One Short of a Dozen

The screen slipped from the window as silent as the night that surrounded us, but as I pushed upward on the window it made a squeaking sound that scared the hell out of my brother Matt and me.  We ducked behind the hedges and waited until we were sure the coast was clear.

My brother had just turned thirteen and was four years older than me.  He kept whispering to me, “Maybe we should leave.”

The noise scared me too, but at the same time I was excited.  It gave me a rush that I couldn’t describe then or now.  I told Matt, “You’re the one who wanted to save the dog.  If we don’t cut him loose, he’ll starve to death.  He’s been tied up in there ever since they moved out two days ago.”

“I know that,” Matt said.  “And I know Officer Jordan lives right across the street too.  You know he doesn’t like us, and if he catches us he’ll put us in jail.”

“He didn’t hear anything,” I said.  “Besides, he’s just a traffic Policeman.  He can’t put people in jail.  You can wait here if you want.  You’re probably too big to fit through the window anyway, but I’m going in, open the door, and untie the dog, so he can get away.  Give me the bologna.”

“Okay Frank, but you better be right.  I’ll stay here and keep a lookout.”

After I slipped through the window, I opened the back door.  Most of those old houses were built alike.  They were called shotgun houses.  When I opened the back door, I could look straight through to the front door.  I let the dog smell the bologna, and he watched as I threw it out the back door.  When I untied him, he was out that door like a shot.  I felt good about saving him.

I opened the front door, and almost walked into Officer Jordan holding Matt by the back of his pants.  When he tried to grab me, Matt got loose and started running, and I was right behind him.

“Come back here you little bastards,” he yelled.  He didn’t run after us because he knew where we lived.

We ran down the street to our house.  While we were telling Mom what happened, there was a sudden loud banging on the door that seemed to shake the whole house.  Mom told us to run.  We tore out the back door and scaled the six-foot fence.  We ran through the alley and hid in an old abandoned coal shed that sat in an empty lot.  My brother was scared to death, but I was excited and laughing so hard I could hardly breath.  That was the most fun I ever had.

The girl that lived across the street, Martha, saw what happened.  She said, “He knocked your mom down right inside the door, and then he grabbed her arm and dragged her down the steps all the way to the curb.  When he saw so many people watching, he dropped her on the sidewalk and left.  Everybody was wondering what was going on because there weren’t any police cars, and Officer Jordan wasn’t in uniform.”

It made me feel bad and I remember crying.  I was too little to do anything to him, but the next day I beat the shit out of his son. It was never mentioned again.

My dad died when I was two years old.  According to my older brothers and sisters he would sometimes lock everyone out of the house and beat my mother.  I’m sure he was missed, but probably not dearly missed.

I was too young to remember, but I was told that after Dad died we lived in abandoned houses and storefronts.  Judging from some of the photographs I’ve seen, I can believe it.  I didn’t know the Social Services were looking for an excuse to take us away from Mom.  When I did find out, it explained some things.  For instance, why sometimes my sister and brothers came into my classroom, took me by the hand, and because I couldn’t keep up, they half dragged me all the way home.  Or why, we moved to the country with my oldest sister.  Mom warned us, “Don’t tell anybody where we live.”

To this day I don’t know how Mom was able to keep the four of us from becoming wards of the court.  I’m sure the people who tried to take us away from Mom felt justified, and I understood why Officer Jordan, the cowered, hated us.  We were just one short of a dozen.  The four of us at home were still in school.  Three of my sisters were married.  Two of my brothers were also married, and two were just living with their girlfriends.

When I was eleven, Paul, a guy I knew from my neighborhood asked me, “You want to go to Audubon Park with me to caddy.”  Although he was a couple of years older, I think he was scared to go alone.  It was a long way from our house, and since neither of us had any money we would have to hitchhike.  There were a lot of caddies there, but he got out almost right away.  The couple that he caddied for only played nine holes, and when he came back in, he asked me, “You want to stick around a little longer and see if you can get out?”

I told him, “No, I doubt if I could even carry the damn things, hell the bags are almost as big as I am.”

“I made four dollars,” he said.  “It’s still early we could hitch to Fountain Ferry and go swimming if you want to.”  Fountain Ferry was