Homer

HOMER

794 words

Billy pushed open the heavy metal and glass doors of his school and escaped the hated confines. He scampered down all six concrete steps to the paved and cracked walkway in two leaps, his backpack bouncing on his shoulder blades, smacking him three times with the thud of the heavy textbooks inside.

He pulled out his cell phone and checked the time, thinking, I’m gonna be late gettin’ home and mom’s gonna scream at me. Almost without glancing left or right, he ran across the street, ignoring the safety crosswalk, and cut toward the alleyway which ran behind the homes facing the streets on either side.

Billy had taken this route before many times and felt it cut minutes off the walk home. He slowed his hectic pace and figured silently, I can make it with time to spare; No need to run and kill myself. I’d call mom, but she’s prolly playing bridge and wouldn’t hear it any ways. I’ll just tell her I tried but couldn’t getta signal. A flash of light briefly glowed far to the east. Billy looked up and spotted a bank of low, black clouds, then heard the long rolling sound of thunder. Thunderstorm, it’s gonna rain and I’m gonna get all wet. Now mom WILL be mad at me, he thought.

Before he could pick up his pace to beat the oncoming storm home his eye caught another flash, but this came from a trash can in the alley, one whose crumpled lid had long disappeared. The flash reflected off a red shoe. Not just ANY old shoe, but a tall woman's “heel” -- a shiny one that looked brand new. Billy stopped and took two steps to the can. Yep, it was one shoe all right, the mate seemed to have walked off. The can smelled badly, a mixture of old uncooked fish and overcooked sauerkraut. Billy decided to leave the can alone, and removed the lid from the can next to it, placing it on the offending, smelly can.

There, right on top, was half a roll of toilet paper. He smiled, picking the roll up with his forefinger stuck into the open cardboard tube. It was clean, not even damp. Wow! Why did they throw this away? He turned the roll over and noticed the bright red stain on the edge. “Ewwww. NASTY!” he said out loud, shaking the offending paper roll off his finger and back into the trash receptacle.

Billy reached to the ground and picked up a thick stick about two feet long laying next to the can. With that he banged the side of the can, making a satisfying metallic “clankety”. He continued down the alleyway, smacking every can he passed with the stick. Some cans made a “klank,” others a “ching” and the plastic ones went “thung”. Billy smiled, quietly thinking, Can anyone hear this? I don’t think so, nobody’s looking out their window to see what’s goin’ on.

He picked up his speed, now running full tilt through the alley, hitting cans and then running the stick across the wooden slat fences, making a satisfying staccato that almost sounded like a machine gun. The last can in the alleyway had a small paper sack sitting on top of the garbage over-flowing from the can.

Billy saw it and took careful aim.

With all the strength he could muster he swung the stick against the brown sack and yelled “HOMER!” The sack, apparently not believing it was a baseball, exploded in a shower of brown and black powder that scattered in all directions, including Billy’s face. Billy blinked, but it was too late. The full force of the wood pencil shavings, and the pencil lead, free of the imprisoning sack, plowed into his eyes, blinding him for a few seconds before his tears, and the back of his hand, could wash the wood and lead out.

Now free of the wood chips, Billy threw the stick on the ground and continued his run for home, time ticking away.

* * * * *

A few minutes later he slipped through the wooden screened back door and into the kitchen. Billy could hear his mom's friends in the dining room playing bridge. “I’m home, mom,” he yelled.

“OK, honey,” she replied and continued with her bidding, “two spades.”

Sheesh, she doesn’t even know I’m two minutes late, I didn’t have to run any ways, he thought.

His mom yelled out, “Honey, do us a favor, there’s a box of chocolates on the kitchen counter. Could you bring it here for us?”

“Sure, mom,” he answered, letting lose with a giant sneeze right over the open box.

Smiling, he picked up the chocolates, wiped his nose on his sleeve and said, “I’m on my way.”