Carry Me Home

July 1984

July 1984I REMEMBER WHEN THE town wasn’t so big, when it was just growing. We’d moved into the New Town subdivision into one of the first houses so it faced 154 and the old houses of Creeks Bend, which Pa said were built right after the war to house all the veterans who’d just come back, built of “tin cans and cardboard and held together with bubble gum” is what my Pa would say. I remember one time my Ma, Josephine, she took us to Morris’, the grocery downtown on Second Street ’cause the only market in our section was in Creeks Bend and it was owned by the Holland family and they overcharged for everything. Or so Pa said. That must of been nineteen fifty ... four, no, five, nineteen fifty-five cause I remember Mark was just over a year and Ma carried him on her shoulder the whole time she was shopping and Joe and I kind of tagged along behind bein a bit scared cause Morris’ was in Lutzburgh and most of the people who shopped there were like the Hartleys or the Merediths or the Cadwalders, which was Miriam Wapinski’s maiden name and which she used sometimes and would probably always of used but the kids were Wapinski on the school register and she’d be ever explaining ...

That’s not what I was thinking though. I mean I was thinking maybe about the first time I saw Bobby but maybe it wasn’t the first time and maybe it wasn’t him. I never like asked him about it cause if it’d been me, I’d av been embarrassed.

I remember there weren’t a lot of people in the store, but there were some, two or three in every aisle. And there were a bunch waiting to check out cause Mr. Morris’ daughter was at the register and she still had to look at the keys—not like him or even most of the high school kids he’d trained who could shoot their fingers over the numbers without looking and without making mistakes either.

But what I remember, it was a real hot day, maybe August, summer, cause we weren’t in school, and Ma was carrying Mark, and Joe and I were putting things in the carriage when she told us, or foolin’ around if she wasn’t lookin. And up there by the check out was this lady with two kids—if it was Wapinski, Brian wasn’t with em cause he’s about as old as my oldest brother, John, who wasn’t with us either. But I think it was Miriam and Bobby and his kid sister, Joanne, and Miriam is fixing a curl on Joanne’s head and we’re coming up the aisle behind them. I can see this even though it’s really sunny out front and the people are mostly silhouettes against the big windows. I can more than see it. I can hear it. We’re at the end of the aisle near the big, three-sided Campbell’s soup display and I’m getting the chicken noodle and Joe’s getting the tomato because Ma said to do it that way.

“You listen to me young man ...” That’s the way it started. I turned around and she had Bobby by the arm, like right in the armpit and she’s got him cranked up so one foot’s just touchin the floor and his shoulder is almost in his ear. Her face was really pretty except she was red around the eyes like somethin from Halloween. “You listen to me ...” she says harsh but quiet like nobody is suppose to hear except that there wasn’t any other noise and everybody kind of put their heads down but everybody heard. “... if you touch one more thing, you’re going to get it. Do you hear me?!”

He didn’t say anything and she let go his shoulder and he sagged like his body was a sack of potatoes and he put his head down. They moved up in line so they only had one lady before them. We began the turn down the next aisle—oh yeah, I remember—we were getting paper plates too for a picnic we were going to have with Aunt Isabella and Uncle James’ family, my cousin Jimmy and I were real close, and Aunt Helen was going to come, too. Joe and I were already in the next aisle and Ma was carrying Mark and maneuvering the cart behind the line and Miriam gave her a look like how-dare-you-dago-scum-come-in-here when there’s this big crash and I turn and soup cans are rolling all over the place and Miriam explodes—“ROBERT!”

I mean, she like comes unglued. “You little bastard!” She grabs him again, right by the armpit again, and she lifts him and she smacks him on the ass hard enough to knock his feet from under him but he doesn’t fall cause she’s got him by the armpit. “You little bastard! How many times ...”

“I didn’t.” His voice was high. I remember it was like high and thin.

“Don’t give me that.” She’s shaking him with every word. “Don’t give me that. Do you think I’m stupid?!” And she’s dragging him to the front of the store, screaming really angry but controlling the volume and Joanne’s smirking like, “Ha! Ha! Robbie did it again.” And Joe and I are kind of hiding behind the carriage and Ma—only my Ma would do this—she’s holding Mark and she’s already picked up half the cans and is rebuilding the display like it was her job.

Miriam’s still berating him. She just left their cart right in the register lane and she smacked him again good as they went through the door and I swear his pants were wet. Ma’s got me and Joe pickin up the last cans and there are people comin’ to the front of the store and I think they’re thinkin we knocked it down. And I look out the window and the Wapinskis had a big sedan, you know, maybe a Packard, and I see her shove him in the back door and he’s about to sit on the seat and she shoves him onto the floor and slams the door and I think I saw him cryin.

Then Ma says to Joe and me, she says, “Get a jar of the Heinz India Relish that Daddy likes, okay? I’m going to get in line. You don’t want to be late with your paper route.”

Yeah, I was almost eight, Joe was a month short of nine, and we delivered the newspapers to the houses that were already built and occupied in New Town, and Jimmy used to help sometime, too. Bobby Wapinski must of been nine, too. Nine and a half.