____________________________________________________________________

THE MIDNIGHT SKULKER 39

Schaumburg, Illinois

Thursday, March 29, 1974

1:18 a.m. Central Standard Time

Constructed in the north-west corner of the four foot high chain link fenced yard, the pen was made of one six foot section of chain link giving Sabra and Mercy a five by six foot toilet.

And this worked very well throughout spring, summer and fall. In winter, however, the poop would freeze and then it would snow, and then the poop would freeze and then it would snow, and so on and so on, so that by thawing time there would be a five by six melting pile of shit. And as near fourteen year old Mercy hadn’t mercifully been ‘put down’ until early in December of 1973 a part of Mercy had been left behind for Mitchell to scoop into heavy duty plastic bags before the semi-solid stuff became a melting river of shit.

“Mister Lipensky.”

His reverie broken, brought back to here, brought back to now, “Yes,” looking at Hank.

“We’re loading the kitchen now.”

                                       ****                                                      

Handing him the clipboard, Mitchell signed the five part NCR form.

Pulling part five from the form, he handed Mitchell the ‘customer’ copy of the contract along with the itemized list of cartons and furniture. “We’ve a ‘whole house pick up’ in Milwaukee so probably we won’t get back on the road till eight or nine. So, if all goes okay, we should be seeing you in San Diego sometime Sunday afternoon.”

“Thank’s, Hank… See you then.”

“Yeah. Drive safe, now, ya hear!”

“You,too.”                                                                                          

                                        ****

“Okay?” Mitchell asked.

Michael and Sherry in the back seat with Sabra standing in the rear section of the Mercury Station Wagon amidst whatever luggage was needed containing whatever was needed for two adults, two kids and a Great Dane for the two and a half day drive from Schaumburg, Illinois to San Diego, California.

“Okay?” Mitchell asked.

The station wagon idling at the curb alongside two overloaded garbage cans and boxed debris awaiting the garbage company pick-up.

With the exception of Sabra – who’s head hung out the back window with her jaws clamped around  her favorite toy: a life-like, life size latex baby’s arm from Sherry’s now discarded life size baby doll – all eyes were on what had been their home… that was now a vacant house.

Holding back tears, sighing, “Yes,” Marsha said softly, “let’s go.”

“Hey, you promised to do it! So, you going to or not?”

“Yeah, Mikey, we’re ‘going to do it’.” Reaching into his breast pocket, Mitchell handed Marsha a partially smoked package of cigarettes.

“You know,” turning on the seat, looking at her son, “this is going to be a long trip and now may not be the best time to do this; to quit smoking.”

“You and dad both said that you’re starting a new life now and when we pull away from the curb you’ll throw your cigarettes away… You promised!”

“And parents don’t lie, do they?”

“No, mommy,” Sherry said, “mommies and daddies ‘don’t never lie’!”

“Okay. You’re right, ‘mommies and daddies do not lie’.” Reaching into her purse, removing her cigarettes, Marsha leaned through the window and, lifting the lid to a garbage can, tossing both packs of cigarettes, “Okay,” she said, “let’s get this show on the road!”

Putting the gear from ‘N’ to ‘D’, moving from the curb, the station wagon rolled through mile one of the 2,100 mile trip.

Thirty minutes into the drive, “Mommy,” Sherry asked, “why are the people in the other cars pointing at us?”

Turning, looking at and beyond her daughter, “Oh, my, God!”

Just a bit disconcerting to the drivers and passengers of passing cars…

The Great Dane’s head still out the rear window with…

“Mikey,” doing her best to stifle laughter, “could you please reach behind you and take that baby doll’s arm from Sabra’s mouth.”                                           

                                                       ****

An hour into the drive, “Marcie,” approaching Rockford, Illinois, whispering from the corner of his mouth, “I’m dying for a smoke.”

“Well, it was your idea to promise.”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. 

                                          ****                                                  Through Illinois into Iowa. About seventy miles from the Nebraska state line, nearing seven o’clock everyone was becoming hungry.  Also, although given the opportunity on two earlier ‘pit stops’, Sabra hadn’t ‘made’ since she’d pooped and piddled in the pen.

“Mitchie, it’s been a really long day, so why don’t we look for a motel, find someplace to eat and make it a day.”

“Yeah,” Michael piped up. “I’m starving!”

Piping up also, “Yeah, mommy, I’m hungry and have to make sissy.”

Approaching the ‘West Des Moines exit’, “Okay.”  The Mercury Station Wagon followed the cloverleaf road taking them into town.

To be continued.

©November 23, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman