insisted. “Take it!” His face was getting redder. “Don’t you want it?”
All he wanted was to get out of here before his mother saw him. “I’m sorry,” he tried to say, but it wrung out of him like a whimper.
Mr. Briscoe tossed the glove onto the counter and sighed. “I know what it’s like growing up in a house without a father. Things get all out of whack, don’t they?” He touched his breast pocket. “You get this empty feeling. You want something, but you never know what.” His cheeks blistered with a fine sweat as he bent closer. Benjy could almost taste the sweet cologne seeping from his pores. “Isn’t that right?”
He shrugged and nodded. He was losing track of Mr. Briscoe’s meaning.
“You thought you wanted a baseball glove; well, you didn’t really, did you? You just wanted something. You weren’t sure what, so you picked up the first thing you saw. And the whole time, all you really wanted was a friend, Benjy. That’s all!” Mr. Briscoe said, his voice rising. He clapped his hands together and grinned. “And by golly willikers, young man, you’ve got one now!” He extended his hand, and Benjy was surprised at how hard and rough it was. “Ferdinand T. Briscoe at your disposal!” he said with a SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 47
vigorous shake. “Just name your pleasure, son.” Briscoe’s gleaming gaze swept over the shelves and counters of merchandise. “Baseball, badminton, golf, swimming or camping, or backpacking, or fishing. Fishing!” Briscoe cried. “We’ll go out in the boat.”
Benjy’s eyes widened in horror on the swaying orange raft.
“That’s what we’ll do! The perfect sport. Oh Benjy, you’ll love it. We’ll go fishing. Just the two of us. There’s something about fishing, Benjy, a man and a boy in the middle of a great body of water…”
“But I can’t!”
“Of course you can! I’ll speak to your mother. We’ll go as soon as school’s out.”
“No, I don’t like boats.”
“Don’t like boats!” Briscoe cried. “What kind of a boy doesn’t like boats!”
“I can’t swim.” To be in water over his head terrified him.
“Can’t swim!” Briscoe reached down to muss his hair. “Well, you’ll just have to learn how, then.”
“No, I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to.”
Briscoe looked at him. “I’ll tell you what, you learn how to swim and I won’t tell your mother about you taking the glove.” He smiled and held out his hand. “How’s that for a deal? Then, when you can swim, we’ll go out in the boat.”
As they shook hands Benjy felt sick to his stomach.
Benjy stood in front of Uncle Renie’s appliance store. A billhead was taped to the door. It said:
Closed for funeral.
Please come back at 5.
I will be open an extra hour tonight to make up for any inconvenyunce.
Sorry and thank you
Yours truely,
Renie LaChance
With his cheek against the glass door, he peered into the long, narrow store. Uncle Renie’s big yellow cat was asleep on top of a washing machine.
He banged on the door, but the cat did not look up. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,”
he called, and still the cat did not stir.
From the corner of his eye he saw the dark uniforms of two girls in his class crossing the street at the corner. He headed in the opposite direction.
The minute he was out of their sight, he began to run up the hill. As he neared the park he could hear the tinny music from Joey Seldon’s radio.
Joey was all dressed up. He wore a gray suitcoat, pale blue pants, a white shirt, and a gold string tie. He sat on his stool, his hands in his aproned lap, his big fleshy head swaying to the music. Benjy crossed the street, passing onto the grass so he wouldn’t be heard as he came by the dilapidated popcorn stand. He looked up to see Joey’s head cock back, and then his hands reached out and gripped the sagging boards of his serving counter. He faced 48 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS
Main Street, where a black hearse
All he wanted was to get out of here before his mother saw him. “I’m sorry,” he tried to say, but it wrung out of him like a whimper.
Mr. Briscoe tossed the glove onto the counter and sighed. “I know what it’s like growing up in a house without a father. Things get all out of whack, don’t they?” He touched his breast pocket. “You get this empty feeling. You want something, but you never know what.” His cheeks blistered with a fine sweat as he bent closer. Benjy could almost taste the sweet cologne seeping from his pores. “Isn’t that right?”
He shrugged and nodded. He was losing track of Mr. Briscoe’s meaning.
“You thought you wanted a baseball glove; well, you didn’t really, did you? You just wanted something. You weren’t sure what, so you picked up the first thing you saw. And the whole time, all you really wanted was a friend, Benjy. That’s all!” Mr. Briscoe said, his voice rising. He clapped his hands together and grinned. “And by golly willikers, young man, you’ve got one now!” He extended his hand, and Benjy was surprised at how hard and rough it was. “Ferdinand T. Briscoe at your disposal!” he said with a SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 47
vigorous shake. “Just name your pleasure, son.” Briscoe’s gleaming gaze swept over the shelves and counters of merchandise. “Baseball, badminton, golf, swimming or camping, or backpacking, or fishing. Fishing!” Briscoe cried. “We’ll go out in the boat.”
Benjy’s eyes widened in horror on the swaying orange raft.
“That’s what we’ll do! The perfect sport. Oh Benjy, you’ll love it. We’ll go fishing. Just the two of us. There’s something about fishing, Benjy, a man and a boy in the middle of a great body of water…”
“But I can’t!”
“Of course you can! I’ll speak to your mother. We’ll go as soon as school’s out.”
“No, I don’t like boats.”
“Don’t like boats!” Briscoe cried. “What kind of a boy doesn’t like boats!”
“I can’t swim.” To be in water over his head terrified him.
“Can’t swim!” Briscoe reached down to muss his hair. “Well, you’ll just have to learn how, then.”
“No, I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to.”
Briscoe looked at him. “I’ll tell you what, you learn how to swim and I won’t tell your mother about you taking the glove.” He smiled and held out his hand. “How’s that for a deal? Then, when you can swim, we’ll go out in the boat.”
As they shook hands Benjy felt sick to his stomach.
Benjy stood in front of Uncle Renie’s appliance store. A billhead was taped to the door. It said:
Closed for funeral.
Please come back at 5.
I will be open an extra hour tonight to make up for any inconvenyunce.
Sorry and thank you
Yours truely,
Renie LaChance
With his cheek against the glass door, he peered into the long, narrow store. Uncle Renie’s big yellow cat was asleep on top of a washing machine.
He banged on the door, but the cat did not look up. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,”
he called, and still the cat did not stir.
From the corner of his eye he saw the dark uniforms of two girls in his class crossing the street at the corner. He headed in the opposite direction.
The minute he was out of their sight, he began to run up the hill. As he neared the park he could hear the tinny music from Joey Seldon’s radio.
Joey was all dressed up. He wore a gray suitcoat, pale blue pants, a white shirt, and a gold string tie. He sat on his stool, his hands in his aproned lap, his big fleshy head swaying to the music. Benjy crossed the street, passing onto the grass so he wouldn’t be heard as he came by the dilapidated popcorn stand. He looked up to see Joey’s head cock back, and then his hands reached out and gripped the sagging boards of his serving counter. He faced 48 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS
Main Street, where a black hearse
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