Old Miss Gracing by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 22

Some days just mark themselves in history. Six years later not so little Bonadea reached puberty. Uh oh. Morrigan had her ideas about things and rightly took charge of the home based education course, now necessary. Zeke didn’t always agree with her approach and was regularly told that when she had a boy, he could take the front line.

None of the books Zeke had written after the one about Bonnie were well received. After one night’s discussion about their teenager, he said; “I’m probably just feeling old. But, would it be all right with you if I took a week’s trip back to Bayonne by myself.”

Morrigan’s reply was; “It would be fine with me. It might do both of us some good.”

When he arrived on the polluted peninsula, the first place he went was to 17th Street, site of the old grammar school. He knew it was gone, but thought that if he sat there a while he might be able to conjure up some old thoughts and visions. It didn’t work. The colorful cheery tin and plastic of the condos overwhelmed any other possible reverie.

He tried Bonnie’s old apartment, where she spent so much of her life. It was still there and it looked occupied. He opened the door to the alleyway and saw three small black boys playing

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some game with baseball cards. They were discussing something in an animated manner and then got quiet when they turned to see Zeke, their eyes looking up into his.

Zeke said, “What’s the argument about?”

One little boy said; “Stupid Gary, over here,” pointing at

“stupid Gary”, “says that Reggie Jackson was a better hitter than Ken Griffey, Jr.” He pointed at “stupid Gary” and made a forced derisive laugh.

Zeke was pleased with hearing the same type of argument he had with many other kids years ago, still going on. He could have answered a number of ways, all empirically inconclusive and chose to say; “That’s a good one. You can keep it going for a few years because Ken Griffey, Jr. isn’t finished playing yet.” The three just looked at him with a bit of a frown on their faces, because he took no side. He left the alleyway saying; “Have a good time.”

He slowly walked to the area which once housed the four baseball fields where he had spent so much time with his father and Bonnie. He really wasn’t surprised that they, too, were now gone, replaced by 3,500 sq. ft. houses with black water views.

In the distance was what he desperately wanted to see; the junk strewn strip of land where he used to see Bonnie.

He walked through the housing development, careful not to encroach on any of the meticulously maintained front lawns. His focus changed, of necessity, when he reached the strip. He didn’t

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want to risk falling into garbage now, after having come so far.

He found the remnants of the old tin shed where he had seen Bonnie, ages ago, when he was first being taught baseball by his father. On the floor was the remnant of a teenage liaison and he thought of not so little Bonnie. “Do your own thing” sounded like a great idea when he first heard it, way back when. But, incidents publicized over the ensuing years, now suggested to him a more judicious use of the thought. Whoever invented it didn’t completely envision what some people’s “things” would be. Charlie Manson and Richard Ramirez had not yet crawled out from under their rocks.

He sat down, stared at the slow but steadily flowing water and cried like he hadn’t since his first day of school. Only this time there was no one around to reassure him. He’d have to go the rest of the way without his best friend.

Zeke’s outlook improved when he thought; “If I can’t handle it, nobody can, as I was blessed with the best teacher the world has ever known.”

His pessimistic side surfaced and his mind changed from that thought to; “Indeed, maybe no one will.” He succeeded in completely disturbing himself. Then he heard Bonnie’s voice say; “You can’t think like that.”

He immediately knew that little Bonnie would be all right with Morrigan to teach her, for Morrigan, too, despite retaining

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most of the “Do your own thing” philosophy had the privilege of having known the most wonderful teacher.

He looked at the debris on the ground around him, remembering some from decades prior. He wondered why beautiful, useful things passed out of existence, but garbage seemed to have achieved immortality. He was again saved by Bonnie’s voice, which in a very exasperated tone said; “How many times and how often do I have to remind you that you can’t think like that, crybaby.”

He saw an old sealed paint can. He opened it to find that some of it was still usable. As he stirred it, the color became a deep purple. He found what was once a realtor’s “For Sale”

sign, now with the lettering completely faded. He used the stick he stirred with to write something on it and hammered it into the ground with a large rock.

He wondered if anyone would notice that this was “Old Miss Gracing’s Sanctuary.”

THE END

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