THE GOLD FISH: And You and I (2.3)

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For someone who had fought so vehemently against Mr. Charles’ lawn mowing help, Joan took to it like a duck to water. She was now off feeding The Belle her lunch, perfectly content to let Barbie and Mr. Charles finish the job.

The two had just gathered their tools and were walking the mower, rake, and clippers back around the block when a shout halted their progress.

“Barbie!”

It was Bridge, jogging towards them, an excited look on her face. “Hey guys,” she said breathlessly.

Mr. Charles gave her a courtly nod in return. “Slim.”

Even though Mr. Charles knew Bridge, he preferred to call all the neighborhood kids by mnemonic nicknames. Barbie was Red, Karen was Stretch, the kid down the street with the demonic cowlick was Alfalfa. And Bridge was Slim. It was easier that way, especially when trying to correctly name the multitude of nearly identical Sullivans.

Bridge put her hands on her hips. “You know, my name is Bridget.”

Mr. Charles got a kick out of sassy kids. He grinned at her with his most winning smile. “Hard to keep you all straight.”

Bridge wasn’t having any of it. “Like I never heard that before.” In a clearly rehearsed singsong, she recited “WesleyShayleenKevinBridgetSeanPatrickNoraBrian.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not that hard. If you try.”

For the love of God, Mr. Charles thought. Eight kids under one roof. Catholics! But he managed to restrain himself and nodded in obeisance.

Satisfied that her message had gotten through, Bridge turned her attention to Barbie. “Wes is driving a few of us up to Perring Parkway. Like now. Wanna come?” She flashed her signature vampirish grin.

“Yes!” cried Barbie, then looked at Mr. Charles for confirmation. It was one thing for her mother to exit stage left leaving Mr. Charles holding the bag -- or in this case, the lawn care instruments -- but that didn’t mean she could. “I mean, I think so.”

“You go on,” said Mr. Charles kindly, taking the rake from Barbie. “We’re done. I’ll take this stuff around.”

“Thanks, Mr. Charles!”

Barbie grabbed the bottom of her dirty, grass speckled t-shirt, and raised her eyebrows at Bridge. “Do I have time to change?”

“I guess,” she replied. “But we gotta be quick.”

The girls raced up the steps, shouting over their shoulders as they went. “See ya, Mr. Charles.”

“See ya, Red. Slim.”

Bridget turned back and shouted. “Bridget!”

Mr. Charles gave her a wink, stifling a grin. “If you say so.”

:::

Minutes later, Mr. Charles trudged up the back alley with the lawn mower, the clippers stuffed in his back pocket, the rake slung over his shoulder. He puffed on his pipe and chuckled at the image he must be presenting to the neighborhood. Loaded down as he was, he probably resembled a demented Lucky Charms lawn-care leprechaun. But that was just fine with him. He enjoyed being useful. Joan still had both feet intact, and Barbie was off on an adventure with her best friend. It was a good day.

He was relishing these victories, and yes, perhaps giving himself some small measure of credit, as he unlatched the gate to the Ward family’s yard and pushed the mower through.

“Chuck, my man,” came a voice.

Mr. Charles’ smile faded. Chuck, he thought, really? Never in his life had anyone called him Chuck. Chip, sure. Given his size, that one was a given. A tedious, unimaginative given, but that was life as a little person. And Charlie, definitely. But Chuck? No. For some ungodly reason, his mind flashed on Chuck Connors, the star of The Rifleman, who in the series intro, walks towards the camera in close up, firing a 12-shot rifle in quick succession. Truth be told, Mr. Charles loved The Rifleman, and only wished the clippers stuffed in his back pocket right now were a firearm that he could pull and start firing. Incarceration aside, that might be preferable to the confrontation he was about to have.

But alas, his clippers weren’t a gun and he wasn’t Chuck Connors. So instead, he fortified himself by straightening to his full height of 4’4” and lifted his eyes to the Ward’s back porch, which is where Don now stood addressing him, cigarette in hand, wet hair still bearing neat furrows from his comb. A snappy brown leisure suit completed the picture.

“Don,” Mr. Charles returned, doing his best to strike a not-too-friendly, not-too-hostile tone.

Don squinted through cigarette smoke. “Thanks for helping Joan.”

Mr. Charles chose his words carefully. “Happy to help her.”

The emphasis on the her was not lost on Don. The cheek of this guy, he thought. It wasn’t enough that he had to endure Uncle Henry’s voice in his head, but now he had to hear it from a goddamned next door neighbor? Cheese and crackers! Who the hell did he think he was? Some sort of domestic-chore watchdog from the Citizens Defense Corps?!

But Don wasn’t about to give Charles the satisfaction of knowing he was irked. Instead, he looked off into the distance nonchalantly, as if pondering the multitude of important tasks on his to-do list. “Yeah, I would have gotten to it.”

Mr. Charles slid the mower under the porch. “Would you now?”

Don didn’t like this line of questioning at all, so pivoted to his patented just us guys charm offensive. “Oh… You know women, everything’s gotta be done when they want it done.” He winked.

“That right?” said Mr. Charles, refusing to take the bait.

“Yeah. She knew I had to get ready for work.”

Mr. Charles looked Don up and down. “I can see that.”

“Well, I better get going.” Don flicked his cigarette into the yard. “Those cars aren’t going to sell themselves.”

Mr. Charles gave him a jaunty salute, turned, and as he headed out of the yard, muttered under his breath, “Unfortunately for you, Don, I don’t think they will.”

At her bedroom window, Barbie, having heard this entire interaction, watched Mr. Charles’s retreating back. She sighed, then turned to Bridge, her face tight. “I need money.”

Bridge squinted her eyes in thought, then waggled her eyebrows as inspiration struck. “Car wash?”

Barbie retrieved a barrette from her jewelry box, and held it aloft to Bridge, who immediately grokked her meaning. She flashed her fangs. “Right on.”

Wesley Sullivan, long golden curls flying in the wind, raced his pride and joy, a 1965 Ford Fairlane, down the parkway. Beside him, his adoring younger brothers, Kevin and Sean, beamed and crooned along to the Bread song playing on the radio.

Is there someone you know, Your loving them so, But taking them all for granted? You may lose them one day...

Squeezed into the backseat, Barbie, Bridge, and a younger Sullivan, Patrick, joined in.

Someone takes them away. And they don’t hear the words you long to say...

Wes grimaced but said nothing. This kind of overly accessible, sugary-sweet pop music wasn’t his bag. At all. But he had a generous soul and the kids were enjoying it, so why not just go with the flow, and join in. He added his voice to theirs.

I would give everything I own.

Wes glanced into the rear-view mirror at the same time Barbie looked up, and their eyes met. He sang dramatically as if to her.

I’d give up my life, my heart, my home.

Barbie flushed scarlet and turned away. There was something about Wes that made her feel funny inside. Made her heart race. Like being giddy and nauseous at the same time. She nudged Bridge and fluttered her eyes in mock drama.

Just to have you back again...

Bridge leaned towards Barbie until their freckled noses were practically touching.

Just to touch you once again...

They girls collapsed into a fit of giggles, as the last notes of the song died out and were replaced by Sammy Davis Jr.singing about The Candy Man.

That was a bridge too far for Wes. He nudged the brother beside him. “Kev, man. Find us something good.”

Kevin punched the radio’s pre-set radio buttons searching for a better tune. Briefly, a snippet from Yes’s “And you and I” emerged -- Staying the flowers daily. Sensing all the themes -- before fading into static.

“YES! Go back!” cried Wes.

Like a safecracker, Kevin twisted the dial until the song came in clearly.

As a foundation left to create the spiral aim. A movement regained and regarded just the same.

“Yes?” Kevin asked his brother.

“Yes!” answered Wes.

All complete in the sounds of seeds of life with you...

Wes looked over his shoulder at the kids. “This is what I’m talking about, grasshoppers. Nowhere does he say life is beautiful man, but that’s what he’s saying. He’s painting a picture with words. Just open your ear holes and listen.”

Barbie did what she was told, closing her eyes to better hear the picture.

Changed only for a sight of sound, the space agreed.

Between the picture of time. Behind the face of need.

Coming quickly to terms of all expression laid.

Emotion revealed as the ocean maid.

All complete in the sight of seeds with you.

Barbie tried to grasp it. She really did. But no matter how hard she tried, the words just wouldn’t arrange themselves into any kind of coherent order. The only picture that came to mind was as blank as a fresh sheet of looseleaf paper.

Next → The Gingerbread Man (2.4)