Entry #521209, added on 06-28-08 @ 7:46 pm EDT
Entry Access Restriction: None.
| Part Two - Chapter Three: Yellow Bandana | Entry #521209 |
Chapter Three
August- 1975
I took a wet cloth and put it around my neck, and leaned out of the upstairs bedroom window. We kept the windows opened in the faint hope that a breeze would slide in and cool our apartment for even a few moments. I closed my eyes and enjoyed even the slightest breath of wind.
“The high today,” said a man with a smooth, deep voice from inside the radio, “ will climb to a hundred and one. Temperatures will remain at this level throughout North Texas with no relief in sight.”
Les moaned as he lay across Mom’s bed. He fanned himself with a folded newspaper. “I’m getting us an air-conditioner. It’s too fucking hot,” he said.
There were few residents of the housing projects who were lucky enough to have small window units installed in the second story. All of the downstairs units could be found in pawn shops. Stealing unit air conditioners was profitable business for some of the area gangs. The police were all over the place when the television news did a report on one of the older residents dying after her portable unit was removed while she napped.
“You’ll just get caught, “ I told Les.
“You don’t know, Lisa.” Les said. Normally, he would have argued, but he said nothing else. The heat was so draining that even talking seemed like hard labor.
I continued to sit near the window and stare out at the city streets. The city jail, a tall white brick building about a block away, showed only small rectangular windows. I wondered if the prisoners there had air conditioning. Then I wondered why I cared. We didn’t even own a fan. Still, I hoped they had it.
Our front yard wore splotches of barren dirt, and dormant, colorless grass. A tiny squirrel, which at first, I thought to be a large rat from the sewer, sped across the sidewalk, made a sudden turn, then, in a burst, darted up the lone, small oak tree which struggled to grow on the grounds of our apartment building.
The office building directly across the street from the projects and only about sixty feet from our window, housed a small mom and pop Mexican café. Paco’s Cantina was popular and cars jammed the curb down the entire block on the other side of the street during lunch. The brick, dark brown in spots, and faded to a lighter shade in others, crumbled here and there, almost as if by design.
At the far corner facing an intersecting street was a newsstand. I stared as people crossed in front of the stand and shuffled in and out the door of the café. Those leaving seemed in a rush to get back to their office jobs in nearby downtown towers. I noticed the nice clothes worn by both men and women and for some reason, they all seemed happy.
I thought, I’m gonna be like that when I grow up and wear nice dresses to work.
I watched the flow of customers fade as the day wore on. Paco’s served only breakfast and lunch and closed around three every afternoon.
Les groaned again and got up from the bed in frustration. He said, “We’ve got to get a fan or something. I can’t take this anymore. We‘re gonna roast.”
Danny White, one of the project boys, and a friend of David‘s, sat on the floor and leaned against the end of the bed with a dull look on his face. Danny was quiet, and didn’t have much to say to anyone. Like his brother, Richard, he wore his hair long and pulled it back into a pony tail. It was thick, a dirty blond color. I often wondered why he never cut it, especially in the hot summer.
“David and Richard will be back soon. Maybe we can sneak into a swimming pool somewhere or get into the subway tunnels or something,” he said to Les.
I turned my attention back to the street to daydream some more and noticed a Dr. Pepper delivery truck pull up to the curb. A long trailer with locked, roll-up doors on the side was attached to the part of the truck that extended back from the cab. The driver had parked there for three days in a row and gone into Paco’s. Each time he came out with two sacks about forty five minutes later, just before the restaurant closed. Paco’s was famous for their tamales.
I thought how nice it would be to have a cold Dr. Pepper. I loved Dr. Pepper. We rarely got sodas, since they just cost too much. Even with two jobs, our mom barely managed the necessities for us, sometimes not even that.
I stood and walked to Les and Danny and asked, “You know, that Dr. Pepper truck is parked out front again. Do you think he would notice if we just took one or two?”
Les jumped off the bed to look out the window almost pushing me aside. He called Danny over, “Hey man, you think those bolt-cutters will cut the lock at the
bottom of the side doors? The locks look small enough.”
Danny said, “ Yeah, no problem, easy.”
“I don’t think anyone will notice if we stay low and just open this side of the truck. It faces our apartment and even the passing cars can’t see us since it’s curbside. Go to your place and get the cutters. We’re going to get us a Dr. Pepper.” Les chuckled.
Danny returned, holding a cutting device with long handles on it. I stood in the living room with Les. Both of us continued to look out the window with a clear longing. Danny peeked out with us. The driver of the truck had not gone into Paco’s yet. He wrote something on a clipboard while we watched.
Benny Starks, another family friend, one closer to the age of Les, walked in the door. “What are y’all looking at?” he asked. Benny had too many freckles, but I liked him, anyway.
Les turned and said “Shssh. We’re waiting for that truck driver to go into Paco’s. We’re going to get some Dr. Pepper.”
Benny looked out the window and said “Hey man, that’s great. I have a box dolly we can use. Want me to go get it?”
Les said, "You mean that hand-truck thing you rigged up? Hell yeah, go get it." He looked at Danny. "May as well get enough to last, huh?"
Danny nodded his head and smiled as Benny ran out the back door.
The truck's trailer had four doors on each side that slid upward. There was a small bolt lock at the bottom of each door.
The driver threw his clipboard on the dash of the truck, stepped out and locked the doors. He clearly took pride in his appearance. His uniform shirt, neatly tucked into dark work pants, showed no wrinkles. He looked back at the truck as if he were considering something, then with a quick, but sure pace, entered Paco’s.
Les asked “How long is he usually in there, Lisa?”
“I don’t know exactly. I guess thirty minutes, maybe longer.”
Les grabbed the bolt-cutters and said, “Come on. Lisa go to the corner of the truck and watch for him to come out. We won’t be able to see on this side of the truck.”
We went out the front door of our apartment. I cautiously walked to the front of the truck. I knelt there and watched Danny cut the locks, then Les lift the doors slightly, then look around .
“Where’s Benny?” Les said.
Danny said, “There’s the fool,” and pointed to him. Benny crouched as he kept the truck between himself, moving traffic and the café.
Benny, heavyset, with a squat torso and short legs, sported a butch haircut that made his face look even fatter. He lived two buildings away from us, or about two hundred yards and ran the entire way there and back. His face was a beet-red color and covered in sweat as he came up to the side of the truck. I feared he would pass out and we would have to load him on the dolly rather than the soft drinks. The dolly looked home-made with what appeared to be tricycle wheels, iron clothesline bars and plywood.
Benny said, "I sprayed lubricant on the wheels and axles, so they wouldn't squeak." He wore thick, plastic rimmed eyeglasses, and pushed them up off the ridge of his nose and closer to his eyes as he said it.
Les looked over to me and moved his lips slowly. I interpreted the movements as “Is it clear?”
Still crouched at the front of the truck, I nodded my head.
Les opened a door on the side of the trailer that faced our apartment. He frowned as if he was disappointed in what he saw. Danny stepped back and they opened the door next to it. Benny held the dolly as Danny and Les loaded it with several cases of Dr. Pepper. Then Les took two more cases from the truck and handed one to Danny. They followed as Benny dragged the dolly behind him to the front stoop. They all made sure they remained on the side of the truck away from passing cars, pedestrians and the businesses across the street. They entered our apartment with one last look over the shoulder from each of them. A moment later they returned with the empty dolly.
Still in front of the truck, but edged to a corner where no one could see me, I gave Les the thumbs up signal and nodded my head.
He smiled and winked at me.
The boys repeated the same process twice more. Les was careful to shut the door of the trailer each time and disappeared into our apartment. A taxi slowed to almost a full stop near the front of the truck. The driver, a man with a strange, bright red hat, stared at me for a minute, then drove away. He looked back at me as the taxicab turned onto another street.
Eventually, Les poked his head out the front door and motioned for me to come in. I ran to him and he locked the door behind me. Dr. Pepper cases were stacked and scattered all over the living room.
Benny looked back out the window at the truck and asked, “Man, you think the driver will notice when he comes out?”
Les said, “No, not unless one of the doors come open.” He looked at Danny, “You made sure each one was latched, didn’t you?
Danny looked at him, but didn’t hesitate with his reply. “Yeah, man, they‘re latched.”
We all went back to the living room window and peeked from different angles at the truck. After a few minutes, the truck driver jumped up into the cab and started the truck. We flipped around from the window and pushed the curtains shut. Les peeked back once more and I saw him relax his shoulders as I heard the truck pull away from the curb. I took a quick peek and saw it disappear as it turned the corner at the City Jail building.
Relieved, Les took his knife from his pocket and tore open one of the cases. We carried several cans to the kitchen and pulled the ice trays from the freezer. I got several glasses from the cabinet and we filled them up with Dr. Pepper. We drank several cans between us.
Benny said, “Hey, I gotta go. My mom’s probably screaming for me by now. I can‘t let her see me bring the dolly back, though. Can y‘all hang on to it for a day or so?”
“That’s cool,” said Les, “Grab some cans before you go, man. Thanks for your help.”
Benny nodded as he left and Danny locked the back door behind him.
Les returned to the living room and I followed. I wondered what he had planned for all of that Dr. Pepper. As far as I was concerned we struck it rich. We were going to have Dr. Pepper for months.
He stood for a moment and studied the boxes. Someone pounded on the back door of our apartment, shook it and shouted “Hey, open up!”
Then, we heard the door forced open. Les jumped, looked directly at Danny and said, “I thought you locked that door.”
|
© Copyright 2008 L. A. Powell (UN: lisapowell at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
L. A. Powell has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|
Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
Static Items
Books
Forums
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
