You didn’t die a pirate my friend, but you did die a hero. I just know it.”
“Why pirates?” Harper asked, taking a bite.
“Because they sailed the ocean blue and could go anywhere anytime they wanted. And they were never afraid.”
“They also stabbed people,” she said.
“They did, but I didn’t stab my friend,” I answered, looking straight into her eyes.
We stared at each other for a moment and I finally said, “I honestly love this stuff.” Then I filled my mouth full of the yellow-orange main course.
Harper nodded. “Me too, but if I ate like I did as a kid, I’d need triple-bypass surgery.”
My mouth was full again, and a response wasn’t required beyond the goofy smile I felt smudged across my lips.
“I have something I want you to see and now seems appropriate.”
She set a small photo album on the table. “We found this in Mickey’s things. I need to keep it in evidence, but I was hoping you’d tell me about these photos.”
The green plastic cover had the stamp from the drug store in our town. “Mickey and I both got one of these at what they used to call a Crazy-daze sale. The stores all put their marked down merchandise on the sidewalks; and some of the businesses offered cheap, but to us, cool stuff for free. Mrs. Dawson helped us fill them with pictures she took of us. Somewhere along the way, I lost mine.”
Opening the cover, I grinned at two first graders who had lost their front teeth the same Christmas. “I remember when this was taken. Mickey and I squinted while trying to smile as big as we could at his mom. She said she loved our toothless grins and taught us how to sing all we wanted for Christmas were our two front teeth, which of course wasn’t true. I was dreaming about Barbie dolls and he wanted race cars and a track.”
Shoving my empty bowl to the side, I began the verbal walk down memory lane for her.
The second picture was of three kids and an old lady in front of an aqua and white trailer.
“Mickey lived in the trailer two doors down from ours. He had a really cool mom and no dad. His mom worked a lot so this lady, Mrs. Dawson, watched him. When things got messy at my house, we met in the middle at hers. She bought windmill cookies for us. They were the best. Mrs. D. put rouge on her cheeks in bright pink circles and always wore flowered dresses and aprons. Her hair was starting to gray. She wore perfume she called ‘toilet water’ and since it was yellow . . . you know what Mickey thought. She was the only person in our neighborhood who didn’t smoke and always had time for kids. We adored her.”
“Who is the other little girl?”
“My sister.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. I lost track of her when I moved away.”
The next two pages held those little pictures that came in a school photo package. One was Mickey, and the other was me. My pigtails were uneven, and I had a black eye.
“Where’d you get the shiner?” Harper asked.
“My father. It was the only time he hit me where it showed.”
I flipped to the next page. It was a baseball card Mickey loved—Kirby Puckett. On the page next to it was a picture of the two of us with a Minnesota Twins pennant flag.
“That’s the only professional baseball game I’ve seen live. Mrs. D. got tickets somehow and took us. We rode the city bus. She bought us each a hotdog and a coke, and we shared a box of popcorn. The Twins won, and I felt like they’d done it just for us and we were their good luck charm. On the way home, we raced to the last seat on the bus, and we sat with Mrs. D. in the middle of us. We fell asleep with our heads resting on her generous, but extremely comfortable thighs. I hadn’t slept that good in a long time. It was one of the best days of my life. Ever.”
There was a picture of the tree house we built in Mrs. Dawson’s side lot, the two of us on our bikes, and one of me sitting on the back steps of our trailer, wearing a pair of black-framed
“Why pirates?” Harper asked, taking a bite.
“Because they sailed the ocean blue and could go anywhere anytime they wanted. And they were never afraid.”
“They also stabbed people,” she said.
“They did, but I didn’t stab my friend,” I answered, looking straight into her eyes.
We stared at each other for a moment and I finally said, “I honestly love this stuff.” Then I filled my mouth full of the yellow-orange main course.
Harper nodded. “Me too, but if I ate like I did as a kid, I’d need triple-bypass surgery.”
My mouth was full again, and a response wasn’t required beyond the goofy smile I felt smudged across my lips.
“I have something I want you to see and now seems appropriate.”
She set a small photo album on the table. “We found this in Mickey’s things. I need to keep it in evidence, but I was hoping you’d tell me about these photos.”
The green plastic cover had the stamp from the drug store in our town. “Mickey and I both got one of these at what they used to call a Crazy-daze sale. The stores all put their marked down merchandise on the sidewalks; and some of the businesses offered cheap, but to us, cool stuff for free. Mrs. Dawson helped us fill them with pictures she took of us. Somewhere along the way, I lost mine.”
Opening the cover, I grinned at two first graders who had lost their front teeth the same Christmas. “I remember when this was taken. Mickey and I squinted while trying to smile as big as we could at his mom. She said she loved our toothless grins and taught us how to sing all we wanted for Christmas were our two front teeth, which of course wasn’t true. I was dreaming about Barbie dolls and he wanted race cars and a track.”
Shoving my empty bowl to the side, I began the verbal walk down memory lane for her.
The second picture was of three kids and an old lady in front of an aqua and white trailer.
“Mickey lived in the trailer two doors down from ours. He had a really cool mom and no dad. His mom worked a lot so this lady, Mrs. Dawson, watched him. When things got messy at my house, we met in the middle at hers. She bought windmill cookies for us. They were the best. Mrs. D. put rouge on her cheeks in bright pink circles and always wore flowered dresses and aprons. Her hair was starting to gray. She wore perfume she called ‘toilet water’ and since it was yellow . . . you know what Mickey thought. She was the only person in our neighborhood who didn’t smoke and always had time for kids. We adored her.”
“Who is the other little girl?”
“My sister.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. I lost track of her when I moved away.”
The next two pages held those little pictures that came in a school photo package. One was Mickey, and the other was me. My pigtails were uneven, and I had a black eye.
“Where’d you get the shiner?” Harper asked.
“My father. It was the only time he hit me where it showed.”
I flipped to the next page. It was a baseball card Mickey loved—Kirby Puckett. On the page next to it was a picture of the two of us with a Minnesota Twins pennant flag.
“That’s the only professional baseball game I’ve seen live. Mrs. D. got tickets somehow and took us. We rode the city bus. She bought us each a hotdog and a coke, and we shared a box of popcorn. The Twins won, and I felt like they’d done it just for us and we were their good luck charm. On the way home, we raced to the last seat on the bus, and we sat with Mrs. D. in the middle of us. We fell asleep with our heads resting on her generous, but extremely comfortable thighs. I hadn’t slept that good in a long time. It was one of the best days of my life. Ever.”
There was a picture of the tree house we built in Mrs. Dawson’s side lot, the two of us on our bikes, and one of me sitting on the back steps of our trailer, wearing a pair of black-framed
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