Grandpa's Legacy

Prologue

Adam Trexler gnawed on his lip until it drew blood as he watched Danny Logan and his two pals use a baseball bat on Frank. Waiting in the night shadows near the rear entrance of Skelly’s Liquor Store, he saw and heard everything in the adjacent gravel parking lot. Danny glanced over to where he waited, nodding as though to say, Hey man, don’t worry. We’re kickin’ his ass good. He dreaded the moment when Danny would tell him that it was okay for him to come out.

The chilly November air caused Adam to shiver. He leaned against the brick wall of the liquor store. How had it come to this? A bus rumbled by on Broadway. He shut his eyes and pressed the back of his head into the hardness of the bricks. The sound and smell of buses always triggered the same memory.

It had been a little over thirteen years since he and his mother stepped off a Greyhound bus late one sultry summer evening in 1946 and were met by his mother’s older sister, Wanda. The tall, gangly woman frightened him. Her dark eyes rested wearily on protruding cheekbones of a long, thin face. Although she was only twenty-nine, people often guessed Wanda to be in her forties. An irregularity in her spine prevented her from standing straight, causing her to hover over others. Her childhood had been filled with nicknames, the most descriptive being the Vulture.

Adam looked to his mother, waiting for her to tell Wanda to stand up straight. When Wanda went to give him a hug, he instinctively clung tighter to his mother, hiding his face in her skirt. Remember, he’s only four years old, his mother had said.

The depot had been crowded that night. Along with vivid memories of bus fumes causing him to cough and wrinkle his nose, he recalled his mother and Wanda laughing when he asked what the man on the loud speaker was saying.

Walking through the depot, he had hung tightly onto his mother’s hand. Images, smells, and sounds came from every direction: a soldier playing a machine that made clanging noises; an old man sleeping on a wooden bench, his body twitching; a man and woman yelling at each other, using words that Adam’s mother had told him never to say; the smell of cigarettes and sweet perfume, stale popcorn, and toilets that needed flushing; the sounds of moths and other night insects beating their wings against windows; and always the man on the loudspeaker sounding as though he was holding his nose shut while talking.

He was glad when they left the building and he was able to breathe in the night air. When they reached Wanda’s car his mother put him in the back seat, telling him that he could lie down. As the car pulled away, however, he stood on the seat pinching his nose and talking quietly to himself while looking out the rear window.

After a long ride, they parked the car on a side street. He and his mother walked with Wanda a half block to a street where, to his puzzlement, there were no houses. When his mother tightened her grip, he wondered if it was because of all the traffic. A bus went by and he wrinkled his nose, covering it with the fingers of his free hand. He clamped his mouth shut and tried to hold his breath. Loud noises from across the street captured his attention. People stood laughing in front of a bar, loud music spilling from its open door.

A breeze swirled bits of paper and other debris along the sidewalk prompting him to ask his mother if the Munchies lived here. When Wanda asked what he was talking about, Adam’s mother explained that where they used to live, the streets and sidewalks were always clean. Having taken Adam to see the movie, The Wizard of Oz, she had told him that those little people called the Munchkins came out at night and swept the sidewalks and streets. He calls them ‘Munchies’, she had explained. Wanda looked at Adam and shook her head. You’re not going to find any Munchies on Broadway.

The entrance to Wanda’s apartment building stood midway in the block, tucked between a Woolworth’s and a second-hand furniture store. When he asked if they were going to live in the stores, Wanda had laughed. Oh no, we live in the apartments above them. They climbed two flights of creaky wooden stairs. Walking down a poorly lit hallway to the back apartment where Wanda lived, Adam grabbed hold of his mother’s hand as monsters lurked at him from every shadow along the way.

After they entered the three-room apartment, the sound of the door being bolted had frightened him, but not as much as what happened next. When they turned on the kitchen light, he watched in horror as oval-shaped bugs scurried to find places to hide. They’re only cockroaches. They won’t hurt you, his mother had said. That night, however, he didn’t want to go to sleep. When he finally lost his battle to stay awake, he dreamt he was back at the bus depot.

He wanted to find the man on the loud speaker to ask him what he was saying. Moving past the old man sleeping on the bench, past the soldier playing the machine, past everybody, he found himself in a dimly lit corridor. Although afraid, he kept walking, drawn by the sound of the man’s voice. Finally, he came to a door. On the other side of the door could be heard the man’s voice. Turning the knob with both hands, he slowly opened the door. The room was dark, but enough light crept in from the corridor for him to see someone sitting on a stool, facing away from him. He took a step into the room, stopped, bit his lower lip, and inched toward the person. When he got to the man, he tapped him on the back. Mister. The man turned, and to Adam’s horror, it was not a man at all but a giant oval-shaped bug.

Adam woke up screaming. His mother had quickly come and turned on the light. She tried to calm him, saying that everything was okay. After turning off the light, she lay beside him. The next morning he begged his mother for them to get back on the bus to go home. He couldn’t understand why she failed to see that Broadway wasn’t a nice place to live. That day he made up his mind it would never be his home.

* * *

Hey, Adam, Danny Logan shouted. Ya can come out now. He won’t recognize ya. Hell, he won’t recognize anyone.

Adam pressed the back of his head into the brick wall. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to see Frank. All he wanted was to run and get as far away from Broadway as he could.

Chapter 1

Illuminated by moonlight, Adam’s face appeared older than his seventeen years. From his bedroom apartment window he looked down at the orange neon sign across the street sputtering its message - Hamm’s Beer on Tap. The sign hung lopsided in the window of the Broadway Bar. A brick propped open the bar’s entrance door. Music from within competed for attention with Friday night traffic. Next to the bar, a print shop stood silent. On the other side of the bar sat Jack’s Meat Market, its windows plastered with white wrapping paper announcing Fresh Beef for Sale. Only last month, the owner had been accused of selling horse meat.

Business as usual, I suppose, Adam had quipped to his mother at the time.

If they shut Jack’s down, we’d have no other place to go, she had responded, adding with a twinkle in her hazel eyes, Besides, horse meat never hurt anyone. You should see some of the stuff we serve at work.

She was kidding, of course. She often bragged that Andy’s Sandwich Shop served the best grub on Broadway. When she first got the waitress job at Andy’s, she joked that the place wasn’t much bigger than a shoebox. With eleven stools lining an L-shaped counter, and a pinball machine squeezed into a corner, her analogy wasn’t far off.

Adam leaned back against the headboard of his bed. His bedroom was a haven even though he had to share it with Oscar Johnson, a man who had moved in with them seven years before. He hated the idea of Oscar living with them and had argued about it with his mother again only two days ago. When he came home from school that day, his mother was sitting at the kitchen table working a crossword puzzle. Oscar was at work. The conversation started innocently enough.

I’m going down to the Laundromat in a little while, his mother had said. Will you get together the stuff you want washed?

Adam’s dirty clothes were piled on a chair in one corner of the bedroom. He found a pair of Oscar’s bib overalls mixed in, smelling of whiskey. Why does Oscar have to live here? he yelled as he stormed back into the kitchen. The guy’s nothing but a boozer.

That’s not true. He only drinks when he gets his paycheck.

His tone turned sarcastic. So every couple of weeks I have to put up with a drunk for the weekend. Lots of fun.

His mother stuck her pencil through her dark-brown curly hair, nestling it just above her right ear. She got up, refilled her cup of coffee, and sat down, looking at him with pleading eyes. I’m sorry, but at least Oscar’s harmless. He doesn’t get mean like some people we know.

That’s not the point. Why does he have to live here? People will think that you two…

That what? That something is going on between us? You know me better than that. If anyone thinks that, it’s their problem. My gosh, Oscar is old enough to be my father.

Adam regretted what he had implied. Although his mother had been hurt by it, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize.

Like I’ve told you before, Oscar lives with us because he has no family.

Yeah, but…

Her eyes flashed with annoyance. But what? There’s nothing more to say. Oscar’s a decent man even when he’s drinking. The money he gives me for staying here comes in handy.

If that’s so, why can’t we get a door for the bedroom closet? He didn’t know why he brought up the closet door; it was of no significance to him. He didn’t care if what they had now, a bed sheet, cut and hemmed, was serving as a door.

I’ve told you that I complained to the landlord when we first moved in. And do you remember what I told you he said? She stared at him, waiting for an answer.

Adam shifted in his chair, regretting he had brought the subject up.

He said that he’d have to raise our rent if he put in a door and did all the other things I’ve asked him to do. That’s why there’s no door on the closet. And that’s why there’s no door going into the bedroom.

He hated it when his mother made things a big deal. If we’re getting money from him, why can’t we get a bigger apartment? Then I can have my own bedroom.

Don’t you realize that Oscar helps pay for our rent and groceries? she asked, her voice sounding as tired as she looked. Without that extra money things would be a lot tougher. I’m sorry that you don’t have your own bedroom, but we couldn’t even afford this apartment without his help.

As he lay in his bed, his mother’s words floated through his mind. Although he hated to admit it, she had been right. The only consolation was that Oscar had a railroad job that often required him to be gone for several days at a stretch. That he had to share the bedroom with the man still angered him though.

Propping a pillow, he leaned back, and thought about the apartment he had lived in most of his life. Entering the three-and-a-half room apartment from the hallway, one walked directly into a half-kitchen, barely big enough for a small stove and some cupboards. The sink stood opposite the stove. Three quick steps through the half-kitchen brought one into a larger kitchen that had space for a table pushed against one wall, three chairs, a refrigerator, and a corner desk on which the telephone sat. Additional cupboards hung above the desk. The living room was the largest of the rooms and was connected to a bedroom off to the left.

The bedroom was okay for one person, but a tight squeeze for two. His bed was to the right, pushed next to the window. The window rattled whenever a bus or truck rumbled by below. To the left of the doorway was Oscar’s bed, barely far enough away from the wall to have access to the only closet. Adam’s dresser stood as a barrier between them. Oscar’s dresser stood against the opposite wall next to the doorway.

Although his mother called the apartment home, it wasn’t a place he took pride in. He recalled the day Bradley Ross, a grade school classmate, came to visit. Bradley lived in a nice house four blocks away from Broadway. His father owned the jewelry store up the block from Andy’s.

Is this where your mom does the cooking? Bradley had asked when he walked into the half-kitchen.

Yeah. Adam was too embarrassed to tell his friend that was also where he, after heating water on the stove, took sponge baths.

He and Bradley had played several games of checkers on the coffee table in the living room. Adam made up some excuse about not going into the bedroom because of not wanting to answer any questions as to who slept in the other bed. When Bradley asked where the bathroom was, Adam told him it was down the hall, explaining that they had to share a bathroom with another apartment. The next day at school, the kids snickered when Bradley told them that Adam’s home had no bathroom. Adam never talked to him again.

Adam pushed Bradley from his thoughts when his mother called from the living room.

Butch, I’m going to play some bingo before I go to work. I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?

Good luck, he answered, knowing she would play bingo for the next three hours. He liked the idea that the bingo parlor was only a block and a half from their apartment and right next door to where she worked. That meant that he could use her car, a ‘50 Buick, any night he wanted.

His mother, Virg (she preferred Virg over Virginia), had called him Butch from the first time the nurse brought him to her in the hospital. She told the nurses that although Adam would be on the birth certificate, he looked like a Butch to her. Adam had accepted the nickname when he was younger. As he grew older, that changed. His friends soon learned not to call him that if they wanted to keep his friendship. The only persons that he tolerated calling him Butch were his mother, Wanda, his grandfather, and—reluctantly—Oscar.

Laughter from across the street now caught Adam’s attention. Looking out the window, he saw two kids race past a man leaning up against the street light. The man waved at them as he took a swig from a pint of whiskey. Disgusted, he lay back on his bed and stared at the string dangling from the ceiling light bulb. For the other people who lived here, this was Broadway. It was all they ever knew and cared to know. For them, it was a way of life they accepted. He, however, would never accept it. As soon as he graduated next spring, he planned to get as far away as he could.

Although he welcomed his private time, tonight, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he didn’t feel like being alone. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he brushed back a shock of dark-brown hair. Not having seen Wanda for a couple of days, he decided to drop in on her. His aunt enjoyed his visits. He was six weeks into his last year of high school and she would want to hear the latest report of what it felt like being a senior.

Ever since that evening at the bus depot years ago, Wanda’s affection for him had grown. Unable to bear children, she took him into her heart as though he were her own son. When he was younger, she often brought him bags of chips from the Old Dutch Potato Chip factory where she worked. In addition, once a week she took him to Kass’ Drugstore for an ice cream cone. Throughout the years, she always pictured him as a little boy whose dark brown eyes matched the color of his hair. She still occasionally referred to him as her little boy even though, at nearly six feet, he was three inches taller than she.

As he knocked on her door, he recalled how, over the years, she said that he and his mother were lucky to have an apartment with a view of Broadway. Yeah, some view. Littered sidewalks. Drunks. Smelly, noisy buses.

Who is it?

Adam.

Come on in! another voice yelled.

He had no trouble recognizing Frank’s voice. Wanda had married the jerk two years before.

Suddenly wishing he hadn’t come, he opened the door and walked through the living room into the kitchen. His aunt, wearing a beige terry-cloth bathrobe, sat at the table holding a wet washcloth to her mouth. She glanced at him and looked away without saying a word. Her left eye, red and swollen. Her hair, disheveled. Frank sat across from her, grinning and sucking on a cigarette; ashes clinging to his sweat-stained tee shirt. A faucet dripped into a sink full of dirty dishes.

We just had a little argument, Butchie. Nothin’ much. Ain’t that right, honey? Frank reached across the table and took her hand.

Is everything okay? Adam asked, directing his words to his aunt.

Although she nodded, her eyes pleaded to stay out of it. When the beatings started shortly after she and Frank got married, he had asked her why she stayed with the guy. Because I love him, she had said. He couldn’t understand how she could say that. He had nothing but contempt for the man.

Frank seldom had a job for more than a few months and lost his last job after only a week. When he wasn’t working he drank and when he drank he became even more belligerent than when sober. Although she was a head taller than Frank, Wanda was no match for him. Short and stocky, Frank had a barrel chest and a stomach that flowed over the front of his pants. In his youth he had worked out with weights and, though the years had taken their toll, he bragged that he still could kick the shit out of any of the young punks on Broadway. Always having some kind of get-rich scheme in the works, he constantly spent whatever money Wanda tried to save. His glory days had been the two years he served in the Marines after quitting high school at seventeen. A tattoo on his right forearm and a steel-gray crew cut were the only physical reminders of those days.

Hey, Butchie, ya want a beer?

Would you like a Coke? Wanda quickly asked, not looking at her husband.

Frank snickered. Yeah, ya better get the kid some soda pop instead of beer. It’ll go down easier.

Wanda shuffled slowly to the refrigerator and found a bottle of Coke amongst the bottles of beer.

Hon, bring it here. I’ll open it for ya.

Frank opened it, sending Wanda away, patting her rear with a fleshy hand. After she gave Adam his drink she sat back down at the table. Frank’s hand crawled over and grabbed hold of hers. Sitting passively, her eyes avoided Adam’s.

How old are ya now, Butchie? Sixteen? Seventeen? Frank’s yellowed teeth reminded Adam of mules’ teeth.

Seventeen.

When I was seventeen, I was pretty damn strong. Still am. Hell, I used to be able— Frank sucked down a couple swigs of beer. Ya want to arm wrestle an old fart like me?

Wanda’s face tensed. Frank, leave him alone, please.

Who the hell asked ya, goddamn it! He tightened his grip on her hand until she winced.

I was just—

Shut up! Your Butchie and me are havin’ a discussion. When I want anythin’ from ya, I’ll tell ya. The grin disappeared from his face. What do ya say, Butchie? Ya and me.

Adam dug his fingernails into his palm. His eyes shifted between Wanda and Frank. The dripping of the faucet pounded in his head. I don’t think so. You’re too strong for me.

No one moved or said anything. Adam wondered if his aunt had picked up on the mockery in his answer to Frank. He felt as though the three of them were frozen within a photograph. The dripping of the faucet echoed off the walls.

Frank’s eyes narrowed. He cocked his head and glared at Adam. His stomach rose and fell with every breath. His tongue wet his thick lips. Suddenly, his face broke into a grin. Damn right I’m stronger. He patted Wanda’s hand and scratched his belly. Hon, get me another beer, and do somethin’ about that goddamn faucet!

Adam gulped down the rest of his Coke, said he had homework to do, and left. As soon as he got back to the apartment, he retreated to the bedroom. He plopped down on the bed and lay staring into the darkness.

Chapter 2

Butch, wake up! Time for school.

Okay, okay, Adam mumbled.

His mother bent over and brushed hair from his eyes. Come on now. I’ve got water heating for you on the stove.

As soon as his mother left, he rolled out of bed and got partially dressed, waiting to put his shirt on after washing. When he walked into the living room, his mother had just finished fixing the couch into a makeshift bed.

Won’t take me long to fall asleep, she said.

Sure wish you didn’t have to sleep on that thing all the time.

It’s more comfortable than it looks, she said, patting the cushions. Besides, I’m so use to this old couch that I couldn’t sleep in a bed anymore.

In the half-kitchen, Adam took the pot of water off the stove and poured the steamy liquid into the washbasin sitting in the sink. After washing, he slipped on his shirt and combed his hair. Looking at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, he turned his head from side to side. Others thought of him as good looking. A couple of times when he had walked by a group of girls at school, he overheard one say to the others, He’s cute. His mother told him that his brown eyes and eyelashes came from his father.

On his way through the kitchen he stopped, dropped a slice of bread into the toaster, and stepped into the living room. His mother had settled on the couch, lying with a pillow behind her head, reading True Confessions.

All ready for school? she asked, putting her magazine down.

I stopped at Wanda’s Friday night, he said, his anger returning. He beat her up again.

She immediately sat up, worry flooding her face. How bad?

Gave her a black eye. Face is all swollen. Adam finished buttoning his shirt.

Oh, it sounds so much worse than last time, she said, wincing.

I felt like ripping into him.

A look of concern flashed through her eyes. You didn’t, did you?

No.

Relief replaced her concern. I’m so glad you didn’t start anything. I—

He’s the one that started it! Adam snapped. I would’ve finished it if I didn’t think he’d take it out on her.

Don’t be angry with me, she said, looking hurt.

I’m not. I…I just…feel tight inside.

Worried lines formed around her eyes. How do you mean…tight?

I…I don’t know. It’s like…like when Grandpa talks about the spring inside a clock getting wound up too tight.

Anything I can do to help?

Wanda’s the one who needs help.

I know, she said with a heavy sigh. I better go check on her.

I have to go. Mick’s waiting for me.

"Aren’t you going to eat anything?

I’ll eat a piece of toast on the way.

Grabbing his jacket, he slipped it on, and scooped up his schoolbooks. After a couple bites of toast, he tossed it in the trash under the sink. Yelling good-bye, he opened the door, and flew down the steps. The cool morning air felt refreshing.

At the corner, Mick Brunner was waiting for him. They had made a pact that they would meet at Kass’ Drug Store every morning to walk the ten blocks to school. He and Mick had become friends in a junior high woodworking class. They had teamed up on a project and hit it off right from the beginning. The first time Mick came up to his apartment, they had been watching television when Mick had to go the bathroom. With the old memory of having been ridiculed before, Adam explained that they shared the bathroom with another apartment. Mick had just smiled. Hey, no big deal. If I have to wait in line, that’s what I’ll have to do.

Hi, big guy, Adam said as he now walked up to Mick. Although he considered himself tall at nearly six feet, Mick still had a couple of inches on him. How’re you doing?

Great. And do you know why? I finished that assignment for chemistry.

Man, I’m still working on that. Adam envied Mick for finishing assignments ahead of time. Even though Mick always made the A honor roll, he never bragged about his grades, or his athletic ability. Starting at right tackle for the varsity football team, he was all-conference last year and honorable mention the year before.

Will you give me some help if I get stuck on those last two questions? Adam asked.

Of course. What are friends for?

They crossed to the next block. Hey, check out those clouds, Adam said. They look like snow clouds, and it’s only the middle of October.

Don’t mention snow to me. We’ve still got three games left to play, and I sure hope it doesn’t snow. Mick massaged the back of his neck.

You’re not afraid of a little snow, are you?

Don’t get me wrong. Winter is my favorite time of the year. I love snow. I just don’t like playing football in the stuff. He rubbed his neck again.

What’s wrong with your neck?

Still sore from our last game. Mick shifted his books from under one arm to his other. And my right shoulder is bummed from the game before that. Got enough aches and pains without having to have the cold and snow affect them. Man, I feel like an old man sometimes.

Adam reached for Mick’s books. Do you want me to carry those for you, old man?

Get out of here! Mick playfully swatted at him with his free hand.

Can I ask you something? Adam asked in a more serious tone.

Sure.

When the weather changes, does your neck and shoulder feel it?

You better believe it. It’s not so bad when I play because then the only thing on my mind is the game. But during practice all week long…then I can really feel it. And when my shoulder hurts, I know it’s going to rain or something. Mick pointed to his nose. Now, my honker is another story. He profiled it for him. Having a noticeable hump, it was the first thing that people noticed about him. His nose had been broken twice: once in a junior high fight when an older kid made the mistake of calling him ugly, and last year in the final game of the season.

When you get banged up in football, how long does it take to heal?

That depends. My neck will probably take a couple of weeks. Coach tells me that the shoulder may be sore for a couple of months or longer.

How long would it take for a black eye to heal? Adam asked as casually as he could.

What are you talking about? Who’s got a black eye?

They walked nearly a half block before Adam spoke. Frank beat up my aunt Friday night.

Oh, man. Not again. Didn’t he just do that a couple of months ago?

Adam nodded.

How’s she doing?

Not too hot. A knot formed in Adam’s stomach.

Does she go to work being beat up like that?

Knowing her, she will. The last time, she used makeup to cover up the bruises.

Mick shifted his books to the other arm. Why doesn’t she just leave the jerk? She doesn’t have to put up with that stuff.

Adam kicked at a piece of paper swirling about on the sidewalk, wishing it was Frank’s face. She stays because she says she loves him. Now, can you figure that out?

It wasn’t until they had crossed to the next block that Mick replied. I’ve got an uncle whose wife went out on him all the time. Did it for years. Everybody in the family told him nobody would blame him if he kicked her out.

So did he?

Nope. All he says is that he loves her and could never kick her out. Family says he’s crazy, but I’m not so sure.

What do you mean you’re not sure? He sounds as crazy as my aunt.

Maybe. But the way I figure it, maybe your aunt and my uncle are married to a couple of losers, and it’s better than nothing.

Now, you’re sounding crazy.

Think of it this way. Maybe they’re lonely people. Maybe what they got isn’t the best, and you and me wouldn’t put up with the stuff they put up with. Sure, they’re kicked around, but a person will put up with a lot as long as they got someone. It sounds strange, but they need each other. That’s the way it seems to me.

The stoplight turned red just as they reached the corner. They stood watching cars pass. When a break in the traffic came and without waiting for the light to change, they sprinted across as an oncoming driver honked at them. Adam reached the curbing two steps ahead of Mick.

I told you, you should’ve come out for football, Mick said. You’re fast and got the moves of a receiver. There are a lot of guys who would give anything to have your quickness.

They walked for another block, stopping in front of a bakery to look in the window. The door opened and the aroma of freshly baked rolls floated out. They agreed they would stop for a cinnamon roll tomorrow morning.

You know, your aunt and my uncle aren’t that much different from the rest of us, Mick said as they continued their trek to school. The way I figure it, everybody needs someone.

Adam shot a sideward glance toward his friend. Who says?

I just know. People do. It’s natural.

For Adam needing someone was a form of weakness. And if he was going get away from Broadway, he had to remain strong.

Mick stroked the bridge of his nose. Stupid, he muttered.

What’s stupid?

Oh, I was thinking about the kid in junior high who broke my nose.

I remember that, Adam said, relieved the subject had changed. That was Joey Breedman when we were in eighth grade, wasn’t it?

Yup. The two of us had it out, all right.

He broke your nose, but you cleaned his clock.

I know, but I shouldn’t have let him provoke me. They walked for a quarter of a block before Mick continued. Adam, we’ve been friends for a long time now. Remember right after ninth grade graduation, when we smoked a cigar on the school grounds?

Yeah. We were so sick we thought we’d never live to see high school.

You’ve got that right, and with all that we’ve been through, we’ve needed each other. Don’t you think so?

Adam gnawed his lower lip. A bus went by, paper and dirt flying in its after-trail. Mick’s friendship was important to him, but he wasn’t sure that meant the same thing as needing it. Needing someone meant being weak.

"Hey,