Saving Chumley

By Rick Hartford

Hi. My name is Chumley. I'm a toy troll.

I belong to Charlie. He’s 10. We’ve been together forever.

I knew something bad was going to happen as soon as Charlie’s sister grabbed me on the way out the door as the family was getting ready to go on vacation.

Her name is Addie. She’s eight. She put me on the back bumper of the station wagon and then ran inside to get her Barbie doll.

Charlie was down in the basement looking for his snorkel and flippers and between getting those and being bossed around by his Aunt Lucy, (“wash your hands, comb your hear, brush your teeth, put on clean underwear…”) he forgot that I wasn’t with him.

Charlie’s Mom and Dad had gone ahead in the convertible so Lucy was stuck with transporting all the beach stuff in the station wagon: Beach chairs, sleeping bags, the big cooler, band aids, swim suits, bug spray, sun tan lotion, a beach umbrella. Aunt Lucy went through her checklist just as her boyfriend Largo finally arrived and she hustled us into the car. Largo sat up front with Lucy and Charlie and Addie sat in the back.

Lucy pulled out of the driveway and the first time she braked I went flipping out onto the asphalt.

I lay in the driveway fully expecting the station wagon to pull back in and see Charlie hopping out and running to get me, scooping me up and putting me in his jeans pocket as usual with my head peeking out so I could see everything that was going on.

I lay in the driveway a long time. An ant crawled over me. I watched the clouds up above pass over the trees. A hawk glided by, trying to keep its dignity as a smaller bird dive bombed it. Further up the contrails of a jet, a tiny speck, drew a straight white line across the sky, which softened and slowly disintegrated.

The sun set and the sky turned to purple and then grey and then black with thousands of pinpricks of light above. A possum walked by. Its babies followed. Dogs barked. Cats screeched. Horns honked. Headlights scoured the road in front me.

Where was Charlie?

Morning came. It was going to be a beautiful day and I knew that I would be rescued by Charlie as soon as he became aware that I was missing.

I had heard tales of toys being left in the attic for years, or even left out on the curb when their owners tired of them.

Not going to happen to me.

And then, at about 10 in the morning, the worst possible thing that could happen happened.

Reggie showed up.

Reggie lived two doors down. He was a “friend” of Charlie’s and he was bad news. One day when me and Charlie were out on the back lawn playing Reggie came along. He had a mop of dirty blond hair, dirty fingernails, shifty eyes. He carried a switchblade. He used to throw it at Charlie’s sneakers to make him jump until Charlie’s mom saw what was happening and took his knife and sent him on his way.

One day he offered to trade his toy brontosaurus for me and of course Charlie grabbed me and put me in his pocket.

No trade, he said.

I could tell then that Reggie was trouble. And now, here he was, walking down the driveway toward me! He had a couple of his buddies with him in their jeans and PF. Flyers and dirty white tee shirts.

Reggie saw me. He ran over and scooped me up in a filthy paw.

“Well, Hello Chumley,” he said. “You belong to me now.”

. Reggie jammed me upside down in his jeans. I couldn’t see anything. I just heard him and his friends braying and laughing and then suddenly Reggie ripped me from his smelly jeans. He had a lighter and was flicking it in front of my face. I didn’t let him see that I was terrified, but I knew what was coming.

He and his buddies lay me down in a thick bed of of twigs and whooped insanely as they poured lighter fluid all over my body. I thought, this it, Chumley old boy, as Reggie flicked the wheel of the Zippo again and again. He lowered it to the twigs.

“Say your prayers, Chumley, Charlie isn’t here to help you now.”

Just then there was screeching from above. We all looked up to see a thick cloud of black birds descend from the sky. Dozens of big black crows savagely attacked Reggie and his ugly little buddies while one of them swept me up and carried me into the sky, landing in the branches of a tall old maple tree and dropping me into an abandoned bird’s nest.

I told them I would be forever grateful for rescuing me.

But then we looked toward the ground and there was Reggie’s father, holding a shotgun. The gun made a horrible noise and a cloud of black smoke and pellets zoomed past my head. The crows took to the sky, scattering in all directions.

Dark was coming and the birds had not returned.

They never did.

Night turned to day and back to night. Fall came and with it the leaves dropped gracefully to the ground. Winter came with the first snow and then a new year arrived. I often saw Charlie in the back yard as he grew up. The first time he was looking for me, he had been crying. He would search for me almost every day, his head held low with sorrow when he didn’t find me.

The years went by.

Charlie became an old man.

He lived in the house alone now, 70 years since we had parted.

One day I saw him standing on the back porch. He was looking through a pair of binoculars. I saw the shock of recognition on his face when he saw me. He hobbled with his cane over to the garage and came back with a tall extension ladder which, after much struggling, he placed high up into the tree just below the raggedy old birds nest I was standing in.

It was the first day of summer.

Charlie put down his cane and began climbing, slowly. Then I noticed the strangest thing. Charlie was getting smaller. As he climbed his glasses slipped off his nose. His loose clothes were falling off his body as he went hand over hand. His bald head had regained its hair and when he finally reached up to get me his formerly arthritic claws were strong little mitts. He was 10-years-old again, that round freckled face with a big smile.

“How did you get here, Chumley? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He scooped me up and gave me a big kiss.

“Come on,” he said.

“Let’s go play.”