Purple Daze

Purple Daze By J.D. Walker Age 13 When I met Beebub Beaumont on the day my dad and I moved to town, I’d just come out of a tiny grocery store, change in one hand, and two plastic bags with sandwich stuff in the other. I remember it had been a ridiculously hot summer’s day, and my thin T-shirt had been sticking to my bony chest in sweat, since the air-conditioning was on the fritz in the truck and it was just plain sweltering everywhere. My dad had remained in the vehicle, checking the map to make sure he knew how to get us to our new home. He’d sent me into the store to get some food to last a day or two while we got settled. As I walked toward the vehicle, I heard some shouts and looked up, just in time to see about six boys push a kid twice their size into the street, and he almost got hit by a car. They laughed and ran off. My dad leapt out of the truck and rushed over. I followed, setting the bags on the ground next to him and dropping to my knees. The boy, maybe my age or younger, had bruises on his face and a split lip. Still, he was unlike anything I’d ever seen, something that hit me in the stomach so hard, I lost my breath. Those eyes, such a deep rich chocolate, broadcasted shame and despair. His hair was a riot of shoulder-length light-brown curls that, though dirty and oily, framed his strong face with its too-big nose, making him look like a fallen angel of some sort. I wanted to run my fingers through— “Gabe!” my father yelled. I quickly came back to the present. “Yeah, dad,” I replied, trying not to blush. “Go get my bag from the truck, son.” He was a doctor. “Yes, sir.” I did as he asked, then walked to where my father had helped the kid to the sidewalk. People were milling around, whispering and pointing, but no one lifted a finger to help. I found that odd. And despicable. While he checked over the boy, Dad asked if anyone knew him, or where he lived. “That’s Beebub Beaumont,” a woman volunteered. “His momma died some years back. Sheriff took him in, though Lord knows why she even bothers. That boy is trouble walking. Look at the size of him. Unnatural.” The judgmental tone in her voice seemed to be echoed with agreement by everyone around her. “I didn’t ask your opinion,” my dad snapped, and that was one of the many reasons I loved him. He took s**t from no one, especially when it came to taking care of the sick. “Where can I find the sheriff?” Before anyone could respond, I heard a rumbling in the crowd and looked up to see the sheriff herself had arrived. She was a short, stocky woman, a mixture of stern and pretty in her facial features. There was concern and love in her eyes. She kneeled next to Beebub. “I’m here, love,” she murmured, voice husky as she brushed hair from his forehead and cradled his head in her lap. “I’m sorry, Marlene,” he whispered, and I saw a tear fall as he hugged her waist. I wanted to do something for him, maybe start by punching everyone within a half-mile radius. “Everything will be alright, you’ll see.” She sighed and focused on my dad. “Thank you for taking care of Beebub. Few people around here would raise a finger to come to his aid. As though any one of them could cast the first stone.” The glare she aimed at the crowd had most of them looking ashamed, though a few seemed to hold onto their “principles” by a thread. Slowly, they wandered away. Dad and Marlene helped Beebub to his feet. “I can walk,” the teenager muttered, and they observed as he made his way to the sheriff’s truck that waited by the curb, lights flashing. “Raphael St. James,” my dad said, introducing himself. And if he seemed to hold the sheriff’s hand a little longer than was appropriate, no one said anything. He caught himself, though, and cleared his throat. “My son, Gabriel.” “Gabe, ma’am,” I added, shaking her hand as well. Her grip was firm and confident, rough callouses not unpleasant. She reminded me of my late mother who’d been a welder. Her hands had felt the same. “Marlene Aberdine,” she replied, tucking a strand of blond hair behind an ear and adjusting her hat. Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait, are you the new doctor at the hospital?” My father smiled. “That’s me.” She grinned. “Well, I, for one, am real glad you’re here. You’ll probably experience a lot of anti-city-slicker nonsense for a few weeks. People around here don’t take quickly to change, but I was on the board doing the search for a replacement, and was adamant we find someone competent, no matter where he or she came from. You were by far the best we found. You’ll be a huge improvement over the man we had until he was released from his position. He was an i***t with a scalpel.” The way she wrinkled her nose made us both laugh, and I left my dad to chat her up while I wandered over to Beebub. He was leaning against the passenger door, nibbling on his nails, which I now noticed were a dark purple and chipped in places. His T-shirt and shorts were lighter shades of the same, including the sneakers, which had white laces and trim. It seemed he liked purple. A lot. The word “cute” came to mind. I settled beside him and remained quiet. I didn’t know what to say anyway. I knew what it was like to be different. My dad had decided to move away from the city because of how much I was hassled in school, by the kids on the street in our neighborhood…he thought that being out in the boonies would be better for me. But after what I’d just witnessed, I wasn’t so sure. “Never seen you ‘round here before,” Beebub mumbled after a while. His accent was decidedly southern, compared to the Midwestern tones I was used to hearing. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He seemed fidgety. “My dad and I just got into town. He’s the new doctor at Emmanuel Grace. Name’s Gabe, by the way. I’m thirteen. You the same age as me?” He nodded and went quiet again. It didn’t bother me. We remained like that, not a word between us, until the sheriff arrived. “I invited you and your dad over for dinner, Gabe,” Marlene said, running a hand over Beebub’s hair. He was a head taller than her. I watched as she unlocked the passenger door, leaving Beebub to hop inside and shut it, then crank down the window. “Turns out, you’ll be living a quarter mile down the road,” she continued. “We’re easy to find. The name is on the mailbox, anyway, and the house is bright purple, courtesy of this youngster here.” She snickered when Beebub rolled his eyes. I grinned. “Thanks for the invitation, ma’am. It would have been peanut butter sandwiches tonight for us. With Snickers bars for dessert.” “It’s Marlene, or Sheriff Marlene. And I’m happy to do it. Beebub cooks, too. He has to, because he seems to grow inches every month, and I can barely keep up with breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” She laughed and patted my shoulder before walking to the other side of the truck. “See you around seven.” I waved as she drove away, and saw Beebub turn his head to look at me. The tiny wave he gave me seemed like a good start to a friendship.