The Color of the Sky, Part Three

A day late, but here's the next part of my short story...

Enjoy!

CSM

*****

The loft was my hiding place when I wanted time alone.  I have a couple of books and some movie magazines stashed up there.  Nothing dirty unless you think Nancy Drew or Tom Swift is dirty.

I was studying a sepia-toned photo in Modern Screen Magazine of Johnny Weissmuller in a bathing suit then one in his Tarzan loin cloth.  I fantasized about what was under that cloth.  As I sat there, I got 'excited' and felt my trousers getting tight.

"Are you up here?" said a quiet voice. 

I jumped. It was Sissy Boy. He was at the top of the ladder to the loft.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."  Uninvited, he sat down next to me.

"What do you want?"  I pushed the magazine between my legs to hide anything and now Johnny Weissmuller was smiling up at me.

"I love the Tarzan movies."  He grabbed the magazine and pointed at the picture of Johnny in his swimsuit.  "He's very fit, isn't he?"

I politely took the magazine back.  "He is."  It was an awkward moment.  He knew what was going on.  I could tell.

Sissy Boy was blunt.  "I think he's very handsome."

I snorted.

"I do."  Sissy Boy waited to see what I was going to do.  I did nothing.  Like I said, I accepted it for what it was.

Sissy Boy leaned over and kissed me on the cheek then scurried down the ladder, looking back at me. I was smirking.  I wasn't sure what to think.  I heard him race away like a mouse.  That night, I laid in bed and still felt the soft touch of his lips press against my cheek.

The next morning, I stepped out the back door and slipped my boots on.  I needed to do some weeding in the garden.

After tying my shoe laces, that's when I saw it.  It was Gra'ma begonia that she had in a pot on the back stoop.

Against my sepia-toned world, the center of one of the flowers was bright red.

*****

I worked in the garden.  I pulled some beets and potatoes and shook the dirt off.  I handed the basket to Gra'ma and she went inside.

I needed some time to think and maybe cry.  My other private place was out in the field next to our house.  I pushed my way though the corn stalks to a large sycamore that had grown up next to an unmovable boulder.  There was a small place between the tree and the boulder where I could easily hide.

As I sat there, I could hear the rustling of the corn stalks and the leaves of the sycamore in the wind.  I was thinking about my parents.  How I missed mama's smiling face and the praise from my dad when I did well in school.  I began to cry.

"Why are you crying?"  Sissy Boy said gently and peeked around the boulder at me.

I wiped away the tears.  "You shouldn't be creepin' up on people like that."

"Sorry." Once again, he invited himself to sit next to me.  There was room for two, but it was a squeeze for both of us.

We sat there until he broke the silence.  "I miss my mother.  She died when  I was ten.  Daddy gets drunk a lot and cries for her.  My brothers say nothing and work in the fields.  I bet you miss your mother a lot too."

He was so understanding that I started crying again.  He put one arm around my shoulder and worked the fingers of his free hand into mine.  He cradled me like Gra'ma does when I get sad.  Then I could feel his lips on my forehead.  I felt a shiver.  I broke free from him.

"I gotta go."  I raced off.  I wanted to stay but for some reason I couldn't. To be honest, it wasn't right to be thinking of my dead mama and wanting to kiss Sissy Boy at the same time.

I emerged from the corn field and meandered back to the back stoop.

And there it was.  I leaned down for a closer look.  The entire begonia flower was pure red.

*****

The Color of the Sky, Part Two

And now Part Two of my new short story...

Enjoy!

CSM

*****

About a two weeks before, I was walking into town when I noticed that the youngest of the Fray boys was trailing me. He was also sixteen.  I turned to look at him.  He squinted from the sun in his face.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Well then nothing's what you'll get."  I walked on.

"Are you walking to town?"

"Yep.  Got to get a few things for Gra'ma from Milton's."

He caught up, but stayed a couple of steps behind.  "My name's Rusty.  Most folks call me Sissy Boy.  Guess that's cause I take of the house while daddy and my brothers work in the field."  He hung his head down and put his hands in his jeans pockets.

"Yea, I know."  I also knew that he got teased and taunted a lot.  We walked the rest of the way in silence. I could feel his eyes glance over at me.  To be honest, I was thinking about Cesar Romero again.

We cut down the alley behind the businesses on main street.  It was quicker.  I could go in the back door of Milton's.

About half way there, Neil stepped out from behind a garage opposite the bank building.  He was a hulk.  He was seventeen and no smarter than a dead cat.

"Well if it isn't Sissy Boy." Neil shoved him.

Sissy Boy backed up, trying to avoid Neil.

I stepped in. I don't know why. I just did.

  

Neil laughed.  "Oh yea, Danny Boy, is he your girlfriend?  Does he get your gun off?"

"What?  I don't have a gun."

"What's ya got then?  A muff?

"A muff?  It's too hot for a muff."

Neil shook his head in disbelief. "Yurra dumb ass. Don't even know what I'm talkin' 'bout."  He pushed me then shoved Sissy Boy again.  This time Sissy Boy fell.  I kicked Neil in the shin.

"Oh you're gonna get it, you son of a bit..."

"What in blue blazes is going on out here?" Mr. Leiber came out the back door of the bank.

Neil ran off.

Mr. Leiber helped Sissy Boy up.  "Damn that Neil Henderson. I'd like to whoop that boy over the head.  Maybe knock some sense into him."

We thanked Mr. Leiber and we went on to Milton's.

Sissy Boy followed me back home.  I knew he was watching me as I walked.  He walked over to a tree in his yard and sat down and leaned against it.  I gave Gra'ma the bag of sugar and salt. I went out to the barn and ran my hand over the hood of the 1934 Ford sedan that sat idle since Granddad had died.  It needed a part.  I climbed up into the hay loft.

*****

The Color of the Sky, Part One

But first, my opening commentary... I wrote this short story last summer and for some reason, I love it.  The idea popped into my head one day while looking at some old sepia-toned photographs.  For the first time, I felt like I had written something good and my harshest critic thought so as well.  This was a defining moment for me.  It's a short story; several pages long.  I am editing each section as I go.  My goal is to post a new section every Tuesday.

Enjoy
CSM

The Color of the Sky

By Christopher Marshall

Sissy Boy ran down the lane to our house.  He was crying and wearing a striped dress that he held up to keep it from dragging in the dirt.  I saw him and yelled to Gra'ma and she came out on the porch.

"What the hell? You've been beaten," she said as Sissy Boy ran up the steps. "Just look at that lip and that eye's gonna swell up.  What happened to you, honey?" 

"My daddy's drunk and he beat me.  Made me put this dress on and..."  Sissy Boy cried harder.  She took him into the house. "I can't go back over there."

I followed and Gra'ma said to me. "Danny, be a good boy and fetch some water and there's some iodine and cotton in the bathroom cabinet." 

I could hear it in her voice that she was shaken by the sight of him.  Sissy Boy was crying.  Gra'ma was crying.  I held my tears in.  I knew at that moment how I felt about him.

*****

My world was sepia-toned. Everything I saw was made up of shades of browns, whites, and grays like in the movies.  It was 1942 and there was a war on.

I came to live with Gra'ma Jeffries earlier that year.  I was sixteen. My parents had been killed in an automobile accident.  Gra'ma had suffered not only their loss but recently Granddad from a heart attack and her son, my Uncle Will, killed at Pearl Harbor.  She had only me and her brother in California.

We lived in a small four-room house outside of Whitcomb, a town south of Terre Haute, Indiana.  Gra'ma rented it from Mr. Leiber, the town banker and took in sewing, mending, and laundry.  Three times a week, I worked for Mr. and Mrs. Milton, who owned the local five and dime, to help with the rent or whatever else.

And here's something important. One afternoon, I sat in the movie theater watching Betty Grable and Cesar Romero sing and dance. All the boys hooted at Betty Grable. I watched her and watched her, but no matter how gorgeous she was, my eyes kept wondering back to Cesar Romero.  I thought he was dashing and handsome.  That was the first time I thought about who I might like.  Somehow, I didn't really care.  I was like that.  I accepted things and moved on.