Billie Mosiman - Wireman

Bloomington, Texas

Summer 1960

TEN-YEAR-OLD Nick Ringer walked along the railroad tracks. Sunlight flashed from the worn, glittering metal and brought tears to his eyes. Everything was so bright and dry. The town looked as bleached and pale as Mamas sheets.

He used a pine branch to sweep a path for his bare feet. Little red stones rolled aside and stickers clung to the sappy needles. Finding an anthill taller than the rail it hugged, Nick stopped and listlessly annihilated the colony until there was nothing left but a small heap of tan dirt.

He might as well go home. There was a chance his brother Daley would play with him now. Being two years younger, Daley liked his comic books more than the lure of aimless wandering, but sometimes when the day cooled he could be talked into improbable adventures.

Nick kicked a tin can, sending it bumping across the dusty street. Daley was dumb. Who needed him?

Passing his neighbors house, Nick saw Eileen sitting on the front steps.

Ive got two BB guns, he called. Wanna go shoot the cows out back?

Nah. Its too hot to shoot cows, Eileen replied listlessly.

Nick sauntered across the ditch, dragging his branch, and stood before her. She wore butter-yellow shorts and a white cotton top. Her brown legs glistened as if covered by a sheen of silver. Nick squinted, trying to determine if the mirage was real. It wasnt. Blond hairs created the silvery veil that disappeared beneath the cuff of her shorts.

He straightened up, throwing back his shoulders, and smiled shyly. Lets do something.

Do what?

Uh-oh, there she was talking through her nose again.

I dont know what, yet. Lets go see, Nick said, moving toward the backyard.

Eileen followed him resentfully. She too was bored with the long summer day. Nick Ringer was not her friend, but there was a chance he might find something for them to do together: He was shabbily dressed in chocolate-brown pants that had holes in the knees and a rip in the seat. Eileen studied the rip and the dingy white material of his underwear. She repressed a giggle.

The Texas sun continued to beat down on the two children. Nick sized up the possibilities in Eileens backyard and pointed to the metal T-bar of the clothesline. Well swing. You go first.

Eileen threw back her shoulders and strode past him. There wasnt a boy in the neighborhood who could outdo her. The T-bar was baby play. Already she had mastered swinging from the top poles of the Garcias swing set next doora heart-stopping maneuver that held her fourteen feet above the ground.

Nick bowled an empty milk carton into a pile of trash, then sat down on the thick grass and crossed his legs. Eileen jumped, caught the left side of the hot bar, and let out a loud whoosh until her hands got used to the heat. She hoisted her legs up through her arms. She dropped, swinging free. She blinked at Nick in his upside-down squat and said, Ha-ha, this is easy.

You do it pretty good. But youre a tomboy.

So what? Lots of girls are tomboys. I can beat you at anything. Youre just an old hobo anyway, Eileen taunted.

Dont call me that.

Hobo, hobo. You wear pants with holes in em and I can see your panties.

Nick dropped his gaze and wiped sweat from his forehead. Eileen was bad. She was meaner than a horny toad. He frowned, scooted closer, and almost grabbed her long pigtails.

Boys dont wear panties, he said. And I dont have any nice clothes.

Thats one sorry excuse.

Shut up. Nick felt like growling.

Thats what my mom says about your mom. Shes one sorry excuse for a human bean. Thats what she says.

The bushes rattled at the edge of Eileens yard and Nick turned to see his brother struggling through.

What yall doing? Daley asked, shading his eyes with one hand as he joined them.

Im swinging by my legs, stupid. Eileen made a face. She felt sweat bunching up behind her knees and their grip on the T-bar was beginning to slip. She reached up, caught the bar with both hands, and dropped to the ground. The world came upright, spinning.

We could go shoot cows, Nick suggested. His voice was softer, less defensive now that his brother was present. He was considering either ganging up on Eileen or forgiving her. She was mean but prettya terrible combination in a girl.

I dont shoot cows, no way. My mama says you only do that cause somethings wrong with you. Youre not supposed to hurt things. Her clenched fists rested on her waistline and she gave Nick the benefit of her sternest face, the one usually reserved for little kids who didnt know better.

Youre lying about what your mama says, Nick challenged.

Daley backed away from the two older children and waited for the big argument. He noticed the look on Nicks face and knew it was going to be a wingding if Eileen did not shut up.

I am not lying, Nick Ringer. My mama did say those things and shes smart. Its crazy to hurt things, thats what it is.

Nobodys crazy. Nick glanced at Daley for support and saw him shrug his shoulders and shake his head, retreating from the fight.

Hurtings crazy and youre crazy. Everyone says so, Eileen insisted.

Nick stared hard at her. The sun was so bright behind her back she was in silhouette, her face in shadow.

Indignation brought spots of color to her cheeks. She swung her braids around to the front of her blouse and pulled at them with both hands. She was a scrapera fierce, hard ten-year-old girl. If he ever tangled with Eileen, he would have to break her arm to make her cry uncle. He began to smile at the thought.

Whatre you laughing at? Eileen asked. She looked to Daley for confirmation that Nick was crazy and stupid and needed a whipping. Whats he laughing at? she asked Daley.

Maybe I am crazy. Nick spoke softly, quietly. Maybe I howl at the moon and eat dead babies. Eileen shivered. Suddenly she did not want to taunt Nick. She wanted to go indoors and get a glass of Kool-Aid with lots of ice in it.

Well, Miss Snot, what ya got to say to that? Nick was pleased at the uncertainty in Eileens face. Dont I howl at the moon and eat dead babies, Daley?

Nice and Eileens attention focused on Daley, who glanced up from beneath thick brown lashes and made a timid motion with his hand. They could see he was not agreeing with anyone.

Why dont you go home, Nick? Eileen took a step toward her house and stopped. I cant play with you. Mama said so. If she looks out the window and sees you here, shell run you off.

Cant nobody run me off lessen I want to go.

Eileen squenched her eyes and thought furiously. What would it take to make him leave the yard? Your feet are always dirty.

Nick laughed, throwing his head back with dramatic flair.

Your hair needs cutting and I bet youve got lice, Eileen tried.

Nick stopped laughing and stepped closer, his look menacing.

I bet youre retarded. Eileen knew she was losing ground, but she could not give up. She also knew she was being unduly cruel, but her mouth just kept going.

Nick moved closer. Daley coughed behind a fist and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Now yall he whined.

I bet your moms what they say. Now Eileen was desperate.

What do they say? The tone of Nicks voice was like a slap.

That shes a a whore!

Nick closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He hated Eileen. Older children had said that word to him before. But never someone his own age. Most ten-year-olds did not know what whore meant. Eileen knew too much and said too much.

Eileen suddenly hopped out of Nicks range. She was scared. She had made him mad, but she really had not wanted to go that far. Yet he stood between her and the house, between her and something cool to drink. He was awful. A bully. She vowed silently never to speak to him again.