Chapter 124
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, 1947
“Jimmy, do your best to keep your Cheerios in the bowl,” Elliott scolded, picking up a wayward piece of cereal that had been flung across the table and tossing it back in.
“Don’t matter anyway,” Jimmy protested. “This place is a mess anyhow.”
Elliott resisted the urge to argue. It was futile. Besides, there was a chance Jimmy was right. As much as he tried to keep the place straightened up, there was only so much he could do. He wolfed down the last few bites of his own cereal, ignoring the fact that the milk was spoiled—as it had been yesterday and the day before—and took his bowl over to the sink, rinsing it before setting it inside. He’d have to wait until school was over before he could wash them. The bus would be here any minute.
“You gotta hole in your knee,” Jimmy’s three-year-old voice sang out with a giggle.
Elliott looked down. Of course, he knew these jeans had a hole in the knee. Both of his pairs of jeans had a hole in the knee and had had holes in the knee when the lady from the thrift store had brought them over. They were also too tight in the waist. But… he made due. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said grabbing his books off of the counter and shoving an apple in his jacket pocket. It had a bruise on it, but it would be better than nothing. Hopefully, it would tide him over until he got home, and then he could figure out what to make him and Jimmy for dinner. If there was anything. He’d worry about that later.
“When’s Mommy getting up?”
“Hell if I know,” Elliott replied.
“You’re not supposed to say that word!”
“Hell, hell, hell!” Elliott shrieked as he headed out of the room. As much as he did for his little brother, the least the boy could do was show a little bit of respect. He didn’t, though, not most of the time.
“I’m telling Mommy!” Jimmy shouted at Elliott’s back. He crossed the living room and pushed open the screen door, slamming it behind him. It was hot outside, and it would do just as well for the front door to stay open.
“Like she’d care,” he muttered under his breath. He could hear the school bus heading up the road and made his way to the bus stop where a couple of other kids were already standing. The snickering started well before he joined them.
One of the boys shouted, “Well, if it isn’t old Slimy Sanderson come to join us. Look at that hair! When’s the last time you washed it?” He laughed and poked another boy in the ribs with his elbow.
“His hair? Look at the hole in his pants,” a girl dressed in a nice pink dress that reached her knobby knees insisted. “He looks like he just rolled out of a garbage can!” The rest of the kids found her observation to be hilarious.
Elliott ignored them. When he’d first started school a few weeks ago, he’d attempted to think of something witty to say back to their comments, but that usually just made them laugh louder. He’d have to think of something even more clever if he was going to sway this crowd, but for now, he couldn’t help but think they were mostly right. He was by far the tallest first grader, since he should’ve started school the year before, but his mom had “forgotten” to take him until some lady who said she was from “the state” insisted he begin to attend. He also weighed more than two of these other kids put together and figured he could do some real damage if he decided to punch one of them in the face, but he’d had enough violence and was hopeful school was a place where he could go to be safe, even if he was judged by every single child at his school.
The bus pulled to a stop in front of them, and Elliott let the other kids climb aboard first, thinking it was safer that way. He knew he’d be tripped at least a half a dozen times by the older kids as he made his way down the aisle toward the back of the bus—not the way back where the cool kids and bullies sat, but past the middle—and sure enough, if he hadn’t been holding onto the seat backs with his free hand, he probably would’ve fallen. He found an empty seat, glad that the bus wasn’t nearly full yet by the time it reached his bus stop, and scooted all the way over to the window, content to look out at all the same small, shotgun style houses in his neighborhood that looked similar to his, though most of these were nicely painted, and their small concrete porches didn’t have half a railing missing on the left side like his did. Their yards were nicely mowed, without the same three or four foot tall weeds as his, and many of them had a car parked out front or in the drive whereas his mother didn’t even own a bicycle.
At the next stop, several more kids got on so that the bus was beginning to fill up, and by the stop after that, the seat next to him was about the only option without squeezing three to a seat. He tried to avert his eyes so that whoever was unlucky enough to have to take it wouldn’t be embarrassed to have to sit with him--Slimy Sanderson.
“Is this seat taken?”
He looked up to see a pretty, tiny girl with golden curls wearing a light green dress peering at him through her eyelashes. She held her books in one hand and a lunch pail in the other.
“Nah,” he managed, trying not to stare at her. She looked really nice, like the kind of girl who might rescue kittens from a drainage ditch or bring flowers for the teacher just because. Elliott had never seen her before. He scooted closer to the window.
She sat down, and the bus proceeded. At first, she said nothing, and the noise from the rest of the kids yelling was enough to drown out the silence. But then, he heard the rustle of her dress as she turned to look at him. “My name is Carla.”
