mikidemillion

Archive for May, 2010|Monthly archive page

The Taking of the Square – 5th Section

In fiction, Random Posts, Story, The Taking of the Square, Uncategorized, Writing - Novel Chapter Posts, Writing - Short Story Posts, Writing - Work in Progress on May 23, 2010 at 7:38 pm

Here’s a link to the 4th Section:

https://mikidemillion.wordpress.com/2010/04/25/the-taking-of-the-square-4th-section/

*

*

It didn’t make sense to Maddie.  For the past six months she and Adam had been spying on old man Johnson, hoping to peek at the rocketship he’d been building, the one hidden inside his garage for years.  Now Adam was spending his free time with TG, yes, the toilet girl, old man Johnson’s daughter.

“I told them to meet us here,”  Sharon says, turning all the way around, staring directly at Maddie from the center of Square Three.  “They said they would.”

Maddie bends, tightening the tie on her sneaker.  Outwardly appearing nonchalant, inside her thoughts swarm like mosquitoes in the dusk.   Sharon’s words bite a thousand bites but Maddie refuses her the satisfaction to see her scratch.  From behind, someone taps her shoulder.  Maddie snaps her head to look back, afraid to see who she thinks it might be.  Her eyes relax with recognition.

“Oh, Arthur, hi.”

“Hey Maddie.”  He steps back while she lifts her legs over the cement border to face in his direction.

“Not playing?”

“Nope, ” Maddie rubs her hands together, and slaps them on the leg of her jeans to remove playground dirt.  “Ready to leave.”

“But the playground doesn’t close for two hours.”

“Yeah, well, I’m thinking of going to the horse farm.”

“All the way over there?”

“On my bike,” she says.  “It’s not that far.”

“I’ll race you.”

Arthur runs toward the sidewalk where dozens of bikes stand upright on kickstands or lie flat on the grass.

“Not fair,” Maddie shouts from her seat on the cement.  She leaps up, running.  It feels good to run.  It releases the mind to nothing but the feel of pulling muscles.

Arthur is the fastest runner in the entire school.  One time Maddie almost beat him in a race around the ball field but at the last minute her legs gave out.  Behind them the rest of the class was only halfway the distant around the field.  From that day they’d bonded a sort of friendship.

Arthur’s head-start to the horse farm opens a whole length of sidewalk block between them.  He doesn’t even look back as he pedals, holding tight onto both handlebars with his rear lifted over the seat for speed.  Maddie scrambles to a group of bikes, searching for the familiar dark blue fender of her bicycle.  It’s no where.  She  looks up.  Arthur has not slowed, he’s almost two blocks away, nearly to the railroad tracks.  Maddie views all the bikes, her eyes move slower over each one.  It’s not here.  Maddie’s face flashes hot and she knows those girls took it.  Playing a prank on her.  She will go back to the Four Square and… she slaps her forehead, now she remembers.  She walked here.

Arthur is out of sight.  Maddie laughs.  “You win,” she tells him in her mind, and laughs again.  He’s so competitive he probably won’t notice until he’s at the horse farm.  She can’t wait to see him at school on Monday and hear what he says.  Oh, how it makes her laugh.

The baseball fields stretch ahead of her, two blocks of mostly dark green grass.  She feels like running.  Running forever.  Maddie slips off her sneakers and runs across cool bumpy sidewalk with shoes in hand.  She slides onto soft grass.  The balls of her feet press deep into the grass, it feels cold on this cloudy day, and she is propelled forward by force of muscle and pure emotion.

What has happened to her?  She’s acting strange, even she knows it.  She feels confused inside.  Like she has no control over how she will feel one minute to the next.  A train approaches, the engine chugging a chain of rail cars behind it more than a block long.  Maddie runs faster.  The train tracks, in the distance, parallel to the edge of the baseball fields, on her left, guide the engine head-on past Maddie.  The ground shakes underneath her bare feet.  The clanking and bounce of metal rolling along rails thirty-some yards away drowns all other sound.  But through the noise, racing uppermost in her mind, is the thought of Adam.  And she’s unsure why.  Days before she didn’t think twice about him.  He’s a neighborhood friend, who likes to spend time with her spying on Johnson.  Someone to rocket hunt with him.  That’s all.

She slows her pace near the outer edge of the baseball field.  The train has stopped.  It blocks the sidewalk in the direction home.  On this end of the field younger kids are playing baseball.  Maddie sits behind the ball fence to watch and wait.

The train sits for a long time without moving.  Maddie moves closer to the crossing and sits on the sidewalk to put her sneakers back on.  From spaces underneath the train cars she sees others have been stuck on the other side as well.  Cars are lined up and there are legs walking back and forth and bike tires with riders’ legs leaning to one side with one foot on pavement.  Something catches her eye two rail cars down from the crossing.  A blur of fur rushes forward, passing under the train.  People shout from the other side.

Maddie doesn’t breathe until the dog appears on her side, safe, the train behind it remains at a standstill.

“Ranger!” Maddie yells, surprised and angry.  He could have been killed.  Ranger bounds over to her at the sound of his name and Maddie grabs his collar.  “Stay!”  She holds him with both arms and leans forward to see if Adam knows where he is.  “Don’t you dare move!” she says when Ranger pushes against her shoulder as if ready to play.  “I mean it!” Maddie tightens her hold.

Adam, crouched to the ground, peers underneath the stopped train.  Adam bends to a crawling position.  He doesn’t appear to have seen her yet, nearly two car lengths away.  Maddie wants to wave both hands so he’ll look in her direction, but no way will she let go of Ranger now.  What if he runs underneath the train again?

The train cars flinch, metal connectors bump backward in succession from rail car to rail car.  The engine has moved forward and it takes a moment for the cars behind it to respond.

Finally!

Maddie glances again to Adam.  Her heart stops.  He’s crawled forward, near the edge of track. He’s turned to the right, unmoving, staring at the wheels of the train.

“Get back!” Maddie yells.  Is he crazy?  She loops her fingers around Ranger’s collar so she can half-stand.  Adam’s not going to crawl under, is he?  The train is ready to move. Can’t he see that?  He should know better than to guess how long before the wheels will advance.  Does he think he can get to the other side ?  Why would he do that?

She tugs Ranger, hoping to move him closer.  Maybe Adam will see them and know Ranger is safe with her.

Maddie drags Ranger around a blue station wagon in the line of cars stopped at the crossing.  She hurries, anxious to peek under the train again.  She pushes Ranger to sit and bends, looking for Adam.  What she sees is TG pulling Adam by his arm, forcing him to back away from the train.

Maddie, relieved, nearly collapses at Ranger’s side.  More than anything, she wants to scream at Adam.  What was he thinking?  She practically had a heart attack watching him.  What is wrong with him?  And she could give TG a big hug right now.   At least she has some sense.  Maddie feels a twinge of appreciation for her.

The train cars lunge forward  several inches.  The train creaks as it begins to move.

And it hits Maddie like a freight train.  That’s why he did it.  Her blood races.  She is sure of it.  Adam was trying to show-off for TG.  That’s exactly what he was doing.  And here she is, holding his dog, keeping Ranger safe, while Adam’s goofing off on the other side to impress some girl.  Playing chicken with a train.  All for TG.

Maddie’s lungs expand, feeling like they’ll burst.  She holds Ranger closer.  And when she buries her head in fur, what bursts are a million tears.

*

NEXT TIME: Is this the end of Maddie and Adam’s friendship?  What will she do?  How will he react?

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Ride the Storyline Express – with Bad Boy and Backpack

In Don't Read This - It's Personal, fiction, Random Posts, Ride the Storyline Express, Story, Uncategorized, Writing - Novel Chapter Posts, Writing - Short Story Posts, Writing - Understanding Style and Technique, Writing - Work in Progress on May 1, 2010 at 7:35 pm

What’s the Storyline Express?  Here’s the link to where it started:

https://mikidemillion.wordpress.com/2010/03/21/writers-block-ride-the-storyline-express/

*

Another ride along the mikidemillion route

Here’s another happenin’ on the mikidemillion route:

Years ago my alarm went off at 4:00am sharp every weekday so I could be at the bus corner to catch the 5:00am bus.  Let me tell you, no one is up and moving at that hour unless they get paid for it.  I had to be in the office before the stock market opened so I waited on the quiet corner by 4:50am just in case the bus came early.  Not fun, but necessary.  An older woman showed up most mornings to catch the same bus.

She was feisty and mouthy.  I liked to see her while at the same groaned inside when I did.  She was much older than me and, as I’ve noticed in most close-to-retirement agers, seemed to ‘take no crap from no one’.

Me, not so much, a bit meek around people I don’t know and not fond of chatting to everyone I meet.

I don’t think this woman was chatty, it was more like she carried on the conversation in her head out loud.  I just happened to be there to hear it.  But she did talk directly to me at times.

“Oh, you have herpes!” she’d said once, before her usual morning hello.

She’d stunned me into silence.  The confusion on my face must have been obvious.

“On your lip,” she pointed to a newly forming cold sore.

“That’s not herpes!” I told her.  I most surely did not have herpes and was not going to let this old lady publicly claim I did.

“Oh, yes it is,” she said, almost sounded happy about it.

“I really don’t think I’ve had herpes since I was a kid.  Been getting cold sores on and off my entire life.”   It was the first time I was really mad at her, and resolved to stop participating in conversations with her.  She didn’t seem to notice.  Kept on talking.

Later, I found out that she was partly right, that the herpes simplex virus has been identified as causing cold sores. Most of us carry this type 1 or type 2 virus.  Normally, it’s dormant but when it becomes active, it begins on the lip or nose and causes a cold sore.

Cold sore or no cold sore, I listened to this woman’s work problems every morning, how she always spoke her mind and told the boss exactly what she thought.  It was something she did everyday.  Part of the normal routine when working with people she considered idiotic.

One thing I knew, this was a tough old bird, as they say.  I was secretly relieved that she was not in my workplace.  But I respected her commitment to stand up for herself.  I began to enjoy her little discussions with herself in the mornings.

Don’t misunderstand me, she did not talk like a lunatic.  She was intelligent and independent.  I think that maybe she didn’t have too many people to talk to in her life anymore.  She’d mentioned a few times that her daughter visited once in awhile but I had the sense she felt neglected by her.  I was someone who was a perfect vehicle for a sounding board.  Captive audience, didn’t say much back, and, as the weeks wore on, was actually interested in some of what she had to say.

When she didn’t show up one week it surprised me that I really did miss her.  When it extended into the next week I worried.

Finally, there she was, walking along the darkened sidewalk to the dimly lit corner where we waited for the bus.  I smiled when I saw her.  But her walk wasn’t brisk and purposeful as before.  She said hello and seemed sullen.  She didn’t speak.

“How are you?”  I said, the first time I’d ever initiated the conversation.

“Not good,” she said after a pause.

My heart dropped. “What’s wrong?”

And she told me the story.

The bus had been crowded when it’d stopped at the corner.  As usual, everyone congregated at the front of the bus so there was no room for new passengers to get on but the aisle-way in the back of the bus was clear.  She’d forced her way onto the bus, knowing there was room in the back, and asked people to move back.

Some complied but a young man with a large backpack blocked her way.  She couldn’t get past him.  She asked several times for him to move his backpack out of the way.  He didn’t.  She increased the volume of her voice, letting him know she’d like to get by.  Still no response.  Then she tapped him on the shoulder.  Several times.  He finally turned to look at her.  She asked again that he move.  He leaned left and she had just enough space to get by him.  No sooner had she stepped past he pushed her.  Hard, on the back.  She lost her footing and tumbled to the floor of the bus.  Hard, on her back.

And there she lay.  She knew she was hurt, but no one offered assistance.  The people on the bus let her lay there for minutes until a lone young man knelt and put out his hand to help her.  The only one to ask if she was okay.

That’s when my morning companion started to cry.  Tears came to my eyes as well.  She wiped her eyes and said, “You know, I’m not crying because of what that guy with the backpack did to me, but what makes me cry is that one act of human kindness I felt from the man who helped me up.”  She stopped, deep in thought.  “Someone I didn’t even know.  Isn’t that strange?” she said, “how we accept all of the horrible things in life as that’s the way it is but when someone shows they care it touches the deepest emotion.”