Happy Days Are Here Again
~Part III
By: Kristi N. Phillips
After that meeting with Johnny,
I took more notice of him. On nights after dinner, I would see him coming
up the street on his rusty bicycle. He would wave to me and I would wave back.
No words were spoken. We both knew what would happen if my parents found out
that I was becoming friends with a poor boy from a broken home.
Several weeks into
the summer, our friendship became very solid. During the day, I'd talk with
Johnny while he picked up coal from the tracks. We would talk of all sorts
of things. We were very comfortable with each other. He would find interesting
rocks for me to give to Tammy. Tammy, I believed, was another reason that
kept Johnny and me friends. He was so sweet to her, as if she was his own
sister. He would listen to her talk about her day, play with her, and sometimes
hug her. Johnny would sometimes hug me too, and give me a tiny kiss on the
cheek. When he did that, I blushed and Johnny would laugh. Even though it
was never said, I had a feeling Johnny and I were becoming more than friends.
However, around other people, like his father or other boys, you wouldn't
know Johnny even had a heart. He'd put on this look that could kill. He'd
pick fights with the other boys. His face and arms would look worse than ever.
He would then have to go home and face his father. Johnny was hurting inside.
I didn't know the exact truth, but I suspected that his father might be the
worst person in Johnny's life.
One night in July,
after dinner, I told my parents I was going for a walk. I was sitting on the
porch, reading a book, and waiting for Johnny to ride by. When the sun was
setting, I knew he wasn't coming. I was worried, so I told my parents I was
leaving for my walk. Tammy wanted to go with me, but I told her it was getting
too dark for her to be outside.
Walking down the street, I felt my heart pounding harder with each step. I
walked down the tracks, and noticed that most of the coal was gone. Johnny
must've picked it up this afternoon. The front light was on. The house looked
as eerie as ever. My body trembled as I walked up the crooked steps to the
door. I rang the bell and waited. I imagined Johnny's father throwing open
the door, cursing at me, and pushing me down the steps. I heard footsteps
from with in, and was prepared to run, when the door swung open. It was Johnny.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I noticed several bruises on his face, some fading
into a light blue, others the color of deep purple.
"What are you
doing here?" He asked surprised.
"I thought I'd
come by and see where you were, since you didn't ride by tonight." He
knew well enough now that he didn't have to hide anything from me.
"Why don't you
come inside, I have something to tell you." I stepped inside his house.
"Sorry about the mess, my father went out. He won't be back for awhile."
Newspapers and empty milk bottles littered the front hallway. We went into
the living room and sat on the couch. I looked around and I saw a floor radio
in front of us. Next to it, there was an old chair with the stuffing coming
out of it. Pictures hung crooked on the walls. I noticed one of a beautiful
woman in a summer dress. Johnny's mother, I thought. Johnny saw me staring
at that picture.
"That's my mother."
"What's her name?"
"Rosemarie."
"Where is she?"
I was uncertain about asking.
"She died,"
he said, looking at the picture. "Three years ago, when I was fourteen.
She went into the hospital to have a baby. It was a girl."
Maybe I shouldn't have asked. It's not my business, but I wanted to know.
"When my father
called," Johnny started twisting his fingers together, "to tell
me she had a girl, I was so excited. I always wanted a little sister. I wouldn't
have minded if it was a boy, but I really wanted a sister."
Johnny stood up and
kicked aside some clutter on the floor as he walked over to the wooden desk
in the corner. "He told me," Johnny stared at the desk. "The
doctors tried everything, but there was nothing they could do. There were
complications during the birth. My father said she never even held baby Annemarie."
"Do they know what caused the complications?" I could hardly believe I asked, but I knew he had to tell the story, no matter how painful it was. Johnny stood silently for a minute. He pulled open the top drawer and started digging through it.
"Nobody told me,
but I knew." He slammed the drawer shut. "For years, my father would
go to the bar, get drunk, come home, and beat on her. He never hurt me. At
nights, I remember, my father would go to the bar, and my mother would go
to her bedroom and cry. One day she told me she was going to have a baby.
I was so excited. I wanted someone to play with, to teach new things. The
night before my mother went into the hospital to have the baby, my father
really banged her up bad. I actually thought she was going to have the baby.
She was only six months pregnant. I didn't know that then. He never said anything
or apologize, but I know it was my father who killed my mother and Annemarie."
"Oh, my..."
was all I could say. I looked at him; he was wiping tears from his eyes.
Johnny opened the second
drawer of the desk and pulled out a little black leather bag. He grabbed the
golden donkey statue off the desk and sat down on the couch. He set both the
bag and the donkey on the coffee table. "Don't you ever tell anyone what
I just did, okay? Please don't."
I nodded, trying to
hold back tears of my own.
Johnny unzipped the leather bag and took out a little rectangular piece of paper and a small paper bag of Pall-Mall tobacco. He placed paper inside the back of the donkey and then sprinkled some tobacco on it.
"I never told
anyone that before. I didn't want to be different from everyone else. After
my mother's funeral, my father turned on me. Up until then he'd never hit
me. Once it started it never stopped. All he cares about is that damn bar,
his bum friends, and using me as a punching bag."
"I'm so sorry,"
I said, placing my hand on his shoulder to comfort him.
Johnny was silent again. Then he pulled the donkey's tail up and a rolled
cigarette popped out on to the coffee table. Grabbing the lighter off the
table, he lit the cigarette and glanced around the messy room.
"When she was
here," he said. "She'd keep the house so clean...she had a beautiful
voice. I remember watching her every Saturday morning, cleaning the living
room; singing to whatever song was on the radio. The song I loved to hear
her sing the most was, "Happy Days Are Here Again." Not only was
it a song for our country after the Depression hit, but also it was for our
family. She believed bringing a baby into our family would make things happy
and perfect. It didn't happen that way. My life has been so miserable since
she died." How took another deep breath with the cigarette and slowly
exhaled. Johnny watched as the smoke slowly curled through the air.
I took his hand and
squeezed it, letting him know I was still here for him.
"I have a Victrola
in my room, and I play that record every night before I go to sleep. It would
be my only few minutes of happiness. My happy days will never return."
I still wanted to cry,
but held back the tears. Then he told me something I would never forget.
"But, then again,
maybe my happy days have come, since I met you and your sister. Tammy reminds
me of what my sister could've been like. I want to thank you for listening
to me. I never had a real friend before. You are the first person I could
talk to about my mother and father. I know at school I'm a terrible student.
That's because I don't want to be there. I don't want to be here." He
inhaled the cigarette again, slowly exhaling. He seemed nervous. Next thing
I knew his cigarette was finished and he began to roll another one.
*~*~*
Copyright © 2000 by Kristi N. Phillips