|
|
|
Birthday Bash by Nancy Gardner
"I don't know how I let you talk me into this, Rose."
"Come on, Flo, don't be a sissy!"
Me and Rose stand on the wharf side of Derby Street and she tries to egg me across to the Dunkin Donuts where Sister Anne and Harry are waiting.
I've already stopped to skip rocks into Salem harbor and to watch the flashing red light from the lighthouse circle a couple of times.
"Darn it, Rose, they know I ain't no sissy. Anyone says different, I'll pop 'em one."
By now Rose's crossed Derby.
I stop to make sure my Keds laces are tied. That's when it happens. Wham! Someone nearly knocks me over. I jump up. Some stupid punk's thinking to hassle an old wino. I'm ready for him. "You want trouble?"
But instead of a punk's face, I look down into a pair of brown, scared eyes. "Sorry," she mumbles. She's just a kid in a too-big white sweatshirt. Actually, she kind of reminds me of Rose.
"Forget about it," I say. She keeps moving towards the wharf.
Near my foot there's a pink cotton hat.
"You forgot your hat," I yell.
"Can't stop," she says over her shoulder. I start to follow with the hat, but then my friends call. I leave the hat on a parking meter and head across to where they wait.
"Happy birthday, Flo," says Sister Anne. She runs St. Rita's Shelter where Rose and me got beds.
I start to say I don't want no 50th birthday party, then stop. I gave my word to Rose. I guess I should be glad they let me choose the place.
They don't fool me though. This party crap don't fool no one. It's mostly about keeping me from falling off the wagon again. I'm three months sober, a record. And I'm especially known for getting blotto on my birthday.
Harry opens the door for us. I try not to show it, but I can't help noticing he's carrying a big shopping bag with a box poking out.
"Happy birthday, Flo," he says and pats me on the arm. He doesn't hand over the bag.
Harry runs the Salem soup kitchen. That's where me and Rose met him. Rose really loves that chicken soup he makes on Tuesday nights. She says it's ‘cause he makes it from scratch and puts in lots of chicken.
They push me in through the door and inside it's warm. The smell of my favorite coffee hits my nose. It's almost as good as the smell of Jim Beam. We find a table and I sit down. I wish they made wider chairs for gals like me. It's my only gripe with Dunkin Donuts. Nobody else here, not Rose, not Sister Anne, not even Harry's got problems like I do with the chairs.
Sister Anne stands over me and says, "Okay, birthday girl, what'll it be?"
On the way in I seen what I want so I'm ready.
"Forget that ‘birthday girl' baloney, Sister. I'll have one of them chocolate frosted donuts with the jimmies on top and a large coffee, cream and three sugars." Rose gives me a little kick under the table to remind me to watch my p's and q's.
"Thanks, Sister," I add.
Harry goes up to the counter with Sister Anne. Rose goes for napkins on a side counter.
A tall, beefy guy in a fancy gray coat looks in the window, sweat pouring down his red face. He barges in and makes a beeline to Rose. He lays his paw on her shoulder. When she turns to face him, he shakes his head and without so much as a bye-your-leave he slams out again.
"You okay?" I ask when she comes back. She nods.
It's my turn to get up and I head to the bathroom. I do my business, then look in the mirror. My hair's flying out in every direction. I got no comb, but I use my fingers to smooth it down some.
Back at the table, my friends eyeball me as I check out my place and find not one but two chocolate frosted donuts.
"You guys," I say and that sweet tooth of mine sets my mouth to watering. I fix myself into my chair and get ready to dig in.
"Hold it, Flo." Sister Anne pulls a blue birthday candle out of her bag and sticks it into one of my donuts. Harry takes out some matches and lights it. Then the three of them sing Happy Birthday, loud. I'm glad when they're done. I blow out the candle and give it to Rose. She sticks it away in that bag of hers. Then I tuck into my donut. Man, that donut slides down good, especially the chocolate frosting.
Before I can start on my second donut, Rose reaches into her bag and pulls out a package wrapped in newspaper. It's got blue yarn tied in a bow holding it together. Blue's my favorite color. She sits the package in front of me and grins like she's just had a big bowl of Harry's soup.
"What's this?" I ask, but she says nothing. So I open it up. It's a pair of near-new sneakers. Nikes. I slip outta my falling-apart Keds, and put those Nikes on. They fit great. I hold out me feet and show Rose.
"Washington Street," she says. I remember us doing our Tuesday check of the trash there. She must've pulled a tricky maneuver to get the Nikes past me.
"Good one, Rose. Thanks," I say.
Then it's Harry's turn and he hands me that bag. "This is from Sister Anne and me. We hope you like it." He's got a got pleased-as-punch look on his face. So does Sister Anne.
As soon as I lift the box out of the bag I know something weird's going down. I take a breath, lift the cover and reach through the tissue paper. For once in my life I got no words. Inside the box is a Red Sox jacket.
I used to have one just like it. I got it from my dad for my eighteenth birthday. I can still feel him wrapping it around my shoulders, telling me how proud he was that I was his daughter.
My friends didn't know me then, but I used to wear that other jacket all the time. I wore it until I did something crazy. It happened one of those nights I needed a drink real bad. I sold my jacket to buy some booze.
"Do you like it?" Sister Anne asks. By then I'm kind of choked up so I just run my fingers across the letters.
"Try it on, Flo," says Harry.
They're all watching me so I try it on. It fits me perfect, but all of a sudden I need to get outta there.
"Look guys, I'm going out for some air."
Harry's smile's turns south. Rose stands up to come with me.
"Just me, Rose," I tell her.
She stops smiling and I'm sorry. But I can't help it.
I get myself through the door, trying to decide whether I'm going to zip up the jacket or take it off. I look back inside. Rose shakes her head and starts to get up. Harry reaches over to hold her arm. I know she still has it in her head to follow me and he's stopping her.
I turn left and walk fast. When I'm out of sight, I strip off the jacket and stick it under my arm. Then I cross Congress Street, ducking between the cars and wishing they'd put a light there.
My new sneakers don't make hardly a sound. Not like my old Keds. They squeaked like the dickens. The Nikes feel so good I run some, passing the church on my left, then a shop that sells books and stuff about that witch junk.
Soon I'm in front of the old Custom House. Straight ahead, across Daniels Street, I hear hoots from the folks in the Black Cat Bar and Grille. Across the street, fog rolls in low from Derby Wharf.
I decide to take a load off and sit myself down on the stone steps in front of the Custom House. Like always, I look up at the gold eagle on the roof and wonder if it's made of real gold. Somebody could buy a lot of booze with that eagle if it is.
I plunk the jacket across my knees and rub the satiny insides.
Voices come from a couple of drunks stumbling out of the bar ahead. I can almost smell the booze on them. I get up and take a couple of steps towards them, wondering if I can sell them the jacket.
That's when I hear some different sounds, a low, growly voice followed by a softer, blubbery one. They come from across Derby. I look over but can't see nothing. I turn back to the bar and see the two drunks. They're turning the corner onto Daniels, away from me. If I hurry, I might be able to catch up with them.
But those strange noises from across the street get to me. I turn back. That's when I see two shapes, one big, one little. The shapes pass under lights of that sailing ship that sits on the wharf. There's a big schmuck and I can tell he's a bully since he's dragging someone pint-sized down the walkway towards the lighthouse. Someone pint-sized wearing a white sweatshirt. Bullies tick me off.
I give one last look towards the bar, then pull on my jacket and cross Derby Street. On the wharf side, I speed up to check what's going on.
Just as I step onto the walkway, somebody taps me. I turn fast and see Rose. "Shh," I whisper in her ear, "Go get help, fast."
She doesn't want to leave, but I push her away. I'm hoping she sees there's big trouble down the wharf's edge.
I break into a low trot to catch up to the bully. Every few seconds the red light from the lighthouse flashes and shows me what's up. I'm gaining on them and betting he's aiming to drag the girl behind the lighthouse. One of those flashes shows me he's got a gun.
Guns scare the hell out of me, and I stop and look back. No sign of Rose.
The girl's voice floats back. "Don't have…money…."
I hear a slap, and the girl yelps. I slip my head around the corner of the lighthouse and wait for the red flash. When it comes, I see the guy's got one hand pulling back her hair, and blood is pouring out of her nose. He looks like he's ready to hit her again with the butt of the gun.
I pick up a handful of pebbles and step back. I throw straight and hard. The pebbles hit the lighthouse window and make a clattering fuss.
The big guy turns all quiet. Me, I'm busy stealing around to the other side of the lighthouse. I hear a mewing sound. My guess, his hand's covering her mouth.
As I tiptoe along, I wonder what I'm gonna do when I reach him. I plunk my fists into my jacket pockets, thinking pebbles ain't no good against a gun. Then I get an idea.
A couple more steps and I'm behind the guy. I slide outta my jacket and hold it out in front of me as I slip in closer. The light flashes. He's turned the gun towards where my pebbles fell.
It's now or never.
I lift the jacket, bring it down over his head and jump up onto his back. He lets out a whoosh. I hear the clink of his gun dropping. He's got both hands up to his face pulling at my jacket. The girl sits on the ground.
"Grab the gun and run," I yell as I ride his back. Hanging on as tight as I can, I can't help thinking of them TV rodeo cowboys on those bucking broncos. Another flash of light shows me the girl still sitting there like she's frozen. I have all I can do to hold on.
"Grab the gun," I yell louder.
I hear footsteps coming fast. Then I see Rose rising up out of the fog. I point to the gun on the ground. She drops her bag and grabs it by the barrel. Harry runs up behind her and takes it.
"Police, emergency, Derby Wharf," Sister Anne hollers into her cell phone. Rose picks up her bag, hustles in closer and smacks the guy with her bag. Mr. Tough Guy don't stand a chance.
"I've got your gun, fella, so I'd suggest you stand still," Harry says.
The scumbag's still blinded and bumps me up against the lighthouse wall, so I drop the jacket so's he can see Harry ain't kidding. The guy's smart and quiets down. Me, I grab one of his ears and give it a hard yank before I slide down his back.
Sister Anne marches over to the girl and helps her up. Pretty quick, two cops race toward us, guns drawn. While my friends tell the cops what happened, I grab my jacket and dust it off.
The cops leave with the creep, and the girl comes over and thanks me. My friends beam as I put my Red Sox jacket back on. I zip it up. Maybe this one I'll keep.
Rose brushes off some dirt on my sleeve, then grabs her bag. I see her poking around inside. She pulls out a little bag and passes it to me. She's brought me my other donut. It's a little squashed but I don't mind.
"Geez, thanks, Rose," I say, "you sure know how to throw a birthday bash."
THE END Nancy Gardner © 2007 |
