They'll Be Sorry
Sometime during the 1940's, Mom
and Dad started out in their first business. For $1,000 they purchased a bakery
in Corryville. There were many businesses in this four-block stretch of Vine
Street. Mom and Dad rented a certain part of the building, but they would come
to own the whole building in a little over a year. The bakery, with its ovens
and mixers, was in the basement and our kitchen was on the first floor right
behind the store where Mom was the main saleslady. There was a bedroom behind
the kitchen. I was the oldest and had my own room on the second floor. Oh, did I
mention that I had a sister? Her name was Anna Louise.
I remember that there was a
mantle place in the kitchen, and we had goldfish in a small round bowl that
perched on the mantle. The bowl was placed in this high location to protect the
fish from our cat. There was a stove, refrigerator and wooden table in our
kitchen where we ate our meals, and there was a couch on the back wall. I
remember that we could not eat meat on Friday and Mom would almost always
prepare grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup on these meatless days.
Sometimes I would dunk my sandwich in the soup. My sister had blonde hair and
chubby cheeks. I don't think she enjoyed the soup as much as I did.
The couch in the kitchen was
brown and felt like a Turkish towel. Dad worked 60 - 70 hours a week. To save
his strength, he sometimes would take a short nap on the couch. We laughed when
Mom would try to clean the flour out of its brown cover. I remember taking it
outside and hitting it with a rug beater. No matter how much I hit it, there
would always be some more flour puffing out of the cushions. I have some good
memories of living on Vine Street, especially about my friends and sort of
feeling like a big shot since we had our own business. I didn't have much to do
with my sister though, she was a twerp.
The movie was only two doors
from the bakery. I would meet my friends on Vine Street, and each week we would
go to the Saturday matinee. There was a wonderful, hole-in-the-wall ice cream
store a half block away where I could buy a very large banana split for a
quarter. Dad gave me an allowance and I made about a dollar a week working for
Mr. Newcomb at the five and ten cent store, right next to the bakery. I also
bought comic books with my money. My sister didn't get any money, she was too
little.
I had a stamp collection. I had
a special book with lots of stamps. I added many stamps to this book over a long period
of time. The book was organized by country and certain stamps were pasted in
certain sections. I used small pieces of special paper that I folded in half and
licked the special glue on each side to hold the stamp to the page. The stamps
were pretty and I really liked looking at my stamp collection. I went to school
each day but my sister stayed home because she was much too young for such things.
One day, when I came home from school, I saw my stamp book lying out on the
couch in the kitchen. I quickly discovered that many of the stamps were
missing. I accused my sister of taking them and asked where they were, but she
started to cry and ran to her Mother. I then explained what happened to Mom. She
asked me to go upstairs and told me she would handle it.
I was really, really mad and
could hardly stand having to stay in my room. I wanted to know if justice was
going to be handed out. I sure know what I would have done, and it would have
meant that someone's spoiled sister would have one sore behind. Did they know how
many hours that I spent folding those little paper tabs and sticking the many,
many stamps on the album's pages? Later, Mom told me that the stamps were under
her bed. My sister had pulled the stamps out of the book, and none of them were
lost, and I simply needed to glue them back in my album. I almost thought I saw
a little smile on her face. Mom didn't seem to understand that punishment, yes
severe punishment, was needed here! This was serious. If she gets away with
this, what might she do next?
This wasn't the first time that
the little tow-headed urchin had gotten the upper hand. I really didn't like
hearing over and over again how cute she was. Then, when they got her a new
tricycle and I didn't get my 18-inch bike, the line had been crossed. In my
comic books, I had seen how to live on the road. You place all your possessions
in a square cloth, wrap it up and tie it on the end of a stick. I knew at that
point that I would run away from home. Mom and Dad would really be sorry and
would do anything to get me back.
I couldn't just simply tell
them that I was running away. Instead, I had to be indirect. I circled the next
Saturday on the calendar that hung in the kitchen right between the mantle and
refrigerator. I chose Saturday since I didn't want to miss school and wanted to
have what could be my last bowl of tomato soup on Friday, the night before my
big exit. The calendar was in plain view and I was sure that they would see my
circle and ask what it meant. When I explained things, they would beg me to
stay. Yes, and they then would understand how unfair things had gotten in our
home. As each day passed, there seemed to be no awareness of my mark on the
calendar. I would spend a lot of time in that part of the kitchen, pretending to
be talking to the fish, hoping that it would cause them to take notice of the
nearby calendar. I wouldn't expect my sister to catch on; she wasn't too bright.
I thought that it was simply
amazing that they had no sense of what was going on here. They talked about what
was happening in the bakery. They talked about their friends at the Viking club
and what they planned to do on the weekend. They talked about what a cute little
friend that Anna Louise had found in the neighborhood. They asked me about
school, but I gave them a mumbled answer that no one could understand. I did
this to help let them know them know how upset I was. They simply nodded at me
and changed the subject. Man-o-man, did they know the price they were about to
pay? My sister sat at the table with mashed potatoes on her face. What a dopey
kid.
Friday came quickly. Tomorrow
was the big day. I didn't eat very much tomato soup that night. My plans weren't
working out. I was asking myself a lot of questions. Where will I sleep at
night? What happens if I get sick? Will I ever see my friends again? Will the
police come after me? I went to bed not knowing what would happen tomorrow. I
was upstairs by myself. I liked being upstairs alone but not on this night. I
felt very lonely. I wondered what my sister was doing.
Saturday was the busiest day of
the week in the bakery. Dad started work early each Friday so that all the baked
goods were ready for the morning rush. It was a German neighborhood, and the
Germans like to get an early start to their day. Dad would go to bed before I
got up. Mom was very busy in the store so I didn't see her very much. I sat by
myself at the breakfast table in the kitchen behind the bakery and looked at the
calendar. I think that my sister was in the store, and probably all the German
ladies were telling Mom how cute she was.
All of a sudden, I realized
that this was a bad idea. I was no longer angry. Instead, I had a lot of fear
and felt a little ashamed. Well, luckily I hadn't discussed this with anyone. I
would just act as if there had been no plan to run away from home. I felt a
sudden surge of relief. The coffee cake I was having for breakfast now started
to taste pretty good. I felt no anger towards my sister. Hey, she's just a
little kid.
It turned out that I never
placed the stamps back in my album. I guess they just weren't that important.
Much to my disbelief, my sister turned out pretty good. She somehow changed her
name from Anna Louise to Anne. She didn't use a lawyer to do that, just her
cunning. She still has blond hair and I don't ask a lot of questions about how
it stays blond after so many years. Her
cheeks no longer seem chubby but I guess other parts of her are. Did Mom and Dad
like her better than me? I'd like to say no but I believe that they somehow made
us each feel specially loved. Do I still believe that she should have gotten a
swat on the behind for messing with my stamp album? You bet I do! But I would
probably give her a big hug so she wouldn't cry too hard.
December 1997, Carl H.