Sir Day Walker

Praise Koolaid

I was given the Topic ‘Tire Swings’ to bounce off of, and this is what came out:

I kept hearing the sounds of children chanting off in the distance, every time the man spoke to me.

His eyes told stories that his words could not imagine. There was a time when this man was a little boy. He played in the driveway of the middle-class home he grew up in. He always waited for the postman, just so he could frantically wave, in hopes the wave would be returned. Bouncing the ball up and down the sidewalk, he would smile all the way to the playground…where he would wait for the other kids to include him in their fun and games. Something happened to that little boy, something that changed him forever.

I lit up a cigarette, and leaned back in my chair a little more. I could tell this was going to be a long visit. The man looked at my smoke, and asked with his eyes if he could have one too.  I looked over at the Prison Guard, who nodded his permission back at me. I lit the smoke for the man, and tucked my lighter back into my pocket. Wasn’t allowed to leave it on the table, but something told me this man was not a fire risk. His troubles go much deeper. It was my job to find out how deep.

He spoke with a monotone voice, and presented with a solemn disposition. His dark eyes, and leathered face…told of the years unkind. So unkind, that he was found in the back of a park, wrapped up in newspaper to keep warm. All of his belongings consisted of what he wore, and what was in the borrowed shopping cart from the grocers down the street. I heard the grocers decided to drop the theft charges…gee, wasn’t that nice of them. I watched as the man tried to smoke with the 2 fingers he had left on his right hand. Frostbite, he told the others…but I suspected that wasn’t the case. The scars on the top of his hands told me otherwise. All of a sudden, the man looked up at me…with a tear streaming down his face.

He said, “Why are you staring at my hands…?”

 

Honest as I am, I answered “Don’t look like frost-bite to me is all…”.

He looked at me for a second, and the hint of a smirk showed up across his face. “You’re right.” he said, “You wanna know how they got this way? I got the time if you do. Besides, these hands are the reason I am here”

 

Stunned at the response, I sat back up a bit.

“Yes, I have all the time they will give me. Can I get you something to drink?”

Another smirk, almost a smile…appeared at the request.

“Kool-aid. I want Kool-aid. It makes me feel young again…”

I had the kitchen bring up the closest thing to Kool-aid, and waited for the man to wet his whistle.

“I was young once you know. A nice kid, with a nice home. Nice parents. But the other kids, they weren’t so nice to me.” His eyes dropped to the table. “They didn’t like me. They didn’t like kids that look like sissy’s, and they all the time picked on me.” He sipped on the Kool-aid, and without blinking he said, “So one day, my Mom went to the playground and told them to leave me alone. She meant well…she even talked to a few of their parents. It didn’t stop, it just got worse, but then…I couldn’t tell my Mom anymore, because…” He swallowed hard “…they said they would hurt me.”

A look of horror took over his face. I could tell he was remembering…whatever they did to him, it wasn’t good. I lit him another smoke, and placed the lighter dutifully back in my pocket. Silly really, what’s he gonna do…tackle me and light my hair on fire? Well, shit…now that thought really could have gone by without me. Now I was worried about him lighting my hair on fire. Guess it really wasn’t that silly after all.

He struggled to compose himself; he really needed to tell this story. I cleared my mind, and cleared my throat. “What happened to your hands…was it because...” He shot a look at me that meant to quiet me. It did. He looked at the scars, and the mutilation of what was left of the fingers. Again, tears of silence ran down his rugged face.

“It was them. They did it. Bastards took away my life!” His voice raised a bit, but the demeanor never changed. “All I wanted was to play on that stupid tire swing. I waited my turn and all…” He took another sip of Kool-aid. “…But when I climbed up on it, they all ran over and started yelling at me to get off...”

His face now showing the horror of the moment I was about to hear.

“They said it wasn’t my turn yet. I yelled back, for the first time ever. I wouldn’t get off of it. It was my turn…” there was a wince, as his eyes pleaded for the memory to go away.

 

“They started surrounding me. All of them, all of the kids. Even the nice ones were gathered around to watch. They tried to pull me off, but I grabbed onto the chains of the tire swing just as hard as I could. So…they began turning the tire. They were spinning it so fast, I never had a chance to get my hands out of the chains as it began to flip and turn out of control. I can still hear the kids chanting at me. The only thing that faded the fuckin’ little bastards voices out...” He lifted his hands, and animated the motion of his missing fingers…”…was the sound of my fingers breaking off from my hand. I told them it didn’t hurt. I told them that I was gonna tell this time. I told them…I would get them back for this, if it was the last thing I did!”

He stopped for a second, his eyes swollen from tears…his bottom lip quivering.

“I got the little bastards…didn’t I…? It took 3 people to get my hands free from the tire swings rusted old chains. The little bastards took off with my fingers, so we couldn’t find them in time…. to save them. Now, I hope they have a good old time looking for theirs!”
Silence filled the cell…I think it was 3 cigarettes later that he finally was able to tell me more.

“My parents…they split up. They were all the time arguing over the doctors bills, and my Mom, she got really depressed because she kept thinking she could have helped. She helped all right…but she didn’t mean for this to happen.” He looked up at me with the saddest smile and said; “I remember hearing my Dad arguing with the school over the tire swing. I can still hear the chains squeaking at it took its last swings that day. Back and forth…back and forth…until it finally stopped.” He looked down again…and said sweetly “My Mom…she died after my Dad left us all alone. The last thing I remember him saying was ‘who’s gonna hire a freak like him. He can’t even pick his goddamned nose right’…bastard, I still had enough fingers left to do that.“

He actually snickered at his own words. His words flowed so calmly, considering the heinous acts that brought him to this musty cell.

“I told them…I told them I would get them back. I lived in that park for the last 12 years, just waiting for the right time. The school closed up, and they made the playground into a park. That old tree that the tire swing was hanging from…” He chuckled and let out a big sigh…”If you go there, you will find what you are all looking for. There are 12 fingers. Three from each of the little bastards that took mine away. One…for each year I had to live in that fuckin’ park. Fair is fair, right? I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t tell them who I was, and why their fingers were wrapped up in an old rusty chain…about to break off from their bastard little hands.”

It was nightfall by the time I got home.

The police went to the park, and found all 12 fingers wrapped up in a towel, inside of a Kool-aid drink box. By the time they got the fingers back to their rightful owners, it was too late to put them back on. Can’t say that saddened me, the fact is…I was kinda glad they lost them. The man is now serving a minimal sentence in a correctional facility just south of here. I still visit with him. I spoke with a friend of mine that is doing some pro-bono procedures to help reconstruct his hands. He told me last week, that he can finally pick his nose like a real man. I wish his father was still around to see this, he would have been so very proud…the bastard. I spoke to another friend of mine about this man. When he is released from the facility, there is a job lined up for him.

He will be a maintenance worker…in the park.

 

This entry was posted on Monday, August 31st, 2009 at 5:18 pm and is filed under Short Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.