Fiction

The Penny

A white paste of jawbreaker sugar and spit frosted Hec’s lips, the tip of his nose and a gleaming, happy smear on his forehead.  How’d he get jawbreaker on his forehead?  Carny wondered in awe.

            “You look like an alien,” she told him and he smiled stickily.

Carny spit her slimy orb of candy into her hand and dabbed it across her own forehead when she was sure her mother wasn’t watching.  Popping the ball back into her mouth, she wiped her fingers on the partition dividing the checkout lanes leaving five little, grubby paths of white on the brown, plastic veneer.

The lady in line behind them sniffed disapprovingly.  Hec tried to win her over with a cheerful, candied grin but she only arched an eyebrow and turned to read about how a whole town watched Elvis fight a battle with the Devil in the clouds over North Dakota and how a woman in Arizona had recently borne a child by a Galapagos turtle.

Carny looked from the greasy pages of the tabloid to her brother in his green backpack and yellow boots.

“You look like a turtle,” she told him.

The girl behind the counter counted four dollars into the hand of the thin man in line in front of them.  “…Four, and one cent is your change,” she said.  “And have a nice day.”  The penny slid off of the pile of dollars over the man’s gnarled thumb and Hec and Carny watched it bounce (plink, plink, plink!) on the counter before falling to the floor.

The man didn’t seem to notice.  He wadded his bills and shoved them into the tight black pocket of his tight black jeans, looped his knobbly fingers through the plastic rings of his six pack, grabbed his receipt and paper bag and sauntered through the glass doors.  The doors slid closed behind him as if to say, “Humph!”

“Humph!” Carny said.

Hec pulled softly on the elbow of her sweater.  “Look!” he whispered, pointing a slobber-covered finger at the floor.

Carny followed his gaze to a spot on the linoleum just beneath the last-minute-stuff rack.  There, standing defiantly on its edge, as though at attention, gleamed the penny.  Carny gasped and moved closer to her mother, now chatting with the cashier. 

“Do pennies do that?” she asked.

Hec bent down and his backpack rubbed against the knees of the disapproving lady behind them in line.  He braced himself with one hand against the wall of the checkout counter and stooped low to inspect the proud penny.  His backpack slid down his back into his head and the hood of his sweatshirt slid down his neck into his hair and his hair slid down his head into his eyes.  Finally, he stood up looking satisfied and reassuring.

“Yes,” he announced confidently.

Carny rolled her eyes.  “But I mean, are they s’posed to?  I’ve never seen that before.  Maybe that one’s jus’ weird.”

Hec grinned and pointed at the penny.  “You look like an alien!” He declared.

The penny stood its ground and Carny imagined it even turned slightly to meet her brother’s challenge head-on.  He was crouching to pick it up when she reached out and pulled him closer to her. 

“Don’t touch it!” she said urgently.  With certainty, she stated, “It’s a bad-luck penny.”

Hec shrugged her hand off him and stepped towards it again.  “You can’t tell if its bad luck until it falls over.  If it lands heads-side-up, then it is a good luck penny.  It’s only bad if it falls tails-side-up.”

Their mom tapped Carny on the shoulder.  “Time to go.”

The disapproving lady in line stepped brusquely around the children with an exasperated sigh that no one noticed.  The weight of her footsteps caused the penny to rock back and forth along its rim for three or four breathless seconds.  Carny breathed a sigh of relief, but Hec looked perturbed.  Carny glanced over her shoulder to find her mother leaning into the bin of ice bags.  They only had a few more moments.

“C’mon, leave it alone an’ let’s go,” she pleaded.

But Hec was pacing around the penny determinedly.  He reached behind him to hold his backpack in place, glanced at his feet to get his bearings, then jumped.  His yellow boots landed with an emphatic slap just inches from the penny.  Nothing happened.  He jumped again.  Again, nothing.

Hec glared at the penny.

The penny glared back.

A stalemate.

“C’mere an’ help me,” he asked.  Carny hesitated then stepped to his side.

“On three,” he said.  “One, two…three!”

They jumped and the slaps of four boots, two yellow, two purple, resonated off the linoleum.  Flustered, the penny began to rock again on its edge.  Finally, motion-sick and dizzy, it spun weakly and collapsed onto its side.

“Tails side!” Carny breathed and, tugging gently on Hec’s sweatshirt, stepped quickly out of the check-out lane.

Hec stepped back too, but hesitated.  The penny was still watching him.  He rocked nervously from one foot to the other, then pointed at the penny.  “You look like a turtle,” he declared.

The penny glared back at him balefully, threatening to curse him with forever and ever bad luck if he dared to touch it.

Carny took his hand and pulled him again more insistently.  Together, they ran toward the glass doors and followed their mother out of the store.  The doors slid closed as if to say “Humph!”

Hec pressed his nose to the window for a last look at the penny.  "Humph!" he said.

Copyright (c) 2003 Margaret Maffai

First Dance Ever

The babydaisy, small as a dimple, bobbed as a gentle breeze pressed its way sluggishly through the humid air.  Lissa paused, taken aback, and looked around uncertainly before timidly nodding back. 

The wind sighed wearily and the babydaisy dipped and shrugged in a shy salute.  Lissa wrinkled her brow in consternation then fumbled for the hem of her skirt.  Her chubby fingers pulled her skirt out just slightly and she crossed one pink jelly sandal behind the other pink jelly sandal, curtsying awkwardly.

The raspberry sherbet sunset cast a blush on the glowing cheeks of the babydaisy and Lissa felt her own face flush.

The babydaisy shrugged uncomfortably.  Lissa moved closer, bending to hear his quiet whisper as his clumsy petals bumped into each other, hassled perpetually by the breeze. 

Her round eyes widened in surprise.  Twin lollypops, stunned and delighted. 

The babydaisy leaned forward to touch her toes with his feathery leaf.  She smiled.

She stood close but not tooclose.

He held her tight but not tootight.

They moved slow but not tooslow.

Tiny footsteps.  Misplaced.  He was scarlet with concentration and embarrassment.  Close but not tooclose.  Tight but not tootight.  Slow but not tooslow. 

They turned jerkily.  He seemed apologetic.  After all, he should know how.

She smiled encouragingly and led with an air of confidence she did not feel.  Around and around they danced.  And then the music stopped. 

But they didn’t let go right away.  And then he was back on the grass and it was over.  They looked at each other for one happy moment.  Then they heard the breeze whispering around them once again and looked away quickly. 

He bobbed and shifted and blushed and smiled and she smiled back.

Glowing in the waning light of the raspberry sherbet sunset, the babydaisy dipped and shrugged, nodding shyly.  Lissa fumbled for the hem of her skirt and pulled it out just slightly.  She crossed one pink jelly sandal behind the other pink jelly sandal and curtsied awkwardly.

Night closed over them and she turned away, her smile filling even her bones.

Her first dance ever.

Copyright (c) 2003 Margaret Maffai

Rosemary

            The neat houses stacked upon each other row by row flew past the window like an endless army of uniformed soldiers as the station wagon barreled through the suburban streets.  Benji sat in the back seat, hugging his knees to his chest, wailing as tears big as grapefruits fell from his eyes.

            His mother glanced at him in the mirror.  “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Benj, its only for a weekend.  And Grandma Rosemary is very nice.”

            His father reached took his hand off the wheel for a second to reach behind his seat and give Benji’s big toe a comforting squeeze.  He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and pushed it between his son’s clenched fingers.  “C’mon, squirt, clean yourself up.  You and Grandma are going to have so much fun this weekend, you won’t even miss us.”

            “Why can’t I come with you?!” Benji wailed and blew a torrent of drippy snot and tears into his father’s handkerchief with vengeance.  He could see his dad’s brow wrinkle with unspoken distaste in the rearview.

            “We’ve told you already, Benji, the conference doesn’t have a daycare, his mother answered.  “We’d love to have you there, kiddo, but you’d hate to sit in those stuffy meetings all day and Mommy and Daddy are going to be working so we won’t have time to worry about taking you to the bathroom or getting you snacks.  It’s much easier to have Grandma take care of you for the weekend.  You’ll like it much better at Grandma’s house than at the hotel anyway.”

            “I’ll be good!  I’ll go to the bathroom all by myself and I won’t eat for the whole day!”

            His father sighed wearily but a grin squeaked out the side of his mouth.  “Sorry Benj,” he said.

            Benji returned to his wailing with gusto.  The neat houses, stacked on each other row by row, went on marching past the foggy car window.

            The sky was thick and grey and seemed closer to the ground than normal, like it might come down any second and squash everything Benji could see.  Large drops of rain began to splatter into the window one by one, exploding into dozens of tinier drops.  Benji watched them race down the window and cheered for the one he picked.  He hoped it would win.

            He kept up his wailing and sobbing for his parents’ sake.

            Finally, long after his triumphant raindrop had run its victory lap down the car door to the pavement, the car pulled into a covered driveway.  In the dim light, Benji’s screams reached a frantic pitch.  Soon, Mommy and Daddy would set him on a strange couch by a strange window hug him and kiss him and leave him to watch them drive away through strange curtains down a strange street.

            His father opened the car door for him and when he remained frozen with his arms around his knees, refusing to move, he picked him up like a little cannonball and plopped him on the steps of his grandmother’s garage.

            Benji rolled onto his side but his father merely stepped over him, carrying his blue duffel bag into the musty smelling house.

            Left alone for a moment, Benji glanced around the garage.  Benji’s family kept all their old junk in their garage but this one was perfectly clean and bare.  Grandma Rosemary must be a very neat, strict old lady.  She would make him make his bed in the morning and eat with his napkin in his lap.  She would make him take baths every night and wash his face and hands before and after he ate.  He would have to comb his hair and play inside and say please and thank you and not touch anything that looked expensive or breakable.

            “Benji, get off the floor.  You’ll get dirty.  Come meet your grandma.”  Benji rolled over to cry onto his mother’s shoes but she picked him up by his armpits and heaved him to his feet.

            She guided him inside with her hand firmly on his back.  “Now, you be a good boy while we’re gone.  Behave yourself and use your best manners.  Don’t go outside in the storm or you’ll get all muddy and track dirt onto Grandma’s floor.” 

By the light of a single lamp in the far corner of the room, through the blur of his tears, Benji glimpsed a shape nearly indistinguishable from an upright Lay-Z-Boy.  “Benji, this is your Grandma Rosemary.  You two are going to have lots of fun while we’re gone and don’t worry sweetie, we’ll be back before you know it.” 

He gripped his mother’s thigh with his tear-grimed fingers and cried into her slacks.  Gently, she led him to an orange, lumpy couch.  When he sat on it, dust rose from the cushions and he sneezed.  Tears leaked from his eyes sadly, hopelessly.  “Oh sweetheart,” said his mother, “its so hard every time, isn’t it?  For both of us, kiddo.”  She kissed him on the forehead, wiping first his eyes, then her own with her cool fingers.

            “See ya soon, squirt,” his father wrapped him in a big bear hug.  “We’ll call tomorrow to check in,” he said, half to the Lay-Z-Boy and half to his son.

            “I love you, Benj,” his mom whispered from the door.

            “Love ya,” his dad said, moving away.

            “I love you, bye,” Benji blurted.  He help it, as angry as he was, he said it every time they left, even just to go to work in the morning or to the store.  He had to say it now.

            The door closed and he stared out the window, over the sparse lawn, strewn with mud puddles to the grey street, waiting.  He kept saying it.  “I love you, bye.  I love you, bye.  I love you, bye.  I love you, bye.”

            The station wagon pulled out of the garage and his parents waved to the little pair of eyes above the growing circle of fog on the window.  Benji waved back.  “I love you, bye.”

            The shape in the Lay-Z-Boy cleared its throat and Benji froze with fear.  The room was very dark, lit only by the single lamp and the color of the clouds filtering through the curtains.  She would make him rub her feet and play cards with her or do math problems and practice spelling.  She would make him brush her cat and clean the toilet and eat funny green soup with hard lumps in it.  And if he didn’t, she would cast a spell on him.  He couldn’t bring himself to turn around.  The silence stretched on and on and the tension grew. 

He wanted to run out the door, down the street after his parents’ car.  Maybe he could find their hotel.  Maybe they wouldn’t mind it if he stayed with them.  Maybe they missed him too much and would come back to get him.

The shape in the recliner sighed.  She was thinking about all the things that she would make him do before his parents came back.  She would make him sleep in the garage on the cold floor in the dark, surrounded by empty walls.  Or she would put him in the closet and not let him out until she heard their car in the driveway.  Maybe she wouldn’t feed him at all, or let him have anything to drink so she wouldn’t have to take him to the bathroom.  Maybe she would make him dress up in a suit and stand by the door all day long, so that just in case she had to go outside, he would be there to open the door for her.

“Well come over here so I can see you,” a voice rasped from the chair.

Benji was trembling, his heart pounding fast in his throat.  He couldn’t move.

“Well don’t make me come over there, I’m an old woman!”

Slowly, he pushed himself away from the window, reluctant to turn his back from the light.  He climbed down from the lumpy couch and, keeping his eyes on the ground, he turned around and took a step forward.

“Closer!” his grandmother rasped.

Benji knew that if he went closer, he would smell that awful dusty, mediciney smell of old people.  Or the newt’s eye, toad’s wart, cabbage smell of witches.  He held his breath and took another step.

“Closer!” she said again.

Benji began to feel faint and decided to breath again.  He stepped forward again as he inhaled.  The shape in the chair grew suddenly as his grandmother leaned down to look at him.  She was a wrinkled woman with light, soft looking skin, frizzy silver hair and big, blue eyes just like Benji’s but wilder.  They focused on the little boy in front of her with a sharp look and five long, slender fingers uncurled to wrap around his chin.

Benji was breathing quickly, ready to run as soon as she released him.  Carefully, she turned his face, first to the right, then to the left. 

This must be when she would cast the spell, he thought.  She would turn him into a hamster and keep him in a cage and make him run around on a little wheel until his arms and legs fell off.  She would make his eyebrows grow so bushy that he wouldn’t be able to see so he couldn’t run away.

She stretched out the fingers of her other hand.  This was it, Benji thought.  He closed his eyes.

Cool, smooth fingertips, just like his mother’s, rubbed the remaining tears off his cheeks.  “You are far too clean to be my grandson,” Rosemary announced.  “Now,” she began, pulling his face inches from her own and speaking right into his terrified blue eyes.  “You take this,” She thrust something heavy into his hands, “and go outside and play in the mud puddles in the lawn until you are soaked from your sneakers all the way up to your hair.  Come back in through the garage as soon as you get cold.  I’ll make you some hot chocolate and put a few towels in the drier so they’ll be warm when you come in.”

She kissed his puzzled forehead.  “Good to meet you, kiddo,” she said.

Benji looked down at the object she had given him.  A big yellow dump truck with real rubber tread on the wheels and a little driver inside doors that really opened.

Relief flooded his whole body, from his sneakers all the way up to his hair.  He wasn’t a hamster.  His eyebrows were still normal.  He had a new dump truck and he could, he was supposed to, go get dirty.  He grinned, just a little bit.  Maybe the weekend wouldn’t be so bad.  Maybe he and Grandma Rosemary would have fun.  And his parents would call tomorrow to check in.  And they would be home soon anyway.

Benji ran to the door and pulled it open with one hand.  The other clutched his dump truck close to his side.  The air outside was warm and the rain was still falling in big, splashy drops.  He paused and turned back to the woman in the recliner.

“Love you, bye,” he said and ran outside.

She smelled like cinnamon.

Copyright (c) 2001 Margaret Maffai