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THE MIDNIGHT SKULKER 36

Schaumburg, Illinois

Monday, March 5, 1974

4:35 p.m. Central Standard Time

“What really bugs the shit out of me is, besides getting swindled, is that someone I really liked and trusted turned out to be such a cold-hearted, fucking, son of a bitch!”

“I guess that’s what swindlers and con-artists’ are,” Marsha repeated: “‘cold-hearted, fucking, sons of a bitches’!”

“The three thousand we paid Plankow took almost all of our savings so, ‘thank God’ we made that extra ten thousand on the house.”

“We should be able to manage very well on twenty-two thousand until you get a job and have some money coming in, Mitch.”

“I don’t see any reason to mention this to the kids, do you?”

“No. There’s no reason to upset them and we don’t know who they’d talk to about it.” Standing, “May as well get dinner started.”

Standing also, placing his arms about Marsha's waist, “I’m sorry I got us into this.”

“Mitchie, don’t be ridiculous,” she said kindly. “You know I’ve wanted to move to a warmer climate for years now, and the kids aren’t so old that there’s anyone here they’ll miss too much.”

“Even Mikey’s taking the move pretty well.”

“Matter of fact, I think he’s looking forward to San Diego.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell said, “I think so, too. But if he was older and had a girlfriend…?”

Well, fortunately he isn’t and doesn’t.” Lightly kissing her husband on the cheek, “I’d better get dinner started.”

Going downstairs, Marsha went into the kitchen to prepare for dinner and Mitchell into the family-room where, shooing Sabra aside,  he sat on the floor between his two youngest children.

Sitting upward with her back resting upon the sofa, snuggling closer, Sherry stretched her arm upward onto her father’s shoulder.

“Hi, baby, how was your day?”

“Fine, daddy.  Lisa and me, we made a giant snowman after school”

“That’s nice, honey… Sammy, how was your day?”

Lying on his stomach with his head propped by his two hands watching television, turning onto his side, “Oh, well,” Sammy said, “I may as well tell you.”

Thinking, Uh-oh. “What do you mean, ‘you may as well tell me’ what?”

Speaking rapidly, “It happened after school but they stopped it and it was too late to call mommy today so they’ll probably call mommy tomorrow.” Sammy took a deep breath.

“Uh, ‘what happened’, ‘who stopped it’, whatever ‘it’ is, and why are ‘they’, whoever ‘they’ is, going to call mommy tomorrow?”

Confused by his father’s rambling question, and feeling that he needed the support of... “Call Ellie.”

“Huh? What’s Ellie go to do with this… whatever ‘this’ is?”

“Ellie’ll tell you! Call Ellie.”

“Okay.”  On the way to the stairs, coming alongside Marsha at the sink, “Do you know what happened with Sammy in school today?”

“Huh,” Marsha asked, “what do you mean, ‘do I know what happened with Sammy in school today’? Something happened to Sammy in school today?”

Rolling his eyes, “I have no idea, but Sammy says they’re going to call you tomorrow.”

“Who’s ‘going to call me tomorrow’, and why?”

Shrugging his shoulders, “Don’t know.”

Going to the stairs, “Ellie!” he called.

“Yes, daddy?”

“Can you come downstairs for a minute please.”

Going back to the family room, finding Marsha already sitting, shooing Sabra aside, Mitchell sat next her.

…Standing with her hands held behind her back, her eyes downcast, “Yes, daddy.”

“Uh, did something happen after school today?”

Looking from her father to her brother, “I don’t know, daddy.”

“Nahh,” Sammy said, “s’okay.  Go on, tell ‘em.”

“We were coming from school today…”

“After school,” Sammy interjected.

“Yeah, after school we were coming home when these two big boys…”

“ ‘Big boys’?” Mitchell questioned.

“Yeah,” Sammy said, “ ‘eight graders’.”

“Oh,” Marsha said.

“Yeah,” continuing with her story, “Sammy and me…”

“Sammy and ‘I’.” Marsha corrected.

“Yeah, Sammy and ‘I’ were coming home from school after school when these two big eighth graders started calling me… Uh…”

“ ‘Nigger hair’!”  Sammy said, “those guys were calling Ellie ‘Nigger hair’ and one’a ‘em hit her hard with a snowball and made her cry, so I punched this one guy in the face and his nose started bleeding all over the place and then the other guy tried to jump on me so I kicked ’im in the balls and he fell down crying and that’s when the councilor came an’ grabbed me and said ‘that ‘it’s too late to call your mother now but that he’ll call you tomorrow’.”

Really, truly at a loss for words, “You, uh, you kicked this big guy in the, uh, ‘balls’?” Mitchell questioned.

“Yeah,” Ellie said, “Sammy really beat up those two jerks.”

Her lips tightly compressed to keep from smiling, Marsha nervously ran her fingers through her naturally tightly curled black hair… that she had passed on to her daughter.

“Uh, these boys are ‘eighth graders’?” Mitchell asked.

“Yeah!” Sammy said defensively.

“And you’re what? In the sixth grade?”

“Yeah!” Figuring that Michael was old enough and big enough to take care of himself, “They were picking on my sister and no-one picks on my sisters!”

Looking at each other, “Mitchell,” Marsha said sternly, “I want to talk to you about…” pointing at Sammy, “this.”

Rather than going into the living-room where they may or may not be out of ear range…

“No,” Marsha said, “downstairs.”

Down to the lower level, into the garage, well out of ear range.

“Oh, my God!” Marsha said breaking into near uncontrollable laughter. “How I love that kid!”

To be continued

©November 15, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman