Chasing Happy

Chasing Happy By Paul Barile © 2006 Paul Barile

This one is for Jill…

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Chasing Happy When the flattened penny shot off the track and took out Nicky Cutler’s left eye lid, it set off a chain of events that has pulled the little Midwestern town to the very limits of its comprehension. It wasn’t that the penny was intended for Nicky’s eye, or anyone else’s eye for that matter, but Little Packy Farmer had a way of creating these types of episodes whenever he tried to do anything out of the ordinary. The ordinary for the diminutive fair skinned man/boy consisted of hanging out at Lubie’s Comic Shop between shifts at the shoe counter at the Highland Bowl. Packy loved his job in his own simple minded way, and was never even so much as late for work, let alone miss a day. He never bothered anyone or even talked much for that matter. He especially never talked to girls, because his old Uncle Earl, who had brought certain troubles home with him from the war, had told him that women were dragons who would spit fire if provoked. Packy had never seen the phenomenon with his own eyes, but he heard his uncle speak with his father in whispered murmurs about his own burning sensations and was not about to take any chances himself. This was the content and simple life that Packy lived from day to day with the perpetual grin stapled to his face and not a thing to worry him. This was exactly the way that he would have continued to live if that huge silver truck, with the thick orange stripe hadn’t pulled up in front of 971 Maypole Street. From his window, across the street, Packy watched as the family crawled out of the station wagon that had pulled up right behind the moving truck. He figured the older

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couple to be the parents; the two young boys must be sons, most likely brothers. The dog was definitely the family pet. He turned to reach for the newest edition of the Silver Swimmer comic book to take to the bathroom when he saw the first leg slip out of the car. Then the next one followed looking just as perfect. They were attached to a long slim body in a short flowery summer dress. The long flowing red hair eclipsed her face but she already had an undeniable grasp on Packy. He dropped the thin volume on the floor where he stood and his knees began to shake. She walked around to the front of the car and up onto the grass. Crossing her arms over her chest, she surveyed her new surroundings with something that looked like indignation. Her perfect little foot kicked a hobbled twig onto the sidewalk as she spun around and stomped up the stairs.

“What size?” Packy asked without looking up. “Six and a half,” came the reply. It was an unfamiliar voice. Packy’s eyes looked up before the rest of his face did. The rest of him froze as shifted his glance to the long pale fingers tapping on the counter. “I said six and a half, kid. Are you with me?” “Suh-suh-sorry,” he mumbled and skittered down the aisle. When he handed her the shoes, their eyes locked for just a second, but it was one second too long for the both of them.

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Later that night he would tell Bobby Weed that he had heard violins and blue birds. This was probably around the same time she was telling her friend Babs, by long distance phone call, that she swore she heard tubas and an egret. He watched her walk away to the ball rack. She tried a big green one then a dark red one with a big black star on it before settling on a metallic green one with thick silver stripes. Packy had to literally pry his eyes off of her so that he could get back to spraying the shoes with Lysol. Packy was a nervous wreck. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold anything down except, perhaps, the baggie of Cheerios that he had carried with him in his jacket pocket. He grabbed the little baggie and began walking through the bowling alley looking over the tops of people’s heads hoping to see that glorious crown of red hair. “She ain’t here,” a voice behind him said. Packy spun around to see who was talking to him. He recognized the boy as one of the new neighbors. “Who ain’t here?” Packy asked. “My sister,” the boy replied. “O she of the scarlet tresses…” “I’m not looking for your sister,” Packy lied. “Whatever,” the boy answered walking away. “Hey just a minute,” Packy started after him spilling Cheerios all over the blue gray plaid carpet. “Yeah?”

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“Not that I was looking for anyone but what is her name,” Packy said amazing himself at his own confidence. “My sister?” the boy asked? “She of the scarlet tresses…” Packy smiled. “Her name is Mahalia.” “Mahalia?” Packy asked. “We mere mortals just call her ‘Haley’,” the boy said turning to leave again. “OK, see ya,” Packy called out as he turned to go back to work. Had he been looking where he was going, he probably would not have bumped into Nicky Cutler and spilled the remaining Cheerios on the floor. He probably also would not have stepped on Nicky’s prized blue suede bowling shoes and Nicky would probably not have punched him in the stomach. “Hey ya’ big jerk,” came a voice that was unfamiliar to both of them. As they looked to see where the voice came from, they both froze. The sight of the crystal clear blue eyes held within the perfect face, which itself was framed by the unbelievable mane of red hair has a paralyzing effect on them both. “Wow,” Nicky Cutler whispered. “Why don’t you pick on someone bigger than you?” she asked approaching the two boys who were staring at her like she was Christmas dinner. Nicky was the first to regain his composure and he quickly offered his hand. “Mahalia,” he started. “Nicky Cutler. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She refused his hand and looked at the pained expression on Packy’s face. “Oh that,” Nicky said nodding toward the unfortunate one. “That’s Packy, He’s my friend. We were—playing.”

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Haley looked at Packy who could only nod his head as he turned his back on them. He hobbled back to the counter. The pain of leaving Nicky Cutler alone with Mahalia easily eclipsed the hollow burning in his stomach.

“What took ya?” Bobby Weed asked as Packy slithered up the little step back to his place behind the counter. “Nothin’,” Packy whispered, still rubbing his stomach. “Are you havin’ problems with Cutler again?” he asked. “Cause if you are, I’ll go over there and lay a hurtin’ on his ass.” “That’s OK, Bobby Weed,” Packy said trying to bury himself in his work. Everyone who knew Bobby Weed, even Packy, knew that if push ever came to shove, Bobby Weed would be the first one in hiding. That is if he could find a place to hide his four hundred pound body. It was almost as if Bobby Weed began to believe in his image of himself. He told stories so convincing that unless you know him, you’d never realize that he had never stepped one foot out of town except for that Boy Scout week end in the mid-seventies. “Just let me know,” Bobby Weed said. “Oh Bobby Weed,” Packy said, “I will.” Closing time came way to early for Packy. He dreaded the thought that Nicky Cutler may be in the parking lot waiting for him. More than this, he was nearly devastated by the fact that he wouldn’t be in the same building with the only girl who he had ever truly loved.

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“I was just trying to protect you,” a voice came from just below the counter. Packy tip-toed and stretched to see the face of Mahalia’s brother, shoes extended toward Packy’s own face. “I told you she wasn’t here because you seem like a nice enough guy.” “Thank you. I think,” Packy answered. “You see Mahalia is not like other girls, especially the type that you’re probably used to. She’s very unique.” “How so?” Packy said finally grabbing the shoes. “It wouldn’t be fair to try to explain. Just take my word for it.” “OK… yeah… thanks.” Packy said reaching for the Lysol can. “OK, see ya,” the boy said turning to walk away. “Hey,” Packy called out. What’s your name?” “Samuel,” the boy replied. “You can call me Sammy though.” “OK Sammy. My name is Packy Farmer. “Nice to meet you Packy,” the boy said and walked away. Packy watched the boy walk away until his gaze landed on Mahalia who was headed right in his direction. Terror gripped poor Packy’s heart when he saw that she was still walking with Nicky Cutler. “Here ya go Pac-man,” she said handing him her shoes. She turned and flashed a heart breaking smile at Nicky. “I still can’t get over how you know my name.” Nicky shot a quick and evil glance at Packy. “Let’s just say I make it my business to know everything that goes on around here.”

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“No, really,” she laughed, “It’s almost like you overheard it or something. I mean no one calls me Mahalia except for my grandmother.” “He surely did not hear Sammy tell me your name,” Packy asserted. “Yeah, right,” Nicky said increasing the evil in his glare. “Yeah, right,” Packy echoed as he dashed in between the rows of shoes to hide. “Well whatever the reason, I think it’s kind of cute,” she said. “Yes it is. It’s very cute,” Nicky Cutler responded as they walked out the door together. “Hey Packy,” Bobby Weed called out. “Are you sure that you are not having a problem with Nicky Cutler? I mean he’s outside right now and I can go right out there and give him on attitude adjustment.” “Just forget it,” Packy said holding her shoes to his chest for a moment before placing them, gingerly, back on the shelf. “I’m just sayin’…” “Thanks Bobby Weed but I think Debbie Reynolds said it best; ‘Whatever will be will be.’” “That was Doris Day, Packy.” “Right, Sorry,” When the last ball was rolled and the last pin was set, and the last shoe was placed into its spot, Packy walked out the big glass doors and locked them. “Wanna go for a walk?” Sammy asked stepping out of the shadows. “Sure,” Packy said stuffing the keys in the little pouch on the side of his scooter. “Dude,” Sammy said, “This is yours?” “Yes,” Packy said.

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“Why walk when we can cruise in style on this radical scooter?” “I don’t know Sammy, I’ve never taken a passenger before.” “It’ll be fun. We can go a lot farther and a lot faster on that thing. “I guess so,” Packy said. He put the key into the ignition and the sound of the whining purring engine filled the otherwise quiet evening. “Let’s go,” Packy said, adjusting his helmet strap. “Do you have to wear that thing on your head Pac-man? Do ya?” “Safety first Sammy. That’s what the Silver Swimmer says. You have to think about safety first, and always!” With that, and a slight flick of the wrist, they were on their way. “Wahoo!” Sammy yelled. “Yeah, Wahoo!” Packy echoed. “Can’t this thing go any faster?” Sammy yelled into Packy’s ear. “I’m actually doing twenty five miles an hour, Sammy. Don’t you think that’s fast enough?” “Come on Packy boy! Let ‘er rip.” Packy eased the throttle open a fraction. The scooter began to move faster under them. “Thirty!” Packy yelled. “More!” Sammy yelled back. “Thirty five,” Packy yelled swallowing a mouthful of air. “More! More!” Sammy screamed. “Forty!” Packy spat out. His arms were locked and his knuckles were white. “I’m giving her all she’s got, captain!” Sammy laughed.

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Suddenly, as if it had a life its own, Packy’s entire right wrist snapped downward and the force pulled both boys back just enough to scare them.

Nicky Cutler pulled up to the house on Maypole Street and eased the car into park. “You know,” Haley said, “I was not even happy to pack up my life and move it out here. I already miss my friends.” “You’ll make plenty of friends here, Haley.” Nick said laying his arm across the back of the seat. “How many people in this sleepy little burg anyway?” “Around five thousand if you include the people in St. Mary’s,” he responded. “St. Mary’s?” “The cemetery on Founder’s Hill.” “Were you raised here?” she asked. “Born and raised!” he said proudly letting his hand fall on her shoulder. She moved closer to the door which prompted him to move closer to her. Suddenly, it was as if two people riding a lawn mower whizzed past the car. “Holy cow!” a familiar voice yelled. “Yeah! Holy cow,” came the second voice. Nicky Cutler started the car. “What are you doing?” Haley asked.

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“I’m going to teach that little freak a lesson, once and for all.” He slammed the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. “What are you talking about, Nicky?” she gasped. “Who was that?” “That was Packy Farmer and that little puke he left the bowling alley with!” Nicky could barely conceal his senseless rage. “That ‘puke’ was probably my little brother Sammy!” she shrieked. For all of the beauty that she possessed, it quickly dissipated when she got angry. The lines in her face became deep and hard and completely unforgiving. “He shouldn’t be seen with the likes of Packy Farmer,” he said, slamming the gas pedal to the floor. “How would it look for my girlfriend’s brother to be seen with that?” The scooter was in sight now. It clearly was Sammy on the back but they did not even show the slightest inclination toward slowing down. “Did you say ‘girlfriend’?” Haley laughed. “That’s right,” he responded by throwing his arm around her and pulling her closer to him. She responded by removing his arm from her shoulder and letting it fall back into his lap. “First of all; at this speed, keep both hands on the wheel. Second of all; I am not yours or anyone else’s girl friend.” “Don’t start playing hard to get with me, Haley!” he laughed grabbing her roughly. “You’re scaring me, Nicky Cutler,” she said. He looked at her and laughed, “You have every right to be scared.” “Look out!” she screamed. But it was too late.

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By the time he looked back at the road, the back tire of the scooter was under his bumper and Sammy was sliding, ass first, up the hood of his car. Packy was catapulted clear over the car. The scooter was trashed. Nicky jammed the breaks to the floor but by then the damage was done. Sammy’s body had slid down the back window, along the trunk and had fallen to the pavement. Haley was the first one out of the car and she ran to where her younger brother lay. “Sammy! Sammy boy!” Haley screamed. He lifted his head slowly as she cradled his small body in her arms. “I’m a doctor, Jim, not a …” and he was out. “Nick,” Haley screamed, “You better call someone.” “Who the hell am I gonna call?” Nicky asked pacing frantically. “Go to a house and knock on the door. Tell them there’s been an accident and we need an ambulance…” “Fine,” Nicky muttered and began a slow steady trot towards the closest house when he stopped cold. “Haley!” he called out.” “What” “Where’s Packy?” She craned her neck to look around for the sign of another body but there was none. “Omigod, Nick,” she screamed, “Tell them two ambulances and drive carefully. He trotted up to the house and rang the bell. Within minutes the first ambulance arrived and they carefully loaded Sammy onto the stretcher and into the back of the wailing vehicle.

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“I’m going with Sammy,” Haley started. “You keep a watch for the second ambulance and try to find Packy.” “Whatever,” he said as she crawled in next to Sammy. The paramedic slammed the door and they pulled away. Nicky walked back to the front of his car to inspect the damages, while he waited for the sheriff and the other ambulance and Packy. The sheriff, who was in the next county helping deliver a calf, was the first one on the scene. He pulled his long skinny frame from his vehicle and approached Nicky. “Tell me what happened, son,” he said gently pulling a cigarette out of the pack in his breast pocket. “I’m not sure, Sheriff,” Nicky said. “We were just driving along and all of a sudden this crazy bike comes out of nowhere and …” They were interrupted by a muffled groan. “What was that?” the sheriff asked reaching for his side arm. “That must be Packy Farmer. He was the one driving the scooter.” They walked around to the back of the car and began walking along the road. The sheriff had his flashlight out and was training it along the shoulder and the curbs alternately from side to side. They heard the groan again. They looked in the direction from where it came, and saw a body lying flat on the ground. The sheriff ran to where the body was, but they couldn’t seem to get any closer. “Where the hell is that ambulance?” the sheriff barked into his radio. “Any minute,” came the reply. “Sheriff, there was a barn fire in Riverside County and all the ambulances for a three county radius are in use. Over.”

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“I got a kid here, who is desperately in need of medical attention. Shake one of those ambulances loose and get it down here, Pronto - over.” The sheriff loosened the strap on Packy’s helmet as he had seen done in countless NFL games. He was afraid to try to pull it off of the boy’s head but he figured the loosening may help. “Son…Son…” he said, “Can you hear me?” “What size shoes, mister,” Packy muttered. “What’s that son? Say again…” “We don’t carry half sizes sir.” “Young man,” the sheriff called out to Nicky. “Come over here a minute. Nicky trotted half heartedly over to where the sheriff was kneeling down. “He’s asking about shoe size?” the sheriff said. “That’s his job,” Nicky explained. “He’s the shoe guy at the Highland Bowl. “That makes sense…” the sheriff muttered. In the distance they would hear the sirens of the approaching ambulance.

Packy woke up in the small, clean, hospital room. Sammy was on the bed next to him. “Dude,” Sammy said, “That was so cool. We flew, Dude!” “Yeah, I guess,” Packy said. “That Nicky Cutler is in a lot of trouble too. Besides hitting us, he got pretty rough with Haley.”

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“He what?” “He was grabbing her and saying that she was his girl friend and stuff.” “Is she?” Packy had to know. “Is she what?” Sammy asked. “Is she Nicky’s girl friend?” “No way. She might have liked him before this but he blew it big time.” Packy’s sigh of relief was nearly intoxicating. He couldn’t bear the thought of the two of them together. “How bad are you hurt?” Packy asked. “I got a broken leg and a broken elbow,” Sammy answered. “How about you?” “Not sure. They got a big bandage around my chest but everything feels OK.” “I got a headache, too,” Sammy said. “Yeah, I guess I got a little bit of a headache, too.” Packy replied. As if on cue, the door burst open and Bobby Weed and Mahalia walked in. They were laughing at something one of them said just before the door opened. “Hi guys,” Bobby Weed forced out between laughs. “Hi boys," Haley said. “How are you?” she leaned down and kissed Packy’s forehead. Then she moved around to Sammy’s bed and kissed him on the forehead. “Now don’t be ‘spectin’ no kisses from me, boys.” Bobby Weed slapped himself on the stomach and laughed harder than anyone else in the room. “Mom sends her best and will be by right after work,” Haley said to Sammy. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna milk this one for all it’s worth. I can easily get a new bike out of this. What about Danny?”

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“Danny still refuses to leave his room. His doctors said that we should starve him out but Mom would never do that.” “Who’s Danny?” Packy asked. “Our brother,” Sammy said. “He hasn’t left his room since we moved out here and says he won’t until we go home.” “Where does he…” Packy started. “Out the window. I know Mrs. Dupree is not happy with it but she doesn’t have much to say about it, does she?” “I guess not,” was all Packy could say. “I am really sorry for everything,” Haley said sitting on the edge of Packy’s bed. “I just wish I could have stopped him before…” “Forget it,” Packy said. “As long as you’re all right.” “I had a little talk with Mr. Nicky Cutler,” Bobby Weed said smiling to himself. “He did,” Haley said as if she was already aware of Bobby Weed’s propensity to exaggerate. “I saw it.” “Mr. Nicky Cutler and his la-de-dah family will be shelling out some long green for this little soiree. “You actually threatened him?” Packy asked. “My friend,” Bobby Weed said feigning personal disappointment, “When Bobby Weed sees a friend in need, he becomes a friend in deed.” “That’s great, Bobby Weed,” Packy said. "In deed… That’s me… In deed Bobby Weed." “What about your family, Packy?” Haley asked gently.

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“Not much to speak of. No brothers or sisters. Dad left when I was twelve. He went out west to find himself.” “And Mom?” Haley asked. “In the great beyond, God rest her soul,” Bobby Weed said putting his head down. “Who raised you?” Sammy asked. “My Aunt Laverne and my Uncle Romeo brought me up, but I live with my grandmother now.” Packy said, trying to deflect the apparent sadness of his personal history. “You got me!” Bobby Weed chimed in. “I’m like a brother to you.” “Yeah, I got Bobby Weed.” Packy said. “And me,” Sammy said. “And don’t forget me,” Mahalia said squeezing his hand lightly. “Thanks, guys,” Packy said, a small moist tear rolled down his face.

When the first insurance check came in, Packy got Bobby Weed to drive him out to the Bolo County Swap Meet to purchase a new scooter. He also bought a small oak music box for Mahalia. He bought two helmets, one for him and one for Sammy, and he bought a bright blue baseball cap for Bobby Weed. After a quick stop at Lubie’s Comic Shop, which left Lubie scratching his head and smiling, he went directly to the bank and deposited the remainder of his money. There would me two more checks which would go right into the savings account.

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For years Packy had been stowing away every penny he’d ever earned and never really knowing why. Now, it seemed, that the reason was living across the street. This new found sense of confidence made Packy look at things in a wholly different light. Although the changes in his behavior were gradual, people began to notice. Then right before the Independence Day Concert at the pavilion, Packy cut each of the red, white, and blue flowers at the stem and laid them on the porch so that Haley would walk on them when she left the house. No one in town was sure who did it but people figured it was Nicky Cutler’s way of apologizing and even though the sea of green stems was not aesthetically appealing during the concert, everyone forgave Nicky as they always did. Packy knew he had to do something even bigger to catch Haley’s attention, but he couldn’t figure out what. It had to be something that Nicky Cutler could not take credit for. He called Sammy from work and set up a rendezvous for 10:15 in the parking lot. “Bring your helmet,” Packy said hanging up the phone. At 10:15, Packy was standing next to his scooter adjusting his helmet strap when Sammy walked up. “What’s the plan?” Sammy snickered. “We are going to visit Lucky Scarpone,” Packy responded as if it was something that they did every day. “Lucky?” “Scarpone,” Packy said. “Are you talking about the Lucky Scarpone who used to play with B. B. King?”

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“Well, Yeah,” Packy said. “But how do you know about those guys?” “My dad has a great collection of blues music. But I thought Lucky Scarpone was dead.” “Not exactly…” Packy said. “Hold on a minute. You expect me to believe that the greatest blues guitar player ever, is not exactly dead and he’s holed up out here?” “You have to see it to believe it!” “I guess,” Sammy said. “Just one thing,” Packy said as he sat down on the scooter. “What’s that?” “Don’t say anything about the strings!” “Strings?” “Don’t say anything about the strings on his guitar. He thinks they’re invisible.” “Packy…” “He’s not allowed to have strings on account of his condition.” “Condition?” “You’ll see. Anyway don’t say anything about the strings.” Sammy hopped on the back of the scooter and they drove slowly and safely away. When they got to the gravel driveway, Packy pulled over and parked. “We’ll walk from here,” He said. The two young boys walked side by side up the long and winding driveway until they saw the little shack with the single light in the window. They were able to make out the figure on the porch but as they got closer, Sammy saw that he had changed.

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He was obviously Lucky Scarpone, but he didn’t look much like he did on any of the CD cases in his father’s den. “Wass up little man?” Lucky said not even looking at Packy or Sammy. He never even took his hands off of his weathered old Telecaster. The fingers of his left and moved like a frantic spider up and down the fret board while his right just picked away at where the strings should have been. “Lucky,” Packy started. “This is my friend Sammy>” “A distinct pleasure my little friend,” Lucky said. “Yeah,” was all Sammy had to say. “Yeah,” Lucky echoed. “How is everything?” Packy asked. “Just groovin’, soul man. Everything is groovy!” Lucky replied. “How ’bout you?” ”Well, there’s this girl…” “Ah, the finer and fairer, the sweeter and the softer. What is this lady’s name?” “Mahalia,” Packy responded. “Gospel singer?” “Naw,” Sammy laughed, “She’s my sister. “Your sister?” “Yeah,” Sammy said as if he were embarassed to admit he ever had a sister. “But I love her,” Packy blurted out before he could stop himself. Sammy broke out in side splitting laughter punctuated by finger pointing and eye rolling. “You love a girl! You love a girl!” he sang. “And does this sweet Mahalia love you?” Lucky asked ignoring the hysterical boy. “Not the way I want her to,” Packy muttered almost to himself.

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“So herein lies the problem,” Lucky said. His hand slowed down for a brief second. “What do I do?” Packy asked. “You love a girl! You love a girl!” Sammy continued to sing. “Boy, stop that!” Lucky said. Sammy stopped immediately even though the occasional peep forced itself from his lips. “I need your help, Lucky,” Packy whined. “Listen, little man,” Lucky began, “Give her something that is all your own. Something that no one else can give her. Something that you have that you love very much. Let her know how much it, and she conversely, means to you.” “That’ll do it, amigo,” Lucky said bending on invisible strings and grimaced as if he could still feel the metal string dig into his finger tip. “Thanks, Lucky,” Packy said turning to leave. “Good-bye, my sojourning friend,” Lucky said, “And you too, Hyena.” “Good-bye, Lucky” Sammy said still choking his laughter. Sammy caught up to Packy who was already at the mouth of the driveway. “You love a girl! You love a girl!” he began to sing. “Be quiet Sammy, you’re supposed to be my friend.” “I am your friend, but you love a girl! You love a girl.” With Sammy safe at home, Packy ran up to his room, his feet hardly touching the stairs.

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He reached under his bed and pulled out the wooden box that his Uncle Romeo had made for him during a short stretch at the honor farm. The wood was heavily varnished and smooth to the touch. Lucky’s words kept rolling over and over in the young boy’s mind as he flipped the box open to find something that no one else could give her. It had to be something he loved very much which meant, whatever it was, it would be in the box. He immediately eliminated certain objects, comic books and family photos in favor of something more personal. He picked up the little pill bottle that held two of his baby teeth. He shook the bottle like a little maraca before dropping it back into the box. Body parts are, perhaps, too personal. There had to be something in between. It was at the point of frustration, that he saw the penny in the corner of the box. There was nothing spectacular about the penny. It was a D series from 1967. It wasn’t particularly worn or shiny. The only thing that set this particular penny apart from the ones in his pocket, or his Spiderman bank, is that his grandfather had given it to him the day before he died. He called young Packy to his bed and said, “Packy, my boy, it is a hard world out there, you need brains and you need money just to survive. I expect you’ll find brains someday, but I’m gonna help you out with the other part!” Packy reached out his trembling little hand to accept the money from the wrinkled old man. When he pulled his hand back and opened it up, Abe Lincoln was staring him dead in the eye.

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Packy looked at his grandfather who wore the grandest smile his droopy lips could manage revealing his one brown tooth on the bottom and his red gums. “I love ya’, Packy,” he said. “I love you too, grandpa,” Packy said and he slid the penny into his pocket. Now Packy stood at the box with the penny in his hand, knowing that this would be the perfect thing. He’d give this to Mahalia and she would know how much he loved her. Packy slept well that night with the penny clutched tightly in his palm. He dreamed of a small house on a lush green hill with two trees in the back yard. The yard which also held all of the fruit of his loins from his long and happy marriage to Mahalia. In his dream, Danny and Sammy rode up and down the street on matching chrome scooters, while Bobby Weed sat on the porch and played guitar with Lucky Scarpone. When the first shaft of sunlight crept in between the curtains, Packy stretched and yawned and crawled out of bed, still holding the penny. By the time he made it down the stairs, Sammy was already waiting for him on the front porch. “Goin’ to the Founder’s Day Festival?” Sammy asked. “I guess so,” Packy said. “Are you going?” “Why not?” As they walked toward the pavilion, where the flower stems were still in full bloom, Packy pulled the penny out of his pocket. He turned it over and over in his hand waiting for Sammy to see it and ask him about it. Finally he brought it up himself. “See this penny?” he asked holding it under Sammy’s nose. “It’s… a penny…and…” came the reply. “It’s the last thing that my grandfather ever gave to me before he died.

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“A rather humble legacy,” Sammy laughed. Packy forced up a laugh too but was not sure why. “Anyway,” he continued, “This is that something special that I am going to give Mahalia today when I pledge my love eternal to her.” “Not this again!” Sammy had had enough of this lily livered romance talk. It wasn’t even fun to make fun of Packy anymore. “We’ll still be friends, Sammy,” Packy insisted. “What kind of friend dates another friend’s sister?” “I’m going to marry her,” Packy said with enough confidence to startle himself. “Jeez - Pleese Pac-man…not the ‘M’ word.!” “Oh yes!” Packy sighed, “The ‘M’ word.” “Lemme see that penny,” Sammy said reaching his hand out for it. It was his turn to turn it over in his hand a couple of times. “It’s just a penny,” he finally allowed. “How’s she gonna tell it from any other penny? What if she spends it?” “I never thought of that. There must be some kind of way to make it special,” Packy said. His face a cloud of great thought. “OK, even though I’m against this whole thing, I’ll help you out. “How so?” Packy was still confused. “The Festival kicks off at 9:15 when the Steam Engine pulls into the River Street Station.” “Right! The train carrying Kenny Rogers and B. B. King!” Packy was excited. Kenny Rogers was scheduled to do a lunch time concert in the Pavilion and B. B. King was going to do a Twilight Starlight concert that very night.

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“So at 9:13 I will place this penny on the tracks, by that time you will have found Mahalia and you will be at the door of the Chew Chew Café.” “Slow down,” Packy said. “O.K. when the train comes into this station you grab Mahalia by the hand and you just tell her how you feel.” “What do you think she’ll say?” Packy asked. “Who cares? As long as you tell her how you feel, it’s up to her to respond.” “You’re sounding awfully adult, Sammy,” Packy said suspiciously. “Sorry, I’m a product of talk-show television.” The chime of the church bell told the boys that it was 9:00 which gave them precious little time to find Mahalia and get in position. “She’s probably already at the Café having breakfast,” Sammy said as they trotted toward the train crossing by the River Street Stop. By 9:10 Sammy was in position across the tracks and on the wrong side of the safety fence. Packy paced nervously in the foyer of the little restaurant. The chugging sound began to till the quiet summer morning air. Packy rushed in through the big glass doors. He called out to Mahalia who was sitting in a booth reading Dickinson and waiting for her breakfast. “What’s the matter, Packy?” she called out as she dropped her book and moved gracefully to where he was standing. “I just need to talk to you for a minute,” he blurted out. “Well come and sit down, we can have breakfast together.” “Gotta be outside. Gotta be outside,” Packy said and disappeared back into the street.

26

She followed close behind him stopping next to him as they could see the big black steam engine barreling down the tracks. Packy took Mahalia’s hand in his and said something just as the fast loud scream of the train whistle filled their ears. “I didn’t hear you, Packy,” she told him. Just then Nicky Cutler came around the corner and, seeing them holding hands, picked up the pace. Packy opened his mouth to speak again but the train whistle which was even nearer, drowned it our again. “Packy, what are you trying to tell me?” He was about to try one more last time when Nicky Cutler reached in between the two and grabbed Packy by the shirt. “You disgusting little…” was all he got out. Later, Packy said he heard something like a zip. Mahalia hadn’t heard anything, but she saw Nicky grab his eye like he just got punched. Old Mrs. Charles, who spent countless hours walking back and forth across the tracks, for no apparent reason, was surprised when a bird fell out of a tree branch and landed next to her on the sidewalk. The blood poured into Nicky’s hand and ran down his arm to his elbow and dripped into a small puddle on the ground. “I’ll call 911,” Mahalia said running back into the restaurant. “Are you OK, Nicky?” Packy asked. By then the train had stopped. The restaurant emptied out quickly and the people in the park ran over. They wanted to get a glimpse of B. B. King or Kenny Rogers before they were whisked away to the plush lodgings of Mrs. Oswald’s Bed and Breakfast.

27

Mahalia was quickly back on the street. “Gimme your keys,” she said to Nicky. “No one drives my…” he started to say. “Look, we gotta get you to a hospital and the sheriff has to take Mr. King and Mr. Rogers over to the bed and breakfast. There’s another barn fire in Riverside County and they absolutely cannot spare an ambulance right now.” “I’m really sorry about all of this,” Packy said and lowered his head. “Don’t worry, Packy,” Mahalia said. “It wasn’t your fault.” “Not exactly,” Packy said, following them to the car. By the time the rest of the passengers were off of the train and the new ones loaded, Packy and Mahalia were gone with Nicky in Nicky’s car. Sammy raced across the tracks to celebrate the success of their mission but was only greeted by the disappointed people who didn’t get to see Kenny or B. B. He walked into the restaurant and asked for a table for one. “Do you want your sister’s table? I don’t think she’s coming back for a while,” the petite hostess asked. “Where’d she go?” he asked walking behind the young girl. “I’m not sure. She and Packy were standing out in front when Nicky Cutler came up and grabbed Packy’s shirt. The next thing we know, Nicky is holding his face and bleeding.” “Packy hit him?” Could be… anyway they all left in Nicky’s car.” She set the menu down on the table and walked away. The waiter brought a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage and set them down in front of Sammy. “I didn’t order this,” he said.

28

“It’s on the house,” the waiter replied. Sammy was puzzled. “We saw what your sister’s boyfriend did to Nicky Cutler out there. Everybody around here would love to do that to that jerk. So… eat up. “Got ketchup?” Sammy smiled.

By the time Kenny Rogers strummed the first chord of the Lunch Time Concert, news of Packy’s bravery had swept through the little town like a brush fire. Suddenly everyone was Packy’s best friend, Lubie even put a sign in the window that told the passers by that Packy Farmer shopped there. Bobby Weed just glowed with pride moving from blanket to blanket across the pavilion recounting the hours of martial arts training that he and Packy endured together. Packy was still at the hospital with Mahalia while all of this was going on. He was more scared than he had ever been in his whole life. “So what were you trying to tell me back there?” Mahalia asked taking Packy by the hand. “Nothin’ really,” he replied. He was far too distracted to think about love at a time like this. “Well, it had to be pretty important for you to call me outside like that,” she persisted. “I was going to tell you…”

29

“Mr. Cutler is going to be just fine,” the big voice in the hospital scrubs boomed out, startling them. “Just a little slice in the old eyelid. Sewed it right up. “Thank you, Doctor Abinispaal,” she said. “No problem,” he said. “I’ll have the nurse help him out in a few minutes.” “Thank you, again,” she said. “No problem,” he boomed and disappeared behind a door down the hall. “I was going to tell you…” Packy started but was interrupted by the sight of the plump nurse leading Nicky down the hall. The eye patch was menacing but it was nothing next to the blood on Nicky’s shirt. Mahalia jumped to her feet to help him. Packy followed closely behind with hands in his pockets and his head hung low. They arrived back at the Pavilion as Kenny Rogers was getting ready to wind up his show. Nicky went home to change his shirt leaving Packy on the edge of the grass with Mahalia. “Ya’ know,” Kenny started, addressing the crowd. “Every so often, a person or an event inspires a song writer to take his pen in his hand and immortalize that person or that event. The crowd murmured approval. “And every so often,” he went on pausing slightly, “… a song that had been written can inspire a person to do something that they normally wouldn’t do under other circumstances. “I’m sorry, Packy,” Mahalia whispered as Kenny spoke. “What did you want to tell me?”

30

“So ladies and gentlemen…let’s bring him up here. Is he around? Where is Packy Farmer?” The singer scanned the crowd. The crowd took up the cheer. Heads swiveled in all directions looking for the one they all call Packy Farmer. “Mr. Rogers wants you,” Mahalia said pushing Packy toward the stage. “Huh?” was all Packy could utter as hands were lifting him up and carrying him toward the stage. “Here he is,” Kenny said. “Uh…Hi, Mr. Kenny Rogers,” Packy muttered. “How are you, partner?” Kenny said extending his hand. “Uh…I’m fine…I.” “You know, boy, I got to tell you in front of God and everyone that I do not condone violence.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers.” The singer went on as if he hadn’t even heard Packy speak. “But sometimes a little violence is necessary to set things straight.” “You don’t understand,” Packy tried to get a word in. “Remember, young ‘un, I’m the guy who wrote, ‘Coward of the County and today I’d like to dedicate it to you. Today it’s for you Packy Farmer.” The crowd roared as their favorite country music legend toasted their favorite local boy made good. “You just sit right here next to me while I sing it for the nice people.” ‘Uh...OK,” Packy said.

31

By the time the song was over, everyone in the crowd was singing along. Each word of each verse took on new meaning for them as they had each dreamed the song in their own way but one of them had actually lived it. Men took off their hats while women dabbed their eyes with lacy handkerchiefs. Children stood quietly and watched, transfixed, as Packy began to sing along. Dogs even stopped wagging their tails out of reverence for a moment. Bobby Weed sang so loud and so proud that Packy could almost hear his voice above the rest. The only one not singing was Mahalia. She walked back across the street to the nearly deserted restaurant.. She got to her table just in time to see Sammy sop up the remaining ketchup on his plate with his last bit of toast. “What’s going on out there?” Sammy asked. “That’s what I’d like to know,” Mahalia answered reaching for the coffee decanter and a clean cup. “They say that Packy really hurt Nicky Cutler.” “What they say is wrong,” Mahalia fumed. “I was there and I saw it. Now I can’t say I understand exactly what happened, but I think it was less Packy and more some freaky accident.” Outside the window, they could see Bobby Weed leading some kind of country line dance with Kenny Rogers by his side. The band was playing and the whole town was dancing. “I don’t see Packy,” Mahalia said. “I don’t either,” Sammy said. “We should probably go find him,” Mahalia said.

32

“I got an idea where he is,” Sammy said.

By the time Packy got to Lucky’s place, his head was spinning. So much had happened so fast and the sight of Nicky in that eye patch was more than his stomach could handle. “My brother,” Lucky said. His body still, his head not moving, as his fingers flurried up and down the neck of the guitar. “Hello, Lucky,” Packy said sitting on the wooden step. He put his elbows on his knees and his face into his hands. “You don’t sound so good,” Lucky said. “I ruined it. I ruined everything.” The next thing Lucky did was so amazing to Packy that he almost didn’t believe what he was seeing with his own eyes. Lucky set the guitar down and stood up. Packy had come to believe that the guitar was actually connected in some way to Lucky’s body. He had never seen the player without his guitar. “Walk with me, amigo,” Lucky said stepping off of the porch. Packy just looked back and forth from Lucky to the guitar. It was as if he expected an umbilical cord to drag the old Fender along the porch and down the stairs. “Walk,” the man said again. Packy stood up quickly and followed Lucky down the path that ran along side between Lucky’s house and the river.

33

“Son,” he started, “Back in ‘58 we were playin’ road houses up all across the deltas. Boy, I tell ya we played everywhere for anything. It was me and B. B. and this fat old drummer who couldn’t keep but one rhythm, course that was all we needed. We had this bass player, see, and he loved his women more than he loved his guitar.” Packy shuffled along nervously. “We’d play, sometimes, to six or maybe seven in the morning just jammin’ away. I just loved to watch the pretty girls dance. B. B. did alright for hisself too.” “So there we were, this hot August night, in this dinky little dirt floor road house so deep in Mississippi that they say it’s where Jesus lost his sandals.” Packy glanced at the ground behind them but there was still no sign of the guitar. “So we’re playin’ this old Robert Johnson song called ‘The Kind-hearted Woman Blues’ and I looked over at B. B. and he had his eyes closed real tight and he was squeezin’ Lucille like she would come to life and give him children. The notes comin’ out of her, so sweet and clear I cried. Little brother, I cried like a baby when I saw that man make love to his music the way he did like I ain’t never seen - or cried since.” Suddenly Lucky stopped dead in this tracks. He reached down and moved a platelike rock and flipped it into the river. The guitar man reached into the hole and pulled out the shiny red and silver package. “I’ve been saving these for just this type of occasion,” Lucky smiled deeply. “What are they?” Packy asked. “Strings boy. These are some guitar strings and tonight me and Mr. King gonna put all your troubles behind you!”

34

“Really, Lucky?” “Yes, we are, my traveler,” he said walking the path toward the house. “You gotta help me now, son. Lucky Scarpone and B. B. King don’t do no mo’ charity work!” “I’ll do it! I’ll do it! Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” “I know you will.” They walked back in silence. When they got to the clearing, Mahalia and Sammy were waiting on the porch. “Haley,” Sammy said “This is Lucky Scarpone.” “THE Lucky Scarpone?” she asked? “The one and only, my very fair, sweet pet.” He smiled and bowed and offered his hand. She grabbed the guitar from the porch and gave it to him instead of shaking his hand. “Play,” she said. “Is the little lady skeptical?” Lucky laughed cradling the guitar in his arms. “That’s an understatement,” Sammy laughed. Packy laughed too, but he wasn’t sure why. “You can’t play that thing because there are no strings on it,” she hissed. “Hey...” Packy started. Lucky put up a hand to quiet him. “Have faith my fire haired friend. Have faith...” With that Lucky walked into the house leaving the others on the porch. “Why’d you have to be so mean to him?” Packy asked as they began their walk back toward the pavilion. “Because Lucky Scarpone is dead. Lucky Scarpone has been dead for a long time. Don’t you guys read liner notes?”

35

“What are you talking about?” Sammy asked. “He died in ‘58 at some little road house he was playing at. Right in the middle of ‘Kind-hearted Woman Blues’ these two drunks got into a fight over a woman or something. They both pulled out guns and when it was all over, the only one left on stage to live to tell about it was B. B. King.” “You watch too much VH1” Sammy said. “Read Dad’s Smithsonian Guide to the Blues, Sam,” she said. “That’s why B. B. King never plays that song anymore.” “But how do you...” Packy uttered. “Don't be so simple, Packy. The guy says he’s Lucky Scarpone because you kids don’t know any better. You probably give him your lunch money for his beer.” “I’m not simple,” Packy yelled. “I am not simple!” He broke into a run as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran away from her and her mean thoughts and crazy ideas. He ran away without ever telling her what he thought he wanted to tell her. “Omigod Sammy,” Mahalia said putting her hand over her mouth. “Omigod!” “That really stinks! I mean that really - really sticks,” Sammy said. He also ran away from her. He tried to catch Packy but there was just no way. Packy was long gone. Mahalia sat down by the side of the road. It was her turn to hold her head in her hands. She couldn’t even believe what had just happened. “I’m so sorry Packy Farmer,” she said but no one heard her.

36

Considering the events that had transpired through the course of the day, the town was considerably quieter now. The undercurrent of excitement lingered but generally things had quieted down. Packy walked into Lubie’s just to browse. His mind was not capable of processing to much in the first place so this was way more than he was used to. “Got anything new Lubie?” he asked. “Not today Packy. No, today is a slow day for superheroes,” he paused. He could barely contain himself. “Unless your name is Packy Farmer,” he screamed pulling a large poster board out from behind the counter. “What the...” Packy gasped. “It’s really kind of rough but we’re just beginning to develop it. “We?” Packy asked. “Me and Bobby Weed,” he said. “We figured you needed your own comic because...” “That’s not me!” Packy said quietly pointing to the muscle bound hero with a face that nearly resembled Packy. “It’s not you in your present form,” Lubie said quickly. “But when you sense that a damsel is in distress, you take out your magic super penny and rub it three times...” “Super penny?” “I’m not sure where that came from, it was Sammy’s idea.” “So if I rub my super penny, I grow muscles and save people from the bad guys?” “Mostly Nasty Cutthroat. He is your nemesis.” “My...”

37

“Your nemesis. Every superhero has one. Yours is Nasty Cutthroat.” He pointed to a corner of the picture where an eerily familiar figure with an eye patch lay bleeding. “I don’t like that,” Packy said motioning toward the image. “We can take it out if you want,” Lubie said. “We just thought that you needed a good arch enemy. “I don’t need a good arch enemy. I don’t even need to be a superhero!” Packy said in an uncharacteristically firm voice. “Gee, Packy,” Lubie said putting the poster board back under the counter. “We were just trying to...” “Don’t try. Just stop trying,” Packy blurted out and stormed out the door. He shoved the door open so quickly that he hit the incoming customer square in the face. As the body tumbled to the ground, Packy saw that it was Nicky Cutler who he had hit. Nicky sat on the pavement holding his good eye, which was swelling noticeably and had a clearly demarked crease from the edge of the door. “Sorry,” Packy muttered reaching to help Nicky up. “Just get away from me,” Nicky scowled. “Just stay far away from me!” “I’m so sorry,” Packy said. He hung his head and began walking toward Maypole Street. He knew that if he just sat in his room he wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore. Mahalia couldn’t find him there either. With any luck he’d be able to stay locked up in his room until all of this blew over. No more Nicky Cutler. No more Kenny Rogers. No more superheroes. He walked up the stairs and into his room and locked the door behind him.

38

His favorite copy of the Silver Swimmer was on the little rickety desk that faced the window. The chair felt good against his tired legs. It felt so good, in fact, that by the third frame on the second page, he was fast asleep. His head, cradled in his arms. The first dreams came on him very quickly. It was a familiar dream which made his sleep face smile. He was graduating college and his parents were both there to cheer for him. His mother wore a pastel frock with orchids and lilies all over it with a matching sun hat. His father wore his pastel blue seer sucker suit and a trim straw fedora. The commencement speaker was comic book legend, Stan Lee, who praised Packy for his vision and his invaluable assistance in creating new and exciting superheroes. Bobby Weed was also there but he was hardly recognizable having lost well over two hundred pounds and wearing an Armani suit. He held a Royal Jamaican cigar in one hand while the other was wrapped around Ornella Muti, who just gazed into Bobby Weed’s eyes oblivious to her surroundings. The addition of Mahalia, to the sleepy visage, made it that much more enjoyable as she sat in the front row in her short flowery summer dress. Her hair a claret halo framing her beautiful face as she looked up to the stage where her man, fidgety and sweaty in the long black robe, waited for his diploma, and his key to the city. The dream, however, segued into something that scared Packy to the very depth of his soul. The fate, illustrated there was so horrific that when Packy finally forced himself from slumber, he found that he had been crying. There, little droplets of water clung to the thin paper of the book wrinkling it.

39

In this dream, he saw himself looking out the front window of his room out onto Maypole Street only it wasn’t Maypole Street anymore. It was a ring of corrugated tin shacks with thin puffs of smoke easing out of the chimney. In the front yard of one of the porches sat an old metal patio chair. In the chair sat an old Nicky Cutler. There was a dirty white cane on the ground next to him and a German Shepherd napping by his chair. When the door burst open a greasy obese woman in a flowery Mu-Mu bowled her way out screaming about bacon grease and holding her hand over her fleshy chest. Packy watched himself watching the woman as she moved to the front door of the shack next door. She pounded twice. When the door opened up, Sammy hobbled out on a wooden crutch with a tin cup full of pencils. Sammy looked up to the window and said softly, “God bless us, everyone.” Then he handed the large woman the few nickels he collected. She slapped the back of his head hard enough to knock him down. He just looked her in the eye for a moment before turning to hobble down the path. “See ya later,” Nicky said to him. When Packy opened his eyes, he rubbed them hard forcing his knuckles into the wet sockets. He looked out of the window and saw that Maypole Street was back to normal. Everything there was as it should have been. It was while he was looking at the house that he saw the hand painted sign in the window. It read simply FAITH The little fingers that held the sign were unmistakable, so Packy watched, the sign fell away and was replaced by another. It read -

40

PROMISE Then the little hand pulled the white shade down and disappeared.

Walking past Mrs. Oswald’s place, Sammy and Mahalia spotted a heavy set black man sitting in the gazebo strumming a big rd electric guitar. “Sammy,” Mahalia said, “Do you know who that is?” “I’m guessin’ that unless Mrs. Oswald is having a run on old black blues players that would be B. B. King.” “Should I run and get Dad?” Mahalia asked. “Naw,” Sammy replied. “He’ll just get giddy and gush all over B. B. It will be very embarrassing.” “Should we at least talk to him?” “If he wanted to talk, he probably wouldn’t be in the gazebo alone. “You’re probably right, but I need to find out about Lucky Scarpone.” “Did someone say Lucky Scarpone?” the voice boomed from the gazebo. The music stopped and the musician spun around slowly in his seat. “Did you say Lucky Scarpone?” he asked Haley. “I’m sorry, Mr. King,” she answered, “I didn’t mean to disturb you. “Don’t worry, little one,” he said. “Come on in. Drink some tea with old B. B. for a spell. Tell me what you know about Lucky Scarpone. Sammy and Mahalia walked through the yard and up the steps of the gazebo. They sat on the ledge facing the blues legend.

41

“There’s this guy who lives just outside of town who claims to be Lucky Scarpone. The only thing is that I read that the original Lucky Scarpone was dead.” “The music, not the man,” B. B. said softly. “I don’t understand, Mr. King.” Haley said. “It’s B. B. little angel. All my friends call me B. B. Now drink some of this tea and I’ll tell you a little story.” He handed them each a glass of tea. “Thank you, B. B.” they said in unison. “It was August of ‘58. Me and Lucky were in this roadhouse in south Mississippi. There was me and Lucky and this fat old drummer who wasn’t that good, but he owned the P. A. system. We also had this bass player who put more into his wardrobe than his instruments.” B. B. sat back and stretched his legs as he remembered about the little combo and all of the shows they had done. “The women loved to watch that Slick Willie play his bass guitar in that shiny purple suit. He could play some, I guess. He played darn near as good as he looked.” He closed his eyes now and the memories rushed past his mind’s eye like a favorite home movie. “We were just beginning to play this old Robert Johnson song when the angels seized my fingers. They just took complete control and before I know what hit me, I was playing old Lucille, the original Lucille, like my life depended on it. I hunkered down into a groove that came right from the hand of God hisself. When I was done, I looked across the stage and old Lucky was just staring at me. The tears were running down his face. His hands were shaking.” B. B. began to tense up at this particular area of recollection. Not because it wasn’t true, rather because it was so painful to relive it.

42

“What happened next?” Sammy asked. “Nothin’ really. At least not right away. We just went on and played but I know something wasn’t right with old Lucky.” “Not right?” Haley asked. “He just wasn’t making the changes like he could. His eyes were kind of glassy and red and he just sort of played by instinct more than passion. The next afternoon when I woke up, there was a note on my guitar case. Next to the note were six used guitar strings. He had curled and wrapped them into a little wreath. The note said that he didn’t need them anymore. Not where he was going. But did I know a place where he could get a good deal on harp strings.” “Harp strings?” Sammy asked. “Figure it out, Sammy,” Haley said rolling her eyes. “That’s right, we went on stage and played a long sweet jam in Lucky’s honor. We trotted out any glistening nugget we ever played with him. By the time we were done, word had spread through the club that it was a memorial show and that Lucky was no longer walking among us.” “We didn’t see fit to ruin the legend so we went along with it. He would have wanted it that way.” “I figured he was still alive somewhere, but I had no idea where to even start looking. I just figured if he needed me, he’d find me. I leave a ticket, under his name, at the door of every concert I play, hoping that someday we’ll get to play one more time.” “You may get your wish sooner than you think,” Sammy said conspiratorially. “If Lucky’s around here, he’ll hear me playin’ tonight. Then God hisself only knows what’ll happen.”

43

“I feel just terrible,” Haley said to her brother as they walked away from the gazebo. B. B. had been wonderful, but they had to find Packy and now Haley had even more to apologize for. Turning the corner at the Chew Chew Cafe, Sammy and Haley found themselves face to face with Mrs. Cutler. She was pulling Nicky along behind her. The matching eye patches looked like sun glasses on the boy’s face. “Where is that animal Packy Farmer and don’t you try to hide him you beasts,” she spat in their shocked faces. “Do I know you?” Haley said recovering quickly. “Don’t you get mouthy with me child,” the woman shot back. “Don’t you even think about taking that tone with me, lady!” Haley yelled. “I’m having a really bad day. Do you understand me?” Mrs. Cutler quickly shifted her attitude. She dropped Nicky’s hand from hers and softened quickly. “Let me give you a little advice, ma’am,” Sammy started. “When there is red on the roof there is fire down below!” He pointed to Haley’s glorious mane. “You must be Mahalia,” the woman said. “Yea I am,” Haley answered softening herself. “I am Mrs. Cutler. I’m Nicky’s mom, as you probably have already guessed.” It’s very nice to meet you,” Sammy said. “I didn’t mean to vent toward you two lovely children, but look at my Nicky. That evil little Farmer boy did this to my sweet Nicky.” “Both eyes?” Haley asked.

44

“Nicky was heading into Lubie’s for his father’s copy of Sporting News. He saw Packy inside so, naturally he waited in the doorway. He didn’t want another episode like this morning’s. His father didn’t take it well.” “His father...” Haley began. “Mom...” Nicky whined. “Anyway, so that little monster must have seen Nicky waiting out there and when he saw his chance he wrenched open the door and bashed Nicky right in his good eye. This monster must be stopped.” “I’m sure it was an accident,” Haley said. “Yeah, Packy ain’t a mean guy, honest,” Sammy added. “Be that as it may, Mr. Cutler is furious. He sent us out of the house and told us not to come home without Packy Farmer.” “Mom…” Nicky whined again. “Mrs. Cutler, we honestly do not know where Packy is. We’re looking for him ourselves,” Haley offered. “If we find him, though, we’ll bring him right to your front door. Of course this is assuming that he won’t get hurt in any way.” “I can’t promise,” Mrs. Cutler said. “Maybe you should bring one of his parents with you.” “He doesn’t have parents, Mrs. Cutler. “Oh the poor angel. No wonder he’s so angry.”

45

As scared as he was and as safe as he knew he would be in his bedroom, the curiosity about the little boy across the street consumed him. From his vantage point he studied the house until he detected movement in the room directly across from his. He remembered that Danny’s window faced Mrs. Dupreen’s window and he figured Sammy and Mahalia were still in town so he decided that the movement must be one of the parents. When he saw the small hand wrapped around the bottom of the shade, he froze and fixed his stare at the window. As the shade rolled up Packy found himself face to face with the boy he had seen in his dreams. “I must still be dreaming,” he said out loud even though he was completely alone. The first sign appeared in the window. THIS IS NOT A DREAM! As the sign fell away, Packy looked at the boy’s smiling face. He waved tentatively at the boy who waved back. Packy reached into the drawer and pulled out a big red crayon. He found a notebook under a stack of comic books and scribbled a message. “You must be Danny!” he wrote. The boy nodded. Packy wrote, “You must love your bedroom!” The boy shrugged. Packy wrote, “Do you want to…” he ran out of room on the paper. He showed it to the young boy while he wrote the rest, “Come out?” When he looked up from his paper to show the boy the rest of the sign, the shade was down and the boy was gone.

46

Packy dropped the crayon on the desk and forgetting about his sequestration, he ran out of the room and down the stairs and out into the street. He ran up the stairs of the house across the street before collapsing onto the front porch swing. He fidgeted impatiently with his eyes on the door expecting it to open up at any second. The first five minutes went by rather quickly with each additional unit of time seeming longer and longer. The door remained untouched and completely unopened. No amount of staring would budge that door no matter how hard Packy tried. After an hour and a half, Packy finally gave up and began to wander down the stairs. He stopped at the side walk and squinted up into the late afternoon sun trying to see inside the window, but the shade blocked his view of what lay inside. Turning to head back to his own room, he stepped off of the curb and right into the fender of an old black Lincoln Continental that had parked there when he wasn’t looking. “Watch it,” a man’s voice boomed from inside the car. “Suh-Sorry,” Packy stammered stepping back onto the curb. The door creaked open and Packy saw one red leather cowboy boot touch the street. This was followed by another red leather cowboy boot. Packy recognized them from the bowling alley. They belonged to Bruno Cutler, Nicky’s dad. As the man pulled his large frame out of the car and stood up, he looked Packy right in the eye. “Boy, we need to talk,” was all he said, stepping around the door and slamming it behind him. “Yuh…Yes sir, Mr. Cutler,” Packy managed.

47

“Let’s go sit on your steps a spell,” he said walking toward Packy’s house. Packy followed closely but nervously behind him. “Now, son, I got to ask you to quit trying to blind my son. It isn’t right.” “I’m not trying sir, honest injun. They were just accidents.” “Well now I’d like to believe you because you’re such a good boy. Earl, down to the bowling alley, speaks mighty highly of you. Trouble is, Kenny… I mean Mr. Rogers, well he told a lot of people today that you were brave and that you slew the giant.” He paused for effect. “Nicky ain’t no giant is all I’m sayin’.” “But Mr. Cutler,” Packy interrupted. “Don’t interrupt me, boy,” the man said quickly. “If’n Mr. Rogers say that it’s so then it’s so.” “If you say so sir,” Packy replied. “Now I know my son can be a big pain in the buttocks, but he is kin to me and I can’t abide him losin’ his eyesight before he graduates high school. Am I making myself clear boy?” “Yes, sir,” Packy said. The idea that he was not going to get pummeled by the large man in the purple cowboy boots, helped young Packy to relax considerably. “Have I made myself clear, boy?” the man asked. “Uh… yeah… I mean yes, sir. Packy replied. “Well then, that’s all I have to say about that. You just take care and try to relax. Don’t be so excited all the time.” With that the large man stood up and began to walk across the porch and back to his car. “I’ll do my best,” Packy mumbled.

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Packy watched the large black car pull away. From his vantage point on the porch he was able to see the car turn the corner and disappear down Pleasant Street. Sammy and Mahalia eventually found Packy. He had fallen asleep on his front porch which was the last place they thought to look. They figured he’d be at the bowling alley with Bobby Weed, or maybe with Lubie at the comic shop. They never figured he’d go home, that being the first place Mr. Cutler would look for him. Mahalia shook him gently. “Are you O. K., Packy?” she whispered. “Uh… what…I…” Packy replied as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his knuckles. “Mr. Cutler is looking for you, and is he ever mad,” Sammy said. “I don’t guess he’s too mad,” Packy said sitting up. Mahalia and Sammy sat on the porch next to him. “He just left here a little while ago.” “What happened?” this from Mahalia. “We talked. He’s actually a real nice guy,” Packy returned. “Did he threaten you, Packy? Did he hurt you in any way?” Mahalia asked. “Naw… I’m alright!” They sat in silence for a minute, each replaying, in their minds, their version of what had happened that day. Each version was drastically different, but there was a thread that seemed to hold it all together. “I’m really sorry I called you simple, Packy,” Mahalia said. “Forget it,” Packy replied. “I may be a little simple but not so simple that I am unaware of it,” Packy said. He startled himself with this revelation. “You’re not simple at all, Packy,” she went on. “And I was wrong about Lucky Scarpone and I was wrong about B. B. King but mostly I was wrong about you.”

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“This is getting too mushy for me,” Sammy said. “Call me when you guys are normal again.” He jumped up and hopped over the porch railing and was gone before either Packy or Mahalia could say a word. “I saw Danny today.” Packy said, “Where?” Haley asked quickly. Packy just pointed up to the window where, earlier, the boy stood and showed Packy the signs. “I wish he’d come out of there. I would give anything to see him playing out in the sun with Sammy.” They were quiet again, watching the sun begin to set slowly behind the house. “Mahalia,” Packy said after a few minutes. “Yes, Packy, what’s up?” “Remember when I was going to tell you something this morning outside the restaurant?” “This morning seems like so long ago,” She replied wistfully. “Do you remember it?” “Yes I do. What was it you were trying to tell me?” “Well, it’s just that…” “Hey Packy! Hey Haley!” a voice screamed. It was Bobby Weed in Nicky Cutler’s car. “Aw, forget it,” Packy muttered to himself. “Come on! Get in,” he screamed. Nicky sat in the passenger seat. From the distance, his eye patches looked like they had holes cut into them, making them look more like the Lone Ranger’s mask.

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“What do you think?” Bobby said motioning to Nicky’s eye patches as Packy and Mahalia crawled into the back of the car. “I cut the eyeballs off of a Rodney Dangerfield poster that I got from the video store, and I glued them over the patches so he wouldn’t look quite as creepy. “That’s…ah… nice,” Mahalia lied. “They’re kinda weird, Packy said. “See, I told ya’ this wouldn’t work,” Nicky Cutler whined. “You should have used the Elvis poster.” “No way I’m cutting that up,” Bobby Weed went on. “He gave me that himself just before he died.” “Bobby Weed!” Mahalia started. “O. K., I bought it at Graceland when…” “Bobby...” she repeated. “O. K., I asked Lubie to order it for me.” “Much better, Bobby Weed,” Mahalia laughed. “How could you tell?” Packy asked her. “Old habits are hard to break, guys. I’m sorry,” said Bobby Weed. “Forget it,” Mahalia said. “Where are we going anyway?” Packy asked. “I just got a call from my Uncle Lincoln. He told me that a solid block of businesses are on fire in Riverside County.” “Why are we going?” Mahalia asked. “All of the able bodied people from the out surrounding are getting together to help put out the fire.

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“Tell me again why I’m going?” Nicky Cutler whined. “Your car, brother,” Bobby Weed said flatly. Out on the highway Bobby Weed floored the accelerator. There were no cops around because they were all at the fire. “The sheriff is eager to stop the fire before it reaches his brother’s cigar shop.” “Why don’t they just pull the cigars out of the shop.” Nicky Cutler asked. “It’s not the cigars that they are worried about as much as the beef jerky and the hot sauces,” Bobby Weed said gravely. As if to emphasize the seriousness of the matter, he punched the gas pedal down again, whipping everyone’s neck, including his own. “Ow…” Nicky Cutler whined. By the time they pulled into town, the fire was pretty much under control. The few embers left burning would hardly do any damage now. The cigar shop was safe which was more than you could say for the pet shop and the Peacock family restaurant. In the street, a chubby Greek man had his head in his hand and whimpered softly. His rotund wife rubbed his back and whispered soothing words in broken English. “Everything! Everything,” the man kept saying. “It’ll be alright, Stavros, we have the insurance. We can start all over again, as long as we’re together,.” she said. “You’re right,” he said. “I am. No one was hurt. We still have each other.” “But what about my autographed picture of Mel Torme?” The woman pulled a small parcel out from under her sweater and handed it to the grief stricken man. His eyes brightened as he pulled the frames out of the bag.

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She not only saved the Mel Torme pictures but she also got the Steve Lawrence and Wayne Newton. He began to cry all over again. “God bless you,” he said quietly, wrapping his arms around his wife. Just a few feet away from the couple stood a small pyramid of cages. The bottom cage held a puppy or two while the rest of the cages held kittens and a few birds. All of the animals were coughing. A woman with ringlets of shiny brown hair sat on the cage with the Keeshond puppies in it. Her head was down and she was smoking a cigarette. A tiny ferret peeked out of her apron. As Packy and company approached the woman, the ferret furrowed back into the folds of her apron. “Hi,” Bobby Weed said, a little too cheerfully. “Are you O. K.?” Mahalia asked. “I’m just fine, kids,” she said softly. “Thanks for asking. “Is there something we can do to help you?” Mahalia just couldn’t help herself. Her heart was too big sometimes. “Not unless you know anyone who needs about twelve dogs and thirty five cats, not to mention birds, salamanders and iguanas.” “I love animals,” Bobby Weed said, “Only I don’t have any money.” “I’m not worried about money,” she said. “I just want to find a good home for these guys while I try to get back on my feet.” “I’ll take those bulldogs.” Packy said. “I’ll give them a good home and food and everything.” “You want both of them?” the woman asked standing up. “That’s just great. Let me run and get my van so that I can deliver them.”

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As she walked around the corner, Bobby Weed’s eyes never left her. He was hypnotized. “Did you see that?” he asked Nicky Cutler. He quickly answered himself, “No I guess you didn’t.” “Very funny,” Nicky Cutler whined. “She’s beee-oo-tiful! Holy cow I’d take all of these animals if it would make her happy.” He called out to Mahalia who was cuddling the kitten she had pulled out of one of the cages. No one saw where Packy had disappeared to. “Haley, did you see what I saw?” Bobby Weed called out. Before she could answer, a white panel truck pulled up next to the cages. Across the side in blue and red letters were the words. “Pets - Pets - Pets” Elvira Munroe Veterinarian She jumped out and ran to the back of the vehicle. After unlatching the sliding door, she walked over to the big cage that held the two bulldogs. “Let me help,” Bobby said. He gently lifted the cage into the back of the truck. “Thank you…” “Bobby, Bobby Weed,” he replied. “Thank you Bobby Weed,” she said. That was when she noticed Nicky Cutler. She looked back at Bobby. “What’s wrong with your friend’s eyes, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Those aren’t his eyes. Miss Munroe. Those are Rodney’s eyes.” “Rodney?”

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“Dangerfield.. Nicky Cutler, that’s him,” Bobby pointed toward his friend. “Nicky Cutler is having a bad day, where his eyes are concerned, but don’t worry, he should have his eyesight fully restored in time to start his senior year.” “Oh the poor boy,” she said. “Can I take a couple kittens?” Mahalia asked walking toward where Bobby Weed stood (as close as he could) next to Miss Munroe. “Honey, you take as many kittens as you like,” the veterinarian replied. “I’d like to take them all but my parents would never understand. Two, maybe three shouldn’t be a problem.” Mahalia walked back to the cages to make her selections. “As soon as I find a home for these animals, I guess I’ll have to start looking for a home of my own,” Elvira said to Bobby Weed. “We have a nice bed and breakfast by the railroad tracks. Mrs. Oswald could fix you up rather nice.” “I like the sound of that but what about the animals?” “We can pack them all into the truck and find homes for them tonight at the B. B. King Concert. “B. B. KING?” “He’s in town for our Annual Founder’s Day Festival. Everyone will be there. I bet we find homes for all of the animals.” “You’d do that for me?” “And then some,” he said quietly, kicking some invisible dirt off of one of his shoes.

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They began to load the cages into the back of the truck. As excited as he was, Bobby Weed forced himself to go slow enough that he didn’t hurt any of the animals. “I gotta drive Nicky Cutler’s car on account of his eye patches, but you just follow me.” “You are so sweet, Bobby Weed, I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.” “I’m sure we’ll find a way, Miss Munroe,” Bobby said walking toward the car. It wasn’t until the animals were unloaded and displayed across the front of the stage that anyone noticed Packy was missing. “How could you have forgotten him?” Mahalia asked. “Me! What about you? You were so concerned with your kittens…” “Don’t blame me, guys,” Nicky Cutler laughed. “Be quiet!” Mahalia said. “Yeah! Be quiet!” Bobby Weed said.

As the animals were being caged and loaded, Packy noticed a bright green iguana sneaking down the busy street. It made its way in between the fire fighters and the big red trucks looking over its shoulder now and again to make sure it wasn’t being followed. When it arrived at Huckleberry Knob Road, it took one last look at the bustling scene before taking off down the more quiet street. Packy ran around the corner and forward in the direction that the creature went. He, too, began to run. Watching for the little sliver of green as it flew down the sidewalk.

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The iguana turned at an unmarked street with Packy in hot pursuit. The hunter and the hunted moved quickly toward the children’s park at the end of the street. The lizard increasing his speed every time Packy came within two sidewalk squares. “Stop!” Packy shouted as they reached the end of the block. The iguana looked quickly behind himself one more time before darting out into the street. He never saw the bright orange Pinto being driven by the frizzy haired beatnik with the beat-up guitar in the back seat. Packy saw it and screamed again but the lizard disappeared under the chassis of the little car. As the vehicle rolled past Packy, the driver smiled and flashed a “peace sign” at Packy. Packy waved back but was more concerned about the iguana. As the vehicle pulled out of sight, Packy saw the iguana there in the street. Some of the scales on top of his head were scorched and he was extremely frightened, but he was otherwise unharmed. The young boy picked the small lizard up and cradled him in his arms. “You’re gonna be O. K.” Packy whispered. “You are gonna be just fine.” He gently stroked the areas that were burned. The iguana closed its eyes and lowered its head onto Packy’s palm. “Hey, mister,” a little boy with impossibly big ears called out. “Watcha got there? Huh? Watcha got?” “My name isn’t mister,” he replied to the slowly growing group of little boys. “My name is Packy.” “Yeah. Whatever,” a chubby faced boy said as the group turned into a tight circle around Packy.

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“I axed you what you got,” ears asked again. The voices startled the iguana. His head was up and his eyes darted from child to child. “It’s a lizard.” Packy responded. He held the iguana up so that the boys could see he was telling the truth. “It’s an iguana,” ears said. “And it’s pretty burnt up. How’d you burn it up like that?” “Did it get caught in that fire?” chubby face asked. “No a car did it,” Packy said sadly. “Looks like it was toasted,” a voice behind Packy said. “Yeah, toasty,” another voice said. The group of children quickly became an inescapable ring of laughter as Packy spun, iguana in hand, and looked at their faces. Their mouths gaped open showing pink gums in places where teeth once were and would be again. One little girl wore braces that were clogged with chunks of bright pink bubble gum. “Toasty toasty,” they all screamed and cheered. Packy began to laugh in spite of himself. He looked at each of the laughing faces until the loudest laugh in the park was his own. “Toasty… toasty,” he sang and the children joined in. “Toasty…toasty.. toast,” they all sang. The iguana tried to bury his little face in his shiny little claws. “You should call him that,” chubby face said. “Yeah, call him Toasty,” ears echoed. The helpless iguana looked up into Packy’s eyes and shook his little head “No!”

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“Oh yeah,” Packy yelled, winking at the iguana. “I’ll call him Toasty.” The ring of children broke up their circle as they tired of this little game and ran back toward the see-saw and the jungle gym. Packy began to walk back toward the center of town. “Don’t worry,” he said to the iguana, “I’ll have a better name for you. You’re not Toasty.” The iguana smiled at Packy before lowering his head once again and going back to sleep.

Dinner at the Chew Chew is always a special event but tonight was going to be bigger and better than ever. In honor of the Founder’s Day Festival and the special guests on hand, the restaurant went all out in creating a menu that was authentic to the settling days of the little town. The soup was a creamy mushroom with large chunks of mushroom in a tasty creamy broth. This was followed by a salad with mixed field greens and large slices of cucumbers and home grown tomatoes. Next came the entree which featured a pan seared cat fish over a bed of rice with a fresh chipotle sauce and crispy leeks. If you make it through all of that, the dessert was banana granola fritters in syrup sprinkled with powdered sugar. The waitstaff was running the big shiny plates out to the hungry crowd who had only two things in their minds. The first of these was eating fast enough to get their lawn chairs set up close enough so that they could see B. B. King without a tree or a light pole blocking them.

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The other question that lingered on their minds and lips was where Packy had ended up. He was a hero at lunch time and by dinner, he was no where to be seen. Lubie even took the sign out of his window. Krinkle, the tall clean cut waiter who was as much of a fixture at the Chew Chew as the silver were, thought about calling Marvin’s dairy to see about putting Packy’s picture on the new carton of milk. It was only a few short hours ago that the fair skinned boy sang with one of county music’s most enduring legends and now he was merely an afterthought, just one less person who wouldn’t be getting between the audience and their lawn chairs.

Turning the corner of Huckleberry Knob Road and back to Main Street, Packy realized that things were not as he had left them. Most of the fire trucks and EMT people had packed up and were heading back to their prospective counties. The spectators, bored with the current inactivity on the now quiet street had gone on about their business. The sole figure in the street was a man clutching some picture frames to his chest. “Excuse me,” Packy said appraising the man cautiously. “Yes…Yes…” the man looked at Packy. The sight of the iguana startled him causing him to jump back. “Sorry, sir,” Packy said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” “It was not you, little man child,” the man said. “It was the burnt lizard that you are holding that made me jump!”

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The iguana put his head up and gave the man a sideways glance. His beady eyes looked up at Packy for a second. He shrugged. Packy shrugged. “He’s an iguana, is all,” Packy said offering him up. “I see that. I see that he looks like a lizard to me. Does he have a name?” “Not just yet,” Packy said. “He needs a good name so that people will not be afraid of him.” Packy scratched his head while the iguana turned to look at the man who was talking. “You see den you can properly introduce him to someone and dey will not be afraid of him. You can say, ‘Stavros, dis is Joe da lizard. Joe da lizard, dis is Stavros.’” “Joe?” “Just for an example. Call him anything you like but give him a name already. Packy looked into the iguana’s beady little eyes. Then he looked at the man’s wise old face. Then he looked at the face of the picture in the frame which was the only face that smiled back at him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he scratched the inside of his left knee with the bottom of the shoe on his right foot. “I… I…” Packy began but he couldn’t seem to get past that point. “Come on little man child,” Stavros barked. “How about Barney?” “Da big purple lizard?” “O. K. how about…” “I know, you can call him ‘Frigania!” Stavros said. “Frigania?” Packy asked tripping over each syllable.

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“That is the Greek word for toast. With those burnt edges, the lizard looks like frigania.” The iguana looked into Packy’s eyes once again. Packy smiled at him and just shook his head. “I think I’ll call him ‘Happy’!” Packy said. The newly named Happy nodded happily. “Ah dat is good, my boy. “Happy’ is good name for da lizard.” Packy’s smile grew even wider across his face as he repeated the name over and over again in an appropriately happy little sing song way so that he wouldn’t forget it. “And what is your name?” Stavros asked. “I’m Packy, sir. Packy Farmer.” “… And I am Stravros. Stravros Papagopolous. Dis is Mel Torme!” he motioned to the photo in the frame that was on the top. “Is he your friend?” Packy asked. “In more ways dan he will ever understand,” came the reply. “He looks like a very nice man,” Packy offered. “He is da nicest. ‘Da Velvet Fog’ is what they call him.” “Velvet Frog?” “No Packy boy, ‘Fog’ I say ‘fog’.” “Uh… I guess… O. K. …” Packy said unsure of himself. “You are not from dis town are you?” Stravros asked. “No I’m not. We came here to help the firemen, but they didn’t really need us. We took Nicky Cutler’s car, but Bobby Weed had to drive on account of Nicky Cutler has Rodney Dangerfield’s eyes.”

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The Greek man listened with a concerned look on his face. “So we were all picking out pets and loading up the truck so that we could help find homes for the other pets when I saw Happy try to run away. By the time I caught him and came back here, my friends were all gone.” “Dat is terrible a ting to happen. Do you want a ride to your home?” “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. Sir…” Packy replied. “Let is go to my house and eat baklava. Then I shall drive you home.” “Baklava?” “You will love dis ting called baklava. My wife, she make baklava so good for you, it will break your heart.” Stravros beamed.

The kitchen was exceptionally clean. The old woman moved around the table fussing over Packy; fresh ice for his Pepsi; big, gooey, dripping wedges of baklava on a porcelain plate with a gold inlay of Helen of Troy. “You eat. I have more,” she cooed patting the boy’s head. “Sophia, let the boy eat already,” Stavros shouted. “He should die from hunger you don’t let him eat.” “Hush, old man,” she hissed. “Is it good moro’?” she cooed again turning her attention to Packy once again. “Wassamoro?” Packy tried to ask between sticky bites of the honey drenched pastry. “You moro’!” she laughed.

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“Little Packy boy, you must excuse my wife. She has been through a lot… what with the fire and all…” “Hush, you old gai’dros!” she laughed. “I am just happy to have a young boy in the house again.” “He’s not staying forever, Sophia. I must take him home to his parents as soon as he finished his baklava.” “I don’t have parents,” Packy said, finally getting his lips to separate. “Oh, you poor boy,” Sophia said holding his head tightly against her stomach. “Where are your parents?” “I’m OK..” He put his head down. Stavros looked down at the floor and spoke quietly, “I offer great prayers to God for your mother.” “Thank you,” Packy said not looking up. Stavros stood slowly and walked around the table. He set his hand on the young boy’s shoulder and put his head down. This tableau of near strangers in the kitchen in the next county could only have been imagined by Edward Hopper. The old Greek man and the old Greek woman each with a hand on the fair skinned boy’s shoulders. “Let us get your lizard and go, my son,” Stavros said quietly. Sophia walked slowly into the pantry while Stavros started up the truck and Packy went to retrieve Happy from the bath tub. As the boy walked past the old woman, she handed him a parcel wrapped in wax paper. “Baklava, for my new friend, my little angel. God be with you,” she said. “Thank you, Sophia. You are a very nice lady.” As the boy and his iguana walked to the door the iguana sniffed the parcel and began to wag his tail.

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“What if something happened to him? I’ll never forgive myself,” Bobby Weed said as he navigated the car back down the highway to Riverside County. “Don’t worry,” Elvira answered, resting her hand on Bobby’s sizable arm. “It’s my fault,” Mahalia said from the back seat lifting Nicky Cutler’s arm off from around her shoulder. “Don’t blame me,” Nicky Cutler said. “Shut up!” the others yelled. As they sped down the highway, Bobby Weed kept his eyes straight ahead, they never left the road. Mahalia was in deep meditation, staring out the back window on the passenger side. Nicky Cutler’s eyes were…well… It was Elvira who spotted Stavros’ truck and saw the top of Packy’s head over the dash board. “Isn’t that him?” she asked, pointing toward the truck. “Packy doesn’t drive,” Bobby Weed said never taking his eyes off of the road. “No, look,” Mahalia screamed pointing to the truck as it blurred past them. Bobby Weed cut the wheel hard to the left sending Nicky Cutler spiraling into Mahalia’s lap and forcing Elvira against the passenger door. “Sorry…” he muttered. As they picked up speed again, Bobby Weed tried to over take the truck. He continued to accelerate despite Elvira’s fingernails digging into his fleshy thigh.

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Stavros noticed the car approaching him which gave him cause to accelerate. The faster he went, though, the faster the car went. Soon they were running side by side. “You should see those crazy peoples,” Stavros said to Packy. “The girls they are beautiful, but one boy has the eyes of Peter Lorrie.” “Those are my friends. They must have seen that they forgot me and… is there a girl with red hair in the car?” “Yes, a beautiful young girl. She has da hair like da fire.” “That’s Mahalia,” Packy said proudly. “I love her.” “She’s your girl friend?” “Not yet, Stavros, but tonight… I hope I can get to tell her tonight at the B. B. King Concert.” “B. B. King?” Stavros asked. “He is in town tonight for a concert to Founder’s Day!” “Are you talking about the man what has da’ guitar call Lucille?” “I think so…yeah!” Packy laughed. “I hit the brakes now and you go with your friends. I must rush home to pick up my Sophia. She loves the B. B. King!” Stavros eased the truck to the shoulder of the road. Bobby Weed pulled over just in front of him. As Packy stepped from the vehicle, he could hear Stavros singing, ”Da thrill is gone….Da thrill she is gone… See you tonight, my boy!” He pulled a U-turn and headed home to pick up Sophia to bring her back in time for the concert. Packy approached the car. No one inside was moving yet. They didn’t quite know what to say.

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“Hey everybody, this is my inguana. His name is Happy. I caught him today when you guys decided to leave without me.” “We are so so so so so sorry, Honey.” Mahalia said causing Packy to blush. “Naw, man, it’s my fault,” Bobby Weed admitted. Elvira patted his meaty shoulder. “I should’ve been more observant,” Nicky Cutler said. Bobby Weed put the car in gear and pulled back out onto the highway. “What’s that smell?” Nicky Cutler asked. “Smells like…over cooked frog legs.” Happy buried his face in the folds of Packy’s shirt. “Happy got a little burned up is all,” Packy answered. “When we get back to town I’ll check him out…make sure he’s O. K.,” Elvira offered. Happy pulled his little head out again and looked up at the veterinarian’s face. He smiled at her briefly before she turned herself back around in the seat. “Aw, he’ll be fine,” Packy said. Happy shot him a look that told him to shut up. If the pretty girl wanted to check him out, then by all means she should be allowed to check him out.

The park was filling quickly leaving Krinkle alone in the Chew Chew to clean up the fish bones and the mountains of empty soup bowls. Bobby was the first one through the door. He led the party back to his favorite Godfather-style table. Krinkle walked past the table, balancing a stack of water glasses in

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one hand and a stack of soup bowls in the other. The menus that he held between his arm and his side fell away and onto the table as he lifted his arm. “No need, my lanky friend,” Bobby Weed said. “We’re all going to have the special…and no scrimping on the chipotle sauce.” “Right,” Krinkle said and kept on walking. He appeared almost immediately with a large tray holding five massive glasses of iced tea. “Aren’t you worried about getting a good seat for B. B. King?” he asked setting the glasses in front of them. “You don’t miss a thing in this town when Packy Farmer’s your friend,” Bobby Weed said. “Yeah… there’s that,” Krinkle said. He finally noticed a new face. “Who are you?” he asked. “Elvira…Elvira Munroe…” “New in town?” he asked. “Sort of. I’ll be staying at Mrs. Oswald’s until I can get back on my feet again.” “Were you in that fire in Riverside County?” “Are you writing her biography?” Bobby Weed snapped. “Let’s get to the part about the soup finding its way to the table.” “Right,” Krinkle said, scooping up the unused menus and going back into the kitchen. “He’s tall,” Elvira said. “Too tall,” Mahalia interjected. “I agree,” Elvira said resting her hand on Bobby Weed’s thick hand.

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Packy watched the move and decided to try it out on Mahalia. He gently placed his hand on hers and let it sit for a moment. He immediately began to sweat. His pulse raced and his heart pounded. His palms dripped with sweat as he slid his hand back off of Mahalia’s hand and onto a napkin. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re home, Pac-man,” she whispered. “Hey, where’s Sammy?” Packy muttered quickly to divert the attention and give his pulse a break. “The last time anyone saw him, he was pulling Danny’s wagon toward Mr. Scarpone’s place,” Mahalia said. “Lubie said that whatever was in the wagon was covered up with a moving blanket,” Bobby Weed added. “Sammy is…” Elvira started. “My friend…my brother” Packy and Mahalia said simultaneously. The soup went quickly as did the salads. Everyone was hungry so conversation was at a minimum. Bobby Weed never spoke while he was eating. He was concentrating very intently on each forkful. Packy was too nervous to talk much so the food was another excellent distraction for him. Nicky Cutler quickly adjusted to his lack of vision but still had to focus on the task. Mahalia devoured her salad and just didn’t have much to say at this point. Elvira just enjoyed the company of her new friends, although in the back of her mind, she was uncertain what the future would hold. In the morning she would case the town thoroughly to ascertain if there was any need for a vet or a pet store.

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When the catfish arrived, Bobby had asked everyone to stop eating and observe a moment of silence in honor of Hardy, the chef who had created this artistic repast. Respects paid, the quintet swooped down on the little masterpieces and didn’t come up for air until the last drop of chipotle sauce was wiped up with the last crust of the fresh baked bread. “Bring on the fritters,” Bobby Weed called out. This was greeted with groans from the others. but Bobby had no intention of letting one morsel of food go uneaten. Krinkle set the plates down one by one, each holding three large banana granola fritters. Three bites later and Bobby Weed’s plate was just a pool of syrup. Elvira set her plate on top of his. Three more bites and he had Mahalia’s plate to contend with. Three more bites brought Packy’s plate to his growing stack. Three more bites and he was reaching for Nicky Cutler’s plate. He was able to pull it out from in front of Nicky Cutler just before Nicky’s fork hit it. Nicky got a fork full of nothing and Bobby Weed got the last three bites. “Are we all full?” Krinkle asked, pretending to care. “Yes, thank you,” Elvira said “I’d like my fritters,’ Nicky Cutler said. “Very funny,” Krinkle said. He dropped the little leather bill holder on the table. “Packy?” Bobby Weed asked. “Yeah sure,” Packy answered reaching for the billfold. “Just kidding,” Bobby Weed said and snapped the billfold up. He covered the bill and tipped Krinkle generously. “Ready to go see B. B. King?” Mahalia asked.

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“Sure, I can’t wait to see B. B. King,” Nicky Cutler replied. They walked out together and across the street to the park. Old Man Williams was moving slowly, but steadily across the stage. He stepped up to the microphone and tapped it with a bony finger. “Excuse me….Excuse me…” he started. “Psst - Psst…”came a voice from the edge of the patio of the restaurant, “Over here.” “Look, it’s Sammy,” Packy called out. “Some of you might be surprised to see so many beautiful animals in cages here tonight…” Old Man Williams went on. “Follow me but be…QUIET!” Sammy said. They followed him down the tracks to the hole in the safety fence. They followed him across the tracks, then back down along them until they got to the road that led up to Lucky’s place. “So if you would like a pet for your home, please pick one out anytime during the…” Scooter Green who worked for Mrs. Oswald, ran across the stage and handed Old Man Williams a note. He looked out at the sea of smiling faces and took a quick bow before exiting and making a bee line back to the safety of the gazebo, leaving Old Man Williams alone on the stage. “It says here that Mr. B. B. King has had an emergency and will not be able to play as planned. Mrs. Oswald sends her assurance that her brother Terry Oswald and his ‘Accordianaires’ are on stand-by if they’re are needed.

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The crowd showed instant displeasure at the thought of another rousing edition of “Lady of Spain” by the school crossing guard and the two mechanics from Lem’s.

Lucky’s porch looked different bathed in the moonlight if only for the reason that there were other bodies on it. Next to Lucky, who sat in his normal chair, was an unfamiliar silhouette of a large man hunched over his guitar. Between them sat Danny with his father’s reel to reel tape recorder plugged in ready to go. The shock of seeing Danny out of his room was somehow more shocking than the realization that the other man was B. B. King himself. “You gotta believe in something,” was all Danny said as he adjusted the recording levels on the large machine. “It’s been a long time, cross roads traveler,” Lucky Scarpone said. “Too long, my brother,” B. B. said. “Now let’s get this party started. When the pick hit the strings it sent out a high and lonesome wail that cut through the night like a baby crying. Lucky replied with his own shrill screaming harmony. B. B. King came back with a furious flurry of notes that even he didn’t know he had in him. Lucky let go and his hand became a blur as it flew up and down the fret board like a spider on a wire. Then all was quiet. “What’s that sound?” Krinkle asked a couple kids standing under a street light. “Uh…uh…That’d be a guitar…” one of them stammered.

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“But there’s only accordions and a drum on the stage.” “I heard it too,” Lubie said. “It came from up the road. “Where is B. B. King?” Stavros asked. He and Sophia had missed the announcement but had heard the guitars. “Let’s go up to Lucky’s place. That must be where the guitars are being played,” Krinkle said. “What about the Accordianairs?” Lubie laughed as he fell in behind Krinkle but ahead of Stavros and Sophia. The chant of “What was that?” and “Did you hear that?” was picked up by more of the town’s people as they followed Krinkle up the road and out of town. The only person left in a chair in the park was Mrs. Oswald. The band broke into a rousing accordion rendition of “Born in the U. S. A.” when the next series of notes cut through their playing. Terry set his instrument down and joined the crowd. The Accordionaires were right behind him. Mrs. Oswald got onto her adult sized tricycle and took up the rear.

“Look at all those people,” B. B.,” Lucky said. “I haven’t played in front of people in two life times.” “Welcome to life time number three, now play one boy!” B. B. hollered. The crowd that was six became the crowd that spilled across Lucky’s front yard and into the woods.

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Lucky threw his head back and closed his eyes. He offered up one more prayer before he assaulted his strings again. B. B. fell in on the second bar and before you could say Robert Johnson, these two old blues men were making their guitars cry and sing. Sammy climbed a big old oak tree near the back of the yard. Bobby Weed sat against the tree with Elvira wrapped around him. She used his girth as a pillow and was quickly asleep. Mahalia led Nicky Cutler over to a smaller tree where they sat with their backs against the tree and their fingers entwined. Packy sat on the edge of the porch swinging his feet and looking out over the crowd and it was a little like his dream. The only real difference was that Nicky Cutler was holding Mahalia’s hand and he didn’t think he remembered B. B. King or Lucky Scarpone in the dream. He looked to the ground and let the beautiful music fill his head. Maybe it was better this way. He and Mahalia would always be friends and at least now, Bobby Weed was happy. That and Danny was finally out of his room. The sun rose over Packy’s back as he walked down the road that took him back into town. Happy slept soundly in his shirt pocket. “Excuse me,” the voice startled Packy. “I wonder if you can point me in the direction of one Mr. Luck Scarpone’s home…” The man’s purple suit shown gloriously in the early morning sun. Pack crooked his thumb over his shoulder without saying a word. “Thank you, little brother,” the man said and he walked away in his perfect purple shoes.

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Bobby and Elvira were married that spring. They opened up a cozy little pet shop next door to Lubie’s Comic Shop and set about the business of starting a family. The recording of the “King-Scarpone” reunion concert was picked up by Geffen records and debuted at number 2 on the charts. Based on this success, Sammy and Danny were dubbed by the media as child prodigies. They immediately went on to record chart topping hits for Buddy Guy, Robert Cray, and Kenny Rogers. Vision in tact, Nicky Cutler lettered in football, basketball and baseball. Upon graduation, he received a full athletic scholarship to State University where he majored in Interior Design. He later became famous for his work on designing accessible homes for the vision impaired. Mahalia eventually moved herself back east to attend Columbia University. Her major was architecture and her minor was psychology which allowed her to help patients understand the issues that they had with their houses. Her evenings were spent reading her poetry and strumming an old guitar in the smoky little coffee houses that littered the neighborhood. Lucky continues to play his old guitar too. He still doesn’t leave the porch all that much but at least he has strings on the guitar these days. Packy returned to his career at the Highland Bowl. He brings Happy with him to work every night to keep him company now that Bobby Weed is gone. “Ya’ know?” he said to his reptilian friend. “I miss the guys…” Happy nodded sadly. “You too?” Happy nodded again.

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“I only hope that they don’t ever forget me…” Happy smiled as he lowered his head onto his little claws and fell fast asleep.

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