The Paper Cowboy (22 page)

THE FLYERS

The third Saturday in March, after my paper route, I stopped by Sam's to pick up the flyers. There were lots of changes to the store already. (The insurance money had been enough to pay the back rent and then some.) The shelves had been ripped out and a black-and-white tile floor was being put in. Mr. McKenzie was busy showing a workman where to put the soda counter. “Sam's upstairs,” he called to me. “Go on up!”

Sam was in the living room, with piles of paper surrounding him. His hands were covered with purple ink and the whole room smelled like chemicals. “Don't touch anything!” he said. “I've got everything ready to go.” Methodically, he stacked the flyers and placed them in a large blue bag. He handed the bag to me.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Tommy?”

I looked at him.

“Do you need help delivering the flyers?”

“Nah,” I said. “I asked Eddie to help.”

“Why didn't you ask me?”

“You already did the printing,” I said. “You don't want to get up at four a.m.”

“And Eddie doesn't like me,” he said.

“Yeah,” I added. “That too.”

He snorted. “Of course, I didn't like you either, at first.”

“The feeling was mutual.”

And we both smiled.

Sunday morning, my alarm went off at four o'clock. I pulled on my clothes and cowboy boots and grabbed Sam's bag.

It was only thirty minutes earlier than normal, but the darkness felt thick and heavy. As I sat on my front porch, folding and placing a flyer in each newspaper, my heart felt heavy too. Eddie hadn't shown up. No one ever told you that doing the right thing would be so hard. Or feel so lonely. Even Boots was still inside, asleep on my pillow. He needed his rest and I didn't have the heart to wake him. Mechanically, I kept folding.

“Tommy?”

I whirled around. Standing in the shadows was Sam.

“What are you doing here?”

“Helping, of course,” he said.

“Thanks.” I shoved a pile of flyers at him. Unfortunately, it had rained the night before. Spring was coming soon, which was nice, except that the papers fell right into a puddle.

“Don't worry,” Sam said. “I brought extras.”

“Really,” I said. “You didn't need to come.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “To you, I'm sure it doesn't feel like much. But to me, sneaking out of the house in the early morning feels like an exciting adventure!” Sam grinned, and for the first time since his mom had died a month and a half before, the smile reached all the way to his eyes.

“Ah,” I said, remembering his words from the day he'd fallen in the lake. “You always wanted to steal some yo-yos.”

“Don't do it,” Eddie called out. He was approaching from the other direction. “It leads to getting up at four a.m.”

He'd come after all. Maybe we really were friends again. “Good to see you,” I said.

“Yeah, well . . . ,” Eddie mumbled.

“Hello, Eddie,” said Sam.

Eddie looked at him, directly at his scar. Sam stood still without flinching.

“Hello . . . Sam,” he said.

Sam smiled. We all sat down and started folding and stuffing. We didn't really talk—it was too early and I didn't want to wake my family, but it was still nice. Almost like a party. I used to think being a cowboy meant dividing the world up into good guys and bad guys. Eddie and I were a posse, the rest of them were Indians. But maybe that wasn't really how it worked. Maybe sometimes the cowboys and Indians could be friends.

“Give me some more,” Eddie said.

Sam passed them over, like a peace pipe, and before I knew it, we were done. I was ready to go at my normal time. “Well, um, thanks,” I said.

They both nodded and went home. And I got on my bike to ride off into the sunrise.

That afternoon, I stopped by home to pick up some of Dad's tools and then went over to Ma and Pa's to fix their chicken-coop door. I was nervous about maybe seeing Mom again, but cowboys always keep their promises. I snuck around back without even letting anyone know I was there and started working.

It felt good to concentrate on something I knew I could fix. Felt good to pry out the broken door and frame up a new one. I was almost done when I heard footsteps behind me. I caught a whiff of perfume. I'd bought Mom a bottle of perfume last year on her birthday, right before Busia had died. She'd burst into tears when she'd opened it. Apparently, she'd wanted the yellow bottle and I'd gotten the green one.

“You've done a great job,” Mom said.

I shrugged.

“We got your flyer,” she went on.

I shrugged again.

“At first I was upset,” she admitted. “I don't accept charity! I don't want everyone to know we're having money troubles.”

I still didn't say anything. I wasn't doing the concert for
her.

She took a deep breath. “But then I remembered what Pa is always telling me. I don't have to do everything alone. I don't have to give in to the dark moods when they come. I can wait until they pass. Or if they don't pass, I'm supposed to ask for help. I will ask for help.”

I concentrated intently on pounding the nail straight into the door frame. “Mary Lou said
charity
is just another word for
help.
”

“I think she's right,” said Mom. “Tommy—”

“You don't have to say anything else,” I said, cutting her off. We weren't arguing. She'd been nice. I didn't want to push our luck.

“I don't know if I can change,” Mom went on. “But I want to try.”

She walked back into the house. I'd never even turned to look at her. But as I packed the tools away, I noticed I was crying.

THE CONCERT

The first week in April, Dad gave me one of his old suits to wear to the concert. It was a little too big. “Not bad,” he said. “But let's walk over and ask Mrs. Scully to make it fit just right.” So after dinner, Dad and I walked Boots over to Mrs. Scully's house.

“Tommy,” Dad said, “Mom is going to come home next week, after your performance.”

I didn't answer. She'd been gone for almost two months now. And the truth was, even though she seemed better, I wasn't sure I wanted her to come home.

“It makes me a little nervous,” Dad admitted, reading my mind. “It's been kind of nice without her, hasn't it? Calm and peaceful.”

I nodded. I hadn't realized Dad felt that way too.

“But when Mom's not angry or upset,” Dad continued, “well, she's fun. She's energetic and lively and makes me laugh. And at times, she can be so thoughtful. Remember when she baked those pies for all the nurses at the hospital?”

Yeah, I remembered.

Dad took a deep breath. “I want to give her another chance. People can change.”

I wasn't sure about that. But I guessed I hoped they could.

“And,” Dad went on, “if things don't change . . . well, I don't want to send her away. But if I have to, I will.”

Even if I didn't feel quite ready to have her home, I didn't really want her gone either. And if Dad was willing to send her away, willing to actually
do
something for us, I guess that was proof that people could change. My dad had. And I had stopped being mean to Sam. I supposed that it was possible my mom could change too.

“Okay,” I said. “We'll give a try.”

Dad threw an arm around my shoulders. And I hoped that was his way of saying,
This time, Tommy, I won't let you down.

Mrs. Scully was thrilled to see us. “How's my favorite sewing project?” she cooed to Boots, who jumped up and licked her face, then sniffed around her kitchen, looking for sausages. His cut was healing well. The scar was still pink and raised, but I'd carefully snipped and pulled out the bits of thread a few days before and it hadn't bled a bit.

After she petted Boots, Mrs. Scully made me go into the living room and put on Dad's suit and stand on this big square box while she measured and tucked and pinned. “I'll take the shoulders in and have those cuffs sewn up in no time,” she said.

“One more thing,” Dad said, clearing his throat. He pulled a green bundle out of a bag. “The dress you made for Catherine turned out to be a little too small. Could you take it out a bit?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Scully said, turning to me. “Tommy, why didn't you tell me?!”

I blushed and shrugged.

Mrs. Scully had the suit alterations done by the next evening. And when she brought it over to our house, it fit perfectly. Before she left, Mrs. Scully turned her attention to Mrs. Glazov, who was just finishing the dishes.

“And you, Mrs. Glazov,” she said, “what are you going to wear?”

“Me?” Mrs. Glazov blushed. “Just one of my old dresses.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Scully. And she made Mrs. Glazov hold out her arms as she measured and made notes on a small pad of paper.

“But I have no money for new dress!” Mrs. Glazov protested.

“This is a concert to raise money for Mary Lou.” Mrs. Scully sniffed. “Now, I don't have a lot of cash, but I do have an extra bolt of cloth in the basement. Please. Let me make sure you are well dressed.”

So Mrs. Glazov got a new dress as well, a black gown fit for an opera star. When Mrs. Scully brought it back the next week for a fitting, Mrs. Glazov wept as she put it on.

April sped by and pretty soon it was the twenty-first, the morning of the concert. Pa stopped me on the paper route. “Ma and I have something for you.” He handed me a small thin box and I carefully removed the top.

It was shiny black satin bow tie with bits of silver thread running through it.

“Thought you could wear it for the concert,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. “It's much nicer than my old school tie.”

Pa smiled. “The chickens haven't escaped once since you fixed their coop.”

“Good.”

“You'd better go,” he said. “It's a busy day.”

“Yeah.” I turned to leave, then stopped. “Do you really think Mom is ready to come home?”

“Well, Tommy,” he said slowly, “I will continue to see your mother once a week. But I've taught her to take a deep breath when she's upset. And to listen more. And I've asked her to accept help when it's offered. I can't offer you any guarantees, but I do think she's changed. I think it's worth a try.”

That evening, Mrs. Glazov and I were dressed to the nines. My suit was ironed and I'd polished my accordion until all the keys shone. Mrs. Glazov's long black dress swooshed as she walked, and her hair was pulled back in an elegant bun and held in place with bobby pins. Mrs. Scully had even put some lipstick on her. She no longer looked faded and gray at all.

“Ready to go?” Dad asked.

I nodded, too nervous to speak.

Pinky ran into the room then, clutching something small in her hand. “Tommy, Tommy, you can't forget this!”

It was the silver sheriff's star from Mary Lou. I stood still as Dad pinned it to my lapel.

“Come on, cowboy,” said Mrs. Glazov. “Time to break leg.”

We all piled into the car. There was still a big dent in the front bumper from where Mom had plowed into the other car in the hospital parking lot, but our car ran fine. Luckily. There wasn't any money to fix it.

When we got out in front of the Tivoli, the first thing I noticed was the marquee. It read:
First Ever Concert of the Downers Grove Musical Society
.

I turned to look at Mrs. Glazov. “Pretty neat.”

“Yes.” She grinned. “Last year, I spent all time in house. All alone. Now I part of music society!” She laughed. “Very glad you came to sell me magazine.”

“Me too.” I offered her my arm. She took it and we started to walk inside.

“Hey, Tommy!”

We turned and saw Eddie hurrying down the street. His blond hair stood up even messier than normal. “Dad didn't want me to come,” he mumbled. “Said the Musical Society is just a bunch of communists. Mom wanted to see the concert, but they had a big fight and . . . I snuck out the back.”

Mrs. Glazov leaned over and gave Eddie a big hug. “We glad you're here.” She picked up her accordion. “Tommy, I see you inside.”

As she walked off, Eddie pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. His eyes were a little red and I wondered if he'd been crying.

“Thanks, buddy, for coming,” I said.

Eddie stood up straighter. “What did you think? I'd miss seeing you make a fool of yourself?”

“Ha-ha,” I said. “Thanks for your support.”

He punched me in the arm.

“Watch it!” I cried. “That's my bellows arm.”

We grinned at each other.

Mrs. Scully and a group of women in suits and fancy hats arrived next, talking a mile a minute. I figured they must be her League of Women Voters
friends and I was pretty sure one of them was the lady who had wanted to buy Sam's mimeograph machine. “Did you see Edward R. Murrow on
See It Now
last month?” she was saying.

“Oh yes,” replied the next. She lowered her voice to a gravelly growl. “‘We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. We must remember always that accusation is not proof. . . . We will not walk in fear, one of another!'”

Mrs. Scully laughed. “You sound just like him!”

The lady blushed. “Well, he sure put Senator McCarthy in his place.”

They all breezed into the lobby then, and I followed them inside. Mr. McKenzie had set up a huge buffet and was dressed in his usual suit and white apron.

“The sandwiches look delicious,” said one of the ladies.

“Sam's Sandwich Shop is opening next week,” said Mr. McKenzie. “There's an order form for your next party right here.” He handed them a mimeographed sheet.

Sam had borrowed an usher's hat and one of the red coats with gold braid as well. He looked delighted as he showed person after person to his or her seat. It was a dollar to enter. Refreshments were a quarter.

I stood in the wings, waiting for my turn to go on. My hands were sweating so much, I kept drying them on my shirt. First, the trumpet player played a tune, then the old lady who always played the organ at church, and then the milkman, who was actually quite good on the clarinet. The guitar player and the flutist did a duet, and finally, one of the local piano teacher's students pounded out “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Then it was our turn.

I followed Mrs. Glazov onto the stage. The lights were bright and shining and at first I couldn't see a thing. She was talking into the microphone, but I couldn't understand a word. Suddenly, I was afraid that she was speaking Russian, and that this was some weird communist trap after all. But everyone laughed at what she said, and then she came over to me and said, “A von, a two, a von, two, tree,” and we started playing “On Top of Old Smoky.”

And as soon as we started playing, I began to relax. My fingers knew what to do. By the time our first song was over, I was much calmer. Everyone clapped as Mrs. Glazov walked back over to the microphone.

“And now,” she said, “our very own Tommy Wilson will play ‘The Ballad of High Noon.'”

She looked over at me and nodded. I took a deep breath and started to play.

The first few notes sounded small and weak. This was the theme song from
High Noon,
and it made me feel brave, if a little sad, every time I heard it. Mom liked it too. I pulled the bellows deeper and stronger, and the notes filled the theater like only an accordion can. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mrs. Glazov beaming at me from the wings of the stage. Mrs. Scully sat in one corner of the auditorium, the league ladies surrounding her. Pa and Ma were in another, swaying gently in time to the music. Sam and Mr. McKenzie and Eddie and the choirboys were down front. Officer Russo sat next to them. Sister Ann and some of the other nuns were in the middle. Even the friends Mom had insulted, the Starrs and the Colvins, were there, as well as most of the girls from my class, including Lizzie Johnson. I couldn't believe how many people had shown up.

And my family. Dad and Pinky were in the very first row. Next to them was my mother. She was wearing the green dress we'd given her for Christmas. It fit perfectly now and I couldn't even see where Mrs. Scully had made her adjustments. Next to Mom was Mary Lou. One of the nurses had offered to drive her. In fact, there were a whole bunch of nurses from the hospital, and even a couple of doctors too, all sitting in the row behind my parents.

Mary Lou smiled at me, pointed to the pin on my lapel and winked. And then I didn't have to think about playing anymore. My fingers just flew over the keys. As I started into the very last verse, I noticed my father mouthing the words to the song.

“Do not forsake me, oh my darlin'

Although you're grieving, don't think of leaving

Now that I need you by my side.”

I finished the song with a flourish. There was a second of silence in the theater. And for a horrible moment, I thought they hadn't liked it, that I'd somehow messed up without knowing it.

Then there was applause.