Oleander Court

A young boy adjusts to his summer vacation.

Oleander Court

 

Dennis' mother never once actually sat down to justify the fact that she was a working mother.  She really didn't have to work; she was not single and her husband made good money. On school days, she was home every afternoon by 4:00 so that Dennis remained alone in the house for only about half an hour. But now it was summer, and so she arranged for her son to stay with a cousin during the workdays since she did not feel that an eight-year-old should be left alone at home all day, every day. It was also 1968.

            Despite the lowered windows, the new Impala stank of cigarette smoke as Dennis' mother lit up yet another on their way to cousin Hope's house.  From the passenger seat, Dennis watched his mother blow a cloudy grayish-white stream against the inside of the windshield as she returned the still red-glowing lighter to its hole, and when she turned east, he observed how she snapped the visor down against the bright morning sun.  Looking up at his own visor, he realized how useless it was for a passenger of his stature, so to avoid the blinding glare, he dropped his blond head toward his lap and closed his eyes tightly while contemplating the adult world of smoking, height, and shade.

            As they approached an old brown shake-covered house with a downstairs that had been converted into an auto glass shop, Dennis knew that they would soon make the right that would lead them to Hope's. 

"Why isn't Hope my aunt, Mom?" Dennis inquired after some thought about the grown woman whom he called neither Aunt nor Mrs.

"Because Hope is your father's niece and --" His mother took her attention off the road for just a moment to see if her son's serious, blue eyes revealed any signs of understanding; satisfied, she proceeded. "--your Aunt Maggie, Hope's mother, is so much older than Daddy.  Aunt Maggie is Daddy's big sister, see?

"Yeah. I see."

"So Hope is your cousin."

"So how come Mickey and Lou are my cousins, too?" 

Dennis' mother tilted her head and gingerly scratched a section of her scalp through teased, bleached and lacquered hair. 

"Well," she explained, "Hope is your first cousin, so her children, Mickey and Lou, are your second cousins, see?"  Dennis didn't reply, but he did see as much as an average eight-year-old could see, and concluded that every succeeding generation of cousins from Hope on would receive their numbered place. He looked over at his smiling mother and innocently wondered at the straw-like texture of her hair and the pinkish makeup which sank into the lines radiating from her pleasant eyes -- more grownup stuff, he thought.

Dennis turned toward his window, and from his height-restricted view recognized the flat-topped second stories of his cousins' tightly-packed row house development -- a new neighborhood inhabited mostly by young couples saving up to buy single homes and by old couples who had just gotten rid of ones that they could no longer manage.  Many times, he had been reminded by his mother of how fortunate he was to live in a single house with a big yard and was therefore able to have a dog, a swing set, and a sandbox, while Mickey and Lou had none of these.  During the steady pattern of gray asbestos shingles, narrow sliding windows and green downspouts passing by like a cartoon background, it dawned on Dennis that during the summer days, his dog would be in the big yard all alone, the swing would remain still, and the sand would provide a promise land for ants; he felt sad and tried to think about something else.

When they pulled into Oleander Court, he rose on his knees in time to see his second cousins throwing something into a mud puddle then running over toward the car, all the while chattering like chimpanzees that they had seen on a kids' television program earlier that morning. 

"Okay, Denny, we're here!" his mother announced.

As Dennis opened and pushed the heavy car door to get out, he felt a  pair of sticky hands tighten around his right wrist while pulling him from the car toward the muddy ground. It was Mickey in all his sweaty, big-boned terror. Mickey the big boy, Mickey the bad boy, Mickey the rough boy, Mickey the tough boy; Dennis was very familiar with his young relative's many titles and attributes.

Trying desperately not to bend his knees and be forever vanquished against the earth, the victim was whipped around until his free wrist was similarly restrained by Lou, who worsened the experience by digging her tiny, sharp fingernails into his skin. Through clenched teeth, the savage siblings continued their animalistic grunting, snorting and hissing while their helpless cousin struggled for freedom. Dennis heard his father's smirking voice echoing through his memory: Your cousins are a little rough for ya, aren't they, boy? He twisted his head in time to see Hope let his mother through the front door; it seemed that neither adult was to be his rescuer.

Just as suddenly as it had started, the attack ceased. Rubbing his burning wrist and wincing with pain, Dennis watched Mickey chasing Lou toward their house and pulling her hair when he caught up to her. Like a cornered rodent, she stopped suddenly and turned on her brother.

"Why, you little -- grrrrrr!" she snarled, raising her bony arms and curling her skinny fingers like talons.  Undaunted, Mickey extended his long arm toward his little sister's forehead and with his squat index finger, pushed her backwards until she almost lost her balance.

"I'm tellin'!" the little girl whined. Mickey just giggled.                

Dennis held up his arms defensively as the two approached him, smiling and laughing.

"Hey, whadda you wanna do?" Mickey asked him.

"Are you gawna be here every day?"   Lou inquired, pulling at Dennis' clean, blue polo shirt.

Wide-eyed and apprehensive,  Dennis just gawked at the two of them, his hands now folded into worthless little fists against his thighs.  Mickey was enormous for a kid of nine.  His head was like an overgrown, lopsided cantaloupe with thick ears, beady, gray eyes and a broad, constantly running nose. His limbs were long, molded from a curious compound of fatty bulk and muscle and encased in a thin layer of pasty skin.  Lou, on the other hand, was a spindly six-year-old who reminded Dennis of the stringy, tough strips of gristle that his mother would cut out of a roast beef. Both children stared back at him, waiting for answers,  grinning, swatting at the gnats around their orange hair -- both clad in colorless, dirty shorts, dirty white tee shirts -- both gamy with sweat, oily hair and an egg breakfast, their bare feet grimy and crusty, scratching at pebbles in the muddy yard.

"I got baseball -- baseball cards --" Dennis said, nervously reaching into the  pocket of his elastic-waist jeans and pulling out a stack of ten from his collection, held neatly together with a red rubber band.

"Wick-ed!" said Mickey.  "I'll get mine. Let's pitch 'em -- for keeps!  Okay?" 

Dennis nodded in acquiescence,  but knew full well that "for keeps" meant that Mickey would use his beat-up, tattered, old cards to win Dennis' pristine prizes.

"No, you guys!" Lou protested.  "Let's play the shake-it game. I'll be the purty                  girl--"

"That's a dumb baby-game!" her brother chided nastily. "Shuddup! Go play with the babies!"

"Hmpf!"  she retorted, brushing back her tangled hair with a dirty hand and stomping away toward the next-door neighbor's house.  She wrapped loudly on the metal screen door, was promptly admitted and disappeared inside.

"I'm leaving now, hon, be good now."  Dennis' mother called to him as she walked back toward the car.  "I'll see ya later, okay?".

"Bye, Mom." Dennis called back, holding up his right hand.  Both boys watched as the engine started and the car pulled away.

"I got a better idea!" Mickey proclaimed out of nowhere. "I'm going down my friend Greg's house and get my other baseball cards."

"Why?"

" 'cause I won 'em -- in a fight! I just forgot to take 'em from 'im."

With no further explanation, Mickey took off down the court and disappeared behind the community laundry building. Dennis knew that it was characteristic of both his cousins to become quickly bored or distracted and consequently drift.  He was aware that he might not see Mickey for the rest of the day. 

Trying to make sense of his sudden loneliness, the abandoned boy shuffled over to his cousins' house and sat on the single concrete stoop, waiting for what the court held for him next.  Behind him, a vacuum cleaner whirred from somewhere on the other side of the metal screen door while the aroma of vinyl and cheap off-brand cola permeated the humid air around him.  At his feet lay a haphazard collection frayed lollipop and splintered Popsicle sticks.  Dennis hated this place, the unpredictability, the disorder; he wanted to go home.

From just inside the neighbor's door, he heard Lou's lilting voice. "C'mon, baby! C'mon, sweetie!" she cooed.  The door sprang open and Lou emerged,  hunched over and awkwardly clutching a baby's hand.   

"Who's that?" Dennis asked.

"This is Gayle - gayley - wayley - our neighbor's ba-by!" his cousin responded in the most annoying baby talk that Dennis had ever heard. "Miss Betty said I could watch her outside!" she added proudly.

Both the bigger girl and her bandy legged charge made their way down the stoop in a series of precarious twisting and turning maneuvers. Landing safely on the pavement, the tiny Gayle wrestled her hand free to grab a green plastic army man that lay in hiding under a tattered advertising circular; the hapless soldier was immediately plunged into his captor's mouth.

Dennis marveled at the baby. He thought that she was like one of his mother's collector dolls, one too expensive and too fine to belong to anyone in the court -- one that should be locked away in a glass curio.  He wondered how this refreshing, intelligent-looking little creature clad in an immaculate, lacey, yellow dress and matching sun bonnet could be so unlike her filthy and stupid baby sitter. Gayle looked over at him and smiled, revealing her few miniature teeth. He felt that she was reading his mind and agreed wholeheartedly. 

"Now c'mon, ba-by," Lou continued through pursed lips, "lemme fix your widdle bonnet."  Although there was nothing about the bonnet that needed fixing, Lou proceeded to fidget with its ties anyway. Gayle's face reddened and cracked with disapproval; she grunted and struggled to turn away.  Dennis noticed that on the back of the bonnet was the printed face of a clown with bright, smiling eyes, a big, round, red nose, and a wide, silly grin.  It all came together to create the illusion of a magical, dwarfish being with a face on each side of its head, causing Dennis to laugh out loud. 

"Tell me whatso funny?" Lou demanded angrily, still pulling at the bonnet strings.

"Did you see the back?" he answered, pointing at the clown face and laughing.  "It looks like she's got a mask on -- backwards!"

Lou spun Gayle completely around and emitted an exaggerated cackle. Spinning her back, she sang loudly, right in the baby's face, "Do da bay-bay hab a funny mask on?"

Amused for the first time all morning, Dennis rocked on the stoop and giggled, anticipating further entertainment, while his cousin, sensing an appreciative audience, was all too happy to provide a show that featured her fussy little star.   Untying the bonnet strings, Lou removed the bonnet from the baby's head, revealing a mass of soft, chestnut-colored ringlets. Gayle again attempted to turn away when her unpleasant, twisted, frown was quickly concealed by the happy clown face, which Lou was now securing from behind. 

Seated next to each other on the stoop, the older children laughed as the funny, masked character seemed to dance wildly before them, waving her pudgy arms and twisting her whole body erratically back and forth.  Dennis observed the wide, grinning lips moving in and out as the comical, little mummer breathed, and for a moment, he thought that he heard whimpering, but he quickly dismissed it as giggling, since only happy sounds could possibly issue forth from such a happy face. 

Wiping tears of laughter from their eyes, Dennis and Lou clapped their hands together in time as the dancer went into a spin. In an incredibly quick moment, the tiny sandal-shod feet hopped once and then twice before tripping over one another, sending the virtually blinded performer head first into the sharp corner of an aluminum milk cooler nestled alongside of the neighbor's stoop.

Lou and Dennis were both struck dumb by the quick bump-slice sound which immediately preceded the current, unnerving silence. The crumpled victim lay motionless, her legs visible from where the cousins sat, but a view of her head remaining obstructed by the stoop.  Dennis now felt the present wind down into slow motion. Trembling, he rose and walked toward the milk cooler. The clown face became visible; the damned illusion smirked perversely at him, as if proud of its cruel and brutal deception. He just stood there, looking down, hearing Lou's weepy voice behind him, fretting about the horrible punishments that awaited her. He then detected movement below.

Gayle's stubby legs twisted in unison to one side, followed by her arms, permitting her body to roll so that her dimpled, pink hands could push against the thick tufts of crabgrass; she was attempting to get up.

"Look! Come here!" Dennis shouted to Lou. "She's okay -- I think, I mean, she's up and she's not crying!"

Lou joined him and the two of them watched in awe as if witnessing the rise of Lazarus.  

"Oh, bay-bee--" cried Lou, freezing in the act of what was going to be a hug. Dennis looked into his cousin's face which was void of all color; her eyes looked like they were about to explode with fear.

"TELL ME WHAT IT IS!" Dennis implored. With a shaking index finger, Lou pointed to a small, wet, red, oval spot at the top of the bonnet, which all the while, Gayle was pulling at in an attempt to remove it from her face.  

"It's blood! Blood! BLOOD!" Lou bellowed dramatically.

Gayle's mother stood at the screen door. "What da heck's goin' on out here?" she scolded. "What's all dis screamin' 'bout?"  Instinctively, she glanced down at her injured child and burst through the door so forcefully that its spring snapped.

"Oh, my gawd!" the baby's mother yelled. "Oh my GAWD!"  She untied the now blood-soaked bonnet and snatched it from her daughter's face, which had turned a hideous, shade of purple under dark red smears of blood.  Dennis then realized why the baby had not cried. In her horror, she couldn't catch her breath, but as she was swept into a maternal embrace, the little girl was finally able to release a bottled-up shriek that gave Dennis the sensation of a thousand straight pins sticking into the back of his neck and shoulders.

Alarmed by the noise and commotion, Hope rushed outside.

"Hope! Can you drive us over to da 'mergency room?  I think she needs stitches!" Gayle's mother yelled over her wailing child.

"Oh my gawd, Betty, wha' happened to 'er?" Hope asked frantically.

"I didn't do it, Mommy!" Lou whined hoarsely.

"Lemme get my keys, hon." Hope said, turning to dart back into the house. "You're in big trouble, Missy!" she snapped at Lou.

"I didn't do it, Mommy!" Lou repeated.

"Where's Mickey?" Hope asked, clutching her car keys and pulling the inside door shut behind her.

"He's not here!" Dennis informed her.

"That durn boy.  Well then, you two just sit there 'til I get back, d'ya hear me?  I mean it, now. Don't you even move!"

"O-k-k-ay, Mom-my." Lou sobbed.  Dennis thought it best to say nothing more.

Together, the women rushed toward Hope's old Ford. With a loud rumble immediately followed by a small explosion of black exhaust, the engine turned as Gayle's worried mother, pressing the bleeding child against her shoulder, slid into the back seat. Even as the car turned the corner and drove out of sight, the baby's anguished bawling echoed clearly throughout the court for several moments.

"It's not my fault. It's not my fault." Lou repeated again and again, sobbing and hiccuping intermittently, her hands over her eyes. Dennis observed a disgusting concoction of tears and dirt running down her skinny arms.

"It's both our faults," he murmured.

"Shuddup! No it's not! You're not the one who's gawna get punished!" Lou barked.  She then broke down completely, crying loudly, bitterly and miserably while Dennis withdrew into a dark, quiet place, wishing with all his heart that this day had never come, or better yet, that there was no such stupid place as Oleander Court.