After Forever (17 page)

His mother had severe stomach pains and went
into the hospital. They ran a few tests and discovered her appendix
was inflamed. They operated, a routine surgery they said, but her
appendix ruptured and she died from blood poisoning.

Bottles couldn’t understand that. They ran
tests. They knew what was wrong. They operated. They were doctors.
How could his mother die? She had always been so healthy.

Being healthy had nothing to do with it, his
dad explained. Appendicitis happens. Think of it like a tire. It
could run for a long time, with no problems, but you overinflate it
and BOOM, it explodes.

That analogy, the boy understood, having
several bicycle tires blow up on him.

So, in a rare summer rainstorm, Bottles
stood dutifully at his father’s side with the other townsfolk while
his mother was lowered into the ground. Afterwards, the church
ladies delivered pot-luck covered dishes to the house along with an
urn filled with strong, hot coffee. Guests came and went, all
stopping to offer their condolences. He mumbled a few words, but
was overwhelmed by everything.

Later that evening, after everyone was gone
and the house straightened, father and son sat at the kitchen table
staring at the empty chair. Neither spoke to each other. Neither
knew what to say. Bottles eventually went to bed, leaving his
father sitting next to a jug, half-full of moonshine.

When the boy woke the next morning, the jug
was empty and his father gone. Bottles wasn’t concerned, because
his father sometimes disappeared for days at a time. The family had
an understanding.

This time, however, it was different. Conrad
Steadway was now gone for a week. Bottles became worried. He rode
his bike to the factory where his father worked. He was shocked to
find the parking lot empty. He wondered where all the cars were. He
pedaled to the guard’s hut, happy to see Stan Majors still on
duty.

Stan greeted the boy with, “so sorry about
your mom, Bottles. She was a good woman.”

“Where is everyone?” he blurted out.

“Didn’t your dad tell you? The factory was
sold last week. New owners came in and shut her down. Dang near the
entire town is out of work.”

Bottles sped away, not even hearing what
Stan called out to him.

The boy pedaled hard down the black topped
driveway, then onto the dirt road. The wind blew dust into his
face, but he didn’t notice the stinging from the sandy soil. “Why
didn’t you tell me, dad?” he called out, eyes filled with tears.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He wasn’t paying attention where he went. He
only stopped because he reached the shore of the lake. They still
called it a lake, even though it was nothing more than a wide
depression of cracked dirt. Far out, in the very center, was a
shallow puddle of water. Mosquitos buzzed over it. And, bordering
the puddle were a few sparse blades of grass.

Bottles leaned over the handlebars of his
bike and sobbed—deep gut wrenching, soul cleansing sobs. “What am I
supposed to do?” he screamed.

He sat there, as if waiting for a sign. A
sunray broke through the clouds, reflecting off something buried in
the lake bed. He let his bike fall as he marched down the shore.
Kicking at the dirt, he uncovered a bottle. He shrugged, marched up
the shore, and put the bottle in the basket of his bike. On his way
back into town, he found a dozen more.

Glass soda bottles, it seemed, were his
destiny.

He cashed them in, pocketing twenty six
cents. Stopping at the store, he bought some bread and boloney,
enough for a couple sandwiches.

Later that evening, after tidying the house,
he sat down with a boloney sandwich, a scrap of paper and the stub
of a pencil. He felt if he wrote out his plans, they were more apt
to come true.

“Let’s see,” he mused. “Number one: find out
where my dad is. Number two: find out--”

A car horn interrupted his concentration.
Bottles ran out on the porch, just as a taxi skidded to a stop. A
door opened and his dad emerged from the back seat.

Bottles rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe
it!

“Hi, kiddo.”

With tears of relief, the boy ran into the
outstretched arms. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?
Why didn’t you--”

“Ahem.”

Bottled looked up. Standing next to the open
door of the taxi was a tall, bleached blond woman wearing too much
make-up and not enough clothes. Standing at each shoulder was a
sneering teenager, each with a cigarette dangling out of their
mouths. You could look at them and smell trouble. They were the
kind of boys you avoided in school. They gave Bottles the once over
and snickered.

Bottles looked back and forth. “Who… who are
you?”

His father knelt before his son, gesturing,
“This is my sister, Louise, from Pottsville.”

The pair of hoodlums coughed.

“Yes. This is your Aunt Louise and her two
sons, Jimmy and Biff.”

“Why are they here?”

“Harrumph. Well I never,” Aunt Louise
screeched.

“She’s sort of moving in while I go out of
town looking for work. I got a line on another factory job about
fifty miles from here.”

“Why not just take me and we could
move?”

He stood and leaned into the taxi. “Don’t
leave,” he told the driver. “I’ll be riding back with you.”

Louise marched onto the porch and into the
house. Her sons both glared at Bottles before following her,
letting the screen door slam behind them.

“Dad…” Bottles started. “This isn’t
right.”

Conrad gestured to the tree swing out in the
yard. “I know you don’t like this, son. I know I should have talked
to you, but when the factory—“

“I already know about it.”

His dad looked down, his shoulders
slumping.

“Send them home, dad. We can survive.”

Conrad shook his head. “I can’t. Louise is
staying here. Her husband left her and she has nowhere else to go.
She’s going to stay here while I work. It’ll just be for a month or
so… until I get some money saved.”

Bottles nodded. “Sure dad.”

He looked into his son’s eyes. “I want you
to promise you’ll behave. Don’t upset her. I swear I’ll come
back.”

Yeah, dad. I promise.”

One of the bullies yelled from the porch,
waving Bottle’s uneaten sandwich. “There’s no more boloney. I’m
hungry.”

His brother yelled, “Where am I supposed to
sleep?”

Conrad squeezed his son’s shoulder.

After brief instructions, Conrad packed a
bag and rode off in the taxi.

Bottles waved, but as soon as the taxi
rounded the bend, Louise dug her cheap fingernails into the boy’s
shoulder and ushered him into the house.

And, thus, Bottles fate was sealed.

CHAPTER 2

For the first week, life was pretty much the
same for Bottles. Oh, he had added chores, but his free time was
his own. He still rode around every day and gathered the empty
bottles, stopping to cash them in before pedaling home.

He whistled as he pulled into the yard, but
stopped and stared at a box of his belongings on the porch. He
hopped off the bike and ran inside. The house was in total
disarray.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Just a little rearranging.”

“Why is some of my stuff on the porch?” he
gestured.

“Oh, that,” she glanced at her sons,
snickering on the steps. “That’s just some stuff that got broken in
the shuffle.”

Bottles looked back and forth from his aunt,
his cousins and the box.

“Oh no. What have you done?” He ran between
the brothers blocking the stairs. He stopped in the doorway of his
room. It was nearly empty. All his belongings piled in boxes in the
hall; the bedroom floor littered with torn autographed posters from
the Raccoons. His eyes filled with tears as he gently picked up the
scraps of cardboard.

“What’s the matter Ralphie?” Jimmy taunted,
kicking at the toy stuffed raccoon.

Bottles looked up. “Why?”

“I want this room. I don’t want to share a
room with Biff.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

“That’s no fun.”

Bottles face went red. He dropped the
priceless pieces of cardboard and tackled his cousin, knocking him
to the floor. Straddling his opponent, Bottles pounded his
cousin.

“Mom! Mom! He’s hurting me,” Jimmy cried as
Biff doubled over with laughter.

Louise bounded up the stairs taking a second
to survey the situation. She ran into Bottle’s room and physically
pulled her nephew off her son.

“Get your stuff out of here,” she
ordered.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” she shrugged. “You
can move into the attic or the cellar. I don’t care. Just clean out
this room.”

She put her arms around her sons and the
three of them went downstairs.

Bottles shut his door and walked around
staring at the damage. “Oh dad, he didn’t even bother to take the
thumb tacks out. He just ripped my pictures off the wall.” Gently,
he pulled out the tacks and salvaged what posters he could. He
picked up the torn scraps from the hall and added them to the
pile.

It took most of the evening, but he managed
to get everything into the attic. He didn’t have a lot, but it took
time maneuvering up the narrow stairway.

Satisfied the room was empty enough for
Jimmy, Bottles went down for supper.

The other three were still eating as he slid
in at the table. Their plates were piled high with food. His was
empty.

He looked around. “Where’s my food?”

“You weren’t here. The boys didn’t think you
were hungry, so they ate yours.”

“But you told me to clean out my room.”

“MY room,” Jimmy corrected.

“You know what time supper starts. Surely
you don’t expect me to cook two suppers a day just because you’re
not on time, do you, Ralphie?”

“No ma’am. I guess not.” he mumbled. “Is
there any boloney left?”

“I don’t know,” she spooned at the pile of
mashed potatoes.

Biff called out. “I think I finished it for
lunch.”

Shoulders slumped, Bottles made his way to
the kitchen. He managed to scrape enough peanut butter from the
bottom of the jar to coat a slice of bread. The jelly jar was
empty, but he found a browned banana, that he sliced onto his
sandwich.

He glanced up at the clock. It was barely
seven, but he decided to go to bed.

Passing through the dining room, Jimmy
called out to him. “Hey Ralphie. Did you get everything of yours?”
He wrapped his hand around the pocket of his jeans and shook
it.

Bottle’s eyes opened wide.

Louise screeched, “What’s that noise?”

Jimmy laughed as his cousin ran
upstairs.

Sounds echoed from the attic, followed by
footsteps running down. Bottles ran outside and tore into the box
on the porch. A minute later, he ran back inside to confront his
cousin.

He put the baseball holder on the table. The
base was broken and the ball missing. Hands on his hips, He
demanded, “Where’s my baseball?”

Jimmy innocently turned to his brother. “Was
that a baseball we were kicking around in the yard?”

“Gee, I think so.” Biff turned to Bottles.
“Was it valuable, Ralphie?”

Fighting to hold back the tears, he answered
through gritted teeth. “To me it was.”

“Well, I think it’s outside somewhere.”

“Where’s my money?”

Louise looked up. “You had money and I’ve
been buying food for you?”

“Jimmy,” Bottles demanded, “Where’s my
money?”

“Are you accusing me?”

“Yes. If you broke the case to get the
baseball, then you took my money. It’s in your pocket.”

“This is my money.”

“Aunt Louise, please tell him to give me
back my money.”

“Jimmy, give him back his money.”

“I don’t have it.”

“It’s in his pocket. I had seven dollars and
eighty-seven cents. Check it out, Aunt Louise.”

“Jimmy—put the money on the table.”

Jimmy pulled out everything in his pocket: a
pack of matches, a pocketknife, two crumpled one-dollar bills and
eighty-seven cents in change. Louise counted it and looked at
Bottles.

Biff, standing off to the side, pulled the
corner of a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. He nodded and
smiled at his brother.

“You shouldn’t go around accusing people of
theft without proof. Apologize.”

“No! I know he took it.” Bottles spun around
and ran out of the house, letting the old screen door slam loudly
against the wood frame. He stopped at the end of the porch and
looked around. He wondered how he was going to find his signed
baseball.

Most of the grass had died away leaving
large patches of dirt. He spotted the ball near the drainage ditch
by the shed. He jogged over to it. And stared. His once mint
condition, autographed ball laid at his feet. It was scuffed,
dirty, and most of the names were unreadable. He gingerly picked it
up and tried to wipe the dirt off the scratched leather.

He glared at the house, his face contorted
with anger and rage. “I hate you! I hate all of you!”

Bottles put the ball in the box with his
other broken treasures and slowly walked through the house,
stopping downstairs long enough to get his broken ball holder. He
carried the box upstairs to take it to the attic.

At the top of the steps blocking his way,
Jimmy and Biff doubled over, howling with laughter.

Bottles glared at them. Even though they
were older and taller than him, and outweighed him by a hundred
pounds, they were smart enough to step aside.

Bottles opened the attic door, set the box
on the steps, then turned and locked the door from the inside.

On the other side of the door, Jimmy pointed
to the lock and whispered in his brother’s ear. They had one more
surprise planned for their cousin.

CHAPTER 3