FanStory.com - What We See - Chapter 6Bby Jim Wile

I went inside to find Archie meowing and pacing around the kitchen. He usually eats his dinner around 6:00, but it was 7:15 now, and he was miffed. “Alright, Arch, it’s coming. I fed him and sat down in the kitchen to watch him eat. He was already used to his new house and was feeling comfortable enough about going outside. I had installed a cat door for him, so he could go out and in at will. He’s adjusting to his new situation, just as Bobby believes I am.

Truth be told, I still have a hollow feeling about the loss of my students. Bobby was certainly right when he said that I miss teaching. And what other opportunities, besides classroom teaching, might there be? I thought about that for a while. Once I get the business up and running, and if I find I’m getting more work than I can handle, maybe I could take on an apprentice? That would be a teaching opportunity. I might even create a class to teach people basic computer skills and maybe programming. That would surely attract many students because home computers are becoming increasingly popular now.

I grabbed a beer and my radio and headed out to the front porch, one of the nicer features of this old house. I tuned the radio to hear the White Sox-Detroit Tigers game. It was an unusually warm evening, and there was still a little sunlight. As I listened to the game, I studied the neighborhood as far as I could see it.

Loser Street angles off Main Street and is very different from Vernon Street in my old neighborhood. It’s a mishmash of peeling-painted 60-year-old houses, a few small businesses, and some paved lots at the rear of two-story shops on Main Street. Being the first house on the left, I face these paved lots. All the electrical lines are overhead, and many of the trees along the street have been hacked as they grew into them. The yards are poorly maintained, and junker cars sit up on blocks in front of a couple of houses.

As I sat there listening to the game, I saw a kid turn from Main onto Loser Street and run past my house. He looked about 12 years old. Not far behind him was a much larger, husky kid, chasing and shouting at him. I didn’t quite catch what he said over the sound of the game, but it sounded like, “I’ll kill you, you little freak!”

The kid turned in at the house next door, ran to the front door, and was fumbling in his pocket when the big kid caught up to him and grabbed him from behind. The smaller kid let out a squawk and tried bucking him off when I hollered, “Hey, knock it off! What’s going on?” Both kids turned to look at me as I jumped down my porch steps and started trotting next door. The big kid kept his grip on the smaller kid, and when I came up, I said, “Let go of him!” The big kid dropped his arms immediately. I repeated, “So, what’s going on here?”

Both kids said, “Nothing.” I had predicted that answer, knowing kids as well as I do. These were middle school kids.

“Alright, then. What’s your name?” I asked, pointing to the big kid. He didn’t say anything.

“I asked you what your name is, son.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“So I can address you properly.” I’ve found that asking a kid his name is a good way to show who’s in authority, and it makes them stop and think. Writing their name down in a little book you may be carrying is even more intimidating. This doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’ve learned some tricks to get kids who I don’t know to listen. It also helps being six-two and well-built.

He stared at me for a few more seconds before he said, “It’s Artie.”

“Alright, Artie. Could you please leave now?”

He just stood there for a moment. “So, what’s your name, then?” Artie asked me with a sneer.

“Mr. Phelps. Goodbye now, Artie.”

With one final frown and a flip of the bird, he left and started walking further up Loser Street. I could hear him mutter, “Asshole,” as he left.

I turned to the smaller kid, who was just standing there looking at me. “And what’s your name?”

“T-Tommy. Tommy Boardman.”

I put out my hand to shake and said, “Pleased to meet you, Tommy. I’m Alan Phelps. I guess we’re neighbors.”

He hesitated for a few seconds, just looking at my hand, and slowly raised his for a shake. It was rather weak. “Do you care to tell me what was going on? Looked like a bit of a sticky wicket.”

He pulled his head back and gave me a humorous frown. “A what?”

“It’s a British expression. It means a bit of trouble. So?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I guess it was a wicky sticket, I mean… what you said. He was chasing me because I kicked him on the shin. He’d been teasing me for like five minutes straight. I finally had enough, so I kicked him, the big jerk. He’s always t-teasing me.”

Tommy was on the shortish side for a 12-year-old, but he was a normal-looking kid—kind of cute, really. “What was he teasing you about?” I had a feeling I knew.

He paused for a moment. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Don’t you hate it when they tease you about nothing?”

He looked at me strangely, then slowly smiled. “Well, I guess it wasn’t n-nothing. He and I are kind of friends, but he still picks on me. He lives a few houses up the street. I said something to him that came out wrong, and he laughed his head off, then he started calling me all kinds of stupid stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Re-tard, loony toon, marble-mouth, and making fun ‘cause I stutter a little sometimes.”

I nodded. It helped confirm my initial thought.

Tommy said, “We’ll be friends again tomorrow. This has happened plenty of times before. My mother doesn’t like Artie, but he’s alright.”

“How about your dad? What does he think?”

Tommy hesitated before answering and looked down. “He died when I was three. Crashed his car trying to avoid a deer, Mom said. I don’t remember him.”

“I’m sorry. Where’s your mom now? I don’t see a car in your carport.”

“She isn’t home from work yet. She’s a nurse at Sparrow Hospital and gets home around 7:30. She should be here any minute.”

“Well, I’d better get back now, Tommy. I’ve—”

He apparently wasn’t ready to end the conversation yet because he said, “When do you open your new store, Mr… uh…?”

“Phelps. I should be ready in about two more weeks. I’m turning the living room into the store and work area, and I still have a bit of work to finish it.”

“So, you fix electrical stuff? Are you an electrician?” He must have seen my new sign, which I had installed yesterday, that said, Alan’s Electrical Equipment Repair.

“No, I fix electrical equipment like TVs, radios, stereo systems, even computers.”

“I told my mom I really wanted to get a computer, and she promised to buy us one when we could afford it. I think they’re really cool.

“Have you ever used one before?”

“I was messing around with one at Radio Shack. It did some cool stuff. I’d like to learn to program and create my own games.”

Right about then, a car came up the street, turned into the driveway, and pulled into the carport. Mom had arrived home.