Chapter eight

 

                 

 

 

“Often solitary . . .lone birds may be seen flapping slowly overhead, even miles from water. ”   —Birds of North America/Kaufman Focus Guides/Kenn Kaufman   

 

 

                                   Chapter Eight

  It’s Sat. morning. Mama’s working. So I give Gabrielle a call.

“Well . . . how was the dance?”

“Good. But I can’t talk about it now. We’re on the way out the door, taking the South Shore Train to Chicago. Nanny promised to buy me another matching outfit for my doll and me. And Mom made reservations for the three of us to have a fancy lunch and sip tea. Isn’t that awesome?”

“Awesome,” I repeated, disguising my disappointment.

Then it hit me. Good? Lord, I was expecting buckets of tears from them snobby girls teasing her. Did that mean she got along with them? Now I was panic-stricken thinking I’d lost my only friend.

“Is that all you wanted?” Gabrielle said in a hurried up tone.

“It ain’t important. See ya Monday,” I lied biting my lip, trying hard not to cry as I hung up.

On the week-ends, I do tons of window watching, not much else to do. Right now, I’m looking down a couple stories at a pitiful old man with no legs in a wheelchair – dressed nice in a brown leather jacket – struggling to lock his apartment door across the way at the Old Folks Home. Then it hits me. It was the same old man I’d seen crying at the lake! Interested, I watched. He plopped a tweed flat hat on top of his silver-colored hair. Then he flew down his wheelchair ramp like a kid on a skateboard. Wow! That caught my attention.

Curious, I grabbed me a jacket, dashed out of my warm apartment into what felt like the freezer. Biloxi ain’t this cold! I grumble. Chill cut the air like a metal blade. Smelly dead leaves scattered everywhere in the ash-grey, late October sky. A cold breeze rustled right through them skeleton trees and my bones– causin’ me to zip up my jacket. Like a detective, I’m following a few steps behind the old man. Obviously, he’s headed for the lake. Why? It ain’t a nice day! I wondered. Then wondered why I was chasing after him, disobeying Mama who said “don’t go nowhere.”

A neon-red flag whipped through the whirling wind on the rear of his scooter, as it raced down the path leading to the lake. By now, my imagination’s jogging fast speed right along beside him. That is, until he was out of sight. Crazy thoughts of danger darted across my brain. Mama would have herself a hissy fit if she done knowd what I was up to. Now, I’m running, chasing after the old guy. Panting. He must have been hard of hearing. His scooter kept on trucking, not noticing anything, even me trailing behind. He parked it down by the water’s edge. Recalling him crying, I worried what he might do. So, I hung back about ten yards, slowing down my pace. Suddenly he pulled something out of a wire basket attached to his scooter. My palms felt sweaty. I gasped, ready to shout out, “stop!” Then felt foolish, when I seen it was only a loaf of bread. (I’ve been watching too many of them murder movies on T.V. with Mama).

I watched him tear off little pieces of bread; feeding a pair of ducks, scattered around the bottom of his cart. He cooed at them like they was newborn puppies, calling them strange names. Suddenly, he spun his scooter around my direction and smiled. Right as he done it, the wind tossed his cap ten feet into the air. He struggled to reach it, but couldn’t. So I chased after it, returning it to him.

“Why thank you, young lady!” he said, anchoring the cap back on his head securely.

“Weren’t nothing,” I said shyly to the nice man.

“Say, would you like to feed the ducks with me?” he said like he’d known me all his life. Maybe he’d seen me before, wading through the cattails and the willows, searching for the great blue heron. It’s hard to say.

As he handed me slices of bread, I politely accepted, not wanting to hurt his feelings. Then I began studying the old man. He seemed lonely. It was written in his sorry-sad, sunken eyes.

“Sir, none of them ducks is gonna starve to death with you around,” I said hoping to cheer him up as I tore off chunks of bread.

As I tossed bread into the air, ducks came waddling and wiggling towards me. We laughed, as they crowded all around me quacking.

“Make them take turns,” the old man said amused.

His sad eyes was melting into happy. Melting my heart, too.

“You seem to enjoy birds as much as I do, sir. Sometimes, I come here watching out for the blue heron. But I ain’t seen him around lately. I think he flew south. Do you come here often?” I asked, not mentioning that I seen him crying once, and being careful not to stare at where his legs used to be attached. Instead, I planted my eyes firmly upon the white shadow of his beard, wrinkled skin, and on his green-gray, sunken eyes.

“All the time, when the weather’s good, and sometimes when it’s not so good,” he said with a grin that reminded me of a shy little boy. “Then I go report to Kathryn all about the ducks. She used to love them.”

“Is that your wife?”

“Of sixty years,” he said beaming proudly.

“Can’t she get out?”

He couldn’t talk, tearing up.

“She’s over there,” he finally said, pointing and turning incredibly sad. “In the Alzheimer’s Unit. She doesn’t even remember that we used to feed them. Every afternoon, I visit her. Heavens, she barely remembers me. Until I peck a kiss on her check, hold her hand,” he said winking at me – his eyes twinkling at the thought. “Makes her purr like a sweet kitten!”

“That’s sweet,” I said, meaning it.

“Sometimes I get confused. Call her kitten instead of Kathryn. C` est la vie!” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s French for ‘such is life.’ It’s a phrase I picked up from the French during World War II.”

“You . . . was in World War II?”

“Yup. Nineteen forty-two to nineteen forty- five. Awarded a Purple Heart, too!” he said proudly.

I wanted to ask him if that’s what happened to his missing legs. But I figured it ain’t none of my business. So, I started to walk away, when he brung up the war again.

“I shipped out after Infantry Training at Fort Benning, Georgia with the Ninety-fifth Division.”

“What’s Georgia like?” I said, hoping this old soldier could educate me.

“My daddy lives in Alabama.” I said proudly, thinking Georgia was close enough to Alabama.

“Well young lady . . .” the old man said lost in his memories. “Fort Benning reached clean across three counties, manufacturing second lieutenants, building its Army to millions by D-Day. A mighty big order! Wouldn’t you say?” he winked, handing me some more pieces of bread.

I was disappointed he didn’t mention Alabama or my daddy. Lost in his war memories, he was educating me too much! But I smiled and nodded politely. Then we fed them ducks some more (which I have to admit was a right pleasant experience).

“Thousands of young men were learning how to direct artillery fire and how to keep men from bleeding to death. As far as the eye could see, barracks after barracks were spread out over a bare plateau in the blazing heat of the Deep South.”

As he talked, I could just picture it like a war movie I seen on TV once.

“You’re sure an educated fellow, ain’t you?” I said to the old man. He got hisself a good chuckle over that. It was fun seeing them sad eyes of his lighten up to happy again. Then he continued his story.

“Heavens to Betsy, I remember nearly sweating to death reading maps in the middle of a Georgia swamp filled with alligators.

“Sir, you remind me of Fannie Mae. She use to tell me stories about them gators in the south. But she died in Katrina.” I said, lost in my own sad memories.

“Well, time to go see Kathryn,” he said glancing at his watch and spinning his scooter around. “Nice chatting with you, Miss . . . what’s your name young lady?”

“Emma June. But Mama calls me ‘Blue,’ after the lake and the heron bird,” I quickly added.

“Miss Emma June Blue,” he said, saying my name all wrong.

With that, he rode off on his cart, heading towards the Lakeside Nursing Home. I stared after him for a long time. Then he stopped his scooter, turn around and yell, “By the way, the name’s Woody. I’m the head honcho in Woody’s Woodshop at the Lakeside! Stop in and see me sometime! I’ll introduce you to Kathryn.”