The Trailblazer Series

INTERLUDE II

INTERLUDE II

Life with Neil: "Little Man"I don’t remember much about my parents, or about the day they died. Of course, I was all of a whole year old at the time, so I can be forgiven. I do know the details, however, or as many of them as I need to know.

Neil had been born five years ahead of me, and Nina had come along four years after him. Then me. Then, a year later, the accident.

Gram had stayed with "the kids" at home one hot, July day so Gramps could drive his rebuilt 1953 Studebaker Champion—bright red, white roof, whitewall tires—to Moultonborough for an antique car show. Mom and Dad had been with him, traveling up Route 106, when a farm truck almost as old as the Studebaker and hauling machine parts had lost its brakes coming off the Daniel Webster Highway outside of Laconia. There were no survivors.

Gram had been Mom's mother, so when the three of us kids were growing up, there was always explaining to do for why our last name was Bartlett but hers was Dixon. The confusion was exacerbated by the fact that Gram had been only nineteen when she'd had Mom, and Mom had married young, so Gram looked young enough—barely, but still—to be our mother.

Neil had been all of six when our folks had died, but he'd been called "little man" for long enough that he took his seniority seriously. He could have been obnoxious about it, and certainly there were times he was. But mostly he was responsible beyond his years. Nina chafed at Neil's assumed role more than I did, maybe because she had at least some memory of our actual father. I didn't.

In many ways, Neil was "Dad" to me. The first incident in my memory that demonstrates this relationship was when I was starting first grade. Like, the first day of class. Gram had taken each of us out individually (and only now as I remember this does it occur to me how much patience that must have taken) to get school supplies. Looking back, I suspect that it was because each of us had different needs, and also because Nina was a bit of a little terror, which must have required a lot of Gram’s attention in public.

Anyway, the only item I remember purchasing for school was my Spiderman lunchbox. And I remember that because I loved Spiderman. (Sidebar: I kind of like spiders in general.) I made a big deal out of it the night before school started, and Nina (about to start second grade, obviously much older and wiser than me) teased me about caring so much about some dorky fictional character. Neil didn’t step in to help me, even though I was ready to punch my sister.

Neil was going into sixth grade, at middle school, but Gram had made him promise to walk me home (less than half a mile) the first week. So at the end of my first day, I was waiting obediently in front of the school for Neil, even though Nina had already dashed off with a couple of her friends, when a kid named Billy (later to be dubbed Billy the Bully by classmates) decided I looked like easy pickings. He was a year older than me, and bigger overall than most kids his age.

He saw me standing alone, and with the one teacher who was stationed outside busy with some other kid’s questions about what bus to take, my vulnerability was more than Billy could resist.

"Waiting for Mommy, are you, little baby?" His voice oozed ridicule.

I tried to ignore him, but he stepped up to me, mere inches away, towering over me (or so it felt like), blotting out the very sky.

"Go away," I told him, my voice shaking despite my efforts to appear unaffected.

"Go away? Ha ha! Oh, I’ll go away. And I’ll take that stupid lunchbox with me."

He grabbed at it, but I clenched my fingers around the handle as hard as possible, teeth gritted with the effort. Billy placed one hand on my shoulder and wrenched harder with the other, and after a bit of a struggle he managed to pull my prize away from me.

He turned, laughing, and ran. Right into Neil.

Neil grabbed his arm. "Where do you think you’re going?"

Billy tried to wrestle away from Neil’s grasp, but my lunchbox, as well as his own pack, hampered him.

With his free hand, Neil grabbed one of Billy’s ears hard enough to hold on but not hard enough to make him cry out or stop struggling.

"Drop the lunchbox."

"Make me!"

And then there was a wail from Billy as Neil pulled and twisted Billy’s ear with one hand, and with the other he twisted hard on the arm holding my lunchbox.

Neil’s voice didn’t get any louder. "Drop it."

Billy, evidently realizing he’d met his match, tried to throw Spiderman onto the pavement, but Neil’s grip on his arm prevented that. It hit the ground, but it wasn’t damaged.

Neil let go of Billy’s ear, and as he let go of the arm he pushed Billy just enough to send him on his way. As I rushed to pick up my lunchbox, I saw Neil wave to someone behind me, and when I looked I saw the teacher as she reappeared from the other side of a bus. She’d missed the whole thing.

"Hello, Neil!" she called, smiling. "Enjoying middle school?"

"Yes, ma’am!" he called back. Then, to me, "Ready to go?" It was as though nothing had happened.

As for Billy, he went on to torment other kids, but he mostly left me alone.