Fukawees 6: A Girl

August 4, 1950

Union Pier, Michigan

Skirting the remnants of puddles left on the Old Highway by a fast moving summer storm, the boys heard the jumble of noise long before reaching the dirt road turnoff to the Palladium. Coming closer, the sounds became more distinct: kids calling, laughter, the raucous clanging of pinball machines, Rosemary Clooney blaring through the juke box, “Come on’a ma house, ma house’a come on…”

                                                       ***

…The fifth steel ball rolled through the spring barrier, hit a rubber guard, bounced off, hit another guard, rolled into a hole, was ejected and rolled striking the left flipper where Mitchell pushed the button, moving the flipper, hitting the ball, sending it careening across the board where it was hit by the flipper on the right, rolled into another hole and was pushed out to continue its journey down the angled plane as numbers flashed and changed with lightning speed on the gaudy glass display—12,300, 12,500, 12,700—and rolled into the corral alongside its four gleaming quadruplets.

“Norm,” looking around, “see anything interesting?”

Nodding his head to the right, “Yeah,” Norman said, “there’s a couple that look pretty good.”

Mitchell looked over his shoulder at two girls playing the Captain Kidd machine. “Yeah, they do! We wanna meet ’em?”

“I think it’s about time we met someone! Come on.”

Walking towards the girls with Mitchell following a step behind, not wanting to interfere with their game, standing a foot or two from the machine, “Hi!” Norman said.

“Hi!” The girl waiting her turn to play smiled.

The girl was about five-five, had short, frizzy, reddish hair and a brace of freckles that ran across her nose onto her red, sunburned cheeks. She had a cute, elfin face and was wearing a white, short-sleeved man’s shirt, blue jeans cut off at the knees, and sandals.

Dong! Dong! Dong! Racking up points—33,500, 38,000, 42,000—the steel ball sat in the hole for what seemed a very long time before it was poked out. The game display showed seven games.

“Hey, you’re pretty good at this!”

Glancing at Mitchell, the girl smiled, then returned her concentration to the rolling silver ball.

“Shhh,” bringing her hand conspiratorially to the side of her mouth, the first girl whispered, “It’s broken, and we’ve been here for an hour and a half.”

“All for a nickel?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, “all for a nickel.”

“I’m Norm, and this is Mitch.”

“Hi, Norm, Mitch,” looking from Norman to Mitchell and back to Norman. “I’m Shelly and this is…”

The fifth ball rolled into the pen. The machine went dark a moment, then lit up again and the number in the game display changed from seven to ten.

Turning from the pinball machine, she looked at Mitchell.

The girl was tall and thin. She had a sharp widow’s peak and short, tightly curled black hair. Darkly tanned, her complexion was perfectly smooth. Her eyes were dark brown and, having a slightly long nose, reminding Mitchell of a picture he’d seen of a Sabra, a native-born Israeli, her face Semitically beautiful. With the exception of bobby socks and penny loafers, she wore a matching outfit to Shelly’s.

“…Marsha.” Shelly said. “Marcy, this is Norm and Mitch.”

“Hi!” She glanced at Norman, then quickly back to Mitchell.

The two looked at each other for one, two, three long moments then, “You guys want to play a game?” she asked.

“Nah,” Mitchell said. “It’s okay; you keep playing.”

Marsha stepped aside. “Come on, I’m getting tired of winning anyway.” Tugging on Mitchell’s arm, she urged him to the front of the machine. “Go on, play! You can’t lose.”

“Well,” he said reluctantly, “okay, but I’m not so hot at pinball.”

“Haven’t seen you guys before, “Shelly said, looking at Norman. “When’d you get here?”

“On the first. We’ve been here since Monday, three days now. How’s ’bout you? When’d you get here?”

“Actually, we came out over Memorial Day, to get the cottages cleaned and the electricity and gas turned on, then went back to Chicago and came back here after school let out.”

“You guys own your own cottages, and you come here all summer! Wow! No wonder you’re so good at pinball.” Mitchell said jokingly.

“Yeah,” Marsha replied, “so long’s the machine’s broken.”

“When it’s cold or rainy,” Shelly said, “it really gets boring here, and by the time summer’s over, I’m just as glad to go home.”

Frowning, “Not me! I love it here! Labor Day is the worst day of the year for me. And I don’t even like the Fourth of July too much because from then I can start counting the days till summer’s over.”

Feeling much the same way, glad to have at least that much in common with Marsha, “Yeah, me, too.”

Remembering last summer, thinking he felt pretty much the same as Shelly, “I was here last year,” Norman said, “but this is Mitch’s first time.”

…Stretching, “I’m getting tired of this.” Marsha yawned. “It’s no fun if you know you’re always going to win. Let’s go over to the bowling alley and see who’s around.”

Nodding her agreement, “Yeah,” Shelly concurred. “This is getting boring.”

Thinking the girls intended to leave without them, the smiles left the boy’s faces, but noticing, taking Norman’s hand, “You guys come on with us.” Shelly led him across the dance floor.

Reaching over the Captain Kidd machine, “You, too!”

Feeling a mental jolt, Mitchell’s hand closed around hers.

Once outside, Marsha reluctantly opened her hand, and Mitchell’s hand, reluctantly, fell to his side.

The air was balmy and the sky clear, and the rutted dirt road was well lit by brilliant moonlight and millions of shining stars.

Alone for the moment, neither knew what to say.

Looking for conversation, “Where do you and Norman live?”

Knowing what she meant, glancing at Marsha over his shoulder, “On the west side.”

“The ‘west side’!” Marsha said facetiously.

There was a kind of class rivalry between the Jews living on the west side and the generally more affluent north-siders. More than just slightly intimidated by the fact that Marsha’s parents could afford to own their own cottage, becoming defensive, “Yeah,” Mitchell said rather gruffly, “On the west side!”

“Oh, Mitch, no!” Taking his hand, “I’m just teasing.”

Happy for the opportunity to hold her hand again, ashamed because he’d jumped at her, “I know that.”

“In a pawn shop, round the corner, in Pittsburgh Penn-syl-vania!” Music from the jukebox in the Bowl Bar could be heard before they came off the connector road.

In a vain effort to get beyond the invisible barrier and into the enticing light inside, smaller flying bugs and giant gypsy moths fluttered and slammed onto the double screen doors that opened into the Union Pier Bowl.

The boys, bravely, for the girls, brushed the bugs off one of the doors and held it open.

Inside, the thunderous sounds of heavy balls rolling across varnished hardwood and the loud clatter of falling pins joined with the music from the bar, the laughter, the talking, and the shrieks of people to make a cacophony of sound.

Intimidated by this older crowd, the boys tried to hold back as Marsha and, “Come on, Norm!” Shelly attempted to lead them down an aisle, to where a group of teenage boys were bowling.

“Yeah, Mitch,” Marsha added. “No one’s gonna to bite you.”

Proud of the two guys they’d picked up in the Palladium, unknown to either Norman or Mitchell, they had been spotted the moment they’d walked through the door when Shelly had said, “Dibbies on the blonde!” Which made Marsha happy because the sight of Mitchell—not that she felt she’d ever really meet him—had taken her breath away.

Reluctantly allowing themselves to be led down the aisle, the boys stood behind the girls as Marsha, “Roger,” tapped the shoulder of one of the boys sitting on the scorekeeper’s double bench.

Looking over his shoulder, “Oh, hi, Marsha,” nodding his head, “Shelly,” the boy turned forward again, watching as a teammate visually lined up the pins, took three steps, and forcefully released the ball.

“Roger,” tapping his shoulder again, “I want you to meet Mitchell… Mitchie, this is my brother, Roger.”

The older boy turned back and with a surly look, “Yeah, hi.” imperceptibly nodded his head, and was about to turn away again when Mitchell held his right hand forward. Roger looked from the hand to his sister, back at the hand and, as though it were an effort, reached forward, took the offered hand lightly, dutifully pumped it twice, released it, and turned away.

“Come on, let’s watch awhile.” Marsha asked. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Mitchell noncommittally shrugged his shoulders.

“Nah,” Norman said, “if you wanna watch a while, it’s okay with us.”

Taking seats three rows back, the four watched the boys bowl, but what Mitchell really wanted to do was to get out of the bowling alley and suggest they take a walk along the beach where, maybe, one thing might lead to another. But was reluctant to ask the girls to leave because they might not want to and he didn’t want to put himself and Norman into a position where they may have to leave without them, so said nothing.

A few minutes passed when, nudging Mitchell with her elbow, “You enjoying this?”

“To be honest, no! Watching other people do athletic stuff bores me silly.”

“Yeah, me, too. You guys want to get out of here?”

“Yeah!” Shelly and Norman nodded in agreement.

“Okay, let’s go back and see who’s at the Palladium now.”

“Roge!” Marsha called to her brother, but ignoring her, “Roger,” she called again, louder, “we’re leaving now!”

Turning, a definite scowl on his face, looking at Mitchell as though warning him to keep his hands off his sister, “Okay,” he said. Looking at his sister, “But don’t fool around too long!” His eyes shifted back to Mitchell, held their threatening gaze for a couple of seconds, then, dismissing them completely, the older boy turned back to his scorekeeping.

Outside, back on the road to the Palladium, “God, the way he treats me!” Marsha said angrily. “He makes me so darned mad!”

Though he’d formed an instant dislike for Roger, “Your brother’s only trying to defend you,” Mitchell said, coming to his defense. “He doesn’t know me from Adam, and for all he knows I’m some kind of a mad rapist.”

“He ignores me all the time! At home he never even looks at me. The only time he ever acts like I’m even alive is when I’m with my friends, and then he embarrasses me by treating me like I’m some kind of a baby!”

“I guess big brothers are supposed to act like jerks when they see their sisters out with guys they don’t know.”

Other than nodding their hellos to a few minor acquaintances, the girls saw no one they really knew, and the boys saw no one they’d rather know, so after watching a group of boys rack up games on the Captain Kidd machine, which became boring very quickly, the four left the Palladium.

Standing outside, reluctant to say goodbye, not quite knowing how to proceed, “It’s turned into a real nice night, and I know you don’t really know us,” Mitchell said timidly, “but why don’t we, uh, go down to the beach?”

“To watch the submarine races, huh? “Marsha smiled, looked at Shelly, and a silent message passed between the girls. “I don’t think going to the beach is such a good idea. Like you said, Mitch, we don’t really know you guys.”

“Yeah, but tell you what,” Shelly added, “it’s kind’a far, but if you want, you guys can walk us home.”

The boys looked at each other and they, too, sent a silent message.

“Sure, we want to know where you two live anyway.”

Walking on the land side of the Old Highway, the raucous sounds of the Palladium soon faded and the only sounds the four heard were those of their gravely footsteps, each others voices, and the steady hum of cicadas. Every now and then the headlights of an approaching car would waver in the distance, throwing long and short shadows as it traversed the dips in the road, the light becoming stronger and brighter until it fully lit the asphalt for the moment it took the car to pass, then once again the two couples were left to walk in the moonlit darkness.

Shelly and Norman were a distance ahead and when the headlights brightened the road Mitchell could see they were holding hands.

“Marcie, where do you live? In Chicago, I mean.”

“By Humboldt Park, over near Armitage and Humboldt.”

He wasn’t too sure where that was, but his grandparents, his father’s mother and father, lived near Humboldt Park, and though it was much nicer than his neighborhood, it was a far cry from ritzy, and he felt better knowing that Marsha was not that far socially above him.

…“Here’s where I live.”

Stopping, they could see through the screened porch and open doorway. Lawrence was at the table eating something and Myra, reclining on the wicker sofa, was reading a book.

Sounding strange, Marsha asked, “That’s your mom?”

“Yes,” looking at her, “and that’s my brother… Your mother, uh…” Not quite sure how to ask, “she’s okay, isn’t she? She’s not…”

“Oh, yes!” Understanding his concern, “My mother’s okay, it’s just that she…” Marsha’s voice trailed off.

Sensing she wanted to change the subject, Mitchell asked, “You got any other brothers or sisters, besides, uh…?”

“Roger… No, only him, and I think he’s all there was ever supposed to be, only him,” she said quietly, under her breath, as though speaking to herself.

Marsha sounded so sad that without thinking Mitchell took hold of her hand, and they began to walk again.

As cars approached from behind, they would move onto the soft shoulder until the vehicle sped by, then went back to walk on the asphalt lip of the Old Highway.

Reaching the stately Lakeside Hotel, they stopped at the whitewashed, split rail fence to look, and to listen.

Appearing as fireflies, thousands of tiny, winking lights had been wound through the limbs and around the trunks of the old oak trees that lined both sides of the long hotel driveway. Soft music, played by the live band on the hotel patio, wafted softly over the fairyland-like grounds. The scent of pine mingled with the sweet odor of blooming lilac bushes.

Listening, the flickering light reflecting in the liquid pools of her dark brown eyes, “Oh, Mitchie,” cocking her head, squeezing his hand, “it’s so beautiful!”

“Marsha,” feeling a catch in his heart, tentatively putting his arm across her shoulders, “you’re beautiful.” Finding it hard to speak, yet, oddly, “So beautiful!” the words came without thought.

The words “So beautiful” inscribed in her heart, Marsha moved deeper, closer into the hollow of Mitchell’s shoulder.

Marsha’s face turned to Mitchell’s face and the brushing, light touch of their lips generated a sweet mental shock that passed from one to the other. Parting a fraction, their lips touched again, softly, warmly, devoid of passion, yet lovingly, and Marsha felt the thrill of this, her first kiss, as it traversed body and soul… Their closed eyes opened, and in the semi-darkness of this starlit, moonlit night each looked wondrously at the flickering fireflies in the dark pools of the eyes of the other.

“Mitchie.” Bewildered by the emotion she felt, Marsha forced her mouth from his. “God, Mitchie,” catching her breath, “we just met each other!”

Having no response, wanting more than anything to kiss Marsha again, unaware of her desire to be kissed again, Mitchell’s heart was thumping so wildly he was sure she would hear, and hearing the words, taking the words “we just met each other” as a reprimand for kissing her this soon after first meeting, reluctantly taking his arm from about her shoulders, hesitating, looking, listening for another moment or two, the two turned from the overwhelming beauty of this place and the firefly-lit night and continued walking.

Norman and Shelly were so far ahead they were out of sight.

Walking without speaking, at a complete loss for words, finally, finding his voice, “Where do you live? Here, in the country, I mean.”

“Yes, I know. In Lakeside.”

Taking hold of her hand, “I’m glad it’s so far away.”

“No, it’s not really all that far,” tightening her fingers about his, “not when you get used to it.”

“You come into town every night?”

“No, not every night. You?”

“Well, yeah. What else is there to do here at night?”

“Outside of picking up girls, nothing, I guess.”

“Jeeze, Marcie,” once again taking something she said as a reprimand, “Normie’n’me don’t do that all the time,” he said defensively, although that was exactly what they’d tried to do each night, and for that matter, each day since arriving in Union Pier. “It’s just that you’n’Shelly looked so cute Normie’n’me, we just kind’a…”

Thinking, I have to be so careful about what I say, “I know, Mitch. I was just kidding.”

Walking hand in hand, both were quiet a few minutes.

“What’s your dad do?”

“Daddy and Mother have a small package-liquor store on Division Street. What’s yours do?”

“He’s a photographer.”

“A photographer! No kidding!”

“Yeah. The studio’s on Kedzie. He used to do portraits, but all the parents wanted their daughters to look like Shirley Temple, and they were driving him nuts, so he switched to commercial photography and now, instead’a kids, the studio’s usually full’a coffins.”

Looking at him questioningly, “Coffins?”

“Yeah. This company that makes them, they’re my dad’s best customer and the place is almost always loaded with ’em.”

Wishing he’d put his arm around her again and, maybe, kiss her again, “You and Norman go to school together?”

“Yeah.” Trying to work up the nerve to put his arm around her again and, maybe, kiss her again,

“We’re sophomores at Harrison,” he said. “How’s about you?”

Changing the subject, “Do you work after school?” she asked.

“Yeah, little stuff. I deliver this once a week newspaper and do some deliveries for Sam, uh, the grocer, but I’m going to find a real job when school starts again.”

“Can’t you work for your dad, at the studio?”

“I do sometimes, to clean up the place, but him’n’me don’t always get along so great… How’s ’bout you?”

“No, I don’t have to work.” Her voice taking that odd inflection again, “Mother gives me plenty… of money.”

“No, I don’t mean ‘do you work?’ What I mean is, what school do you go to? Are you a freshie?”

“Uh,” hesitating, “no, I’m not a freshie.”

He’d thought she was probably fourteen and a freshman in high school. “You’re not going into your second year, too, are you?”

“Well, no…” Knowing she had to tell him if she wanted to see him again, and she did want to see him again, badly, hesitating, Marsha took a few more steps before saying, “I’m still in grammar school.”

“Huh?” Looking at her, “Marcie,” he asked, “how old are you?”

Hesitating again, “Uh, twelve… but I’ll be thirteen in just two months!”

Although he was twenty-one days from his fifteenth birthday, Mitchell considered himself to be fifteen, and the fact that Marsha was not yet thirteen, even though her birthday was only two months away, still made her only twelve years old.

As people become older, the difference between their ages shrink. If one is forty, fifty, or older, two years, five years, or even ten years is not that great a difference, but the difference between thirteen and fifteen—almost thirteen and almost fifteen—at least in the mind of this almost-fifteen-year-old boy—is the difference between a man and a child.

“Uh,” dropping her hand, “you’re only twelve years old!”

“No! I’m not only twelve years old!” she answered angrily. “I told you, I’m almost thirteen!”

“Yeah!” Mitchell snapped back. “And that still makes you just twelve! Jesus!” Forgetting he’d always been bigger than any of his friends until recently, when they’d begun to catch up. “What the hell do they feed you guys on the north side?”

“Chopped liver and motzie!” Poking him in the chest. “The same stuff they feed you guys on the west side, you big jerk! Look, I live real close by here and you don’t have to walk this baby home!”

A bit sorry for his outburst, “Nah, it’s okay, I don’t mind walking you all the way.”

“Well I do mind,” she began to run, “and I don’t want you to!”

“Okay, if that’s the way you want it.”

“Yeah, I do!”

“Hey, Marcie,” he called, “tell Norman I’ll wait for him here.”

“Hey, Mitchell,” she called back, “drop dead, you big jerk!”

Spotting a boulder next to a picket fence, he sat down. Twelve years old! He still couldn’t believe it, and visualizing how beautiful Marsha had looked with the fireflies reflected in her eyes, Only twelve years old! Touching his finger to his lips, remembering the feel of their kiss, sensing…? Sensing the weight of loneliness in his stomach, Mitchell felt as though he’d lost something he’d just found. As though he had lost something that could, possibly, be very important in his life.

Whistling.

Hearing whistling, he pulled himself up and wearily walked until he saw the approaching shadow of his friend. “Hey, Normie!”

“Mitchie!” Running, Norman stopped when they came abreast.

“What happened? I thought you two were getting along great, then she came running home all by herself and told me to tell you that you’re a big jerk, and that I should tell you that she said for you to drop dead. What happened? You try to feel her up, or somethin’?”

“No, I didn’t try to feel her up!”

“So? Don’t keep me in suspense, what happened?”

“Normie, did you know they’re only twelve?”

“Shelly shaid she’s shirteen… Uh,” speaking slowly, “Shelly-said-she’s-thirteen.”

Stifling laughter, “Maybe Shelly’s thirteen, but Marsha’s only twelve.”

“Too young, huh?”

“For me, yeah.”

Sighing, “Yeah, me, too, I guess. Anyway, they live too far away.”

Passing the Lakside Hotel, Mitchell saw that nothing had changed.

The firefly lights still twinkled and music still mingled with the sweet aroma of pine and lilac…

But yet, everything seemed to be different… to be less beautiful than it had.

When they reached the Lipensky cottage, “See you in the morning, Mitch!” Running again, Norman waved over his shoulder.

Watching till he was out of sight, Mitchell walked up the flagstone path.

A few minutes later, lying in bed, still thinking of Marsha, Okay, so she’s thirteen, conceding the two months until she actually is, I like her, so what hell! Thinking, Think I’ll look for her tomorrow when I’m in town and tell her I’m sorry… But what am I sorry about? That she’s only twelve and that a twelve-year-old girl has no right to look as good as she looks…? But, he further thought, Does she really look all that good or is it just that she’s the only girl that I’ve met so far this summer that I like? Shit! Throwing his body onto his other side, he caused the cot’s steel casters to grind on the wood deck, waking…

“Mi-tchie!” Larry whined. “Stop making noise or I’m tell-ing!”

Mitchell didn’t answer, and in a moment heard the even breathing of his brother asleep.

He looked at the stars through the porch screen, and listened to the chirping of the crickets… and soon joined his brother in sleep.

                                                       *** 

The next night Norman and Mitchell walked back and forth constantly, from the Palladium to the bowling alley, and back again…

But the girls didn’t come to town.

On the night after, the boys made the rounds five times.

On the third night they went from the Palladium to the Union Pier Bowl and back twice.

When Mitchell was in town, Marsha wasn’t.

By the fifth night meeting Marsha seemed like it had never happened, and when they did walk from the Palladium to the bowling alley they were on the prowl, looking for other girls to meet.

Having received the decree from her brother, via her mother, that a thirteen-year-old—a not quite thirteen-year-old—girl was much too young to be roaming Union Pier at night with all the wolves—meaning Mitchell—around, Marsha was allowed to go to town during daylight hours only.

When Marsha was in town, Mitchell wasn’t.

Twice, while walking to Lakeside from Union Pier, Marsha had seen Mitchell through the screened porch and had wanted to knock on the door to tell him she wasn’t angry anymore…

…But she didn’t.