runs
everywhere!”
Charley noticed hard stares from several grownups. In a low voice, he replied, “I didn’t know about that.”
“Heh-heh!” giggled Corn-fed, loudly, “Yeah, I saw it last night,
and now I’m gonna see it again!”
Charley thought to himself, 'Corn-fed, you chub-butt… you’re embarrassin’ me'.
Charley heard shoes slapping the pavement and knew it had to be
Buster. Sure enough, there he came, flying across the street as if hungry lions
were on his heels. When he reached the curb, he clumsily leapt onto the
sidewalk, tripped and almost fell, but recovered. Hopping on one foot, trying
to straighten out his shoe, he announced, “Well, I made it!”
Eager to get away from Corn-fed, Charley dropped out of line and
joined Buster down at the end.
“Ya want me to save your spot?” hollered Corn-fed.
“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll just stand back here with Buster,”
answered Charley, and then turned to his buddy, saying, “Hey, daddy-o!”
“Hey, Charley! Man, would you look at these Christmas lights?”
“Yeah, ain’t they nice? They didn’t have those big bells hangin’
across the street like this last year.”
“Nope, they sure didn’t. Must be new.”
As Charley and Buster stood admiring all the attractive lights,
something even more attractive came walking by. It was Vicki White, the girl
that every boy in Oakville fantasized about. Wiggling up the sidewalk with her
prominent chest puffed out, she commanded far more attention than any Christmas
lights.
“Hi, Vicki,” said Corn-fed, with a sly grin across his chubby,
red-blotched face.
Vicki squinted her eyes at him. "Oh, hi,
Corn-fed."
Then it happened. Right there in front of everyone, Corn-fed
pointed his finger at her chest and asked, “Is that a camel sweater you’re
wearin’?”
Vicki looked down at her sweater, then back at Corn-fed. “No, I think it’s
made out of wool.”
“Well then, what are those two big ol' humps doin’ there?”
Charley and Buster’s lungs
ceased to expand and contract, their jaws hung open, and their balance
faltered.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the big joker.
“Oh, Corn-fed,” giggled Vicki as she slapped him on the shoulder, then walked away as if it was no big deal.
Charley and Buster were aghast. Corn-fed Corbett, the ugliest,
most offensive kid in town had just said what he said to Vicki White and didn't
get struck by lightning or turned into a worm! Were there no laws governing
such things? Was God or Mother Nature or the ghost of Rudolph Valentino not
going to intervene? Shocked and bewildered, Charley and Buster exchanged
horrified looks.
Corn-fed looked around at all the eyes that were upon him and
declared, “It was just a joke! Two humps--get it?”
Finally, the line for tickets began to move.
Miss Irene, the ticket lady, took Charley and Buster’s dimes and asked the
usual question, “You two are still eleven?”
Charley, the best liar, replied, “Yes Ma’am,” and then added, “but
we’re gonna be havin’ birthdays pretty soon.” (Admission was ten cents up to
the age of twelve, then it increased to twenty-five cents)
Miss Irene raised an eyebrow, said, “Uh-huh,” and handed them
their tickets.
Once inside, the boys went directly to the concession stand and
purchased their obligatory Cokes and popcorn. Of the two doorways into the
cinema, they entered the one on the right, that being the one they always used.
"This spot is good,” said Charley as he chose the
appropriate seats. Comfortably planted, the boys slurped Cokes, munched
popcorn, and kept a close watch on all the theater goings on.
Upon seeing the unwelcome one approach, Buster whispered, “Uh-oh, here comes the big corncob." Corn-fed paused at their row but then waddled on
past and sat down two rows ahead of them.
“Whew, I thought he was
gonna sit here!” said Charley, and then added, “I tell you, he just makes my butt-hole crave a dip of snuff.”
Buster thought a minute and replied, “He makes mine crave… uh, he
makes my butt-hole crave a bowl of sauerkraut!”
“Dang, Buster, that’s a good one! I’ll have to remember that.”
“Heh-heh, yeah, sauerkraut,”
snickered Buster. Looking back over his shoulder, he spotted Shirley Kautz sitting by herself about three rows back.
Charley saw her, too, and elbowed Buster. “There she is, lover-boy!
You’d better go sit with her.”
“Quit it, and don’t elbow me!”
“Buster, you’d better do it now, before someone beats your time.”
Buster fidgeted in his seat and grumbled, “In a little while... after the movie starts.”
“Yeah, sure, but I think you’re just chicken.”
The screen lit up and a Woody Woodpecker cartoon came on,
providing Buster with a temporary reprieve from Charley’s harassment. Five
minutes later, Woody did his final wa-ha-ha-ha-hoo,
and the movie began. Amidst all the tense drama at the Bates Motel, Charley
remembered to give Buster an occasional nudge, only to hear him say, “Not yet!”
Then, just as Charley had predicted, the unspeakable happened.
Corn-fed Corbett, that walking slab of repulsiveness, got up from his seat,
marched right down the row and plopped himself down beside Shirley. Buster's hands went spastic and crushed his popcorn box. When he saw Corn-fed
point his meat-stick of a finger at her breasts and laugh, Buster began to wheeze and make strange movements with his eyebrows.
Charley, noting Buster’s unstable, possibly volatile condition,
wisely withheld the “I told you so” that he desperately wanted to issue.
So disturbed was Buster from having witnessed the whole, sorry
event, that when the shower scene in the movie came, he barely even noticed the
revealing glimpses of Janet Leigh. Throughout the theater, boys and girls
squealed, but Buster sat silent, imagining Corn-fed's head on a pike one
minute while contemplating life with the circus the next. Life was confusing and
unfair, he thought. How could any self-respecting girl like Corn-fed Corbett?
None of it made any sense. Charley felt almost as bad as Buster, and wished for
some special words that might make him feel better. Finally, as the movie
ended, Buster looked over his shoulder once more and saw that Shirley sat
alone. Did she run him off? One could only wish. He and Charley exited the
theater, as did everyone.
A crowd of young folks formed on the sidewalk in front of the
theater, many of them waiting on parents
to come pick them up. Charley and Buster
lingered and milled about as always, that being a last minute chance to
socialize and maybe, just maybe, talk to a girl.
Looking up at the Christmas lights, Buster asked Charley the
60-dollar question. “God, Charley, I don’t get it. Why do girls put up with Corn-fed, and how does he keep from gettin’ his ugly face slapped off?”
Charley shrugged his shoulders. “Heck, I don’t know. I
can’t figure it out.”
“There just ain’t no justice in this world, huh, Charley?”
“Nope. It sure don’t seem like it.”
Corn-fed popped up in front of Charley and Buster, winked at them
and said, “Hey fellas, watch this. This is gonna be real funny!”
Dotty Jasper stood nearby and Charley and Buster looked on as Corn-fed made a bee-line for her. Their natural urge was to say Wait, don’t do it, but something held their tongues.
Bouncing up to her with all the confidence in the world, Corn-fed
began springing his joke du jour on Dotty. As soon as he pointed
at her large breasts, her teeth clinched, and when he asked if she wore a camel
sweater, she doubled up her fist and socked him right square on the nose.
“Ow, ow, ow,” cried Corn-fed, as he hopped about, holding his
flattened-out schnoz.
Everyone in front of the theater laughed, and some even applauded.
Buster heard a voice behind him say, "Hey, Dotty, that was
great!" He turned around to see who it was, and there stood Shirley Kautz
with a huge smile on her face.
Charley looked at Buster and grinned.
Unknown forces caused Buster and Shirley to gravitate toward one
another. Being so close and somehow feeling it was safe to speak to her, Buster said, “Hey,
Shirley, these Christmas lights sure are purdy, ain’t they?”
Shirley looked at Buster and smiled. “Yeah, they look
real nice. I’ve already got the Christmas spirit, but seein’ these decorations
makes me feel even more Christmas-ee.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“What’s Santa Claus gonna bring you for Christmas, Buster?”
“Uhhhh, I don’t know. What’s he gonna bring you?”
“I don’t know, either. Did you write him a letter yet?”
“Who? Santa?”
Shirley rolled her eyes. “Well, of course. Who’d you think I meant--President Kennedy?”
“Well... not yet.”
“You’d better do it soon, or it never will reach him in
time. It’s gotta go all the way to the North Pole, you know.”
Buster replied, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Shirley’s father pulled up in his Oldsmobile, she said 'Bye, Buster', hopped in, and left.
Watching her disappear down the street, Buster smiled dreamily and waved. A
full 15 seconds later, Charley nudged him and said, “She’s gone, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Charley asked him, “You ready to go home?”
“I guess so.”
Charley and Buster left the brightly-lit Main Street area and
walked toward home in the chilly night air.
“Hey, Charley…”
“Yeah?”
“Do you believe in Santa Claus?”
“Well, uh… ”
“Shirley does.”
“Do you?”
“I think so.”
Gazing up at the star-filled heavens, Charley said, “Me, too.”
As they approached Charley’s house, Buster told him, “See ya
later,” and continued on down the street, his lightened feet barely touching
the ground.
Charley saw the blue ’54 Pontiac in the driveway and knew his dad
was home.
God, I hope he doesn’t have
Sandine in there with him. She’s so skinny, she looks like a skeleton. I think
she must have TB or somethin’.
Charley entered the house and saw his father, Clyde, sitting in a
chair next to the tiny gas heater, reading one of his health books.
“Hi, Dad.”
Clyde looked up from his book and said, “Hi, son. Did you go to
the movie?”
“Yeah, me and Buster did.”
“I got you some of that chocolate milk that you like. It’s in the
refrigerator. Sandine made some pumpkin bread, so I brought you a piece of it.
I thought she made it a little too sweet, but you'll probably like it.”
Charley wasted no time going to the kitchen and getting the treats
his father had brought. Seconds later, he returned to the living room and sat
on the couch, enthusiastically consuming the pumpkin bread and chocolate milk.
Clyde laid his book down. “Was the movie any good?”
“It was okay. I tried to get Buster to go sit with Shirley Kautz,
but he was too chicken.”
“He’s young. Give him time.”
Charley took a big gulp of chocolate milk. “Yeah, but he
likes her, and she likes him.”
“Things will work out, eventually. If she’s wanting a boyfriend, he’d
better not wait too long, though, because some other guy will beat him to her.”
Charley raised his eyebrows and replied, “Yeah, that’s what I’ve
already been thinkin’. Hey, Dad, did you see all those Christmas decorations
they put up down on main street?”
“Yeah. They do that every year.”
Charley threw the last big bite of pumpkin bread in his mouth and
mumbled, “I think these are new decorations, though. They sure look nice.”
“Yeah, they’re nice to look at.”
“I remember when you and Mom were still married, she used to
decorate our whole house up!”
“Um-hmm. She was good at that.”
“Why don’t you decorate, Dad?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know how. That’s more of a woman thing.”
“I could do it if you’d give me some money for the decorations.”
“I’m kinda short on cash right now, Charley. Besides; that’s not
what Christmas is really about. When I was a kid, my mom didn’t decorate. We
just hung our stockings up over the fireplace on Christmas Eve. When we got up
and checked ‘em the next morning, we were lucky to find an orange or an apple.
One time I remember, I found a piece of chicken that was left over from supper
the day before.”
Charley frowned. “Yeah, you've told me that story before.”
Clyde continued, “All this stuff about Christmas trees and shiny
glass bulbs and presents is just part of a scheme to make some rich person
richer--that’s all. I don’t know why you’re so interested in it, anyway. You
found out the truth about Santa a long time ago.”
“Yeah, how can I forget? You told me there was no Santa Claus when
I was five!”
Frustrated and a bit angry, Charley got up and went to bed. Early
the next morning, he walked two miles to the wooded area west of town and cut
down a small cedar tree. Having pretty much the right shape, it would do.
Charley hoisted it over his shoulder, carried it home, and stuck it in a
bucketful of wet dirt and gravel.
Strings of popcorn, paper stars colored with crayon, and a ten cent
package of icicles from Black's Five and Dime completed the job. Rather proud of himself, Charley stood back and admired the tree.
It doesn’t look so bad, and
I don’t care if I only find a piece of cold chicken under it on Christmas. At
least we have a tree.
When the big morning arrived a few days later, Charley found, much
to his surprise, three presents. The first was a very gaudy pair of red
terrycloth socks from Buster, the second, a new Timex watch from his father,
and the third, a shirt from his mother.
A present from Mother? I
can't believe it!
Eyeing the treat he'd left for Santa, Charley saw only a bare
chicken bone.
© 2017 Samuel DickensFeatured Review
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11 Reviews  Last Updated on December 9, 2017 Author
Samuel DickensAlma, ARAboutGreetings, all. I'm a seventy-six year-old father of three sons who enjoys writing, art, music, motorcycles, cooking, and a few other things. From 1967 to 1988, I served in the US Navy, where I travel.. more..Writing
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