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| Dorie by � moon_grace Dorie sat at the kitchen table. The brand new coloring book lay before her. No hint of color invaded the black lined etchings of girls or boys at work and play. The small kitchen, like most rooms of bare wooden planks, was dark. Everything shadowed in the afternoon sun sliding through the large high window above the sink. A constant drip of the faucet and the whirring of the refrigerator kept Dorie company as she pushed off her slippers and strategically placed her feet on the thread bare cushioned seat of the chair opposite. Time to get to work. She painstakingly searched through the book and finally decided which page to color first. A little boy with a handsaw would soon come to brilliant, carefully colored life. She surveyed the extra-large deluxe of Crayola crayons for the perfect color for his clothes. After serious deliberation, she chose brilliant blue. She removed it from the box and with all her might, she began to bear down on the page as she colored. All pages would follow with the same process. A week from now, there would be an almost completely colored book. All the pages would show the brilliant colors that come from bearing down hard on crayons. All the etched lines would be blacker and bolder because she ended each picture by carefully going over all the outlines with her black crayon. If original details such as small lines for ears or lips got lost in the bold black outlining process, she never seemed to notice. Leaving the coloring book on a shelf beside the oil circulator would melt a few of those waxy pages until they were forever fused into one thick rumpled page. She either never made the connection of what happens between heat and Crayola crayons or she didn�t mind when pages melted. She never complained of the heat�s ruination of her work. It was important to her that each finished page bore her name. If she forgot what letter came next, as she did today, her frustration would build to tears. She had finished the coloring the page. A bright garish little boy with purple hair and green skin held a red handsaw and wore a bright blue outfit. She had felt good because she hadn�t gone out of any lines. Now, she tearfully clutched the black crayon. At the bottom of the page was a large printed �D� followed by a squarish looking �o.� These were all she could remember. She had to write her name on every page she colored. If she didn�t, someone might think one of the children colored it. Edith heard her sister in the next room. Calmly, she reached to the top of the china cabinet. She withdrew a slip of paper that held five letters, �D-o-r-i-e.� Long ago, she had learned that Dorie�s daily frustration could be calmed by showing her a picture of her name. Dorie never made the connection that she could look at the page colored the day before and the name she had written the day before. Edith knew not to even suggest that her sister look at yesterday�s page. Dorie�s mind wouldn�t go that far. All Dorie knew was that she needed the slip of paper that carried the five letters on it. The only connection she could make was that the piece of paper on the china cabinet had her name on it. She knew she needed it to copy so everyone would know she colored the picture in her new coloring book. Dorie was now twenty-three. Since she was twelve, Edith had gone through what she had come to call the �name problem.� Inwardly, Edith wished all her sister�s problems could be as easily solved. Living with a retarded sister in a small town such as Comstock, North Carolina was not easy. Edith could solve issues like the �name problem� but she couldn�t resolve the stares or hushed pity that met them when they walked through the streets of town. To the town, Dorie was in the league of town characters like the one legged lady who sat on the sidewalk outside the bank to sell pencils. Day by day, unless it were raining or snowing, the one legged lady was there. She kept one lonesome crutch behind her against the wall of the bank. On her head, no matter how hot or cold, she wore a babushka or scarf tied around her neck. She wore black glasses that announced her blindness and in front of her sat a brightly colored cigar box that held pencils and money. Mostly change, but sometimes a dollar wafted in. She was there every day sitting on the flattened piece of a pillow that rested on the sidewalk beneath her. No one mentioned much to her as they wandered by. A few always put money in her cigar box of bright yellow number two pencils for sell. Rarely did anyone bother to take the merchandise she offered. They gave up their money and walked on. Just as the woman adorned with the babushka could not hide the missing leg, there was no hiding Dorie�s shortcoming in public. Whenever they went to town, Edith would hold Dorie�s hand constantly lest the younger woman forget and try to cross the street without noticing cars. She would ask strangers embarrassing questions like, �Where�s the bathroom?� or �Do you like to color?� Some of those questioned would look away and pretend not to hear. Others would look pitifully at Edith and answer her sister�s questions. But there was one who always listened patiently and nodded his head in hello when he heard the sound of Dorie�s �Hello!� Blind and tall, he always wore the same sweater week after week. He was Henry, the Accordion man. With a large accordion strapped to his chest, a cane on one arm and a child on the other, he remained purposeful on his journey past Roses and McClellans Five and Dime. He slowly strode up to the Jewel Box on the end of the block, only to return across to Belks at the other end. Back and forth he went, playing his hymns and singing. He didn�t have a cup for money. But some would pass and push change or money into the child�s hand. �Hello, Mr. Music Man!� Dorie was cheerful in the brisk autumn air of the morning. She tried to pull her other hand free, but failed. Edith was too strong. Realizing she would not be free today, she obeyed and did not pull again. �Hello, Miss Dora and what are you ladies out doing today?� �We are going to the bakery and I get a doughnut with the sugar on it!� �How lucky for you! Now, you be good for your sister and have a good time.� The little boy stood there fidgeting. His eyes lit up when he heard about a doughnut, but quickly, he dropped his face again to looking at the ground. He knew there would be no doughnut. Henry was blind and never saw these looks, but Dorie noticed it. She didn�t understand it, but she noticed it. �What�s the matter with you?� She asked, �Don�t you like doughnuts, cause I sure do.� �Yes mam.� Was all he would say. Edith and Dorie passed on as behind them the music once more began to drift over the Main Street of town. At the store, Edith let Dorie pick out the doughnut and she counted her money carefully. Then, she counted it again. �You know Dorie, that Henry�s boy is real little. I bet he would eat a doughnut if you gave it to him.� �Well, everybody eats doughnuts.� Came the younger sister�s reply as if this was a universal truth that her sister should have already known. �I know it. We could get that youngin� a doughnut but if we do, there ain�t gonna be money left over to get no new crayons this week. I need to tell ya that. So you would have to make do with the ones in the shoe box.� The used or broken crayons always went in a shoe box. Dorie would have thrown them away but Edith made her keep them �against hard times.� Dorie had to think about this a minute. She didn�t like the idea too good of not having new crayons. It was one reason they came to town today. �Sister, I want new crayons.� �Okay, but that youngin, he sure looked hungry didn�t he? I feel sorry for the poor thing that nobody will get him no doughnut today. Yep, that poor little skinny boy a walkin� all day and no doughnut. Just breaks a sister�s heart� Edith knew how to work her sister. � Oh Sister, let�s get that youngin a doughnut!� Dorie was now swept into her compassion and forgot about the crayons. Edith knew she had won, but it was only a momentary win. Later, when they got home and there were no new crayons, she knew the real battles would start. She didn�t care. They made their way back to Main Street and for once, because she knew it was ok, Edith let go of her sister�s hand when they were within twenty feet of Henry and the little boy. Dorie ran up to them and thrust the pink and white bakery bag into his little hand. He stood their in shock, not comprehending and slowly, it came to him as Dorie blurted out, �Here, it�s a doughnut. Eat it! They�re good!� He let go Henry�s hand and slowly opened the bag, not sure if it was a joke. His eyes lit up as he eyed the confectionery there wrapped in the bag in a thin tissue paper. He grabbed Dorie and hugged her. A strange look came over Dorie�s face in that moment. One that Edth had not seen before. She watched in surprise as Dorie bent down and hugged the little boy as if it were the first hug she had ever given in her life. Something hit Edith, a feeling, a knowing that she couldn�t quite put her finger on. It was a chilly day. You could see your breath hang in the air. Times when your light jacket was a bit too little but a toboggan would have been too much. Edith tried to dress Dorie warmly for the walk to the school. Henry was wonderful. He was grinning from ear to ear the last few minutes when the auditorium doors burst open in the back and he began his long walk up to the stage. Edith watched him, remembering when her youngest was that little a few years back. �Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!� He didn�t forget his lines. The words flew across the crowd along with the candy he threw to all the children in the audience who were making a mad scramble for candy between the seats. It was a festive air that would have preserved well in a bottle, if that were possible. After the play, everyone had come up to him and told him how wonderful he had been and how they really thought, for just a minute, that he was the real Santa. It didn�t matter that he was short. It didn�t matter that his teacher had had to stuff a pillow into the red jacket to make him have a round belly. For one shining moment, he had been Santa. Henry and Jackson, his best little friend left the school. It let out early for the holidays. He had said his hellos and good-byes to Dorie at the school when they all left. Dorie had watched him and although she didn�t quite understand all about the play, she knew Henry had candy to give out. She had seen him do it. �You got any more of that candy?� She asked when they got ready to leave. He pulled a Tootsie Roll out of his shirt pocket. �Here, I saved this one for you. I know you like �em.� Edith reached down and hugged him. Dorie hugged him. His teacher and his dad hugged him. He was beginning to think the whole world was nothing but a huge hug. He didn�t mind. Jackson followed a little behind as they walked the sidewalk headed for the underground pass put there for the children to use to cross the train tracks. Both of them were loaded down with �treasures.� There were pictures of manger scenes with little cotton balls glued on the sheep. There were Santas made of construction paper with accordion folded arms and legs that bounced up and down if you shook them just right. There was a cardboard star that was covered in tin foil. It had been on the top of the tree in the classroom and his teacher had pushed it into his hand as he left. They walked singing Christmas songs from the play at the top of their lungs, watching their breath go before them in the crisp air. �You know, Henry, if ya put a penny on the train track and ya leave it till the train comes by, it makes a nice squashed penny.� Jackson told him as they walked nearer the tracks. Henry knew where this was heading and he wasn�t too keen on it. �And you know we ain�t supposed to get on top that track, either, Jackson. If we get caught, Old Man Withers will give us a paddling when we go back to school.� Jackson was undaunted. �That old man. He would have to catch us first! I got a nickel left over from lunch. I�m gonna put it on the track and see what it looks like squished.� Henry watched as Jackson started to climb the hill that led over the tracks. Jackson was already to the large gravels and out of the grass. �Jackson, your daddy�s gonna whup you good if he finds out you been on them tracks. You better get back down here!� Jackson kept climbing trying to balance his school crafts in his arms and make it up with hill without falling. �I�m gonna squash this nickel ! You stay down there if ya want, chicken, but I�m gonna get this nickel squashed!� Henry was mad. He was real mad. He held his paper arts a little tighter in his hands and headed on to the tunnel for crossing. He was about half way through when he felt the rumble of the train from down the track. Part of him nervous, but the other part wanting to see the nickel squashed. After all, the train WAS coming now. He ran. He ran to the end of the tunnel and headed up the other side of the tracks, across the grass and up the gravels. He could hear the whistle calling out at the track crossing across town. It wouldn�t be long now. He ran faster but when he got to the top of the tracks and saw Jackson, he almost froze for a second. There stood Jackson, all his treasures strewn out and blowing away as he stood there trying to get his foot free from the track. �HENRY! I�M STUCK!� Henry dropped his belongings and raced to his friend. He could hear the train getting louder and could see it in the distance. He raced over and they were both soon tugging at the double knot tied in the tennis shoe trying to get Jackson�s foot out. They were still tugging when the train came through. Edith never knew his Christian name. In her own secret silence, she called him Norman. Norman who she never spoke of, and if there were a soul who knew more than the sight of him, they never stepped forwards either. An unwitting silent agreement bound them all and they all hung back. He was an unquestioning downtown constant whose very existence belied the need of explanation. He was and that was all. She had neither recollection of the first time she noticed him nor memory of when his existence later evaporated. He carried a suspicion of a muscular build beneath clothes that forever drooped slightly. It was not that they were overtly too large, but more like Norman were a perfect half size in a cut-and-dried whole number pair of pants and shirt. He kept a crew cut all year long, wore the same clothes winter and summer and he always rode the same old bicycle. In good sturdy-riding condition, the bike was Norman�s mechanical counterpart- Norman needed half- sized clothes and the bicycle needed new paint. Not that there was anything really wrong with the paint. No hint of its being chipped or marred by wrecks or rough handling, the paint had merely faded as the bike made its day after day trek up and down Salem Street. The bicycle had a plain touring seat with heavy springs and fat old tires that never slipped in the rain. It was well equipped with a set of big baskets akin to a set of saddlebags gripping the thick fender suspended over the back tire. She had no recollection of ever seeing anything carried in the baskets. What Norman carried, he carried in his hand. There was a knock on the door. Dorie was long since asleep and Edith debated over whether to go to the door or not. It was late. She pulled on her housecoat and opened the door a crack. �Hello lady.� Norman stood at her door and for a split second she was frightened. He didn�t belong here. He belonged in the daytime downtown riding that bicycle. �What do you want?� She tried to sound stern from behind the door. � I brung something to that sister of yourn. I reckon it belonged to that little boy. You know, the one that goes with his daddy on the weekend to sing in town.� �Henry? What about Henry?� she asked now, opening the door a little wider. �He�s gone, mam. Him and another little boy; train got �em this evening. I seen it.� The world started to spin. Edith stood there for an eternity as time began to stand still. �Are you sure it was Henry?� �Yes mam. I seen you and that sister of yourn goin� to talk to him ever week. I don�t know who his people are, but I found this on the tracks when they got done. I thought maybe somebody might want it.� She was frozen. Norman opened the screen door a crack and passed something through. It was a colored manger scene with cotton balls on the sheep. Scrawled across the bottom in childish print was one word. Henry. Sometimes a holiday sticks with you the rest of your life and it is not a good stick. It�s more the kind of a stick that beats one down, makes you a little older and a little less apt to laugh as quick. Such was the Christmas that Henry was Santa in the school play. |