1.14 Heathens and Hellions

1947 • Sonora, California ~They tore through the house like heathens and hellions. The kids not only had the run of the house, they had the run of the town. Most summer days the three older ones were off exploring and swimming, roller skating the cracked sidewalks, and riding their bikes up and down the steep hills. Claudia tried to keep up, but she was too little. The rest of the time they spent terrorizing each other. Across the creek, Kelley’s Central Motors sold new and used cars, mostly Chevrolets, and the mechanics working in the back witnessed the kids’ shenanigans. While Mom and Dad were at work, it was free rein for this pack of wild animals that passed themselves off as children. Dad left their guidance to the church; Mom left it to the winds.

Turning twelve and thirteen, things changed between Carleen and Larry. It became the three girls, Carleen, with Betty (age seven) and Claudia (age five), against Larry. He was now a young boy with too many sisters whose sole purpose in their life was to torment him. They were constantly sneaking into his room, so he talked Mom and Dad into letting him put a padlock on his door. However, that didn’t stop Carleen and her little minions. The next time Larry was working she pulled a chair into her closet, balanced a stack of books on the seat so she could remove the wallboard between the two bedrooms, hauled herself up, pulled Claudia through first so Betty could help push her, then wormed through the crawlspace. Dropping down into Larry’s adjoining closet, they were now locked in his room. They whiled away the afternoon on his bed, listening to his new radio, reading his diary and comics, rifling through his coin and stamp collections, and stealing all his gum.

Larry, Carleen, Betty, Claudia

When they heard his key in the padlock, they realized there wasn’t enough time to climb back through the closet. At first they laughed, but Larry was madder than they’d ever seen him. “Run!” Carleen hollered. She and her two shadows, their four bony legs scrambling after her, escaped as he stood surveying his crumpled gum wrappers, spilled coins, and scattered magazines. He hated that he had no control, resented that he had no privacy, and furious that he had no peace. Squealing and howling, the girls raced to the bathroom, the only room in the house with a real lock. Panting behind the bolted door, Betty and Claudia cowered in the corner as Carleen lay in wait.

“Shhh,” she whispered, filling a glass with water. As Larry came flying down the hall, she sloshed the glassful under the door. His soles hit the wet linoleum; sliding right past, he crashed feet first through the white balusters of the banister. Determined, he silently climbed through the window in our parents’ bedroom onto the sloped ledge of the porch roof and crept toward the bathroom. Carleen heard the scrape of the double-hung window opening. Ready, she threw another glassful of water onto the roof, making the mossy shingles slick as snot. When he hit the wet moss he slid off the second story roof, sailed passed the first story, and landed on the grass below. Because of the overhang they couldn’t see or hear him. Less concerned that Larry was dead and more terrified of what Dad would do to them if he was, they raced screeching through the hall, down the stairs and out the door, their dirty bare feet pounding over the painted front porch, the pockets on their cotton jumpers catching the wind.

“C’mon,” Carleen commanded her corps. Skidding to a halt in front of the old tree, they spied only lazy sow bugs. A lizard skittered away. The scrub jays took to the phone wires away from the disturbance. The girls shrieked bloody murder when Larry, resurrected, leaped from his hiding place. He was going to wring their necks before Dad had a chance, but couldn’t catch them with each headed in a different direction.

The mechanics at Kelley’s, raising their heads from under car hoods, looked on. “Little hellions,” they muttered through their cigarettes. They were used to the comings and goings of these kids with no parents at home, accustomed to the banging windows and slamming doors from the old wood house across the creek, thought nothing about kids falling off a roof. Lowering their heads, they disappeared back under their hoods.

to be continued …

© 2017. Catherine Sevenau.
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