brick train station â everything except the transformer.
In Montgomery Ward, there was a beautiful transformer. It was shiny black and cost twenty-five dollars. The transformer had a dial for how fast you wanted the train to go and a red light that blinked on and off when the train came into the train station. I could curl my hands around the transformer and not touch my fingers.
Christmas Eve, when I looked down and saw the shiny black transformer in the Christmas lights under the Christmas tree, it was a miracle. Right off, I ran downstairs and hooked up the transformer. The red light went on, and when I turned the dial it was another miracle. The Lionel train started running. Round and around that train allnight. Going through the station, going through the tunnel in the mountain, stopping at the signal to pick up the mailbag. The red light blinking on and off was so cool.
Some things are just too good to be true. The day after Christmas, Mom changed her mind and took my transformer back to Montgomery Ward. She said the transformer cost too much, and with all our bills we couldnât afford it. Mom bought the little transformer, the tin one that cost ten dollars and didnât have a light, and you could see how it was screwed together. It fit in the palm of my hand.
Only a nine-year-old boy used to a new pair of Leviâs every year for his birthday knows what itâs like to suddenly have and then lose a Lionel train transformer. I had seen my mother hunched over the bills at the kitchen table enough times to understand the connection between those piles of paper and the fifteen dollars sheâd just saved. I didnât like it, but I understood.
What happened soon after, though, was something that sent me reeling. Iâve told you how important dress-up was. It was something Sis and Mom and I used to do together when Dad wasnât around. With Mom a bit better, Dad had gone back out to the fields, and Sis and I again started visiting the steamer trunk. Mom didnât play with us anymore, but still it was fun being scintillatingly gorgeous.
One afternoon, I stayed home with a pretend headache from school. Mom was pushing the vacuum back and forth over the new turquoise carpet with the flowers, and just like that she shut off the vacuum. She looked up as if God were speaking. She made the sign of the cross. Then it was straight to the bedroom.
My knuckles against her mahogany bedroom door made a hollow sound. You go on and play, Mom said.
Mom? I said. Can I play dress-up?
If you play downstairs, Mom said.
It took me awhile to ask because none of us had ever said it.
What if Dad comes in? I asked.
He wonât be in until supper, Mom said.
The green plaid dress buttoned up, the shiny black velvet hat with the flower brooch, the black high-heel shoes with the ankle strap. The rhinestone bracelet. The cameo necklace. The pleated green scarf tied around my neck. The red purse with the gold latch. The gold ring. The white gloves.
There I was standing inside the light of the trunk, in the perfectoutfit, and the light of the trunk was the whole world, the strange magic Wizard of Oz world, the world that smelled of Eiffel Tower.
Scintillatingly gorgeous.
I didnât hear the other world, the world we live in every day, coming down the basement steps.
In all my days, I donât think Iâve ever been so terrified.
It was Ott Lattig. Dadâs tall, skinny usher friend from church. He was yelling. Ott Lattigâs face was red, and he was yelling. He kicked the steamer trunk, and the steamer trunk went crashing over. He pulled the red purse from my hands, pulled the gloves off my hands, the gold ring. Yelling and yelling, Ott Lattig slapped the black velvet hat off my head, Ott Lattig put his hands around my neck, pulled at the green scarf, pushed me back, pulled at the Peter Pan collar, ripped the green plaid dress open, tore the buttons off.
I tried to hide behind the fallen
In Montgomery Ward, there was a beautiful transformer. It was shiny black and cost twenty-five dollars. The transformer had a dial for how fast you wanted the train to go and a red light that blinked on and off when the train came into the train station. I could curl my hands around the transformer and not touch my fingers.
Christmas Eve, when I looked down and saw the shiny black transformer in the Christmas lights under the Christmas tree, it was a miracle. Right off, I ran downstairs and hooked up the transformer. The red light went on, and when I turned the dial it was another miracle. The Lionel train started running. Round and around that train allnight. Going through the station, going through the tunnel in the mountain, stopping at the signal to pick up the mailbag. The red light blinking on and off was so cool.
Some things are just too good to be true. The day after Christmas, Mom changed her mind and took my transformer back to Montgomery Ward. She said the transformer cost too much, and with all our bills we couldnât afford it. Mom bought the little transformer, the tin one that cost ten dollars and didnât have a light, and you could see how it was screwed together. It fit in the palm of my hand.
Only a nine-year-old boy used to a new pair of Leviâs every year for his birthday knows what itâs like to suddenly have and then lose a Lionel train transformer. I had seen my mother hunched over the bills at the kitchen table enough times to understand the connection between those piles of paper and the fifteen dollars sheâd just saved. I didnât like it, but I understood.
What happened soon after, though, was something that sent me reeling. Iâve told you how important dress-up was. It was something Sis and Mom and I used to do together when Dad wasnât around. With Mom a bit better, Dad had gone back out to the fields, and Sis and I again started visiting the steamer trunk. Mom didnât play with us anymore, but still it was fun being scintillatingly gorgeous.
One afternoon, I stayed home with a pretend headache from school. Mom was pushing the vacuum back and forth over the new turquoise carpet with the flowers, and just like that she shut off the vacuum. She looked up as if God were speaking. She made the sign of the cross. Then it was straight to the bedroom.
My knuckles against her mahogany bedroom door made a hollow sound. You go on and play, Mom said.
Mom? I said. Can I play dress-up?
If you play downstairs, Mom said.
It took me awhile to ask because none of us had ever said it.
What if Dad comes in? I asked.
He wonât be in until supper, Mom said.
The green plaid dress buttoned up, the shiny black velvet hat with the flower brooch, the black high-heel shoes with the ankle strap. The rhinestone bracelet. The cameo necklace. The pleated green scarf tied around my neck. The red purse with the gold latch. The gold ring. The white gloves.
There I was standing inside the light of the trunk, in the perfectoutfit, and the light of the trunk was the whole world, the strange magic Wizard of Oz world, the world that smelled of Eiffel Tower.
Scintillatingly gorgeous.
I didnât hear the other world, the world we live in every day, coming down the basement steps.
In all my days, I donât think Iâve ever been so terrified.
It was Ott Lattig. Dadâs tall, skinny usher friend from church. He was yelling. Ott Lattigâs face was red, and he was yelling. He kicked the steamer trunk, and the steamer trunk went crashing over. He pulled the red purse from my hands, pulled the gloves off my hands, the gold ring. Yelling and yelling, Ott Lattig slapped the black velvet hat off my head, Ott Lattig put his hands around my neck, pulled at the green scarf, pushed me back, pulled at the Peter Pan collar, ripped the green plaid dress open, tore the buttons off.
I tried to hide behind the fallen
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