Deliver Us
Tommy stood in the street, at the same time aware that there was no traffic coming either way, and also no one to play ball with. He was looking at his house, specifically at the front porch, but he wasn’t really seeing anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mr. McGinty, the milkman, patting and tending his horse. “Mr. McGinty? Didja deliver to our house yet?”
McGinty didn’t look at him, but kept attending to his horse. “No, kid. I didn’t yet. No.”
Tommy started focusing on the ropes that had been tied to the porch, across the place where the door would have been. “I think we’re out of butter. We still have some milk.”
“Sure, kid,” McGinty muttered, a little tremulously.
Tommy tossed the baseball into the pit of his catcher’s mitt three or four times. He was deciding that there was no one around to play ball with. Certainly not the men going to and from his house. “Nobody’s out to play ball with.” Certainly not the men in the blue uniforms.
McGinty fiddled with the horse’s harness, pretending to adjust it, really just distracting himself. “I guess it’s like that some days, kid.”
He wanted to toss the ball into the air, but for some reason, he felt like he couldn’t let it out of his hand, like if he ever let it go he might not ever get his ball back again. Ever. “I guess you would have to deliver to the Joneses’ house before you would deliver to our house anyway.”
McGinty dropped his head and stared at the ground. “Lookit, kid, your Mom killed your Dad today. I think you got bigger things to think about than . . . You got anybody you can stay with?” He let the silence build. Somehow he knew the kid wouldn’t answer that one.
He looked up and he was instantly embarrassed by the knowing gaze in his horse’s eyes. He let go of the harness and stepped a up onto the curb. The cops hadn’t even tumbled to the fact that this was the kids house, his folks. What do you do? Tell ‘em? Deal with the kid?
He was just delivering stuff. He had just noticed the kid walking back from the ball field when they both heard a scream and a bang, and then another bang. They both stood there while the cops came screeching in with their sirens winding down. McGinty had to figure that the kid’s old lady had called the cops and told them what she was up to. He couldn’t seem to figure anything after that.
“Mr. McGinty?” Tommy asked, “Do you think I could have some ice cream?”
McGinty didn’t look at him, but kept attending to his horse. “No, kid. I didn’t yet. No.”
Tommy started focusing on the ropes that had been tied to the porch, across the place where the door would have been. “I think we’re out of butter. We still have some milk.”
“Sure, kid,” McGinty muttered, a little tremulously.
Tommy tossed the baseball into the pit of his catcher’s mitt three or four times. He was deciding that there was no one around to play ball with. Certainly not the men going to and from his house. “Nobody’s out to play ball with.” Certainly not the men in the blue uniforms.
McGinty fiddled with the horse’s harness, pretending to adjust it, really just distracting himself. “I guess it’s like that some days, kid.”
He wanted to toss the ball into the air, but for some reason, he felt like he couldn’t let it out of his hand, like if he ever let it go he might not ever get his ball back again. Ever. “I guess you would have to deliver to the Joneses’ house before you would deliver to our house anyway.”
McGinty dropped his head and stared at the ground. “Lookit, kid, your Mom killed your Dad today. I think you got bigger things to think about than . . . You got anybody you can stay with?” He let the silence build. Somehow he knew the kid wouldn’t answer that one.
He looked up and he was instantly embarrassed by the knowing gaze in his horse’s eyes. He let go of the harness and stepped a up onto the curb. The cops hadn’t even tumbled to the fact that this was the kids house, his folks. What do you do? Tell ‘em? Deal with the kid?
He was just delivering stuff. He had just noticed the kid walking back from the ball field when they both heard a scream and a bang, and then another bang. They both stood there while the cops came screeching in with their sirens winding down. McGinty had to figure that the kid’s old lady had called the cops and told them what she was up to. He couldn’t seem to figure anything after that.
“Mr. McGinty?” Tommy asked, “Do you think I could have some ice cream?”
posted by Bobo the Wandering Pallbearer at 2:17 PM
1 Comments:
DId you write that? Very intriguing.
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