The Walk Home

[Regel]

It's amazing how many details of this encounter I still remember; after all it had occurred thirty-eight years ago. I was eleven in 1965 and in Mr. Webster's Grade five class. First male teacher I ever had. He was a pretty cool guy and I was very happy to have him as my teacher. Only a few weeks back in school and summer had already begun to fade in my mind. They had said Webster was tough, he gave us homework! I was taking the short walk home after having stayed behind to clean blackboards. I know what your thinking but I wasn't a brown-noser. This teacher had this duty rotate from chair to chair. As luck would have it that Thursday afternoon was my turn to clean chalk brushes and blackboards.

I didn't really have much of a walk. I only lived a short block away. I could have sprinted the distance and been on my porch in under fifteen seconds (my personal best). Although it was deep into September it still felt like August. The late afternoon sun was still high over Princess Ave. and the asphalt playground was deserted. As I crossed Charlotte Street the glint off the Pepsi cola plant caught me right between the eyes. The crossing guards had already split and the street was empty except for a small boy walking his beagle. I didn’t really know him but I knew the older kid walking towards him. His name was Richard and normally when I saw Richard I crossed the street, ducked my head and walked a little faster. As I watch the scene unfolding before me my heart began to pound. I knew the kid was in trouble. He was my age but much smaller than me. Richard was sixteen and had already taken to pushing the kid around. What happened next was a new low even for Richard. The kid’s dog was barking in protest as his young master had begun to cry. Richard tore the leash out of the kid’s hand and started whipping the dog. The little guy tried to stop Richard but with one hand he pushed him to the ground. He turned his attention back to the dog. His arm rose again but this time I caught his wrist.

At that moment the stupidest thing I ever said came out of my mouth. I said, “Why don’t to pick on someone your own size?” I saw his face redden and realized too late what I had meant to say was “Why don’t you pick on someone your own age?” I was one hundred and ten pounds and stood almost as tall as him. What the hell was I thinking? I took a terrible beating. Dazed and bloodied I looked up through blurry eyes and watch Richard turn his attentions back to the kid. Enraged I shouted at him. “You gutless piece of shit Richard!” He decided to give chase. I finally did something smart. I ran.

Edited September 16, 2003 by Regel

[Regel]

I didn’t give him the opportunity to catch me again.

I think he was amazed that a fat kid could run that fast and that long.

His other target had split, thank God, but my beating continued as I took the long way home.

Boy was I going to catch it when I walked in my house. It was coming up on 5:30 in the afternoon. Mom and Dad would probably both be home from work. As the oldest I was expected to watch over my younger sister until they got home. To boot I was a mess. The crying hadn’t helped and that runny nose I had wipe with my sleeve turned into a red smear. Perfect, I’ll catch a whooping at home when they see what I have done to my clothes. I hadn’t yet noticed the torn collar but what was I going to tell them? I had used the tackle football story to cover last week’s schoolyard fight. My dad had previously informed me that if I got into a fight and lost he didn’t want me to complain to him about it. I would have to deal with it myself. I hadn’t really stopped crying yet but thought of my greeting at home made me sob out loud.

“What happened to you?” Pino said. I had practically bumped into him but when I looked up at Pino he gasped and demanded “Who did this to you?” I was still too upset to speak, but I could point. “That kid.” was all I could manage but that’s all he needed to know. Justice that day was dressed up like an eighteen-year-old Italian kid named Pino. He was the eldest son of a family friend. At five foot seven he was hardly a giant but he was a mechanics apprentice. His hands tore down motors most days but as I watched him jogging towards Richard I knew he would be tearing something else down. Pino was dressed in a pair of jeans and an Italian undershirt. You know the kind. We lovingly refer to them as Italian smoking jackets. His gold chain and crucfix bounced off his chest as he approach the corner. Unbelievably Richard was busy hassling some other kid and didn’t see Pino approaching. Pino spun him around and challenged him. Richard refused his invitation to dance. Pino asked again and again he refused. What was interesting about this besides the obvious fear on Richard’s face was every time he refused Pino would literally kick him in the ass. Each kick would lift him a inch off the ground but still he refused. Pino continued to kick him up and down the street. I don’t know where all the kids came from but pretty soon there was a crowd of kids laughing at Richard. It seemed like it went on for hours but it was probably only minutes and then it was over. I washed up at Pino’s house. A few minutes later I was safe in my own home. I hadn’t been able to wash the smile off my face. I took a deep breath and let the whole day go out with it. I was ready to face the music.

Edited August 28, 2004 by Regel

[Peredhil]

Peredhil sneaks in and takes a seat to listen, amazed at the effortless way the tiny details conjure the story up in his mind's eye.

[Vigil StarGazer]

fighting evil with evil... this reminds me of a quote

"it's the big dog that beats down the small dog... and then the small dog's bro bring down the house with his doggie buddies and beat down on big dog.. and then it's the bruised big dog that's saying 'da sh!t world'....

 

anyways... i can't imagine Regel the eleven year old fat kid ... and i can't imagine regel standing up against a 16 year old kid... and then getting beat up... I mean... grab a stick, get a plastic bag.. sneak up behind the richard guy and put the huge garbage bag over him and then kick him down and knock him senseless.. and none would be the wiser.. but hey.. 11 year old kids can be dumb.. when i was 11 year old i was the joke of the school because I can't take care of business yo... so anyways... good story... childhood bring back lots of memories

[Regel]

The Long Walk Home

 

The week that followed this was to say the least a busy one. The husky boy had taken as much as he could. I was not a coward but if I could avoid a fight I would. The ducking out the back and out the sidedoors of my school and then walking three and sometimes four and five blocks was getting a little ridiculous.

 

I was a dark haired Italian boy with olive skin who was just a little bigger than his peers. I was a visible minority. Along with two others a greek and North america indian we were the only visible minorities. Sounds stupid but in this neighbourhood I was rye bread in bakery full of wonder bread. The explainations for my late arrivals were landing me in trouble at home. So I made a decision to change. I wouldn't duck and run anymore. I was in a fight everyday that week and sometimes two and won all seven. I was becoming a dangerous street fighter. I would torelate the name calling but the first time they touched me I would go on the offensive. They grew fearful of me. Pretty soon the smaller jackals wisely left me alone, but no sooner than I won one battle a larger opponent would step forward. The week finally ended and I would catch a break. A rest to heal the scrapes and bruises I had accumulated. Come Monday the pace and slowed. No fight on Monday or Tuesday but Wednesday's was awful. We were equally matched in size and strength and we were eventually pulled apart without a descision. This would be revisited but where and when was going to be a shock and surprise.

Edited September 26, 2003 by Regel

[Regel]

Peter Saniyo was a year older than me. He had been held back a year and was use to being the alpha male. Years earlier we had been friends as well as nextdoor neighbours. That was before the Apple-Peaches War. The Saniyo's had an apple tree and we grew peaches. The immature fruit of both had made appealing projectiles. Peter used green apples to knock down gray squirrels running the hydro lines. The power lines straddle our property line and one day Peter had throw a green apple at a squirrel. The wary creature was agile enough to leap out of the missile's path. The green apple sailed over the fence and struck me in the back of the head without warning. Peter was laughing, I was not amused. I picked up a windfall peach and returned the favour. What followed was known as the Apple-Peach war and it had ended our friendship.

Peter was waiting for me with two new found allies. Only these other two would never have faced me alone. Peter had convinced them to stand with him and they did. Walking home through the service ally and entering my backyard had become my pattern. As I opened the gate they confronted me. Peter start shoving me in the chest while the other two smirked and laughed. "What do you guys want?" I had asked in stunned disbelief. "What we want is to kick your ass!" said Peter to peals of laughter. "Here? In my backyard?" I asked. They nodded and started to move towards me. "You want to beat me up here in my backyard!" I was screaming now. They kept nodding and grinning and moving forward. My heart had been pounding so hard I could feel the pulse in my neck and ears. The fear and the anger began to mix together and then it struck me. The anger had won out "This is my place! Get off my property!" Something in my face made them hesistate. They looked at each other and then they made their move against me. I was running on high octane. I had wrapped my legs around Peter's waist and squeezed. The other two moved in and I had them both in headlocks. I squeezed and held on to the three of them. Peter's face whitened then turned red and then it moved into a deep crimson. Peter tapped out. I released him and he ran home crying. The other two cowards had decided my armpits were unbearable and took off as well.

I stood alone in my yard in a light mist. My heart was still pumping hard and sometime ago it had started to rain lightly. I hadn't noticed it or my little sister. She had missed the whole thing by only a few minutes. "What happened?" she asked. "Nothing." was my reply "let's go inside."

[Regel]

Perhaps the idea of my childhood being entirely unhappy was starting to creep into my parents mind, but the truth was that while aspects of my life in the east end were (to say the least) unpleasant, it wasn't a bad life. I grew up thinking that the way I lived was normal. That it was not any harder than the next guy, after all I was faster than most of my tormentors and those that were as fast really didn't want to catch me by themselves. Soon after the last showdown in my backyard I heard we were moving. They couldn't wipe the smile off my face. While I didn't cheer openly I was cheering on the inside.

 

It was still two months away but just the thought of starting fresh somewhere else had changed my mood into something much more positive. I got an 86 in math and a 93 in grammar. My parents were delighted with my vastly improved marks. I had watched my best friend move away the year before and I really had no one left that I would miss.

 

Finally the day arrived.

That morning I got early and helped carry the last of our belongings into the big truck. The house was empty. I walked through the side gate into the backyard.

The peach trees in my backyard had reached maturity as had the pergolino which supported several grape vines. I left our beautiful gardens and backyard cold, lifeless and covered in snow. They would be bare and dormat until the spring which would be several months away.

I thought I would miss something about the old neighbourhood but there really was nothing. The only part of my life I truely loved from that time were my sister, parents and cat. They were all packed and coming with me. We were all packed up and ready to go. I walked through the empty rooms and listened to my foot falls on the hardwood floors. Standing alone in her empty bedroom I found her crying.

My mom was crying. I was already as tall as her at eleven. I walked up and put my arm around her and I asked her "..why are you crying mom?" She tried to turn her face around and smiled through her tears but I remained unconvinced. "I'm ok she said." She quickly wiped her tears and we went out the door. I didn't understand at the time. What I was leaving was a house, what she was leaving was her home.

[Regel]

If you ask me about those days following the move, the one incident that struck me as most disturbing was the disappearance of my male cat Tutu. No he wasn't named after Desmond he came to us with that name and we kept both.

It wasn't easy getting him to go and for days after the move I kept him inside. Someone decided to let him out and on a cold snowy December night he disappeared.

 

For nine years this cat had been an outside cat that knew it's neighborhood well. As a child I remember the times he would be gone for days then come home with scratches on his nose and ragged blood clotted ears. I thought to myself the east end wasn't just tough on ten year olds.

The grey tabby was about a 16lb short hair more than capable of taking care of himself. His green eyes gleamed with contentment whenever I scratched behind his ear or under his neck. He was occasionally affectionate but more often just hungry. He was never neutered or declawed and back then that was the norm. His disappearance left me extremely agitated and upset. "How could you let him go outside? He doesn't know his way around, he could get lost. What if he does get back?" I ate very little that night and was hovering around tears. "What are we going to do? You will help me look for him, won't you?" After the supper dishes had been cleared and put away I donned my coat and cap and started out the door. My mother asked me where I thought I was going at this hour. I told her I was going out to find my cat.

 

I was use to roaming quite far from home as a kid and even though I was new to this part of the city I still knew it well enough to start trailing his paw prints in the snow. The air was crisp and with freshly fallen snow it was easy to pick up his trail. I went four blocks this way through backyards and back allies following his paw prints. Unfortunately for me it started snowing again and soon the fresh prints in the snow began to fill up and disappear. I had crossed the bridge over the Thames and passed the G.E. building and at the corner of Adelaide and Nelson his steady march south veered east. I travelled another four blocks until I could no longer fool myself, his tracks were gone. With the CNR tracks in sight I finally turned and started back.

 

I was now closer to my old home than my new one and it occurred to me that he was going to the only place he knew. I wish I could call home but there wasn't a pay phone and even if there was I didn't have a dime. I was about half frozen and the winter wind did not relent on my long walk home. It took me another twenty minutes to get home and before they could question where I had been I yelled "He's heading back to our old house."

Edited November 28, 2004 by Regel

[Regel]

"You walked to Rectory and Hamilton road in the middle of this storm for a lousy cat! Have you lost your mind?! We were worried sick about you!" my mom was a little melodramatic I thought.

 

"But mom I know where he is going. He is going back to our old house." I said almost apologetically. "Can Dad drive me there tomorrow so I can check."

 

 

"Your father works tomorrow until late, he has appointments until at least four. Maybe after work." she said still agitated.

 

"He'll be a popsicle by then. He hasn't eaten since he got here and he's outside." I was convinced that he was there somewhere outside our old house crying for someone to let him in. "Can you call the people that bought our house and ask them if they have seen him. Please mom!"

 

"I barely know those people, and they will think we are crazy." my mom quipted.

 

"First time they speak to our neighbours they will figure that out on their own mom." I was smiling as I said that and with that I caught my mother smiling too. "I'll call in the morning." she promised.

 

She rifled through her purse the next day and found a piece of crumpled paper and then started dialing. My mother's english was amazing, she came over at 16 and learn english from english speaking women. Now thirty one years old her english unlike my dad's was flawless. I heard her collect herself and in a higher and softer pitch than she ever spoke to us began the polite enquiry. She smiled and somewhere during that conversation turned to me with a wink and said "He's there."

 

The people we sold the house to really didn't have much choice Tutu wouldn't stop crying until they let him in. All smiles I waited for my dad to drive me down and collected him out of they arms of a little girl. I thanked them over and over again when we got there. Tutu seemed quite at home. "Walked in like he owned the place." commented the new owner. She was a kind woman and didn't seem to mind the furry freeloader at all. We said our good byes and then we left. Something weird about the old place. The smell was different entering it this time.

I thought about it and concluded it was mom's cooking.

[Regel]

It was a cold that morning in September. The summer nearly over and another school year was two weeks old. I was in my usual morning panic mode rushing to try and get to my new school (half a block away!) I was thirteen years old and almost my adult height and still coddled by my mother. "Eat!" she said. "Mom I am going to be late." I replied. I gobbled down my soft boiled eggs and dashed for the door.

Laying on the stoop in the weak September sunshine was Tutu my tabby cat. I almost stepped on him and he barely raised his head. I looked closer and saw his glassy eyes and a little drool coming out of his mouth. (The neighbours had been spraying pesticides and Tutu always chewed on long blades of glass.)

I was torn as to what I should do, then I heard the school bell ring. I gently lowered his head and stroked his fur. He was dying! Right there in my hands. I rushed off to school.

 

Later that day I found him stone cold and stiffening on my step. He hadn't moved from where I had left him. I was distraut and when my mother asked what was wrong I answered "Tutu is dead."

 

After a few moments my dad spoke up. "He was your cat, take care of it." The tone was flat and the instructions quite clear. I went to the shed got out a spade and dug a deep hole in the back corner of my yard. I gathered up my cat and buried him there all alone with tears rolling down my face. I was too embarassed to go back into the house so I stood there as the sun dropped off behind the row of houses across the back and my face dried. I finally went inside and directly into my room. I spoke to no one for the rest of the night and fell alseep. It was all of nine o'clock.

[Sweetcherrie]

I like all the stories here, but as I'm a catlover, I must say that that last one gave me a funny lump in my throat.

 

Thanks for the great read

 

*hugs*

 

Sweetcherrie

[Regel]

Chelsea Greens was parkland that saddled up next to the Thames River. The city valiently tried to keep this a viable playing surface for soccer but as it was constructed on a flood plain, the dips and valleys on this field were often deep enough to lose a player in (land bunkers). The field was boxed in on three sides. A steep embankment and a train tressel formed the backside, a light industrial park behind a six foot chain link fence the left side and the Thames river the right side. Access off of Adelaide was from a small dead end street called Ada. It was central to four sets of cousins. We would gather there arriving from seperate directions, play until exhausted and then go our seperate ways.

 

The Aristone brother's John and Joe as well as the Cuzzocrea brothers Don and Frank came in on bikes from the east end. The Ambroggio brothers Frank Don Perry and Pat would often be accompanied with their young neighbour and friend Scott Reardon. The five boys and the family dog Butch would meet up with the Fotia's Frank and Paul on Maitland Ave and cross the train tressle over the river and then descend the steep bank (often at a gallop) to the soccer field. I would stroll down the hill from Adelaide St and meet them there.

 

 

Soccer was our summer sport and between cousins and some friends we could usually count on six players per side. Most of us would have gladly played on half the field but not my cousins. It would be the whole field, six players a side and no goal tenders. Teams would be selected and the game would begin.

 

Competition between brother's and cousins would heat up and sometimes spill into disputes that would rage throughout the game but along with our energy all hostilities would be spent by the end of the game.

 

The game would typically be a marathon of sorts that would end regardless of the score with the famous phrase "Next goal wins!" It was well past five in the afternoon as the game finally broke up. We waved good bye and the Aristone's and Cuzzocrea's mounted their bikes and rode home. They exited they way they came as did the Ambrogio's and the Fotia's as they all headed back up the steep slope towards the tressel. The only screw up was Butch.

 

The black and tan hound loved me and although the boys he arrived with were heading home Butch was trailing me. No amount of coaxing could get Butch to follow them. So I suggested that Butch could follow me home and later my uncle Tony could drive by (accompanied by all my cousins of course) and pick Butch up by car. Butch was a hunting dog and often rode in the trunk when my uncle took him hunting.

 

I was secretly pleased with Butch's decision as I love the smelly old hound as much as he loved me. We walked three blocks together without incident when out of someone's backyard an overfed corgi sheppard cross charged out and jump on Butch's back. In the blink of an eye the friendly hound turned into a snarling aggressor. Butch threw the corgi off and went after the dog. Realizing he may have literally bit off more than he could chew the corgi attempted to run back into his yard. Unfortunately the gate had closed shut and he was forced to flee in a different direction out into Adelaide St.

 

What happened next was simply awful. Time seemed to slow to half speed. I could see it coming but I couldn't call Butch off. A half a block away at Edna St a city bus had just started to pull away from the bus stop. The late afternoon sun in the driver's eyes covered the fleeing corgi with glare. I gave chase screamed out one word waving my arms "STOP!" The bus rolled over the poor creature's midsection. It exploded from both ends. The animal was completely destroyed as I watched in horror. Butch had pulled up short as the bus narrowly missed him. He seemed to be in a state of shock as well as I came up and grabbed his collar.

 

I had no leash for him so I walked the remaining two blocks with one hand wiping my face and one hand hanging on to Butch's collar. I blamed myself for not chasing Butch off. He should have gone home with the boys. Why did I let this happen?

 

The bus never stopped. It drove away like nothing had happened. It is a memory I would love to forget but I can't. The stain in the road would be gone that evening as the street washers would roll by in the night. This event happened thirty eight years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday.

Edited April 4, 2006 by Regel