Sneaky Kemosabes

Sneaky Kemosabes


During the summer of 1958, we were thick as thieves.  We were Kemosabes, a ragtag trio of best friends.

We didn’t have much, but we had our bikes. Fat tire bicycles that we fancied up with baseball cards clipped to the spokes to make whirling flapping sounds.  Mom probably wanted me to find girls to play dolls and read Nancy Drew books, but I had other ideas.

Butch, Tony, and I spent long summer days leaving the house in the morning and not returning until supper.  We traveled the neighborhood seeking adventures.  And boy, did we find them.  One time we found a human bone behind the cemetery, the length as long as my knee to ankle.  Butch took it home, but his dad said it was probably from an animal.  Another time we thought we came to the end of the earth.  A long stretch of empty land beyond the paint factory was just ripe for exploring, so we grubbed around for arrowheads and precious jewels, forever luckless.   

Anyway, something awful occurred near the last days of August.  Butch called while Mom was out back hanging laundry.

“Sassy, how fast can you get to the park?”

“Faster than a speeding bullet.”  I detected the high pitch in Butch’s voice.

“Good.  Tell your mom we’re going on a picnic or something, so bring food.”

I pulled out a pair of yellow pedal pushers from the dresser drawers I shared with my sister Cathy.  After tugging them on, I thrust my arms into a polka dot shirt and brushed my hair up into a ponytail, securing it with a rubber band.  No fancy doodads for me.

In the kitchen I dumped some cornflakes into a green bowl and heaped on two spoons of sugar, gulping it all down while shoving my feet into filthy Keds. 

When mom shuffled in with the empty laundry basket, she yelled, “Whoa!  What’s the hurry, Sass?”

“We all decided to picnic at the stream today,” I lied, and then begged to bring sandwiches.

“Fine.  Start fixing.”

Mom’s days were always full with chores and taking care of my younger brother, Joey and she was about to have another baby, so I heard.  I didn’t even know where babies came from, but we were getting one.  Dad hoped the stork brought a another boy..

After slapping breads together, Mom rolled out wax paper and made sure each sandwich was wrapped snug.  She handed over the sack of food and kissed me before I could escape.

“Having fish tonight,” she called after me.


Hightailing across the park, I saw Tony and Butch at the water fountain. I got off my bike and gasped with surprise. 

“What…” I stopped myself.  Tony’s left eye was puffed out like a giant walnut and his lower lip appeared turned inside out.  He lowered his faded baseball cap to shade his eyes.  Then he tugged at the sleeves of his dirty t-shirt, but I had already spied the bruises on his spindly arms.  “Your dad?”

Tony kicked a pebble and studied the ground.  Butch shifted from foot to foot, as if he had to go to the bathroom.

Tony’s mother used to be the punching bag, but she left after suffering a broken arm, and then just vanishing while Mr. Tedesco was at his construction job.  That left Tony to fend alone because his older brother ran away from home soon after. 

Clearing his throat and still without looking at us directly, Tony said, “I wanna see the carnival.” 

I wasn’t expecting that. “Me, too, but isn’t it far away?”

“Not that far.” Butch said. “Probably like an hour riding our bikes. Maybe more.  Do we have any money between us?”  Butch was the more logical one of the three of us.

I had two Indian head nickels in my shoe. Butch offered up a quarter and a few wheat pennies.  But Tony dug deep into his blue jeans and pulled out a wad of real money.  It was more money than I ever saw at one time. Butch and I stole glances at each other and then back at the money wad, our jaws, no doubt, hanging open.  We knew he’d stolen it from his dad.

Then he said, “I killed him and I gotta go before the police find out.” 

I was dumbstruck. Butch rubbed his stubby fingers through his crew cut.  “Noooooo!  What happened?”  I almost thought he was going to cry. 

“Drunk as a skunk.  Wondered why I din’t make supper. I told him he forgot to get food and we din’t have any.  He grabbed and started shakin’ me then I got slugged in the face.”  Tony took a few gulps of air and sniffled. “He fell.  I whacked him good with the whiskey bottle.” 

“How do you know he’s dead?”  I wondered, because I never saw a real dead person.

“He din’t get up.  So I ain’t going to jail and I gotta leave. Now.”

“Kids don’t go to jail,” Butch said.

“Well then, I ain't goin’ to no orphanage either.”

And that was that.


None of us got permission to go.  We were ten years old and it was the hottest day of summer.  That day we were the Sneaky Kemosabes.

Heading west, riding three across in the middle of the road, our muscled legs pumped our bikes through the neighborhood.  Butch pointed to the left and we traveled downhill toward the train tracks.  We followed the parallel road to the tracks for about three miles until it came to a dead-end at the woods.

“We won’t make any time if we have to walk our bikes through the woods.”  Butch swiped sweat from his forehead.

Tony did the same thing, but using the bottom of his already grimy t-shirt.  “Then we ride the tracks.”

I cringed.  “That’s too dangerous.”

“Big chicken.”

“Am not.”

We settled our bikes onto the tracks riding single file with Butch in the lead, and me in the rear.  My job was to make sure trains didn’t sneak up on us.  We rode purposeful, sweaty bodies glistening in the sunshine.  Our lunch baking in my bike basket, jostling about at every bump.

Our bicycle tires pounded against the wooden rails, jarring our bodies.  Fear made us pump harder when we entered the curve.  Steep ditches filled with murky sewage water, and crowded with hordes of huge boulders, bordered each side of us.

We hopped off our bikes when the ditches went shallow.  “Look.  There’s a dirt path ahead.  We can take that until we get to the highway.”  Butch indicated.  Soon the path ended and we were waist-high in tall grass, spiky purple flowers poking through from atop giant sticker bushes.  Crows cackled above us.

“Now what?” I said.

Tony blew out a breath.  “We walk.”

I looked around. “But, where?”

“Wait,” Butch piped in.  “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah, a bunch of birds.  So what,” snarled Tony.

“No. I mean water.  Follow me.”

Now we all could hear the gentle flow of water spilling into a creek.  Eureka!  I longed to bury my face in the cool water.  “Do you think we should drink it?”

“Sassy, ain’t nothin’ stoppin' me.”  Tony slurped water from his cupped hands.

Since he didn’t die immediately, Butch and I kneeled by the water and did the same thing.  It wasn’t long before we were splashing each other.  Tony removed his high-tops, and rolled up his pants.  His feet a stark white compared to his brown arms; he dipped them into the creek.  He bent and scooped up more cool water to sooth his swollen eye. 

“I’m starvin’,” he said.

The mushy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches stuck to the roof of our mouths.  Butch carried the conversation yapping non-stop between bites.  That’s what he did when he got nervous.  He loved baseball and shared everything about Nellie Fox setting the record for no strike-outs.  He went on and on until Tony said, “Let’s ride.”

Again we rode single file on the gravel shoulder of the busy highway against the on-coming cars.   

It was the greatest feeling when we caught sight of the rotating Ferris wheel.  Soon the cacophony of carnival noise hummed in our ears.  My legs felt like rubber, but the sheer joy of popcorn and cotton candy smells made my mouth water.

We deserted our bikes. Without actually knowing what to do first, we rushed over to the midway and soaked in the magic.  Even in the broiling heat of the day, mobs of people lined up for rides. 

Greasy tattooed hawkers with bad teeth barked at us to test our skills at balloon and darts, and other games of chance to win a trinket.  Gullible patrons plunked down silver coins as the hucksters swiped them up, encouraging the losers to try again.  Tony stood and watched enthralled by the activity.

I gravitated toward the organ music and watched the merry-go-round spin children on whimsical carousel horses.  We didn’t linger.  Butch dragged me along making our way to the red and white striped tent.

The bills posted promised a bearded lady, a man who could pop his eyes out, the wolf boy, and a living mermaid.  A fat man with many chins gave us the spiel.

“Come see the freaks, the strange people, and the weird.  Show begins in three minutes.  Buy your tickets now.  Don’t miss the trained fleas in the Chamber of Wonders.”

But we didn’t buy tickets.  Instead Tony signaled us back.  Butch and I averted our eyes, our attention captured by a juggling midget. 

A few minutes later Tony joined us.  “So what happened?”  Butch asked.

A big smile lit his face forcing his split lip to crack open. He touched it and then spit. “He said they’re always needin’ gazoonies and water boys.”

Butch asked before I could.  “What’s a gazoonie?”

Tony shrugged indifference. “If I stick around they’ll give me jobs.  Said to see Gus.”  He pointed to the back of the carnival, and vibrant painted boxcars. 

Sadness washed over me as tears trickled down my cheeks.  Butch’s voice quivered when he pleaded with Tony not to go, but Tony told us to scram and made us promise to never tell anyone where he went and that was final.

Butch and I pinky swore.  Tony, with his meager belongings in a drawstring sack and a roll of cash in his pocket, set out to locate Gus. We wandered back to claim our bikes still pressed against the only shady tree.  Oddly enough, Tony’s bike had a flat tire. It seemed it had reached its final destination.  Wheeling our bikes around, we reluctantly headed home. We never saw Tony again. 


The sun was like a red-hot flame at our backs.  Butch led the way home following the railroad tracks.  We didn’t talk much, both absorbed with our own inner thoughts, I guess. We agreed we didn’t care that mean old man Tedesco was dead, but somehow it felt more like Tony had died.  Like his heart was broke.  Worse yet, we lost a kemosabe.

The return trip came with only one close call, and total exhaustion.  Butch and I went our separate ways at Harper Street.  I pined for sleep, but a fish fry supper was almost ready.  I slept through Leave it to Beaver that evening.  My parents thought I must be sick and, in fact I was, but it was called heartsick.

Gossip swirled in the neighborhood a day later.  Apparently, Mr. Tedesco suffered from a concussion, rather than death when Tony hit him over the head with a bottle.  He hadn’t died, but ranted to everyone he was going to kill Tony when he came home.  That posed a problem for Butch and me since we were questioned by everyone about the whereabouts of Tony.

Of course, we said we didn’t know where Tony had gone, or the money.  We pinky swore. 

STATIC

Character Sketch for Sassy  (E) First Assignment #2041616 by Endless Enigma

Word Count:  1989