Forged by Fire (3 page)

“No use stewin' about stuff you can't change,” she'd tell Gerald. “It's the things we
do
have control over that I'm
worried about. Like whether you're going to finish those carrots—or that book report—before midnight!” He had smiled, and finished both.

She had given him permission to take the old wheelchair apart, and he had made something that he had called his go-cart. It was lopsided, but it rolled, and when he was in it, he felt like he was king of the world. He had begun it in the basement, but it was cold down there, and there was not much room, so he brought it out to the back porch. Every day after school he hammered and nailed and pounded on it, making it the “ultimate racing machine.” (He had heard that on TV somewhere.)

Of course, he had to practice on Aunt Queen's ramp. She had fussed, “You're gonna tear up my ramp, boy. How am I gonna get down it to go to the market if you got it set up like the Indy 500?”

“Aw, Aunt Queen, I ain't messed up your ramp. I made it better! I put racing skids on it, so it won't be slippery for you when it rains.”

“Lord help me! Racing skids! Do I look like some kind of race car driver? Next thing I know you'll be tellin' me you put warp speed on my wheelchair!”

But the tar paper that Gerald had found and nailed to the ramp really did help her, so she had let him play on it. He had soon grown tired of the tameness of the ramp, which had a gradual slope, and he looked with interest at the driveway of the house next door, which was steep and sloped right down to the street.

One afternoon, when Aunt Queen was taking a nap, Gerald quietly took the go-cart to that driveway, got on, and rolled cautiously down the big hill. He had used his feet to stop himself every few yards, so it didn't go very fast that first trip. The second time, he only used his feet once or twice, and then it was just to slow himself down when he reached the curb leading into the street. By the fourth or fifth trip, he had increased both his confidence and his speed. He even gave himself a little boost with his feet before he tucked them on the piece of wood that was his rudder, so he sped down the hill this time like one of those bobsledders that he'd seen on TV in the Olympics. Just as he got to the curb, he turned the rudder slightly, rolled to the left, and slowed to a halt by bumping into one of the garbage cans sitting there.

This is awesome!
he said to himself.
One more time!

On that last trip, he had given himself a really big boost to get the most speed possible, and he felt like he was flying. When he had almost reached the bottom of the hill, he turned the rudder to slow himself, but instead of slowing his progress, the rudder came off! Still going full speed, and almost to the street, Gerald could see a long black Cadillac approaching from the left and a dirty green Ford coming from the right. He rolled off the go-cart and into the garbage cans, knocking them over with a terrible commotion. The go-cart sped into the street, where it was first crushed by the Cadillac, then demolished entirely by the Ford, which blared its horn loudly and screeched to a stop.

The driver of the Cadillac never even stopped—he couldn't have known that he had only killed a homemade go-cart, and not a child, but he sped on down the street, never looking back. The driver of the Ford got out of her car, checked to see that Gerald was okay, (he had bumped his head on a garbage can), then took him up the steps to the very awake and very angry Aunt Queen.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Aunt Queen had said to the woman. “I appreciate your kindness. You saved my boy's life.”

“Well, actually a garbage can saved his life, but it could have been tragic. Don't you people watch your children? Letting him play in the street like that! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” When she saw the blue thunder on Aunt Queen's face, the lady wasn't sure if it was directed toward her or toward the boy, so she backed off a little, saying with a smile, “I'm afraid his little go-cart is a total loss, however.”

“So are his privileges—probably for the rest of his life!” Aunt Queen had smiled through clenched teeth as the lady returned to her car.

Gerald had been terrified, because he had never seen Aunt Queen this angry. He was sure he saw blue smoke coming from her ears. She said nothing for at least five minutes. He had to go to the bathroom, but was afraid to move. Finally, she spoke, slowly but explosively.

“You will
never,
as long as you live on God's green earth, do anything that stupid again!”

“Yes, ma'am,” Gerald whispered.

“You will
never,
as long as the grass is green and the sky is blue, make me look like a fool in front of strangers!”

“I'm s-s-sorry, Aunt Queen,” he stammered. “I was just tryin' to—uh—see—uh—let me explain—I was gonna—but it started goin'—and—”

“SILENCE!” she interrupted. “And you will
never,
as long as you walk the sands of time”—when she got really mad, for some reason she got poetic—“endanger your life again! Do you understand me, boy? Never again! You hear?”

“Yes, ma'am ... I mean . . . no, ma'am. I mean I promise I won't ... I mean I promise I understand.” Gerald had been so scared and so confused that he wasn't sure which of her demands to answer first.

Then she had sighed and said, “Come here, boy.” Gerald had walked slowly to her. “Give me a hug,” she'd said finally. “I love you, boy. Don't do that to me again, you hear?”

Grateful and tearful, Gerald had buried his face in her hug.

That had been last summer. The go-cart had never been rebuilt, but the closeness between Gerald and Aunt Queen was probably stronger than ever. She continued to read to him almost every evening, just as she had been doing from the time he had come to live with her, stories of adventure and suspense like
Sherlock Holmes
and
Tom Sawyer,
as well as poetry—Paul Laurence Dunbar and Langston Hughes and many others. Many nights, the rhythm of the poetry had rocked him to sleep.

Gerald was a great help to Aunt Queen around the house—especially in things like reaching and lifting and running errands—and he was even becoming a pretty good cook, learning the basics like hamburgers and scrambled eggs, and even inventing a couple of meals of his own, just to please her.

“Gerald,” Aunt Queen would say. “Scramble me some hamburgers.”

“One scramburgler, coming right up!” he'd reply with a grin. “It looks a little funny, but it tastes great!”

Now, with only one day to go until his ninth birthday, Gerald was almost as confident in the kitchen as Aunt Queen, and more important, she trusted him to handle any situation there.

He was just about to go into the house to make himself some lunch, and to see if she needed anything from the store around the corner (like maybe cake mix or candles), when Aunt Queen met him at the screen door.

“Sit down, Gerald,” she said quietly. “I've got to talk to you.”

Gerald tried to remember what he had done wrong. Forgotten to clean out the bathtub? Eaten all the cherry pie? This close to his birthday, he wasn't likely to mess up too badly, he figured. He wasn't sure, but you never can be sure with grown-ups, he thought.

“Did I do something wrong, Aunt Queen?”

“No, child. It's nothing like that. This is something I've been dreading for six years.” She paused. “Tomorrow is your birthday, you know.”

Gerald started to panic. Maybe she wasn't going to be able to get the bike. Maybe she'd been dreading his turning nine, although he couldn't see why. Nine was cool, as far as he was concerned. What could it be?

“Gerald, you're getting an unexpected present for your birthday tomorrow. . .. Your mother is coming home.”

G
ERALD COULDN'T BREATHE
for a moment. His heart felt tight and crunched inside his chest. All of the hot fears and fiery memories that he had let fade over the last few years were only hidden, not forgotten. He looked up, confused and frightened, and let Aunt Queen soothe him with one of her warm, soft hugs until he was able to speak.

“Mama's comin' here?” he asked quietly. “How come?”

“Well, child, it's like this.” Aunt Queen took a deep breath. “It's time you knew the whole story. When I brought you home with me six years ago, after the fire, your mama was tried on child abandonment charges and was sent to jail.”

“I knew where she was, Aunt Queen. I just didn't like to think about it, so I let her fade away from me.”

“I know, Gerald, and I was never sure if I was doing the right thing by keeping you away from her, but she asked me not to bring you there because she wanted you to grow up strong and secure, and she didn't want you to see her in a place like that. I always sent her pictures
of you, and she's kept up with how well you're doing in school and what a fine young man you're growing up to be.”

“So when did she get out?”

“She's been out almost a year, Gerald.”

He gasped. “A year? But where has she . . .? Why hasn't she ...? I don't understand!”

“She got out, found a job and a place to stay, and decided she wanted to get her life together before she came to see you.”

“What about me? It's not fair!” Gerald cried angrily. “She's had a year to plan for all this, and you two dump it on me on my birthday! Suppose I don't want to see her?”

“Then you don't have to,” declared Aunt Queen. “But she's been workin' real hard to make up for the past, and she really wants to share your birthday with you.”

Gerald just grunted and slumped in a seat by the kitchen table.

Aunt Queen sighed again. “She's got a surprise for you, child.”

“I don't think I want no more surprises, Aunt Queen,” Gerald answered quietly.

“I understand, child. Tell you what—go out to the garage for me, look under that old green blanket, and bring me what you find. I finally bought me a new sewing machine and I want to try it out.”

“Okay,” Gerald muttered glumly. He didn't feel like carrying any old sewing machine. He didn't feel like helping
Aunt Queen. He just wanted to go someplace and think. He walked slowly to the garage, checked for spiders like he always did, and pulled the old green blanket off . . . not a sewing machine, and not an old, used, repainted bike, but a shiny, new red ten-speed bicycle.

He tried not to grin, but he couldn't help it. He knew Aunt Queen had been saving this for his birthday surprise, and he knew that she had put money aside for months to get such a fine bike. And he knew that she had given it to him today to soften the shock of his mother's return.

As he rolled it out of the garage, Aunt Queen sat on the back porch, smiling at him. “Happy birthday, Gerald,” she said simply.

Gerald, whose grin was about to be erased by uncontrollable tears, looked at her, and knew she understood. “I love you, Aunt Queen. It's the greatest!”

“Go on, boy—go try it out. But don't go too far, and stay out of the street, you hear!” She smiled as he took off, waving his hat, T-shirt flapping in the wind.

Gerald rode around the block fourteen times, came in for a glass of Kool-aid, and persuaded Aunt Queen to let him explore a little further. She said he could ride two blocks away, but by the time it was dark, he had explored six blocks in each direction. She knew he needed the time to think and sort things out, so she didn't bother him. By the time he came in at dusk, tired and hungry, he was ready to face whatever tomorrow would bring.

“What does Mama look like, Aunt Queen?” asked Gerald as he was getting ready for bed. “I sorta remember a really pretty lady.”

“Your mama always was a pretty little thing,” replied Queen. “She ain't changed much.”

Gerald started to ask what Mama's surprise was, but he didn't really want to know. Instead he just said, “Thanks again for the bike, Aunt Queen. I promise to be real careful.”

“I know you will, child. Now get some sleep.”

Queen turned off the light and rolled her chair into the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of tea. She sipped slowly, thinking about the last six years, and how the boy sleeping in the next room had enriched her life with his laughter and energy. Yes, times had been rough for the two of them occasionally, and yes, she was getting older, and yes, her arthritis was sometimes painful, but there was no way she was going to let them take Gerald away from her.

She glanced at the proud new bike on the porch. She was glad she had given it to him a day early. The bike had been in layaway for months, but the joy on his face had been worth the sacrifice. He would need that moment of happiness to hold onto in the next few weeks, for a struggle was coming from which she could no longer shield him.

Aunt Queen gazed at the darkened sky and prayed for strength.

G
ERALD WOKE THE
next morning to the sound of voices in the kitchen. He put the pillow over his head, angry that she couldn't even wait until a decent hour to ruin his birthday.

Aunt Queen rolled quietly into his room. “Gerald?”

“Tell her to go away,” Gerald mumbled from under the pillow.

“I made pancakes with maple syrup this morning, for your birthday,” coaxed Aunt Queen. “Come on and let's have a nice family breakfast, okay?”

“Why'd she have to come
today.
Aunt Queen?” asked Gerald as he peeked from under his pillow.

“She has a birthday present for you—and a couple of other surprises as well,” replied Aunt Queen with a tightness in her voice that Gerald had never heard before. “Get some clothes on and be a man. You can't stay in here all day. Besides, I need you out there.”

“Okay,” sighed Gerald. “I'll be out in a minute—but I'm comin' 'cause of
you,
not for her.”