Lump

Lump

 

By

 

Robert T. Jeschonek

And he kicked it twice more after that. Each time, the dent got deeper and his angry cries got louder.

"
Not there!
"
He
scrubbed his fingers in his jet black
rat's nest of
hair, then
smacked the mailbox with the flat of his hand.
"
It
'
s not there!
"

He might have been the nastiest kid in th
e neighborhood, but he was
right.
Buzz had dug his dirty paw throu
gh every square inch of that mailbox
and found nothing.
The thing he
should
have found, the thing he
'
d been expecting, wasn
'
t there.

It was a good thing Buzz didn
'
t have a grenade launcher just then. He was mad enough to use it.

Because for the first time in five years, he hadn
'
t gotten his speci
al
"
present
"
on Christmas Eve.

"
Where
is
it?
"
Buzz clenched his teeth and kicked the siding one more time for bad measure. He thought about pulling the mailbox off the house and stomping it flat.

But his mom
flung open the front door before he could do it.
"
Buzz! What
'
s going on out here?
"

Buzz spun to face her.
"
Did
you
take it?
Did
you?
"

Mom
, who was a good two feet taller than Buzz,
frown
ed
down at him.
"
Take what?
"

"
My
present
,
"
snarled Buzz.
"
It
'
s Christmas Eve, and it isn
'
t here!
"

Mom nodded, and
the
frown
melted away
on her pretty, oval face
...
only to suddenly return
, deeper than ever.
"
That
'
s why you
'
re m
ad? Because y
ou didn
'
t get it
?
"

Buzz glared at his m
om as a fresh wave of anger rolled through him.
"
If
you
didn
'
t take it, who
did
? You
know
,
don
'
t
you?
"

"
I have no idea, Buzz.
"
Mom rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.
"
Even if I did, why would it matter?
"

Buzz felt the urge to drive another kick into the siding
, but he held back
.
"
Because I need to
know
, that
'
s why! I need to know why it didn
'
t
come
this year.
"

Mom raised her eyebrows and shook her head.
"
You mean to tell me you
want
a
lump of coal
for Christmas?
"

Buzz wrinkled up his face in his second-favorite expression
--a demonic scowl that had been known to send pit bulls running away with their tails between their legs
.
"
You don
'
t
understand
.
"

Mom shrugged
.
"
We can
put
one in your
stocking
, if it
'
ll make you feel better.
"

"
It wouldn
'
t be the same.
"
Buzz glared down at his
sneakers, the ones with the orange flames printed on the sides and the holes in both big toes. Everything he wore had holes--not because his family was poor, but because he beat the
living daylights out of all
of
his clothes.

"
You
'
re right, I
don
'
t
understand.
"
Mom sighed.
"
You
'
ve been getting
a lump of coal in
the
mailbox every Christmas Eve, with a note
attached that says what a naughty
kid you are
.
I
'
d think you
'
d be
glad
it
didn
'
t happen this year
.
"

Buzz snorted and scuffed his sneaker on the
brown boards of the porch.
"
But
why
? Why would
Santa stop giving me a
lump
?
"

Mom leaned down and smiled
at him.
"
Well, Buzz, did you ever stop and think...
"
She reached out and ruffled the black rat
'
s nest on his head.
"
...m
aybe you finally did something
nice
this year?
"

Buzz couldn
'
t stop the look of pure horror from clawing its way onto his face.
Him?
Do something
good?

The thought of it made his stomach churn and his heart burn. It went against everything he lived for and cared about and
believed in. It wasn
'
t
possible
, no way, no how.

Or

Was

It?

Buzz
'
s hear
t pounded like houses exploding
one after another.
He felt cold as a flash-frozen
Frankenstein
'
s
monster entombed in ice.
It wouldn
'
t have surprised him if a black hole had opened up at that moment and sucked him through like an elephant up a drinking straw.

But then he pulled himself together.
There was a way to
settle
this, after all.

H
e gathered himself up and aimed his best square-jawed, narrow-eyed stare at Mom.
"
You
'
re
wrong
.
"
He tipped his head to one side
and shook a finger in the air
.
"
I
deserve
that lump, and I
'
ll
prove
it.
"

With that, he whirled
on his heel and marched off
to get his bike
.

 

*****

Buzz rode down the street as fast as he could, standing on the pedals. The bike swung back and forth
under
him as he pumped the right and left pedals one after the other.

As soon as he whipped around the corner on
Pine
Street, he spotted little Squealie playing in his front yard in the bright afternoon sun. Squealie spotted him and took off, tossing super-hero action figures
every which way
as he ran.

Buzz didn
'
t waste his breath calling out. Instead, he hopped the curb and churned his b
ike across the dry brown grass.

Adrenaline sizzled through Buzz
'
s bloodstream as he charged after the fleeing eight-year-old. It was one of the things he lived for, the thrill of the chase, like a lion on a quad running down an antelope on a Big Wheel.

Squealie (real name Ellis Fingerling) bolted straight for the front door of his family
'
s little
red
brick
house. For a skinny kid, he sure was a lousy runner;
by the time he
'
d wobbled half the twenty feet to the door, Buzz was already hot on his heels
.

Buzz ditched his bike and leaped on top of Squealie in one smooth flying tackle. The bony kid crumpled under him like a fistful of pretzel sticks
in a crushing contest
.

Which was when Squealie did what he did best in such situations. He squealed to the high heavens, letting loose a piercing cry that was music to Buzz
'
s ears.

It seemed a shame to cut it short, but the last thing Buzz wanted was for a stray parent to come
a-
running.
"
Squealie!
"
He pushed the kid
'
s face down and yelled in his ear.
"
Cut it out! I
'
m not gonna
whale
on you!
"

Squealie
'
s screeches weren
'
t as loud with his face jammed in the dirt, but he still kept them coming. Buzz
couldn
'
t blame him for calling for help; he
had a pretty crummy track record when it came to telling the truth
about not whaling on people
.

And honestly, it was way too easy to fall back on bad butt-kicking habits.
"
Seriously! I just want to
talk
!
"
Even as he said it, Buzz had to fight the urge to beat the squealing out of Squealie.
"
Come on! I want to
ask
you something!
"

Squealie paused in his shrieking. Then he sucked in a breath and started up the fire siren all over again.

Buzz hated what he was about to say so
much, he half-wished he could punch himself in the mouth
to keep from saying it
. But he knew drastic measures were necessary to get through to a guy like Squeal
ie.
"
Listen! I need your help.
"
He let up the pressure on Squealie
'
s head.
"
Please, just
talk
to me, Squealie.
"

Suddenly, the squealing ended. The o
nly sounds from Squealie were the gasps of his labored breathing
.

"
Thanks.
"
Buzz sat up and patted Squealie
'
s shoulder.
"
Now if I get off you, will you promise not to run away till I
'
m done talking?
"

Squealie
'
s eye
as he stared up at Buzz
looked li
ke a rabbit
'
s, glazed with fear
.
"
Okay.
"
He nodded, brushing the side of his face against the
crackling
brown grass.
"
Unless you hurt me.
"

Another person might have felt sad that Squealie was so scared o
f him...but Buzz just felt
satisfied.
He worked hard to keep up his reputation; if anyone deserved an award for being a neighborhood bully, it was him.

Which, actually, was why the missing coal lump
g
ave him such a b
rain-
ache
. To Buzz, it was the Pulitzer Prize, the Academy Award, and the Grammy
wrapped up in one,
with America
'
s Most Wanted like a cherry on top.

It
went against
his grain
, but he
got up and let Squealie
roll over. He figured it was
the first time he
'
d let Squealie off the hook
in the four years he
'
d known him.

"
So...Ellis.
"
Buzz threw in Squealie
'
s real name to sweeten the deal, but he could barely resist changing it to
Smellis.
"
Here
'
s what I want to know. Have you seen me do anything
nice
this year?
"

Squealie
slowly sat up, never taking
his dark brown eyes off Buzz.
"
Nice? You?
"
His high-pitched voice chimed with disbelief.
"
I
'
ve
never
seen you do anything nice.
"

Buzz grinned, and his cheeks grew warm. He
didn
'
t blush too often, but he was doing it now
.
"
Seriously?
"

Squealie
'
s eyes widened, and he nodded.
"
I
'
ve never even
heard
of you doing something nice.
"

Suddenly, Buzz
'
s grin switched to a scowl.
"
You
'
re not just
saying
that, are you? Because you
'
re scared I
'
ll
rip your guts out and
feed
'
em to you or something?
"

Squealie shook his head fast.
"
Why? Is that what you
'
re
planni
ng to
do
?
"

Buzz laughed.
"
Heck
no
.
"
He leaned down and socked Squealie in the arm, making him flinch.
"
Relax, Squeals.
"

"
Okay, that
'
s good then.
"
Squealie
'
s attempt at a smile was pretty weak.

"
I mean, I can
'
t promise
I
'
ll
never
do that.
"
Buzz shrugged and chuckled.

"
Oh, sure.
"

"
Unless maybe you
'
re lying,
"
said Buzz.
"
About how I haven
'
t done anything
nice
.
"

That was when
Squealie
took a deep breath and
sat up straighter
. His face darkened, and he locked eyes with Buzz.
"
I can hone
stly say, you are by far the meane
st person I know.
Some days, I
'
m so scared of what you
'
ll do to me, I can
'
t get out of bed. I don
'
t think you could do
any
thing nice if your life
depended
on it.
"

Buzz ruffled his black rat
'
s nest and nodded.
"
Thanks, Squealie. That means a lot, coming from you.
"

"
No problem.
"

Smiling, Buzz reached out with both hands.
"
Here. Let me help you up.
"

Squealie stared at the hands, then stared at Buzz
'
s face, then back at the hands. For a moment, Buzz thought
Squealie
might
take those hands, expecting Buzz to help him get up off the ground.

But instead, Squealie scrambled backward
. He clambered to his feet, spun around like a beer can winged by a BB gun, and
stumbled
off
crippled-antelope style.

Which was a real shame. Not that poor defenseless Squealie was so scared of Buzz that he
'
d rather run away than trust his helping hand
s
.

T
he
real
shame of it was, he
'
d robbed Buzz of a perfectly good opportunity to
make a fresh start. A fresh start at making Squealie
'
s life more miserable than ever, that is.

Because the whole reaching-for-Squealie bit had
had
nothing
at all
to do with helping him to his feet.