Paperboy Part 2
I think I have ninety-five percent of a US dollar right here for you. Just one moment.
Mr. Spiro used words in strange ways but it was easy enough to tell what he was talking about. He made what he said sound important like he was talking to a grown-up. I liked him double when I knew I wouldn't have to try to say Ninety-five cents again.
He put his books down on a table near the door and was careful to keep them open to where his fingers had been marking his place. He counted out the coins and dropped them into my hand.
I thought I was home free at this address but then he asked me the one question I dreaded most in all the world. The question that always locked my neck like when a bigger kid on the playground gets you in a headlock.
He asked me my name.
Young man, before we complete our transaction I need to be apprised of your name. Young Arthur forgot to relay that important bit of information to me last week.
What Mr. Spiro couldn't have known was that asking me to say my name out loud was like asking me to recite the Gettysburg Address. My history teacher had tried to make me do that but he finally let me write it out in longhand after it took me about half the cla.s.s to get out Four Score and Seven Years Ago and with all the kids snickering at every word I tried to say.
For some reason saying my name was the hardest thing of all for me to do. It didn't start with a B or P but it was a sound that refused to budge inside me no matter how much Gentle Air I piled on it. And to make matters worse my first and last name started with the same sound. I hated trying to say my full name more than I hated anything in the world. Including commas.
I reached in my sweaty pocket for my pencil but most of the time a pencil toss didn't help when trying to get my mouth to make the sounds that started my name. My throat was already tightening up and air was getting hard to come by. I couldn't find the pencil anyway because my hands were shaking. My throat and my stomach knotted up tighter when I thought again about the sound. I put my top row of teeth to my bottom lip to try to push it out. Nothing. I pushed harder. Nothing. I jerked with my right hand to pretend I was tossing a pencil but by that time I was out of breath.
Mr. Spiro stood there waiting on me. Smiling and looking straight at me just like Mam always did.
The only thing to do was to make another run at the sound by taking another deep breath and starting over. The thought of another breath tightened me even more and so against all good reason and against my teacher's rules I held my breath and continued to try to push out the sound with all my might.
The last thing I remember was seeing a fly buzzing around Mr. Spiro's porch light. The light got brighter and brighter and the fly got bigger and bigger. As big as my father's airplane and buzzing just as loud. Then the porch light and all lights everywhere went out at the same time like when a big lightning storm hit our neighborhood.
When I came back to my senses I was sitting on Mr. Spiro's porch with my back against the wooden planks of his house and the coins he had dropped in my hand scattered everywhere.
Mr. Spiro held one wet rag on my head and dabbed at my lips with another one that was splattered with blood. He was squatting down beside me and he had this big smile on his face. He wasn't laughing but you would have thought he had just finished watching Sid Caesar on TV. I couldn't figure out what he could be smiling about.
Feeling a tad better?
I nodded.
I'm going inside to get additional wet rags. I want you to sit right here and think about how well you are going to pitch in your next game.
He got up from his catcher's squat easily. I couldn't tell how old Mr. Spiro was but he was in good shape. His forearms were almost as big as my thighs and I had pretty big thighs for a kid my age.
How did Mr. Spiro know I was a pitcher? The night couldn't get any more upside down. Mr. Spiro came back to the porch and handed me more wet rags.
Let me see if I can recount the recent events. You simply nod your head if I'm correct.
Mr. Spiro talked in a voice that let you know he was getting down to business. He folded his big arms across his chest. I watched him from the corner of my eyes and never saw him blink.
When I asked your name a moment ago your inability to produce that sound due to your speech impediment caused you to interrupt your normal breathing pattern.
He sounded official like he was calling a baseball game on the radio.
You held on too long trying to make the sound and while doing so you bit into your lower lip.
I dabbed my lip. The bleeding had almost stopped.
You then fainted from lack of oxygen and the sudden rigidity of your muscles. Do I have all that correct?
I nodded.
His big arms reached out and lifted me like I was a little kid.
Let's get off the porch floor and sit on the swing. However, we shan't swing.
I had never heard anyone say Shan't but I knew it was short for Shall Not. I loved contractions as much as I hated commas because when two words were rolled into one it meant there was one less word to stutter on.
The way Mr. Spiro talked to me was exactly the way Mam talked even though the words they used were different. They both looked straight at me and made me feel like I belonged right where I was. My head had cleared and the flies buzzing around the light fixture on the porch were back to regular fly size.
s-s-s-s-Need to s-s-s-s-go.
I pushed out the Gentle Air and the three words in such a whisper that I wasn't sure Mr. Spiro heard me.
Yes. I'm sure you do. But I'm going to suggest we sit on this swing a while longer to make certain you have your feet properly under you.
Not only did I like how he used words but I also liked how deep his voice was and how he made his words come out so even.
You don't have to talk while we rest here. In fact you probably won't be able to get a word in because I can easily hold forth for the two of us.
Mr. Spiro made a little laughing sound under his breath.
I'm an old man with too much time on his hands and not many people to have dialogue with. You don't need to worry about your lip there but your ears may drop off from being bombarded with my words.
Smiling was the last thing I felt like doing after almost biting through my lip but I couldn't help myself with Mr. Spiro talking in his radio voice.
Firstly, let me guess that you are probably a little embarra.s.sed by what just occurred. No need, Young Traveler. We all have our deficits but no ledger will be tallied here.
I didn't understand the words exactly but I knew what he meant. I nodded.
Secondly, you also are concerned that I may think less of you because you cannot readily enunciate your name.
Mr. Spiro was looking straight at me and the way he was talking made me want to look straight into his eyes even though my speech teacher said I had the bad habit of not looking at people when they talked.
Let me share with you, my Young Messenger of the News, exactly how I judge thee.
He sounded like he was reading from Mam's Bible.
I know you to be a good friend of Young Arthur's. By the by, Young Arthur says you have more velocity on your fastball than anyone in the sixth grade.
Mr. Spiro made like he was holding a baseball in a two-fingered grip.
And while Young Arthur is proud to be called your catcher, methinks he is more proud to call you his friend. Thus, all that is vital to know is that you have won and continue to earn the friendship and respect of a fellow traveler. That const.i.tutes the tote and sum in my book.
Like I told you. I understood what Mr. Spiro was saying even though I had never heard anyone talk like that. His words felt extra important by the way he said them. And he didn't call Rat a Hind Catcher. Rat always hated that.
We sat on the swing without talking for a while longer and then Mr. Spiro got to his feet.
Alas. You seem to be recovering at good speed. I'm sure you need to be on your way but permit me to step inside my berth for a moment.
I didn't know what time it was but I knew I was going to have a tough time beating it home by seven o'clock. It wasn't pitch-dark yet but more flies were swarming around the porch light and a few lightning bugs were warming up out in the yard for a big Friday night in Memphis.
Mr. Spiro returned with what looked like a corner of a dollar bill and sat down again beside me on the swing. On the George Washington side of the piece of the bill was a word hand-lettered in black ink.
Student Mr. Spiro put the piece of the dollar bill in my hand along with the ninety-five cents he had sc.r.a.ped up from the porch floor.
Consider this slip of paper your extra compensation for this week. You have three more weeks to claim your golden fleece in its entirety.
I stood to go and thought I should say something or even shake Mr. Spiro's hand.
Now, Young Traveler, be off with the wind.
The way Mr. Spiro talked made me think I was part of a ceremony.
s-s-s-s-Thanks.
You are more than welcome.
I walked out of Mr. Spiro's yard and once I was out of his sight I started running down Vance and then turned onto Harbert. When I was nervous after I did some bad talking the best thing for me to do was run until there was no more breath in me.
I came to 1396 Harbert hoping there might be an envelope clothespinned on the door or the letterbox. There was no porch light on. I walked up the steps and rang the bell not knowing if I could get Paperboy out of my mouth if Mrs. Worthington came to the door. I wanted to see her in her green dress even if I couldn't say anything. I rang the bell again. No answer.
I started for Rat's house feeling like I do whenever an umpire calls off our ball game because the field is too wet.
Rat's mother saw that my lip was swollen but she didn't ask what had happened when I handed her the night's collection. Rat's mother was nice but I could tell that she was one of those grown-ups who always was uncomfortable talking to me.
When I got home I could see Mam in the kitchen. I didn't want Mam or my parents to see my busted lip so instead of going in the kitchen door I went in the outside back door that led to the back stairs.
In my room I looked harder at the corner of the dollar bill. I saw that the word student was printed in a careful hand. I guessed that Mr. Spiro had written the word. I wondered if he kept parts of dollar bills lying around his house with words hand-lettered on them. I decided to put the piece of a dollar in my leather billfold that my father had brought me from one of his trips. I kept it in my desk drawer along with my wrist.w.a.tch that I had stopped wearing after a friend of my mother's asked me what time it was and I couldn't say it and the man thought I was an ignoramus who couldn't tell time. I liked the watch because it had the kind of metal band that slipped over my hand but all it was good for was to put around my billfold.
While I was at my desk my mother called from the hall that she and my father were going out to eat with friends and that Mam was cooking fried chicken for me.
I changed shirts and went down to the kitchen. Mam was putting a big plate of chicken on the table.
Law me, Little Man. How'd you bust that lip?
I told Mam I tripped over a curb trying to get home before dark. I didn't lie to Mam very often because I knew she would catch me quicker than most grown-ups.
Wants me to cut some chicken off the bone for you?
s-s-s-s-Takes more than s-s-s-s-bus ... more than a s-s-s-s-fat lip to s-s-s-s-keep me away from your s-s-s-s-chicken.
Mam smiled because she knew I used up a lot of words to try to pay her a compliment. I ate three pieces.
Mam was working in the kitchen when my parents got back home from eating out. I went to the top of the stairs to try to hear what they were talking about. My mother started telling Mam what to order from the grocery and what to cook for the week. Mam never wrote anything down but she could remember every little thing my mother told her.
I heard Mam open the pantry door to put away her ap.r.o.n and then my father came into the kitchen.
Good night, Nellie.
Mr. V., if you see that junkman Ara T hanging 'round here be sure and lets me know.
Sure, Nellie. Which one is he?
He be the tall one always in a coat and hat and has the most junk fixed to his cart.
What's the problem?
I knows him a little and I just don't trust that man to leave stuff alone.
I think I know the one you're talking about. I'll keep an eye out. By the way, Nellie, how do you think our boy did on his first night of collecting?
I reckon all right, Mr. V. He ate him a big supper.
Sleep was a hard time coming after what had happened on Mr. Spiro's porch and I couldn't figure out why Mam was so down on Ara T.
I watched the shadows on the ceiling that cars made with their headlights when they came down the street. I didn't much like talking to strangers but I wanted to talk to Mr. Spiro again and to Mrs. Worthington. I thought about the first time I had seen her in her green housecoat with the flaps that she couldn't keep closed. But the thing that kept me awake the most that night was that I wouldn't have any way to cut the cords off my bundles on Sat.u.r.day if Ara T didn't have my knife ready.
That meant I would have to ask another carrier to borrow his. And that meant saying Knife.
Chapter Four.
A rainy Sat.u.r.day morning in the summer was usually a good time to stay in bed and think about playing baseball but I was up and dressed early just like it was a school day.
Even though there was a light rain coming down I could hear a gasoline lawn mower in the front yard. A man always came on Sat.u.r.day in the summer to cut our gra.s.s and trim our bushes. But not just any man.
Big Sack was the tallest and widest human being in Memphis. He would pull up to the curb in front of our house in his old truck and lift the mower out of the back like it was a feather. After he finished mowing he would come to the front door and ring the bell. Mam would give him his pay and he would be on his way without saying much.
I had asked Mam why he was called Big Sack.
His family name be Thomas but I don't rightly know his given name. The story always be told that when he came out of his mammy somebody yelled to get a clean flour sack from the kitchen and to make it a Big Sack.
Mam was sweeping the kitchen floor when I came downstairs. My father always played golf early on Sat.u.r.day mornings with his business friends and I didn't know where my mother was but I could see her car was gone.
Can you eat flapjacks with your lip?
You s-s-s-s-bet I s-s-s-s-can.
Mam put down the broom and started getting the makings out of the pantry. About that time the front doorbell rang. She reached into her ap.r.o.n.