Off Center In The Attic Read online

  My daddy was a jack-of-all-trades and him and Grandpappy joined some of them trailers so's you could walk from one to another without goin' outside. When friends come over for some honky-tonkin', those old trailers would rock and once the rotted tires exploded on one of 'em.

  Effie May was my closest cousin. She was older 'n me. The boys said she was built like a cow. Once when they headed off to the trailers, they said they was gonna go milk the cows. Like it was a dirty joke or somethin'. Effie May hung out with the boys a lot. She said they was her kissin' cousins.

  One day, Effie May whispered to me, “They calm my yearnins, ya' know?”

  I didn't know. I saw her and cousin Wilma Lou—who my momma told me to stay away from—go in and out of them abandoned trailers on the other side of the park with a bunch of boys time and again. Effie May was awful smart, said she knew how to be of service to folks. She always had money. But me? I didn't want to be nobody's servant. Me and my momma was close. I was blonde-headed like the rest of my kin, but my hair picked up some of my momma's red. I liked her the most, better 'n Effie May, 'cause Momma explained things to me.

  As we kids was growin' up, I guess Grandpappy thought he still had to feed the whole brood. One day after Grammy gave away the old cow that dried up, he come home with another.

  “I'm tired o' sittin' around all day shakin' the cream to the top o' that jar just to make butter,” Grammy said.

  “Well, we cain't afford the store-bought stuff yet either,” Grandpappy said.

  Johnny Jeb was one cousin continually up to no good. He used to squeeze the cow's udder so we could drink when we got thirsty while we was playin'. He'd squirt us just to be mean. We was lucky Grandpappy never knowed what the soggy stains was on our clothes and why leaves stuck in our hair 'cause after getting pushed in, we swam in the creek with our clothes on and he couldn't tell the difference.

  “You grandkids is dirtier 'n my own ever was,” he would say. “To think you live better off today.”

  Some of my aunts and uncles took a broom to their kids for coming home dirty. My momma just smiled and poured water into the old tin tub, throwed me a bar of Grammy's lye soap, and said, “You soak good now, Darlin'.”

  Grandpappy couldn't figure out why the cow didn't give much milk. He was attached to Bossie, his latest cow, and instead of getting rid of her, he brung home another.

  Johnny Jeb loved that. He taught cousin Bobby Zeke to squirt and have milk fights in the meadow. When the rest of us got to laughin', we all learned to squirt.

  Grandpa got a third cow just so's he could get enough milk together for our families every day. Anyway, between the three, they kept the weeds down real good. But it stunk some and the boys was put to scrapin' up the cow-pies and tossin' 'em into an empty field. Us girls stayed away from them dung fights.

  Later on, when I started thinkin' about boys, I looked in the mirror to see what they was a-winkin' at. My bosoms finally growed like Effie May's. My kin said I wasn't bad looking and my hair shined like sunlight.

  “Why'd you s'pose that is?” I asked my momma one day.

  “Musta' been all that fresh cream you got in your hair when you was a kid,” she said.

  I never knew she knowed. I have a right smart image of my momma now that I know she let us kids enjoy the fun we had back when we was younger. I looked at her real hard 'cause I admired her more all of a sudden. Her brassy hair was so shiny.

  My daddy said I matured real nice. He paced around lookin' at me like I was the chunk of gold that was gonna make him rich or somethin'. I wondered if him and Momma would let me go honky-tonkin'. Effie May said she could tell me how to take care of my yearnins.

  The Boy at the Crossroad

  My housemate Hal touched the back of his hand to his forehead. “Retirement's hard work,” he said, feigning fatigue. “Let's go to the beach.”

  I slipped into my bathing suit and wrapped a short sarong over that and tied it off at the hip. We love to swim. Not only does it keep us tanned and healthy, it also keeps us thin and young looking in mid-life, despite the fact we both have graying hair.

  We loaded up his van with snorkeling and beach gear and took off just as dawn came filtering in. Other than town and residential streetlights, the rural areas on the island of Kauai, as on most islands in Hawaii, are fairly dark at night.

  As we approached an intersection of the highway bordering our small neighborhood, a boy about eight years old came into view. He moved about in an erratic pattern like he might be trying to catch something on the ground. He was alone.

  “What the…?” Hal asked as he leaned forward and strained to see through the windshield.

  The boy saw us approaching and headed for the curb. He turned around and started back to the other side. As we came closer, he stopped right in the middle of the road where it intersected the highway. Finally, he turned his back to us and stood with his arms tucked stiffly at his sides. He had very short hair and his clothes were neat and clean. I thought he might be out early in preparation for going to church.

  Hal stopped along side of the boy and stuck his head out of the window and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “I-I'm okay,” he said. His voice was choppy. He took another step to leave and stopped; took a step in the opposite direction and stopped. He glanced at us sideways and rolled his eyes a lot. He wouldn't look directly at us, but opened his mouth a couple of times like he wanted to speak. He looked like he might cry. His lip quivered. I thought sure he was about to confess something. My motherly instincts kicked in. I wanted to sooth him somehow.

  “What are you doing in the middle of the road at night?” Hal asked.

  The boy's eyes flitted back and forth as he walked away and slipped around the rear of our van.

  I called to him from my side window. “You sure you're okay?”

  He took two steps toward us. “Uh… yeah,” he said. “Sure.” He held his right hand tight at his side, hiding something.

  “What's in your hand?” I asked.

  He wouldn't stand still. I thought he might flee. Finally, he hesitated a moment, then slowly showed me his hand. “Just my scissors,” he said. His voice was flippant with guilt. He flopped the small scissors over a time or two to show me. The long sharp points gleamed. He closed the blades, and hastily threw the scissors into the pocket on his pants leg. Other metal tools stuck out and clinked together. In the early dawn, I couldn't make out what they were.

  “Where do you live?”

  His eyes got real big. He looked back down our street, seemed to choke up, but said nothing. He twirled a finger in his hair and pulled hard. I thought sure he would pull out a whole hank of hair. His lips quivered as he turned and walked back to the curb. Finally, he looked straight into my eyes. His eyes begged, but for what? What could he be doing in the middle of the road before dawn that would cause him such distress? I started to get out of the car to see if I could help him.

  “I'm going home,” he said as he took off running.

  I stood beside the car and watched him duck into a back yard a little ways past our house. At least he was home.

  On our way again, I asked Hal, “What could he be cutting outdoors at this hour? Creepy crawlers are the only things that move around at night.”

  “Don't jump to conclusions,” Hal said. “He didn't have blood on his hands.”

  After a great day of snorkeling on the North Shore, Hal and I had dinner at our favorite local restaurant in Old Kapaa Town. Darkness was setting in as we approached our house, but it was still light enough that I saw that same boy on the lawn two doors down. I hadn't thought of him all day. Fiercely, he jabbed at a scrawny gray tabby that seemed cornered up a short tree. It didn't look to me as if he were playing. He must have hit the cat because it cried out angrily, loud enough that we could hear, and leaped out of the tree, bounding away limping. Something in the boy's hand gleamed. He started to take off after the cat but noticed our van and turned away and stood rigid before bolting into the b
ack yard. That house was the only rental in our small neighborhood of mostly quiet families and retired homeowners. It attracted one transient family after another. Maybe his parents worked and left him alone most of the day.

  After watching him viciously thrust at the cat and evidently injuring it, I couldn't help myself. I walked over and knocked on the door. The woman who answered could have been his grandmother. Her layered makeup and exaggerated false lashes seemed out of place in our humid, tropical climate. She wore a very large, loose, ruffled Hawaiian muumuu. She panted and puffed like it might have been an effort just to carry her hulk to the front door to open it.

  “Your boy,” I said, after introducing myself. “…was in the middle of the intersection before dawn and—“

  “He's our neighborhood watch,” she said.

  I didn't know our area needed a security program. I must have looked confused.

  She shrugged and the corners of her mouth twitched nervously when she tried to smile. Her thick beet-red lipstick filled the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. “He keeps the area clean. Gets rid of the geckos for me. I hate those stupid lizards!”

  “That's why he tried to hide his scissors?”

  “Hide?” she asked. “He doesn't have to hide. What he does for me is kills those dirty geckos… those slimy toads too. I don't know where they come from but they're better off dead.”

  I remembered a conversation I had with my neighbor's husband just after I moved to Kauai. He told me about how geckos controlled the bugs and other pests that infest our homes, especially termites. The toads wouldn't hurt anyone either and they controlled the insects in our gardens.

  The boy entered the room carrying a soda can and making gurgling, choking noises as he plunged his scissors downward in the air again and again as if stabbing something. He saw me. His eyes got real big and he did an about-face.

  The woman turned and yelled, “I told you not to bring food and drink into this room!” Her living room was so immaculate it looked unused. She called him back into the room and he crept in, minus the can and scissors, and avoided looking at me. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in front of her. He stared at the floor.

  “I just thought it was dangerous that he was in the middle of the intersection in the dark,” I said.

  “He wanders a lot,” she said. “But he's a big boy. Kills those pests wherever he can find them, just lops their heads right off!” She made it sound like he was a real pro.

  I began feeling queasy about the whole situation. “I guess I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

  She smirked suddenly and pushed the boy aside. Sweat beaded on her forehead and ran down her temples. “So now… mind your own business!” Her abrupt attitude change took me by surprise.

  “Sorry,” I said, almost stuttering. “I was concerned for him. That's all.”

  She closed the door before I had time to turn and leave. I heard her scream at the boy, “Get the hell out of my living room!”

  I couldn't get the boy or the strange woman out of my mind. Controlling pests in their own yard might be one thing, but not by beheading. Scouring the neighborhood in the dark with a scissors was a frightful scenario. I remembered earlier in the morning how the boy looked back down our street when I asked him where he lived. It seemed that he wanted to say something. He knew he was doing wrong but had no choice but to follow the dictates of that domineering woman and would pay dearly if he told.

  Later, just as I was about to climb into the shower, I heard a commotion out on the street. A woman screamed, others shouted angrily, with children's high-pitched voices mixed in. I heard the grandmother's voice over the ruckus. I felt sorry for anyone who had to deal with her. I climbed into the shower. The neighbors could mend whatever they had gotten into.

  Over the sounds of the shower water, I heard sirens approaching and once they were near, recognized them as from police cars. By the time I climbed out of the shower, I heard another siren, that of the firefighter paramedics. An ambulance arrived.

  Someone knocked on my door. I dried quickly and threw on some clothes. My neighbor stood on my porch looking bewildered as she clung to her little girl's hand. “Did you hear the sirens?” she asked.

  I looked down the street and could see the police car lights rotating but couldn't make out what was happening. It was dark already as attendants brought a stretcher out of the back of the ambulance. Police held back the neighbors. “What's that about?

  “The new boy that just moved in,” she said, gesturing toward the commotion. “He got into a fight with Andy, one of my daughter's friends. He raked a scissors across Andy's throat.”

  I gasped and realized my mouth hung agape.

  “While I'm here,” she said. “I also wanted to ask. Our new Persian kitten is missing. Have you seen it?”

  Cafeteria Science

  Between classes, if we students needed to pass time before the next session, the best place to relax and mingle was in the college cafeteria. That was where people watching could be developed into a talent. Friends jovially referred to the socializing as studying cafeteria science.

  I frequently arrived early and sat by myself at one of the long tables and waited for friends to finish their classes. Several people I knew also took classes at the same times during the day. Other times, I would befriend someone from one of my classes, start a conversation and end up sitting with them. In addition to making great friendships, cafeteria science gave me some unique inspiration for papers for my psychology and creative writing classes, but one guy in particular I avoided at all cost.

  Harvey, in his bigness and unwashed bib denim coveralls that wrapped around his sagging bulbous stomach, sat alone in his little vacuum at the far end of the cafeteria gouging fiercely at his fingernails. Every time he came up with a chunk of crud, into his mouth it went without checking to see what it might be; it was simply big enough for a bite.

  Next he dug into his ears to shake something loose. Then his fingers disappeared up his nose. At regular intervals, the fingers went into his mouth. Did not pass go, did collect something, and went straight to the jail of his mouth. This guy would never get so far as to take a ride on the Reading or make it to Park Place or Boardwalk.

  Next he thrust the flat of his palm deep into his armpits and couldn't do both fast enough. Each hand was brought up to his face in open fashion as he sniffed the palms and fingers.

  My stomach convulsed. I wondered if anyone heard it groan.

  Harvey and I work at the same company. We live in the same vicinity near work. Nonchalantly, I prayed it wouldn't happen as I secretly watched his eyes search around the room. I slouched down in my chair and my heart sunk further when he saw where I sat and promptly invited himself over to join me. My stomach flopped again. This walking creature made of animal, vegetable and mineral residue could make a mess out of my social image! The determined look in his eyes had a purpose. His gaze told me his thoughts: There you are, friend. I'm going to sit with you before someone else does.

  The guy and girl at the end of the long table saw him coming and promptly picked up their books and papers and moved across the room. Harvey's odor preceded him. He plopped himself down beside me as I played like I hadn't noticed him. Heaven forbid if people thought Harvey and I were actually friends! Right away, I saw he had also missed the snack dangling out of his nose.

  Turned toward me, with an elbow on the table and leaning too close, this guy with a sour breath took under a minute to point out that we could do ourselves a great favor by pooling it to and from college. I refused by telling the truth, that I had many errands to do before heading home after classes each day.

  Nausea began rising from my stomach. I swallowed hard. To think he had no idea what he was offering to share—his vacuum—sucking up its chunks of crud! He assumed that we could be that chummy? My friends and I avoided him. We were afraid his stench might be contagious. It also hung in the air at work when he passed my desk. I had never approached him
and avoided him as others did. Evidently ol' Harv couldn't see the world outside of his vacuity.

  I visualized us in the car together, stuck in traffic, me driving, with Harvey the passenger laboring over his fingernails and having his breakfast. In the privacy of the car, I wondered if he might bring up his toenails.

  At times, I wish I didn't have such an active imagination. I had just had my breakfast and thought I was about to lose it. I excused myself saying I needed to get to class early for a consultation with the instructor. As I hurried away, I wondered when big crusty Harv might finally determine he was ripe enough to have his annual bath.

  Indoctrination

  Straining to see as the craft hovers closer, I count five of them, which are two more than I expected. They look like otherworldly mannequins huddled together under a bubble. I can't be the only person who sees them. The office gossipers say I'm touched. They disbelieve the things that happen to me so I quit talking about them. Except for Frannie. She took a chance and hired the new girl in town. Said she saw something in me—whatever that was. She gave this racy girl a chance and I vowed I wouldn't let her down. I've become the top sales person in the shop. That's another reason the other ladies gossip.

  The guy in the lane next to me toots twice and I'm distracted.

  “Sure you can hold that thing on the road?” the honker yells from his car.

  “I can do this in my sleep,” I say as I throw him a sideways glance that lets him know he's sexist.

  People say I'm bound to get into trouble one day. Unique is what I am and that won't be changing any time soon. I'm just me, leaving the honker behind in my dust, although my impulsiveness gets me into a jam once in a while.