On Sunday mornings Sis and I went to the nine o'clock mass. Nanoo waved goodbye and went back to her coffee, lucky strikes and one of the honeydip donuts that Gramp bought every Sunday.
One particular Sunday we passed Buddy sitting on his porch in his play clothes from yesterday or even the day before. He was tossing rocks from a bucket into his dirt yard. Buddy lived in the project like us, in one of the gray houses with two families connecting them and a shared coal bin.
Throwing rocks with Buddy looked like more fun than going the church. We started a game. Who could throw a rock over the shiny 1949 black Pontiac without hitting it. One of the rocks crashed onto the windshield leaving a pinwheel of cracks. I kind of knew it was mine but stayed quiet. Buddy darted towards his house crying, his face all smudged, his nose running even more. Two of his big brothers stood in the open doorway watching. I began to wish we had gone to church.
The cops came by and dressed in my Sunday clothes I said, "Buddy did it." Sis and I missed church that day, and Nanoo never found out.
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whatever happened to buddy?
ReplyDeletei guess i'll write more about him... i think buddy went a different way..
ReplyDeletenow he looks back on his life and wonders, where did it all go wrong, and he traces it back to that day that he was framed for breaking a window... (just kidding)
ReplyDeleteseriously, that is a good idea... i was responsible for his downfall.. hahah i do have more..
ReplyDelete