Simon's Journal
Volume II
Thirteen Nights -- After the Crusade
Written by
Danny
Author of Thirteen Days
Part 1 -- Friday, March 12, 2004 -- And the Flames Went Higher
Sometime in the night, I have no idea exactly when but I woke after having a kind of funny sort of dream. I had been dreaming that I was asleep and felt like something or someone was sitting or holding my legs. Even in my dream I could not see who or what it was because the room was still pitch black. When I woke up, I thought I could still feel the pressure on my legs but after thrashing around a bit, the feeling totally vanished. Somewhat weird I know but I cannot help what my brain does when I am asleep.
Now that I was awake I felt like I needed to go poop and had I been at home I probably would have just let it go right there in my diaper and let mom or dad cleaned me up in the morning. However, I am not at home and I honestly don't want to give my five bunkmates any more reason to not like me.
So, I slowly got myself out of bed and managed to find my way through the darkness to the door of our room. It was by sheer luck that I made it to the door that lead into the bathroom without getting lost. I had held to the wall and followed it around to the right until I found a door. The whole time I was trying to remember if I had seen any other doors before the bathroom door but couldn't pull up the image in my mind.
Given that I have a very slender build, the diaper slipped right off my hips like underwear and fell to my ankles softly. I had not wet the diaper so far this night but I put that down to the fact that I had so little to drink yesterday and had sweated out probably ten times what I took in.
Just as had happened the previous morning, the second my butt cheeks hit the toilet seat my bum opened up and out fired a continuous stream of diarrhea.
"Whelp there goes whatever water was left in me!" I whispered to myself.
Wiping my backside proved to be a challenged when I was finished, wiping proved impossible this time for two reasons. The first was because; once again, I was wearing my armor, which was restricting the amount of movement I was able to perform. The second reason was that my body ached so desperately from having been forced to shovel trash all day yesterday.
Now I know my backside was pretty filthy after the way the diarrhea had splashed all over me and I knew I had to do something. I sat for several minutes thinking and thinking before the solution came to me.
Not wanting to get the diaper all poop covered, I chose to not pull it back up but instead slipped my feet out of it, rolled it up and tucked it under one arm before leaving the bathroom and heading for the room where Cho had bathed and diapered me the last two days.
Oddly enough I was very thankful for all the darkness because even if someone had been up, there was no way they could have seen me streaking my way through the halls.
When I reached what I was sure was the door to the kitchen, I took hold of the knob and turned it. It opened but not quietly. It gave out an eerie creak, as it swung open. I froze and listen for the sounds of someone coming to check out the sound but no other sounds could be heard.
I backed into the kitchen and slowly as I could to keep the creaking sound to a minimum, I pushed the door until it was almost latched.
When I turned around, I discovered I was not in the kitchen at all but was in what appeared to be an office that was totally out of place here in the Banachelli Orphanage.
The room was decked out with expensive furnishings of the finest quality. A huge cherry wood desk sat in the middle of the room backed by a wall of shelves filled with all sorts of odd trinkets each displayed under a glass dome.
Sitting to the left side of the desk was a long goose necked desk lamp which was on and allowing me to take in all of what I was seeing now.
The floor was a polished wood that seemed to reflect everything that sat on it like a darkened mirror. Directly above the floor hung an expensive looking chandelier from a cathedral style ceiling with exposed beams and white painted boards. The room with all of its furnishings and decorations made me feel like I was in a castle rather then the Banachelli Orphanage for Boys.
Suddenly I was very aware of my nudity and the fact that I was no longer clothed by the darkness. I decided to leave and go find the washroom so that I could hose off my backside.
As I was about to open the door again, I heard what I thought was the sound of someone walking toward the door.
"Someone must have heard the door after all!" I whimpered to myself.
I turned and quickly looked for a place to hide but the only place that might offer any concealment was the desk. I scampered around it and just in the nick of time had ducked under it as the door to this office swung open.
"Come in and bring the boy with you!" I heard the voice of Mr. Wriggle say.
"I 'av never been in 'ere before!"
I knew that voice. It was the same voice I had come to know as belonging to one of my captors. I was sure it was Segal.
"I don't mind telling you that I don't like this at all! No notice of your arrival! No message from Madam-M that you were bringing this boy to us! No I don't like it at all!" Mr. Wriggle said as his voice grew closer and closer to where I was hiding.
I nearly fainted dead away when Mr. Wriggle sat down in the desk chair and pulled in close enough that his left knee was only inches from my face. But what was even scarier was the fact that apparently in his haste he did not have time to put on pants for under his robe I was left me with excellent view of his old shriveled manhood parts. Had I any food in my belly at that moment I probably would have vomited on his crotch.
I closed my eyes and prayed that I would not be found.
"Scon are terribly sorry Mr. Wriggle but given dat 'e's so 'ot an' de peelers an' fbi are doggin' us so much roi nigh, madam m felt it safer if yer man were in yisser care." Segal said sounding almost humble.
"Well I still don't like it!" Mr. Wriggle grumbled and pounded the desk.
I could hear the whimpering sobs of what sounded like a very young child followed by the sound of flesh against flesh.
"Stop dat yer filthy wee shoite!" Segal grunted sounding more like a bear then a man just then.
"That will be quite enough of that!" Mr. Wriggle had jumped to his feet at the sound of Segal hitting the child. "You have done your duty; I will take the boy from here! Now get out and tell Madam-M that if she ever sends you here again our dealings are threw!"
Segal said nothing and I only knew he was gone by the sound of angry footsteps, the door creaking open and then closed again.
Mr. Segal sat himself back down but thankfully did not pull himself in close again. Instead he sat, reclining back and was motionless for quite some time.
When the door to the office creaked open once more, I quickly recognized by the sound of his voice that it was Fyer the cook that had entered.
"Oh I'm glad to see you Fyer!" Mr. Wriggle said standing up again, "It's very late and I am very tired. Please see that this boy is entered into the books and found a bed at once."
"Tha'z non m' job!" Fyer said angrily.
"Fyer just do it!" Mr. Wriggle said sounding very weary.
Fyer sounding as big as he is small said, "Ain't non room! All filled up!"
"What?" Mr. Wriggle moaned loudly.
"Non no room!" Fyer repeated.
Mr. Wriggle's voice rose to shouting, "I don't give a dam what you do with him; just put him somewhere! I'll worry about him tomorrow!"
Fyer did not respond but it did sound like he left and took the boy with him because I could no longer hear the sobbing of the boy.
I sighed a huge relief when Mr. Wriggle left the office to, turning off the desk lamp and closing the door behind him.
I waited several more minutes before moving just to be sure no one would be returning. I crawled out form under the desk, reached out to where I knew the lamp was and clicked it on again.
Assuming Fyer had taken the boy to be washed before taking him to bed I figured I could not chance going that way and resigned myself to going to bed with a poopy bottom. Also deciding the risk was too great at being discovered wondering the halls naked, I unrolled the diaper, held it open and stepped back into it.
Maybe I shouldn't have done it but as I was about to leave I notice sitting on the desk. It was a yellow tablet of paper and a very fancy ink pen. I am not sure what made me reach over and scoop them up but I did just before escaping form the office and making my way back to the room.
The hallway lights were all on now, which only made me move all that much faster for fear that Fyer or Mr. Wriggle were still out of bed. As I descended the steps, I realized the lights below were not on and exhaled another sigh of relief because I knew I was safe again.
Back in my bed, the tablet of paper and pen safely stashed under my pillow, I lay staring into the blackness and breathing hard from having nearly been caught. I thought about the boy Segal had just delivered and how scared he must be right now.
I realized after laying there for quiet some time that I was not going to be able to get back to sleep anytime soon so instead I decided that I would go ahead and get up again. Now that I had the paper and pen I decided I was going to go back to the toilets where there was light and attempt to write down everything that had been happening since leaving home. I figured that if I could record everything and keep it hid from everyone, when I did manage to escape from here I could give it to the police as evidence against Segal, the Wriggles and everyone else.
I also decided that just in case it was closer to morning then I thought, I would get dressed. So I once again stripped off my diaper, leaving it rolled up and laying on the floor by my bed before carrying all of my clothes and shoes to the bathroom with me along with the pad and pen where I could dress myself and see what I was doing.
Boy was I right about getting dressed because as it turned out, I had spent the rest of the night writing. I was sitting on the very last toilet all the way at the end of the row writing when I heard the first bells.
Brrrannng! Brrrannng! Brrrannng!
As quickly as I could, I stuffed the tablet under my shirt and slipped the pen into my right shoe. I had just got my pants pulled down and my bottom back on the seat when the second bell rang out followed by three of my five bunkmates entering into the toilets all sleepy eyed.
"Oi, der `e is!" Jonathan had said when he saw me, "Told ya he di'n' run'way!"
Aside from this small observation by Jonathan, the boys paid no attention to me at all this morning. No one even appeared to have notice the top of my plastic armor peaking out of the collar of my dirty, smelly shirt or at least, if anyone did, it was certain that no one said anything about it.
When I left and returned to our room to, once again, stash the notebook and pen, nobody looked at me and I tried not to look at them as well. It seemed, after all, that there was nothing I could do to change how they felt about me, which I still could not completely understand.
There was still, however, one thing I could try to do and that was not to be the last one to arrive in the dining hall that morning. And though hurting all over and by now, weak from hunger as well, I somehow managed to dress quickly enough to find boys still in the hall when I arrived there. Several boys arrived behind me in the food line, panting and trying there best not to draw attention to themselves.
If only I could have done something about the meal itself! Once again I was presented with the same bowl of oatmeal, which was by now almost as hard as the bowl itself. I could barely dig my spoon into it, and three more bites were all I could manage to break off from the oatmeal rock. I told myself that at least I would have the dry lump of corn bread at the noon meal.
I was almost prepared mentally for a repeat or yesterday at the plastic factory; however, I had not counted on one thing; that as grim as yesterday was, today would be even worse. What I had done the day before was to shovel trash into the fires with an odd sort of shovel to keep them stoked and thus allowing those working overhead to be able to melt the plastic pellets for a reason that I still do not understand.
When we arrived for work this morning at the plastic factory, Harpo announced to me that I would be doing something different.
"It's a promotion, you might say." He said with a leer that announced just what he thought of the promotion he was about to bestow on me. "You're about to take a hand at bein' a little carrier pigeon!"
He turned his head to one side and spit, "Ain't that nice?"
I smiled up at him; I actually smiled at him for taking me away from that flesh burning oven job! Oh and I wasn't the only one that Harpo pulled aside either, there wear three of us that were going to be acting as "Carrier pigeons".
With a throat clearing snort and another spit Harpo educated us to the fact that yesterday we got off easy and that today, instead of playing `Trash Boy', we were to carrying two buckets of plastic pellets at a time up nineteen steps to be gradually dumped into the cauldrons by other boys.
I know the exact number of steps because, with every trip, I counted them in my head and by my third trip up the stairs I felt like I was going to pass out from exhaustion and not just from the carrying but also from the lack of proper rest, food and water.
"Carrier pigeons?" One of the boys' groaned to me as we passed on the stairs.
"Oh, what a lovely, friendly sounding name for such a wonderful job!" he said sarcastically as he continued climbing, "Well if I am a bird, then I should just fly myself out of here!"
By the time Harpo was lining us all up to take us back to the orphanage, I was hurting so bad that I just wanted to find somewhere quiet to lie down and die. I don't mean that lightly, I mean that I honestly and truly wanted to die.
I think I might have been sleeping while we were walking through the damp evening air because I don't remember the first half of our procession back to the orphanage. I did however notice that the pavement beneath my feet was wet and I guessed that it must have rained while we were toiling away in the factory.
When we turned a corner after emerging from one of the alleys, two notable things happened; the first is what drew me to the second.
I was watching how the laces of my right shoe seemed to fly around with each step almost as though they were alive and thoroughly enjoying the brisk walk. I had to take a small hop to avoid a puddle of water when out of the corner of my eye I saw something moving very fast. When I looked, there was nothing there except a couple dented metal trash dumpsters and an old black homeless guy lying next to it curled up in a ball and covered up with newspapers to keep warm.
I probably would not have even remembered the black man had I not seen this mangy cat come from out of nowhere and jump right on the man scaring him near to death and causing him to scatter his paper blanket everywhere. Now, I only saw the cat for maybe three seconds at most but it was long enough for me to get a good look at him. For some reason I felt like I had seen that cat before but couldn't remember ever seeing a cat since I had arrived in this town, wherever it is I am at now.
In a flash the cat was gone leaving the homeless guy scrambling on hands and knees for his newspaper blanket and swearing in muttered gibberish at being disturbed.
While watching the man curl himself back up into a ball, I happened to see a girl sweeping in front of a small shop only a few doors away. Three rough looking young boys had picked a quarrel with her, and were now pulling on her broom to get it away from her. However, since they were not all pulling together, she was still able to keep a hold of the one end while scolding and threatening them.
I had not thought, I just reacted to the injustice of what I was witnessing and before I knew it, I was out of line and running to the aid of the girl. I got hold of the broom at her end and pulled along with her. This action only served to agitate the boys, driving them to take rougher measures, and that is when one of them hit me dead on the sneezer and made it bleed. Since I couldn't let go of the broom to mind my nose, I was soon a dreadful bloody figure to behold.
Harpo must have heard the scuffle, looked around to see what it was and saw that I was missing. I am sure he had to look twice before he could be sure that I was one of his lambs who had strayed from the flock and was now in the middle of the tumult of wolves in boy's clothing. I had not seen him coming but a mater of seconds after one of the boy's had jumped on me, Harpo had rushed in and sent the delinquents flying in all directions. I remember how the boy, the one who had hit me in the nose and who was the one that was taunting the girl the most, went flying through the air and made what looked to be a very painful landing in the same puddle of water in the middle of the street that minutes ago I had hopped over.
The girl, without thanking Harpo or me for helping her, began sweeping as if nothing had happened while Harpo drug me back to the other boys who were all huddled together staring at me with mouths open and eyes bulging.
With the help of a leaking fire hydrant, I was soon washed into a mild decency and Harpo put me back into line and stuck a finger into my face.
I was talking before I realized that my mouth was even open, "I couldn't let them beat up that girl?" It came out sounding more like a question then a statement.
That stunned Harpo for several seconds before he dropped his finger, reached into my jacket pocket and retreated the dirty rag that had contained my lunch earlier today. He put the rag in my hand and put my hand to my nose.
"Pinch your nose and keep your head tilted back. It will stop presently." He said and without another word, we were off again.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!
The sound of Mr. Wriggle's spoon beating on the tin cup suddenly rang out in the dining hall. This was not the usual three beats signaling the end of our meal, nor were any of us boys finished emptying our bowls of our evening stew. Nonetheless, we all set our spoons down, every head swiveling with fixed, wary eyes to face Mr. Wriggle. Every head that is, except the one belonging to me, sitting seemingly paralyzed in my seat. I had not set my spoon down beside my rock hard bowl of oatmeal either, because I had never picked it up in the first place, being half dead—no, more like three-quarters dead—when I had arrived back from the factory. All the while, I had just sat motionless, with my eyes fixed vacantly on the remaining lump of oatmeal before me.
Oddly enough, I can remember that a few minutes before Mr. Wriggle had banged on his tin cup, I had seen and even over heard him talking rather animatedly to Fyer the dwarf cook about the boy that had been delivered last night. Up until then, I had completely forgotten about the boy and about my late night adventure.
"Fyer?" Mr. Wriggle had called the cook over to where he and Mrs. Wriggle were sitting.
When he arrived at their table Mr. Wriggle had said, "I don't see that boy."
"Wha' boy?" Fyer grumpily replied.
Mr. Wriggle rolled his eyes, "The one from last night?"
"Oh! Yeah, got `im tak'n care'a!" Fyer said motioning over his shoulder toward the kitchen.
At this, Mrs. Wriggle began to pay attention to the two men's conversation. She had been sitting and staring at us boys with a loathing like that of a child who's parents are trying to get them to eat vegetables.
"What do you mean by `taken care of'?" Mrs. Wriggle asked in her usually drawn out tone.
Fyer got a queer look about him, peered over his shoulder at all the boys and then back to the Wriggles, "Wot ya `ink dey eat'n?"
In an instant Mrs. Wriggle began to turn a brilliant shade of green while Mr. Wriggle just sat there looking dumbfounded. Fyer, unable to keep a straight face broke out laughing so loud that nearly every boy had looked up momentarily from his bowl.
With hands on his large apron clad belly Fyer laughed and rocking back on his heals.
Merrily he bellowed, "No, no!" and continued to laugh, "He in da `it!"
Fyer was wiping at his face with his sausage like fingers in an attempt to wipe away his tears of laughter.
In a serous huff at being tricked, Mrs. Wriggle threw a fork at Fyer who amazingly caught it right out of the air and stopped laughing in that instantly.
Mr. Wriggle, with head bent slightly forward, was holding the bridge of his nose and shaking his head from side to side.
"You put him in the pit?" he asked dolefully forgetting to keep his voice down.
"Yup!" Fyer said again smiling.
"And he's been in there all night and day?" Mr. Wriggle continued to question.
"'Magine so." Fyer said picking at his teeth with the fork that Mrs. Wriggle had thrown at him.
Dawning a look of exasperation Mr. Wriggle sat back in his seat and asked, "And don't you think maybe you should go and get him now?"
"'Ope! Tain't m'job! Ya wa'em, g'gee `em!" Fyer said slipping the fork into the pocket of his apron and walking away still chuckling merrily to himself for having put off Mr. Wriggle in front of everyone.
Not needing to be asked or told to do so, Cho ran from the room, well ran isn't exactly the right word to use; I suppose it would be better to say that she slunked hastily from the room, hardly allowing her lame foot to hinder her.
I think Mr. Wriggle had forgot why he had banged on his cup because as soon as Cho had left the room he and Mrs. Wriggle both sat facing one another and whispering so quietly that it was like watching TV with the sound turned all the way down.
We boys had all gone back to eating, well not me, I sat there staring at the Wriggles and not even considering my petrified oatmeal.
It wasn't long before Cho could be heard returning from retrieving the boy Fyer had disposed of last night. However, even before she reentered the room, a smell like nothing I have ever smelled began to ooze in ahead of her. Mrs. Wriggle had stopped talking to her husband who was still muttering on about something. She had raised a napkin to her nose and was looking toward the door to see where the smell was coming from.
Gasps and groans from the boys could be heard as the stench permeated their nostrils. Mr. Wriggle had stopped talking and turned to look in the same direction that his wife was gawking toward.
From the opposite direction I heard a clank and a small splash that caused me to turn my head just in time to see Fyer was lifting his pot and escaping to his kitchen. I was astounded that such a small man could lift such a big kettle. It was just last night that I, along with one other boy, had struggled to get it to the kitchen to be scrubbed clean.
"Oh good heavens!" Exclaimed Mrs. Wriggle.
One of the boys closest to the door instantly got sick into his dinner bowl just as Cho was walking back into the room dragging what resembled a small child.
"What on earth?" Mr. Wriggle shouted while jumping to his feet again.
Two other boys, at seeing the first boy get sick also lost there dinner but managed to miss their bowls and nicely covered the table in vomit as well as several other boys in the process.
"Mus'a fall'n in!" Cho said looking worried that Mr. Wriggle might strike her.
Mrs. Wriggle rose from her chair and raced from the room with her cheeks bulging and both hands clamped over her mouth.
Mr. Wriggle was looking in a bit of distress himself. He had an expression on his face which said that if he were to open his mouth to say another word, he to would be sick. With one hand covering his mouth and two fingers from his other hand pinching his nose, he somehow managed to groan out a broken sentence.
"Go ... hose ... now!"
With a couple very colorful words thrown in for added drama of course.
For some reason, the smell and the boy, though very grotesque did not make me sick in the least. Maybe it was because there wasn't really anything in my stomach for me to vomit out. I sat looking at this—well boy, though he barely looked to be human in his current condition. The reason being was that every single bit of the boy was covered in, what I was guessing was, human, or maybe animal waste. From the hairs on his head to the tips of his toes, he was caked in the filth. In many movies I have seen, when someone was covered in mud, the movie people always seemed to leave the area around the eyes, nostrils and mouth clear. However, this boy was obviously the real deal. I could see one eye was caked over with poop and it seemed to be dripping out of his nose too. As for his mouth, I couldn't even make it out though I assumed he did have one. What amazed me more then the fact that Cho had brought him in to where we were dining while looking and smelling the way he did, was that the boy, despite being head to tow in poop, he also appeared to be completely without clothes.
No sooner had Mr. Wriggle ordered Cho to take the boy away then she was leading the boy back out the door with Mr. Wriggle hot on her heals.
This fact seemed to escape the notice of all the other boys, as they were all appearing to be on the verge of being sick themselves, some from the stench and some from the vomit that covered our table. I think I was the only one that realized we were no longer being watched by anyone of authority.
However, that didn't last long, because maybe ten seconds later Mrs. Wriggle came rushing back in looking extremely put out. She quickly took charge of the growing pandemonium by sending two of the older boys to go get mops and buckets to clean up the vomit from the floor and tables as well as the trail of filth left by the boy.
Needless to say, dinner was over. No one was interested in eating anymore but we were still not dismissed. Every boy was made to stand up and stay standing while the messes were cleaned up. One of the boys that was mopping the vomit from under our table looked like he was right on the edge of breaking out laughing and I am sure if anyone made so much as a peep he would have lost control.
Mr. Wriggle's return was preceded by vulgarity that echoed through the corridors of the orphanage and the words he was spewing out would have made a sailor blush and in fact did make Mrs. Wriggle turn red. However it wasn't from embarrassment but from anger.
Mr. Wriggle burst through the half open door with a furry, passed through cursing all the while and exited through the door that lead into the kitchen where several more poisonous words were thrown about by both he and Fyer. The yelling finally stopped when the sound of a large pot or pan was heard clamoring against the wall, soon followed by the retreat of Mr. Wriggle from the kitchen.
One of the boys that were gathering up our bowls happened to be within reach of Mr. Wriggle and for no good reason he received a shove that sent half a dozen bowls and their remaining contents careening to the floor.
Curiously enough, the boy did not seem to react to this treatment but instead dropped to his knees and began picking up the bowls again while one of the other boys who was wielding one of the mops helped to clean up the bits of leftover dinner on the floor.
When I saw the bits of potato on the floor my stomach gave out a gurgle of longing. I suppose that is a sign of just how hungry I was after two days of hardly anything but a little cornbread and water for nourishment.
I'm probably a pretty demented person because unlike all the other boys who were either green or looking scared or both; I was finding the whole thing quite amusing and couldn't wait for what would happen next.
I didn't have to wait very long before Mr. Wriggle, who had been standing facing his wife, and had now spun around with an extended finger as though he were wielding a gun and spat out three words.
"Empty your pockets!"
The words seemed to explode from his mouth as if from a cannon and caused his red face to quiver from the reverberation.
Immediately, all of the boys thrust their hands into their trousers' pockets and pulled them inside out. Anything that might have been residing in anyone's pockets was then laid on the table before each boy. Still in a daze, I mimicked the actions of the others and pulled out my own trousers' pockets. They were empty of course, but I was surprised to see that others from around our table were not.
Pitiful evidence of young boys' interests appeared on the table: a bent nail, several uninteresting pebbles, a length of dirty twine, a medium sized black feather probably from a crow, a shard of blue glass, a chain made of assorted paperclips, a faded and worn photograph and several bits of torn paper.
I couldn't help but notice that there was only one thing that was dug from a pocket that had any value at all; it was a quarter. It was not bright, not new, and was tarnished and dented, but nonetheless a quarter.
It had come from Micky's pocket, and it now lay on the table in front of him. Well, not quite in front of him since at dinner he had been sitting next to me, it now lay halfway between him and me, or close enough to halfway that who could tell the difference?
A quarter! A miserable little, near worthless, quarter! However, at that moment, in this horrible place, it seemed to be more important than a stack of hundred dollar bills or a bar of solid gold.
Part 2 -- Friday, March 12, 2004 -- The Pit of Despair
Standing at the head of our long table stood Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle looking out over the boyish treasures.
"Are you ready my love?" asked Mr. Wriggle in his almost normal sounding voice.
"Oh yes, quite ready!" replied Mrs. Wriggle while still holding a napkin over her mouth and nose as though at any moments she might be sick again.
The two of them proceeded down the sides of the table, Mrs. Wriggle taking the far side while Mr. Wriggle, with hands behind his back, took up the position opposite his wife, which happened to be the same side I was on.
Both sets of narrowed eyes were darting sharply from boy to boy and examining the objects that had found their way onto the table from some unfortunate boy's pocket.
Slowly they made their way down the table. I was not thinking about the quarter at this point but was thinking how glad I was that my bowl, with the rock hard lump of oatmeal, had already been spirited away.
I glanced across the table at the boys in front of me. Every pair of eyes was fixed on the quarter lying on the table between Micky and I. It was as if they were attempting to will it away but it did not budge, and then I heard Mr. Wriggle come to a stop directly behind me. Across the table stood Mrs. Wriggle, an icy statue with eyes fastened on Mr. Wriggle anxiously awaiting his next action.
A terrible, expectant silence fell over the room. It seemed the very walls had stopped breathing and were listening to the drama as it played itself out.
I, for one, was no longer enjoying the evening's performance.
"Okay, I'm ready to change the channel now! Who has the TV Clicker?" I thought in a failed attempt to lighten my own mood.
I heard Micky suck in a quick breath and hold it, so I did the same since I did not knowing what to expect. I later figured out that he was just panicing.
"And what have we here?" Mr. Wriggle extended his hand between Micky and I so that he could bang his fat knuckles on the table a fraction of an inch away from the quarter.
Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump, went his knuckles, four times before being withdrawn with a snap of his fingers.
"My love? Doesn't that look like capital to you?" Mr. Wriggle asked.
"Huh?" I thought to myself, "What's capital?"
In a shrill throaty squeal she replied, "Yes, yes it does indeed!" she had pushed herself between two of the boys opposite Micky.
Continuing their little game, Mr. Wriggle raised his voice loud enough for all to hear and asked, "And are Banachelli boys supposed to have capital?"
With a snort of laughter behind her hand, Mrs. Wriggle replied, "Absolutely not!"
His voice changed to sound very animal like, "And yet my dear wife, it seems that a Banachelli boy, in fact, does have capital!"
Mrs. Wriggle snorted louder this time, "Oh but which one?" She was obviously enjoying this too much as her gaze kept jumping from me, to Micky and back to me.
Mr. Wriggle paused to slam his fist down on the table so forcefully between Micky and my that the quarter flew up and returned trembling to the table with a clatter.
"Now I expect a declaration at once."
I felt several blasts of spittle hit my right ear and cheek but somehow I managed to keep my hand from attempting to wipe it away as I wondered what he meant by `declaration'.
That darn voice inside my head chose this moment to speak up, "Uh, don't know what it means but get me a dictionary and I will look it up!"
"Oh hush you!" I mentally chastised the voice and surprisingly it did.
When no one volunteered any information Mr. Wriggle shouted so loud that I though my eardrum might burst, "Whose is this?"
It seemed like a century passed as I waited for Micky to confess, but it was actually no more than the time measured by a few quivering heartbeats before a trembling voice, barely audible answered.
"I-it's m-m-mine."
The voice inside my head screamed, "What the hell are you doing boy?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked the voice.
"That quarter isn't yours!" the voice continued to scream.
"I know that!" I thought back, confused as to why the voice was yelling at me to.
"Did you hear that my love?" asked Mr. Wriggle, his voice now returning to normal, "It belongs to one of oyr newest wee lil' tots." and he made a giggling sound that was obviously fake before grabbing my right shoulder.
He spun me around so that my legs twisted around themselves.
"What is your name?" his hot breat blasted me right in the face.
Now I was really confused and I grunted to show this fact to my inquisitor.
"Huh?"
"Your name? What is your name boy?" He repeated as his spittle landed on my cheek just below my left eye.
For half a second I nearly blurted out, "Simon!" but just as the `S' was about to roll off my tongue I managed to catch myself and roll it into an `R' sound.
"S-S-R-Ron"
It came out so softly that I hardly heard it myself.
In a strangled cry Mr. Wriggle screamed into my face, "WHAT?"
"R-R-Ron!" I said louder but still hardly loud enough to be heard.
I could see out of the corner of my eye that Mrs. Wriggle appeared to be positively enraptured while watching her husband interrogate someone as dangerous as myself.
Mr. Wriggle had straightened himself back to a more dignified poster and pulling on the lapels of his coat he said, "Well my delightful buttercup! It appears that the culprit is R-R-Ron," he was mocking my stutter, "the newest addition to our little family. Further more he has admitted to the crime of thievery."
"Crime? What Crime?" I wanted to shout but somehow managed to hold my tongue.
Bending toward me again he put his mouth so close to the side of my face that I received the full effect of a breath that might well have come from an inhabitant of a swamp.
"And where, may I ask, did you obtain this coin, R-R-Ron?"
"I ... I ... I ..." I tried to answer but faltered.
"Well? Come—come, where?" ask Mrs. Wriggle shaking me violently.
"I ... I f-f-f-found it!" I blurted out as best I could and not really knowing what else to say while thoughts of `why' were still whirling within my head.
"Oh you did, did you? And, of course, you put it right into your pocket to keep for yourself," he patted the front pocket of my pants was several times as he spoke and I couldn't help but notice his fingers were dangerously close to my boyhood parts, "instead of seeing that it came to Mrs. Wriggle and myself as you should have done?"
Not knowing if I was supposed to answer that or not, I chose to keep quite.
Without removing his hand from the front of my pants he asked, "What do you think of that, Mrs. Wriggle? A Banachelli boy fallen into evil, thieving ways and not here two full days. We feed him, clothe him, give him a bed and teach him and what thanks do we get for such kind-hearted treatment?"
I was so glad when he stopped speaking and lifted himself back to an erect posture once again.
With a heavy, exhale through his nostrils he continued, "The question is -- what are we to do about it, eh?" which was then followed by a long pause before deciding to ask his wife for a suggestion.
"Would you ..." he started to say but stopped himself mid-sentence. The way he had suddenly stopped made me think that maybe Mrs. Wriggle had somehow managed to pass a thought to him. I had not been looking at her at the time so I imagine that since I did not hear her utter even a peep, she must have signaled with her eyes or something. Whatever the method of transmission, Mr. Wriggle had received it and in mid-sentence changed his mind about what it was he was going to say.
"Ah yes, right then! Do you think a touch of the pit might be in order, my dear Snookems?" He asked while patting both sides of my face from behind me.
Just the re-mentioning of the dreaded pit, whatever that could be, had once again turned Dear Snookems a rather nice shade of grass green. Through lips tightened over clenched teeth, she partially lowered her hand away from her mouth, sucked in her breath with revulsion and with eyes glittering madly with anticipation she answered.
"Yes! Most certainly!"
I was suddenly frightened out of my skin, as were Mrs. Wriggle and most to the other boys when Mr. Wriggle exploded with, "CHO! DAM YOU GIRL WHERE ARE YOU?"
The force of his voice was so strong that I could have sworn I felt the floor shake beneath me.
With the gentle insertion of, "Hemm—Hemm" by Mrs. Wriggle, he was reminded that he'd only just sent Cho off with the other boy to hose him down.
Releasing my face and stepping to his right I could now see him again.
"Oh ... uh ... right then!" he said putting his closed fist to his mouth as though he had coughed but he had not.
"Yes, forgot is all!" and he waved a hand in the air as if he were wiping his words off a school chalkboard.
"Well then, if you will remain to make the changes?" He said as charmingly as if we were all at a tea party.
"Oh certainly!" She answered back equally as charmingly and with a new expression on her face.
"And, don't let this one fall in?" she added smuggly while leaning across the table and snatching up the quarter.
With excruciating force, Mr. Wriggle had seized the base of my skull and once again dawning the vocal guise of some animalistic beast, he snarled into my ear, "Now, move boy!"
Being dragged by my neck, I clogged along in my oversized shoes and felt certain that my shuddering legs would fail me at any moment. The only thing that kept me from falling, aside from Mr. Wriggle holding my neck was the fear of what he might do if I suddenly fell to the floor in a heap. I was led from the dining hall and through the kitchen where Fyer was sitting on an overturned pot, while smoking a stinky cigar nearly the size of an average boys arm. The look Fyer gave at the sight of us entering his kitchen was one of pure loathing. When Fyer picked up a butchers knife with his left hand and quietly laid it in his lap, Mr. Wriggle gave me a thrust out one of the two other doors.
We were scarcely passed the dreaded hallway painting of my two hosts when a door to our left swung open and out strode Cho with a youthful boy cowering directly behind her. At first, I think I was stunned and a little embarrassed to have Cho and this boy observing me dancing there on the tips of my shoes while suspended by my neck from Mr. Wriggles firm grip.
I was staring right at the boy, who was doing his best to remain hidden behind Cho and seeming to be very interested in the floor beneath his bare feet. I could only guess that this pail young boy was the same poop covered boy who had caused such a scene during dinner. His blonde hair was still damp and plastered to his head, while his pale white frame seemed to glow brilliantly in the faintly lit passage. Furthermore, I was able to see clearly that Cho had clad him in a dingy white cloth diaper that was so thick that I wondered how he was managing to keep up with Cho despite her physical limitations.
In a moment of excitement, distress and fright, the boy lifted his head and peeked around Cho's crippled leg and for the first time allowed me to see his face. My heart skipped several beats as recognition dawned in both our eyes.
I blurted out without thinking of what I was
saying, "
Sadly, that was the full extent of our reunion. In an infuriated wrath, Mr. Wriggle had hoisted me completely off the floor and pitched me through an open door where I smashed into a big, round wooden pole. I was lying flat on my stomach attempting to regain my faculties, not to mention the wind, which had been knocked out of me.
I heard him shout, "Get that little beast a bed and don't be all night about it! The Misses needs your help with the others!"
With my head still spinning from the impact with both the pole and the floor, I suddenly felt myself lifted from the floor once again. However, this time I was hoisted up by the back of my clothes and, hanging nearly lifeless was carried down a spiraling staircase; further down then I had been thus far, all the while having to listen to Mr. Wriggle's invoking every cursed word he could think of.
Though it was hard to breathe while bent nearly in half, I was still able to puff a few ragged breaths while weeping from the pain. When we finally reached the bottom of the stairs Mr. Wriggle stood me upright and gave me a firm slap across the face, just for good measure I am sure. But if there had been any cobwebs left in my head, that slap would have cleared them out. Through tear blurred eyes I realized I was looking down a long corridor that seemed to go on forever. As we made our way down the hallway, of course with Mr. Wriggle clutching the back of my hair with his claw like hand, I could once again smell the horrible odder that had been emanating from the boy back in the dinning hall, the same boy who I now knew had been Lowell under all that unspeakable filth.
A single hanging light bulb several feet away from the bottom of the steps was all the light that appeared to be down in the dreadful place. It was now shining behind us as a marker for where we had come from, it now caused huge shadows to go before us, eclipsing whatever was only a few steps further on.
When we had come to the end of the hall, which turned out to be a dead-end, we stood looking at a wooden wall. Despite the fact that hardly any light at all was making its way this far down the corridor I could still see that the wall appeared at one time, to have had shackles fastened to it. There was a distinctly human shaped stain and ware pattern in the wood, which lead me to believe that they had been used quite often in the past and though I could see no shackles now, I was praying that this was not going to be my fate.
It was only then that Mr. Wriggle let go of my hair, but not without giving me a violent shake and a warning, "It will be much worse for you if you were to attempt to go anywhere boy!"
"Go anywhere?" I thought, I was now about as able to "go anywhere" as a tree stump!
Rubbing the back of my head, I watched Mr.
Wriggle remove the padlock from one of three metal grates in the floor, then with a groan he reached up and took a hold of a rope
with a frayed knot at the end. As he pulled down on the rope, the hinges on the
grate groaned as though they had not been used in over a decade. Once open,
curiosity motivated me to lean over slightly to see nothing but a gaping black
pit, which oddly enough reminded me of the tomb in
Breathing heavily from his effort to open the grate, he reached up high over his head and thankfully pulled on a chain that lead up to a single, dim light bulb that hung over the now open pit.
As the light came on, from the closed grate several feet to my right I could hear a dry, raspy moan followed by a faint plea for, "Waaaterrrr!"
The cry did not sound like it came from a child but maybe a man. However, acting as if he had not heard anything, Mr. Wriggle reached out to take hold of my neck again. Unfortunately, I flinched which earned me another slap to my face. He rapped his whole arm around the back of my neck and head, pulled me in so close to his face that I thought he was going to kiss me but instead he snarled, "Strip off them clothes!" and giving my head a firm squeeze he added, "And be quick about it!"
I looked up at him as if he had gone mad, which he obviously had because, when I did not budge he ripped the shirt off me. Breathing hard and foaming at the mouth he shoved me to the floor and yanked the pants right off of me without even removing the shoes. As loose as they were on my feet, I was surprised that they had stayed on.
Reached down and lifting me to my feet by my ears he growled, "What is that?"
He was running a single hand over my plastic armor trying to determine for himself what it might be.
Sobbing and rattled with fear I managed to say only two words, "P-P-Please sir!" while wrapping my arms around my chest in hopes of stopping him from taking it away from me too.
I'm not sure why he didn't remove my armor as well before sending me trembling and naked down into the pit. Maybe it was my plea that thwarted any intentions he might have had about doing anything else to me.
I was clutching the rungs of a perfectly vertical wooden ladder that were as smooth as only wood can be from years of hands and feet rubbing against it, all the while trying to keep my clumsy shoes from slipping off as I descended into the fowl smelling darkness.
Mr. Wriggle was kind enough to leave the light on over the opening long enough for me to reach the bottom and discover that I was now in a cold, damp space, where the air was filled with the over powering fragrance of human waste and only enough room to squat down, though just barely. Given how far down the spiral stairs we had come, I was guessing that this was probably the very belly of the boat. From the smell, it was likely to be the place where all the toilets, sinks and who knows what else flowed into.
When I had reached the bottom, the light went out and Mr. Wriggle bellowed down the ladder, "A few days down there and you'll be more then willing to fall in line! If you want to stay at the Banachelli Home for Boys, you best learn and learn well!"
The next sounds I heard were the hinges groaning as the metal grate was slammed shut; followed by the padlock being replaced and finally Mr. Wriggle's boots drumming out a hasty retreat on the wooden floor above me. All sound soon disappeared into the echoes above leaving behind a dreadful silence that was occasionally interrupted by the sound of water flowing and splashing near by. To all intents and purposes, I was now imprisoned in the lowest reaches of the loving, caring Banachelli Home for Boys and was completely without hope!
With a whimper, I turned, put my back to the wooden ladder and lowered myself to the floor. I could feel each rung scraping against my plastic armor as I squatted in place.
With a single mournful sigh I whispered to the darkness, "Why did I say it was mine?" and then I began to weep, which quickly became a full out howling.
I have no idea how long I sat squatted against the base of the ladder and hugging my knees to my chest, in an attempt to keep warm. The smell had long since become mute for me as long as I continued breathing through my nose. If I stopped and held my breath, even for a second the smell would come back to molest my sense of smell. Sobbing and feeling as desperate as I have ever felt, I sniffled and rubbed my dripping nose on my arm just before I heard ...
"Sssst!"
I froze instantly and listened but the sound was followed by more silence and I was just about to dismiss it as a figment of my over active imagination when it came again, stronger this time...
"Sssst!"
My mind quickly conjured up the most horrible image of a snake that it could manage and my entire body tensed up expecting at any moment to become dinner for the scaly monster.
"Sssst! Sssst!"
There it was again and the fear was more then I could cope with as I felt my bladder release what little fluid there was within it.
"Sssst! Sssst!"
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it moving my plastic armor.
My head began to swim as if I was going to faint. I shook my head hard, took in a deep breath and held it so that I could listen for any sound or movement from the snake, or whatever it was trapped in the dark with me. I concentrated, and listened but I did not hear any more hissing but I did think I could hear something else.
From directly above my head I heard faintly, "Think he's a goner?" which was followed by, "Ah, shush-up!"
"Nah, I t'ink he's dead f'r sure!"
"I done said ta shush-up!"
"Well, `e ain't say'n not'n."
"Might be e's sleep'n."
"I recon e's dead!"
"An' I say he ain't!"
Then all went quiet again for several panicked heartbeats until finally, "Sssst! Sssst! Ron ... Hey Ron! Are ya alive down dere?"
There was a short pause before the voice added, "Ron, It's me Micky."
Though cold, frightened and hurting for the two days of slave labor, having been knocked around by Mr. Wriggle and imprisoned at the bottom of a cold black crap pit. Suffise it to say that I was still curiously able to feel a flash of anger at the mention of his name; the same boy who had thus far given no sign that he felt anything but hatred for me. Micky, seemed to be the one who had been influencing all the others to feel and treat me as if I were dog crap to be scraped from their shoes. Micky; the boy who had tossed the quarter so far over on the table that I had no choice but to confess to its ownership.
And then the voice inside my head began to speak again, "Why not just let him and the other whisperers up there think you're dead? You know, it would serve them right to fear that you died down here."
I have to admit it, I was buying into the logic of the voice inside my head, and after all, the tone of their whispers did sound a little scared.
"Yeah, serves them right!" I thought, agreeing with the voice. "And what if I did say something to let them know I am still alive? Maybe they are just here to tease me about getting put in this horrible place?" and with that last thought, I determined that I would not give them the chance!
But oh how hard it was to hold my tongue when I so desperately wanted to talk to someone; anyone! I had to clench my teeth together and dug my face into my knees in order to keep silent.
"See, Micky? No'a peep; dead, dat's f'r sure."
"He ain't!" There was a note of desperation in the whispered voice from Micky, "I'm tellin' ya dat `e ain't dead!"
"Sssst! Sssst! Ron, say somethin'! Please!" and did I detect a hint of genuine remorse in Micky's voice just then?
"Aw, it's no good, Micky! `Mon, we best git back ta bed 'fore we git caught down chere."
Micky's voices seemed to quiver slightly as he answered, "Yeah, I guess y'r right, Peter. Maybe `e ain't even in dere. Let's git goin'."
So they were leaving; my only connection to anything human would be gone in a matter of seconds, leaving me to die here alone in the terrible black pit under the floorboards.
And then the voice within my head quickly changed tactics on me as it said, "Better them, then no one at all right?"
"Oh make up your mind!" I mentally groaned at the voice and had the voice had its own body I probably would have reached out and choked the life from it.
I took a breath and nearly choked from the stench, "I-I-I'm n-n-not d-dead!"
I could only hope that the small quavering noise that came out of my mouth was loud enough to still be heard by the boys over head.
My announcement was first greeted with silence; then I heard an excited whisper.
"There, told ya so!" Micky said and I heard the sounds of bare feet scuffing around the metal grate.
"Ron is dat you?" Micky asked.
"Y-y-yes," I stammered.
"Hey, if y'r fin'ers ain't too frozed, come up da ladder so y'r closer; less chance a som'un hearin' us. It's me Micky, with Peter and a couple oders."
My legs by now were so cold and cramped that it was a great effort just to stand up let alone attempt to climb. Nevertheless, I somehow managed and dispite the pain in my cold tight muscles I began to crawl back up the ladder. I had to accomplish this in total darkness, although when I neared the top of the ladder I saw that there was the faint glow of a small flashlight, so faint, however, as to be almost non-existent.
"Sorry we gotta keep da light covered." Micky said as I drew close enough that we could now see each other.
"Cho ain't ne'r yet come 'round af'er she checks we're in bed, but nothin's certain `round dis place."
He paused long enough to take a breath.
"An'ways, I... I only wanted ya ta know I ne'r meant f'r dat quarter to land where'n it did. Clos'ta you I mean."
"Dat's the truth!" Peter broke in, "He ne'r did!"
"An' I would'a fessed up but'cha beat me to it!" Micky exhaled loudly.
"He would'a too!" said Peter.
"Once ya said it an' Ol' Toad Face had it fixed in his froggy brain dat it were y'rs ..."
Micky was interrupted by Peter, "Yeah `e a real toad face!"
Not paying him any attention Micky went on, "I could o' yelped my danged ol' head off like a cry'n hound-dog and it woulda done no good, no how."
And Peter added, "Nope, wouldn't done no good t'all."
There was another short pause before Micky added, "Should be me down dere! Why'd ya go and say it were y'rs?"
Micky's voice failed him at the end and I could see he was biting on his bottom lip to keep from loosing all control of his emotions.
I hesitated; this whole dialogue was so astonishing and staggering that it was hard for me to get my thoughts together and remember why I had actually said it was mine.
I took a breath before speaking, "Don't much matter; I'm going to die here anyway."
I paused expecting one of them to say something and when they didn't I added, "It's okay, I know that I am."
And that explanation was exactly the truth as far as I was able to see.
For the longest time no one made a peep until finally in an almost explosive cry Micky said, "No!" he stood up and stomped his bare foot and at the moment it did not registered that I'd seen he was wearing a diaper under his night shirt.
"No! No! No! You ain't gunna die!" he dropped back down so that he was right over top the grate, "Y'ear me, Ron? You ain't gunna die! We won't let ya."
"Wh-wh-why?" I asked in a disbelieving tone. After all, I was still finding it difficult to accept that the issue of me wearing diapers at night had not been brought up.
"'Cause we done said so!" Micky grunted, "An' you might well know I ain't proud o' how mean I been. None o' us is!"
"Da's right!" Peter added after Micky prodded him with his elbow and the other boys added their agreement as well.
"You just make certain you stays `live t'night, Ron!" Micky said fiercely.
"Do me a favor?" I asked not sure if I could rely on them or not.
"An'thin'!" Micky said.
"Yeah an'thin'g!" Per added.
Part 3 -- Friday, March 12, 2004 -- Not so Superman
"M-my f-friend is up th-there s-s-somew-where." I said quickly.
"Yeah we know." Micky said before I had even finished speaking, "Cho put `em in y'r bed. He's been tellin' us all 'bou-cha."
"Really?" I said with such excitement that I nearly lost my footing on the ladder.
"Yeah, e's scared and cry'n a bit but he's okay!" one of the other boys added.
I had to swallow hard to keep from crying myself.
"Would'a brung 'im but 'e cried 'imself ta sleep." Micky said to reassure me, which it did too.
"D-did he t-tell you how h-he g-g-g-got here?" I asked.
"Said `e and some'n was tryin' to find ya." Micky said.
"S-someone else?" I queried.
Micky looked over at the others, "'Member who `e said?"
I could see Peter shrug his shoulders and then one of the others answered unsure of himself, "Said `is name were DJ didn't `e?"
"B-B-BJ is here t-too?" I blurted out
instantly realizing that
The boy that had told me it was DJ that had
been with
"Who's Trey?" I asked.
"Oh sorry, Dat's da name they done gived y'r friend." Micky answered.
"Say, ya need an'thin'?" the one boy who had remained silent up to this point had spoken up.
"Yeah, I'm really th-thursty." I had spoken the words before I had a chance to think about them.
"Oy!" the boy closest to Peter chimed in, "O'er da udder side dare's a bunch'a pipes. Find da one dat `as da rag tide `round. It leaks loads an' dat's good ta drink."
Micky added, "Yeah, der's a ledge goes `round da sides!" and pointed down to show the way.
"Dat's right, ya ..." added the ever-ready Peter but he didn't get to finish whatever it was he was going to say. It seemed from my poor vantage point that a sharp jab with a fist to the jewels, might have taken place; courtesy of Micky, who wished no more interruptions.
"Enough, after all, was enough." I thought to myself.
"Now, stick y'r hand up chere, Ron," Micky instructed, "Ya ain't put `way `nough for a flee since'n ya been `ere. Put dis in y'r pocket."
I didn't bother to point out that I didn't have any clothes let alone pockets but did as he said and extended my trembling hand through the grate.
"It's a corn cake; ain't `portant where it's from." He gave my wrist a squeeze, "We gotta git. See ye soon! 'Night, Ron!"
"'Night, Ron," echoed Peter though he still sounded to be in a little bit of pain.
All the boys said their goodbyes and I listened to the fain sounds of their feet which made no more sound than cats' paws as they padded away, leaving me alone in darkness again. Alone to think about what had just happened, and somehow finding it hard to believe it had happened at all. However, it seemed as if I might now have friends in the Banachelli Home for Boys. Oh yes, and a corn cake!
I was half way back down the ladder intent on finding my way to the leaking pipe when everything kind of hit me at once. I stopped to put my head against a rung as a lump lodged in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes spilling past my eyelids and rolling down my cheeks in a great deluge.
I must have continued to lower myself back down because after a while I found myself sitting once again with my back to the ladder and sobbing onto my knees. The corn cake was gone now and I only knew I had eaten it because I had little bits of ground corn granules stuck between my teeth.
It was then that I heard the same hissing sound again, "Sssst! Sssst!" However, this time I knew where it was coming from. I looked up to see the faint light shining down through the grate again.
The boys must have returned; I could not imagine why, but one thing I knew; they must not know I had been crying. So, I swallowed hard, wiped my eyes and nose on my bare arm and tried my best to pull myself together.
"Sssst! Sssst!"
"Hey Ron! Come'n an' answer! We know y'r dere!' Sssst! Sssst! Sssst! Sssst!"
Then came what sounded to me to be Peter whispering, "Bet e's dead now!"
"Maybe `e falled in?" another boy offered.
Peter changed his mind and said, "Maybe e's escaped!"
I thought I was beginning to recognize Micky's sighs as he once again exhaled sharply and groaned "Don-be a `orse's rump!"
That seemed to shut everyone up and Mickey again hissed down to me.
"Sssst! Sssst! "Hey, you sleep'n? Say somethin'! You there, Ron?"
Oddly enough, I found this slightly amusing but could not contain myself any longer and called up, "Y-y-yes!" And to my dismay, the word had come out in a betraying sob! There were more whispers above, while I waited to hear the jabs about me being a little baby for crying and having to wear diapers.
There were several whispers that I couldn't make out but I did hear, "He's been cryin'."
"Wot if `e `as?" One of the other boys commented and sounded as if he were ready to fight someone.
"He gots a right, don't `e? We all done it one time or 'nother. An' who's to blame `em?" That sounded like it had come from Micky though I had to strain to hear him.
"I ain't blamin' `em!" someone said sounding offended at Micky's words.
"An' you ain't to say nothin' 'bout it nee'ver. None o' us is. Micky wouldn't like it."
"Micky would not like it?" I though to myself. "Then these whispered voices were not those of Micky and Peter? Who then?"
"Ron? Ron, this `ere's
There was some silence before, "I'm Jonathan, an' I'm come'ta say I was a jerk too!"
"Me too," came another eager whisper who I figured I had mistook to be Peter before, "I'm Timmy. An' ... an' if ya was wearin' diaper where ya comed, den comin' chere's worser f'r ya more'n any o' da rest o' us I spose."
"See here!" Jonathan jumped in, "We wasn' spose'ta say nothin' 'bout ..." he trailed off before adding, "Now look whatcha gone and done! Micky's been flip'n crazed e'r since!"
A long silence followed this exchange as if, having made a mess of the confession, no one quite knew what was to be said next. Of course, with all this eagerness to confess their wrong doings, I had hardly had a chance to put in a word edgewise but even if I had, I didn't know what to say.
"Can ya come upda la'er? We done brung ya some'n t'eat." Jonathan asked.
Despite having had the corn cake only a few minutes before, I was still ravenously hungry and was up the ladder in a second.
"'ere, we done snuck'n got ya dese." Jonathan said as he reached through the grate and handed me two whole potatoes and an enormous carrot wrapped in some kind of rag.
"Well, see ya later!"
"'Night, Ron!" Timmy sent down next.
"Oy, G'night!" Jonathan added followed by, "Ouch, hey dat was ma foot!"
"Well don't be puttin' it un'r mine." Someone else teased him back.
I heard one of the others say from further away, "If'n y'r walk'n on da bottoms of y'r feet, why can't `e walk on da tops?" and more then one laughed at this.
I laughed quietly to myself too as I sent back up, "G-good night everyone." but it was too late, they were already gone.
As soon as I was certain the boys had left, I shimmied back down and laid the goodies there at the base of the ladder. My tears were all dried up be now, and I did not think they would be back, at least not anytime soon. Feeling a little energized by my two groups of visitors, I then managed to find the ledge Peter had told me about and with my back to the wall, I made it all the way around to the pipes. I had a hard time finding the rag but when I did, I nearly shouted as I placed my mouth under the dripping water and tasted the fresh cool water. I must have drunk ten gallons before my arms and legs began to feel like they could not hold me in place much longer.
When I made it back to the ladder I dropped down onto the floor, crossed my legs, and rested the rag in my lap. I took a big bite from one of the potatoes and was surprised to find it was not raw. It made no difference at all to me that I was sitting alone in the dark, in a deep pit, beneath the floorboards at the very bottom of the Banachelli Home for Boys. What did matter was the fact that I was enjoying one of the best meals I had ever had in my life!
After eating I must have drifted off to sleep and began to dream but unlike any dream I had ever had before, I somehow knew that I was dreaming this time even though it seemed so real and the images in my mind were so vivid.
It all started when the phone rang one day and I, who at the time was six picked it up.
"Hel-l-llo?" I said into the receiver the way I had seen mommy and daddy do so many times before.
"Hello Simon." This is your Auntie Catherine.
My heart jumped at the sound of her voice, "Hi A-a-a-aun-n-tie C-cath-th-ther-r-ine!"
"Simon, I want you to spend the night." She had said it so quickly that it startled me for a moment, "Would you get your mother and I'm going to talk it over with her. Would you like to do that?"
Drawing in a huge breath, I released it with tremendous force, "Y-y-yes! I w-w-would, I-I-I r-r-really w-w-w-w-would! I-I w-w-will g-get m-m-m-mommy!"
When I got my mom, she talked it over, hung the phone up, and called for me, "Simon?"
Bouncing excitedly on the tips of my shoes I nearly shouted, "I-I'm r-r-right h-here m-m-mommy!" I had been standing directly behind her the whole time.
"I've never let you spend the night alone with your Aunt's because ... well you break things and still wet your bed. I'll let you spend the night if there's no trouble and you promise to wear your special pants when you go to sleep. Your Aunt Catherine will be very upset if you pee on her new couch.
Seeing how it hadn't even been an hour since I had broken the towel bar off the wall of the hallway bathroom and earlier in the day had overturned mommy's cup of tea, I stuffed my hands guiltily into my two back pants pockets. Looking down at my shoes I shook my head and I weakly said, "I-I W-won't b-b-be a-any t-t-t-twoub-b-ble! I p-p-pwom-mise m-m-m-mom-m-my!"
I looked up just in time to see her smiling and saying, "Alright then, let's pack your bag and I will drive you over."
I lunged forward, wrapped my tiny arms around my mommy's leg and squeezed her with all the might that was in my little body.
I ran so fast to my room that I beat mommy and even had enough time to find my little red suitcase that was filled with my matchbox cars, which I promptly dumped out on the floor beside my bed.
When mommy had arrived, we packed my things into my little red suitcase; I think I was surprised that she had not said anything about my cars being on the floor. I wanted to put in eight t-shirts but mommy said I would only need one. When I tried to put in a pair of black socks she said they were too warm for summertime and put in a pair of white ankle socks instead.
"What else do we need?" she asked while looking linguistically at me.
"My toothbrush?" I asked in return.
"Why don't you go get it from the bathroom AND BE CAREFUL!" she had to shout that last part because I was already halfway down the hall by then.
I was back in no time at all with my toothbrush trapped between my teeth and my arms outstretched as I flow into my room and came in for a landing next to mommy.
I looked into my red suitcase and seen that mommy had placed three pairs of my bedwetters pants in along with two pair of pajamas and one pair of faded blue denim cut-off shorts.
And before I knew it, I was in the car and my mommy was driving me to Auntie Catherine's house. She warned me one more time, "Now Simon, I know you will be good but, if there is trouble ..." she paused only for a moment before saying, "I won't let you go overnight for another year or two. Now your Aunt can be a little difficult late in the day."
Fearing that she might change her mind and take me right back home, I quickly assured her, "I'll be good mommy!"
Well, I was so excited when we drove down
When we parked, I got out of the car and I ran up the steep concrete steps. Auntie Catharine's home was a huge three story wooden house; she had the second and third floor.
I pushed the door open and I stepped across the hallway. I had to stand on my tippy-toes to be able to reach the button and when I pressed it, "ZZZZZZZT"
A moment later there was a clicking sound it was my Aunt pressing another button and that meant I could open the door; it was magic! I pushed it open and way up at the top of the stairs was my Auntie Catharine.
"H-hel-l-l-lo A-a-aunt-ty C-c-cath-thar-rine!" I shouted up to her.
And as I waved, I could smell the wonderful smells in that hallway. It was a very dark hallway and the stairs were very steep. It was magic to me; I could have spent the whole time right there at the bottom of the steps.
But I was pulling my little red suitcase up those stairs quick as I could. When I got to the top my Auntie bent over, kneeled down and gave me a big hug.
"H-hel-l-l-lo A-aunt-ty C-cath-thar-tine!" I managed to say while she tried to hug the life out of me.
I kissed those plump red cheeks, Auntie Catharine was not nearly as humungous back when I was only six but she still seemed like a giant of a woman to someone as little as me. Her cheeks were red and smelled like peaches back then Auntie Catharine always smelled like sweet peaches.
She held me at arms-length, honked my nose with her finger and said, "Simon, you go on upstairs now. Go see the backroom; I have made it up just for you!"
With a squeal I shouted, "A r-r-room j-j-jus-s-st f-for m-m-me?" and was gone in a flash.
I ran up the back stairs and heard mommy down with Auntie Catharine and she was saying, "Simon, you be good!"
I shouted back to her, "I w-will m-m-mommy! I-I w-will! B-bye!"
Somehow, I knew just the room I was going to too. It was a small room with orange and yellow stars painted on the ceiling. It was the room I was always allowed to play in whenever we would come to visit. I stepped into the room and instantly saw the present my Auntie had left for me.
All the other times we had visited the room had been furnished with an old wooden desk and rolling chair that I would sit on and spin until I nearly puked. Over by the window, there had been a tired old loveseat with one leg missing. Auntie Catharine used a stack of magazines as a replacement for the missing leg. There had also been a small set of shelves to the left of the loveseat that had Lego's, stuffed animals and picture books.
However, not anymore! Now the room was furnished with an old white crib, a funny looking white dresser, a short white table with yellow legs that had been placed over where the shelf had once been and a big bright-red beanbag chair was now sitting in the space once occupied by the loveseat. I was shocked for several seconds before I noticed that on the floor Auntie Catharine had painted an entire city road map and had placed several Matchbox cars on the roads.
I forgot all about the crib as I got down on my hands and knees to play with the cars for a while. I was having so much fun driving the cars around the painted city and probably would have gone on playing had I not found the other thing Aunt Catharine had left for me.
On the short white table, the one with the yellow legs, there were two rosy-pink pieces of tissue paper, some small kiddy scissors, some Elmer's Glue and two sharp pencils.
I knelt right down and got the scissors, I cut two circles out of the rosy-pink tissue paper, and then I put glue on the back. I pasted the circles as rosy cheeks on my face.
I looked out the window and saw that my mommy was driving away. The corners of my mouth curled up as the thought crossed my mind, "I'm free."
I ran down the back stairs and my Auntie's eye lit up, "What cheeks Simon!"
"Y-yes they're nice!" I grinned and felt the glue pull at my skin as it dried.
She was beaming back at me as she said, "How about if you and I have some milk and cookies in the dinning room?"
"YEAH!" I cheered punching my fists high over my head.
"But," she continued and my excitement ebbed a little, "I'm going to do the wash and you're going to go on an errand."
"W-w-what's an e-e-er-r-r-r-rand?" I asked.
She smiled again, "You know Mr. Young?"
My heart did a flip-flop in my chest when I remembered him from my last visit. Mr. Young always gave me candy when we would come to visit Auntie Catharine.
"Oh, y-y-yes!" I answered, "He sells candy!"
She smiled, "That's right, and other things too. He's just three doors to the left."
She was reaching into her purse, "Here's some money. You're going to get half a pound of sugar and six red apples." She sat her purse on the sofa, "He's waiting for you."
"I'll get them, and I will get good ones!" I said excited to be asked to do something so important all by myself.
She was smiling, "I will trust you to get the best!"
"I will!" I added.
But before I could get out the door, she called after me, "Before you go, come into the kitchen with me."
I followed her so filled with joy that my shoes barely made contact with the floor.
She opened a cabinet and took out a cup with Superman on the outside.
"Oh c-cool!" I said since I liked anything that had to do with comic book superhero's on it.
"I saw this at a store and thought you might enjoy using it." She said as she filled it with water, "Now drink it all down. It is very warm outside and you always have to remember to drink plenty of water."