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THE MIDNIGHT SKULKER 32

Schaumberg, Illinois

Saturday, March 3, 1974

9:10 a.m. Central Standard Time

At the table, all scooping fried matzos, spearing pork sausage and pouring maple syrup over the hot, fried matzos.

 “I was thinking that you ought to give Plankow a call to tell him everything’s set for us to move in thirty days.” Marsha suggested. “And to see what mover to use.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too… Ed’s usually in the office on Saturday mornings…”

“If the streets are plowed.”

“Yeah, Marcie, but the business streets are always the first to get plowed and he’ll probably be there, so I’ll try calling soon as we’re done eating.”

Hearing a rumbling outside, rising from the table, Michael rushed to look out the front window. “Snow plows doing the street.”

“Okay, good! After  breakfast we'll head out to look for boxes.”

“Call Plankow before you go, though.”

“Yeah, I planned on that… Pass the sausage, will you… Thanks.”

“Sammy,” Marsha scolded, “stop feeding that dog!”

“But she’s hungry!”

Sabra’s muzzle stationary on the table, following the conversation, somehow knowing they’re talking about her; Sabra’s – I’m starving, feed me, feed me – pleading eyes shifting from Sammy to Marsha to Sammy and back to Marsha.

“She gets plenty to eat and she’s always hungry! Stop it!”

“Awww,” in defiance, Sammy shoved a forkful of syrup dripping fried matzo into his mouth.

                                                         ****

“Well,” hanging the receiver onto the cradle, “guess he didn’t make it in today.”

At the sink, “It’s only nine-forty, maybe he’ll be in later.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Draining his coffee,  “I’ll call again when we get back.”

With Sabra at her side — no doubt hoping something edible might fall off a dish— loading dishes into the dishwasher, looked over her shoulder, seeing no one was looking in her direction, “Come here you 'beast'.” Kissing the Great Dane between her eyes, Marsha slipped her a left over pork sausage.

                                                             ****

The Mercury Station Wagon loaded with empty cardboard cartons acquired from the A&P and Jewel Tea Company all but impairing their rear vision, snow falling again, the late morning traffic moved slowly.

Motioning to the snowy scene out the window, “No more of this, huh?”

Glancing at his son, “Yes, no more snowy, slippery streets.”

“It’ll be strange not having a real winter with snow and all, and I think I’ll miss it.”

Slowing with the flow of traffic, “Maybe, but I think it’s something that’ll be pretty easy getting used to.”

“Yeah,” Michael said sadly. “I guess.”

“Know one of the first things we’re going to do once we get to San Diego?”

“Yeah, Mom told me; get my driver’s license?”

“You’re due to get it, so you’ll be the first in our family to have a California driver’s license and we’ll take care of that as soon as possible.

“That’s good,” Michael said with a hint of sarcasm, “I’ll have my license but won’t know where to go with it.”

“Mikey, it’s so beautiful there! You’ll figure it out really quickly. You know we'll be living only about thirty-five minutes from the ocean.”

“Think I can learn to surf?”

“Sure,” Stopping for a light, “why not!”

“How’s about school?”

“What do mean?”

“Can I drive to school?”

“The school bus stops on the corner. Or if you want to ride your bike it’s only about three miles.” Driving on again.  “So in answer to your question and seeing as we have only one car, no.”

Expecting this answer and, really, not upset by it, “Well I wouldn’t want to drive this big boat to school anyway.”

                                                         ****

The boxes stacked in the basement, “Sammy, Ellie, Sherry; you guys take a bunch of boxes and, really neatly, try packing some of the books and toys that you want to take with us. You, too, Sammy. Then with a ‘marker’… You guys have ‘markers’, right?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Sherry said.

“Sure.” Ellie said.

“Yeah.” Sammy said.

“Okay, when you get the boxes packed, write your name and write ‘books’ or ‘toys’ on each box. Then later I’ll come and tape them closed and we’ll take them to the basement. Okay?”

                                                         ****

11:46 a.m. :  Mitchell tried to call Edwin Plankow again, with the same results.

“Guess he didn’t come in today.  I’ll call him Monday.”

©November 8, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman