If I Died Today -- Part 1

If you've ever been arrested for crimes you didn't commit, at the tender age of 61, spend three and a half weeks in a federal courtroom, only to be sentenced to 10 years in prison, you too might wax poetic about the life you're leaving behind . . .

If I Died Today

If I died today, I couldn't complain.

It's been a fun-filled ride!

I've lived three lifetimes, maybe more,

Before I sort of died!

The times I've cried are few and far --

Can count 'em on one hand --

There's Binky, Mom, Lavonne, the bus,

My wrists, my stomach, and --

I guess that's two hands counting now.

Oh well, on with the list --

Oh yeah, the circus. After that?

The plane -- what have I missed?

Some funerals -- dry tears, but still,

The thoughts and feelings there.

And poor Mariko, there in court --

That surely wasn't fair!

Binky

Well, back to Binky -- she's our cat --

The first pet -- Hold that thought.

I just remembered little Squeaks --

The day he fin'ly bought

The farm, that is, and that poor mouse

Ron blasted into space . . .

And both of those to mourning blues --

Now back to Binky's case.

She'd just had kittens -- five or six.

We watched the whole ordeal.

Was kinda gross, as I recall,

Each latching to its meal.

I don't remember how it was

I happened to have change --

It could have come from A. Tait Buck --

That wouldn't have been so strange.

For quite some time on Saturdays,

At church -- our day of rest --

Well, after church we brothers three

Were waiting to get blessed!

Methinks ol' Tait was waiting too --

At least for Mom to show.

What better ruse than bribe her kids

With monetary dough!

Of course the topic 'mungst us kids

Soon focused on, "How much?"

Inquiring minds have need to know

The "this" and "that" of such . . .

So, go direct, I always say,

And so I did that day --

That ended change from A. Tait Buck

(To all of our dismay!)

I tell you this to tell you how

I prob'ly had my stash --

Enough to sneak out to the store

With my small hoard of cash!

Was almost giddy with the thought

As I went out the door,

I didn't want Bud or Ron to know

That I went to the store.

They'd talk me out of all my stuff,

Or yet, a better plan

Would be to "borrow" half my stash,

While saying, "You the man!"

But if that money all got spent,

Its purchases consumed --

I'd have my cake and eat it too!

Their plans -- they'd all be doomed!

The store was half a mile away.

My mom would have said "No!"

A three-lane highway must be crossed,

Sometimes with heavy flow.

But I had managed that -- no sweat --

When something up ahead

Had caught my eye -- a furry lump --

'Twas Binky. She was dead!

I turned and ran a quarter mile --

My eyes were filled with tears.

I burst in through the kitchen door.

My voice couldn't quell my fears …

"Binky's dead!" I loudly wailed

As I sank into a chair.

Many questions followed quickly.

Then I led them back to where

Binky lay all crumpled in a pile.

We gently took her home --

Dug a grave and held a service --

Sent her off, no more to roam.

Mom

That was Binky. On to Mom.

No! We didn't bury her!

I had had an altercation --

Nothing serious -- that, I'm sure.

At five or six, it didn't take much

For me to throw a fit.

Didn't stomp my feet or pound the wall

Or raise my voice one bit.

Instead, I simply went inside --

Myself, that is, my mind.

I shut my mouth and zipped it up

And stared like I was blind.

Mom had to go to work that night.

She would have rather talked.

I knew that too and almost did.

But ultimately balked.

No sooner had she left the house,

I ran to say, "Good-bye!"

But she was gone. The house was still.

I started then to cry.

I can't remember who was there.

Just had this awful dread --

That Mom was never coming back --

The things I should have said --

Could not now ever make their way

From me, again, to her.

I cried all night 'til she came back --

My vision all a blur.

I couldn't explain why so distraught,

And she couldn't understand.

But she'd come back and held me close,

That distance fin'ly spanned.

Lavonne

Lavonne will sound like deja vu.

I'm still just shy of six.

It's early in the summer and

Poor Mom is in a fix!

It's Motherhood or Sanity --

So said someone who knows.

Choose Motherhood (not Sanity),

And out the door it goes!

So with a heavy heart, resigned,

She turns to friends from church --

The Davises take Bud and Ron,

That leaves me in the lurch!

I'm placed then with a fam'ly whom

I've never even met.

The older ones are ugly,

Though they smile, I start to fret.

Then Lavonne comes in (their daughter),

Like an angel from above.

She's eighteen, and so perfect!

My young heart thinks it's in love!

That heart becomes euphoric!

This was planned. Mom takes her cue --

Slipping silently behind me,

Out the door -- a silent, "Whew!"

That's when suddenly I notice

She is nowhere to be found!

Then I hear a car door closing.

Out the door I try to bound!

But they hold me -- I am frantic!

Watching taillights then recede,

Screaming, sobbing, thrashing, snorting --

Then Lavonne perceives my need.

She stoops down -- then looks me in the eye,

Her voice is smooth as silk.

"She'll be back. You wanna call her?"

As she pours a glass of milk.

Through my sniffles I'm just nodding

As she hands me the black phone.

I had memorized our number --

"In emergencies, phone home."

963-3659, I think.

It rings -- a ray of hope . . .

Eating cookies, sipping milk,

Each ring confirms the answer's nope!

With each passing ring, while staring

Into that angelic face,

Makes me think, This might not be so bad . . .

I kinda like this place!

Lavonne became my sister.

I, her brother to protect.

Older Sherwins still were ugly,

But I'm glad Lavonne I met . . .

The Bus

The bus … I'm six or seven, now.

We go to BCA --

A private, Christian school --

Meaning someone's gotta pay . . .

And someone did -- I don't know who.

I'm sure it wasn't cheap.

They had a bus -- a little one,

The cost was kinda steep.

And so it was that Mr. Carr,

Who drove for public school,

Said we could ride his bus at night.

I'm sure it broke some rule.

The deal was, we had to be

A block or two away --

Just down the hill and to the right

From good ol' BCA.

As things turned out, we had some time

To kill before he came.

A small store, half a block away --

It'd really be a shame

To waste our time just sitting there,

When we could spend our dimes

On things to eat, or drink, or read --

Turn waiting to good times!

And so it was, that fateful day --

We either shopped too long,

Or Mr. Carr left early,

Or then something else went wrong . . .

It was Bud who said, "Hey! There's the bus!"

They both turned in a flash,

Across the street and down the hill --

I followed in a dash.

Look left, then right. I got it.

Look both ways before you cross.

And I did, but then I reasoned,

There's a way to cut some loss.

Just look left, and if it's empty,

Start across, and then look right.

It's a lane away -- that's sev'ral feet --

That's seconds off my flight!

It would have worked, my logic tight,

But for one tiny glitch:

The road in question was One Way --

Left looks became the hitch!

No traffic came at all that way.

The reason soon was plain --

The BCA bus, from the right,

Bore down right in my lane!

I looked up, just in time to see

Stark terror on the face

Of that poor driver, slamming brakes,

As tires soon shortened space.

Alas, the laws of physics held:

Two objects cannot share

A single space -- one has to move.

I didn't have a prayer . . .

But even so, the bus slowed down

Enough so that the whack

Just knocked me down and chipped my teeth.

And yeah, there was that thwack!

The big long bus of Mr. Carr's,

Still idled at its stop.

I jumped up, started running --

Two bystanders got the drop.

They swung me up, then laid me down,

Then yelled, "Call 911!"

An ambulance came screaming.

The attendant asked me, "Son?

"Want us to run the siren?"

Ron and Bud both nodded, Yes!

I didn't want to be a bother, so I said,

"No need, I guess."

Then the phone rang at the office

Where my mom picked up and heard,

"This is Officer McGruder.

Is this Mrs. Wanda Byrd?

"Well, your son's been in an accident.

He's now in the ER --

Hit by a bus, I understand.

Do I need to send a car?"

She couldn't speak, but somehow managed

To come through that ER door --

White and trembling, barely walking.

She couldn't take a great deal more.

"Hi, Mom," I said, so cheerily.

"What's wrong? You seen a ghost?"

She took a while to calm back down,

Sort of trembling -- almost.

He could have said, "Small school bus,"

Better yet, "A yellow van."

She had visions of a Greyhound!

For a cop, "Bad form, my man!"

My Wrists

That was first grade -- chipped some teeth, not bad.

The next left lasting marks,

It was in the dead of winter,

Roads were icy, studs made sparks.

We were late, as usual -- late for school.

I ran up to the door.

Somehow I thought it opened in --

Not out, like times before.

I slid the last few feet in slush,

Both hands extending out --

They hit the glass panes -- shattered them.

Not safety glass, no doubt.

My right wrist had a two-inch gash --

My left arm took two hits.

They took me in to Mr. Young,

Who calmly kept his wits.

I cried out loud instinctively,

Although there was no pain.

It seemed the thing to do right then,

Or so said my small brain.

He loosely wrapped both arms in gauze,

Then took me in his car

To that same room I'd seen before --

Community's ER.

They shot me up with numb'er,

Stitched me up, both sides, not neat.

Mr. Young stayed by to take me home,

Or school -- my choice -- his treat.

I couldn't feel a thing! Whatever stuff

They used sure did the trick!

No one's home right then, so school we went

Where I got in the thick of it.

Kids had heard the rumors --

They had seen the broken door.

I looked all right, all bandaged up.

They wanted to hear more!

I told them I couldn't feel a thing,

But did they take my word?

A demonstration soon ensued

That bordered on absurd . . .

I let them bite my fingers, then

I slammed them in the door.

Tried to cut them with some scissors,

Stomped them nearly through the floor!

I said I didn't feel a thing --

'Twas true -- for one more hour . . .

That's when what worked before wore off!

That's when things turned quite sour!

Oh the agony! The throbbing pain

From self-inflicted wounds!

It didn't stop -- for sev'ral hours!

Throughout that afternoon . . .

It still hurt up 'til suppertime --

And then it didn't quit!

I was aching still next morning!

I've got scars -- I can't forget!

My Stomach

This one's strange. I'll say up front --

Don't even have a clue …

But cry, I did -- for quite some time --

And lest you doubt -- it's true.

We lived out in a neighborhood

Where all the streets were "birds";

Like Robin, yes, and Oriole and Cardinal -- just words.

But Cardinal -- the bird that's red --

(The street turned bright red too!),

Forever holds a mystery that

I'm setting out for you.

One end was flat and level,

But before you got halfway,

It tilted up, was fairly steep,

Which made it fun to play --

With anything that had some wheels,

Which normally meant bikes.

But on this day, a neighbor kid

Tried soap-boxing it -- Yikes!

Went super fast! "I'm next!" I yelled,

But he said only he

Could drive the thing -- his daddy's rule,

"But," then he said to me:

"You could ride on back . . . just hang on tight.

Okay!" I jumped on quick.

Then held on tight, as best I could --

I soon learned that the trick

Would be to hold my feet up

So they wouldn't scrape on the ground.

We were gaining speed quite quickly

Just before things turned around --

I think he swerved to miss a hole --

It all happened in a wink --

I somehow slid beneath the thing --

My stomach turning pink!

I can't explain the mechanism --

How I got that way --

All I know is he couldn't stop that thing!

'Twas like a runaway!

We must have skidded twenty feet --

Me dragging on my gut --

My stomach was one mass of meat,

Without a single cut!

Just scraped down raw -- no epidermis,

Pink from coast to coast --

I crawled out slow from underneath --

My tummy, burnt like toast!

The two blocks home were agony

Each movement caused such pain!

"What happened?!" cried my mother.

Though I tried, I couldn't explain.

Bactine -- the spray -- hurt even worse!

But soon the pain calmed down.

From that day on, soapboxes? No!

I think I'd rather drawn!

The Circus

"Or not!" would prob'ly be the way

I should have titled this.

Because I didn't get the chance --

This circus I would miss!

Don Ruskjer had been married,

But he didn't have a kid.

He's the one with circus tickets.

Bet you can't guess what he did . . .

Mom had told us all to clean our rooms --

A thought, idealized --

'Twas time to go. I got my coat.

That's when Don realized

I hadn't act'ly finished mine.

(My bed was still a mess.) "Looks like

You don't want to go."

I think I said, "I guess."

I didn't think he actually meant it.

Mom didn't either -- I could tell.

But he did. They up and left me!

I should just have said, "Oh well . . . "

But instead, I burst out crying.

Mom just stopped. He took her arm.

"He's got to learn to listen."

"But," she said, with some alarm,

"We can't just go and leave him!"

"Let's go now, we'll be late."

So they went and left me all alone.

And I didn't hesitate.

Although they'd said, "Stay in your room,"

What if I had to pee?

I went out to the living room,

Sat down and watched TV!

I got to watch the shows I liked!

I ate what I could find.

By the time they came back home again,

I didn't even mind!

The Plane

Let's jump ahead of Squeaks and mice,

The topic being tears --

I have three boys myself, so, what --

We're talking thirty years?

A lot has happened since that day

The circus came to town . . .

I'm living on the West Coast now.

Oh yeah, a lot's gone down!

I'm flying back to get some things.

The marriage can't be fixed.

The flight to Dulles takes five hours.

My feelings? They're quite mixed . . .

In one regard, I'm moving on.

We both agree it's due.

But all my kids are staying there.

There's nothing I can do --

I feel the stinging in my eyes.

My cheeks, no doubt, are red.

I've got a window seat -- that's good.

This trip is full of dread.

I realize the likelihood

Of "Watching Scotty grow" --

DJ, Pete and Christopher,

I'll likely never know . . .

The tears grow into sobbing --

Shamelessly while on that flight.

The last time that I'd see my kids

Is probably tonight . . .

I'm sure I'll see them after that,

But not like I'm their dad --

More like a grandpa, uncle, friend --

And that just seems so sad!

We hug and kiss and play some games.

They know that I can't stay.

We promise to both call and write --

They know I'm going away.

But that's the way it is sometimes.

Sometimes the cards are dealt.

Too late to change the dam or bridge . . .

At least that's how I felt.

Of all the times I cried before,

That plane ride was the worst.

The waters underneath that bridge,

Behind that dam just burst . . .

So now it's 'specially comforting

To deal with all three boys --

Who now are men with fam'lies who

Shop for their own kids' toys!

Funerals

I haven't been to many.

There is Charlie's. Who is he?

Couldn't tell you, I was pretty young.

He didn't mean much to me.

No tears here, no, but horror? Yeah --

With three boys on the loose . . .

Playing tag around the grave site.

Grandma tries, but it's no use.

Little kids are just unruly.

It is Ron who makes the turn

Right beside the casket cradle

(Charlie should have had an urn!)

Ron snags a small protrusion,

Evidently it's the switch

That releases two taunt cables,

Dropping Charlie in the ditch!

If the service had been boring

Prior to that fateful slip,

Pandemonium erupts now

As they try to get a grip

On the now, descending Charlie,

As he, super slow, drifts down.

Someone finds the switch -- stops Charlie,

Though he's halfway in the ground.

Subdued thereafter, we three boys --

We wriggle in our chairs,

As the service soon concludes now

Over Charlie, needing stairs.

S. A. Ruskjer

We didn't know him all that well,

Though we had spent some time . . .

Mom and Dad were on their honeymoon.

Grandparents -- past their prime.

Hulda Ruskjer was quite frail

Grandpa saved her from the strain;

Dropped us three of at a pool,

For eight hours, shine or rain!

You might think that we'd be tired

Swimming all those hours on end.

But we soon learned at the bottom

There was money we could spend!

When we gave it to the lifeguard,

He said, "Keep it. It's all right."

We didn't think it strange. We prob'ly

Would have dove throughout the night!

Little did we know 'twas Grandpa

Who had paid the suntanned guard

So he'd keep a watch out for us

In his chlorinated yard.

He would toss a quarter here and there,

A nickel or a dime,

Always clever not to let on --

Just to occupy our time.

It was just about a year from then

(Before Thanksgiving Day)

That Dad took a call from Louisville,

"Dad Ruskjer's passed away."

This was just about the first time

Someone died who I had known --

It was s'posed to be a holiday

When Dad hung up that phone.

S. A. Ruskjer had a fav'rite song --

We learned it just for him.

King of My Life, I Crown Thee Now --

My tears were on the brim.

We got through it, though, outdoors beneath

The green grave-mounted tent.

Gram placed a white rose on the lid.

Don't know just what that meant . . .

Alice

When people speak of "first loves,"

Alice Loughman comes to mind.

For four years all throughout high school,

Brighter than the sun, she shined!

I loved Alice more than life itself --

Put her picture on my door . . .

Kissed it every night so often

Pieces fell off on the floor!

We walked home together every day,

My arms would get so tired!

Carried both our books a mile or more,

Though nothing much transpired.

We'd play piano back and forth

While seated on the bench.

While she was playing, I would slide

Her way another inch.

I'd do anything to spend more time

With Alice (nurse's aide).

I signed up to be an orderly --

Same floor -- before the trade.

They moved her to a different floor!

By then we'd broken up.

Her dad worked at two rescue squads.

I thought if I signed up . . .

It'd somehow make it easier

To see her -- but it didn't.

I did enjoy his company.

So that's the way it went.

I then went off to Andrews U.

She went to Kettering.

We saw each other on and off,

And then one day in Spring,

I got a call from Brother Ron.

He tried to let me down,

(Like Charlie, only different!) -- He said,

"Are you sitting down?"

He told me of an accident.

Just happened night before.

"Some drunk ran through a stop sign,

Smashing through the driver's door.

"The driver was killed instantly.

I thought you ought to know --

The funeral is in three days.

You'll prob'ly want to go."

I don't remember when he fin'ly

Told me who it was --

But when he did, a switch was thrown.

The world turned to a buzz.

Two years before, she'd asked me for

Advice about some trip.

It was Europe for six weeks or so.

Most told her she should skip.

"Do nursing first. Then when you're through --

Your education done --

There'll be time enough to take that trip.

That's when you'll have more fun."

I told her, "No. You take that trip.

You'll find that school's still here.

A bit delayed, but what the heck,

By what? It's just a year!"

That conversation killed the buzz

That swirled in my head . . .

She would have studied all for naught --

Because now she was dead . . .

I vowed right then to take some time

Each day to have some fun.

Each day will still have toils enough

Before the day is done.

There was no viewing,

Understandably, the lid was shut.

But oh, the flowers -- what a spread!

A feeling in my gut

Tensed up. There was no way that I

Could pay the soaring freight

To buy the flowers she deserved,

That gave my feelings weight . . .

Show how I felt, how much I loved

This girl inside that box.

I bought a single long-stemmed rose

With vase, and thought, It mocks

My sentiment. That's s'posed to show

How much you mean to me . . .

Lost in that throng of flowers . . .

It just wasn't meant to be.

I gave the vase to Albert -- Al,

Her father shook my hand.

His smile was weak, but genuine.

I hoped he'd understand.

The next day at the funeral,

Imagine my surprise --

The flowers all had been set back

Behind the coffin rise.

Except for one -- a long-stemmed rose --

In front, on its own stand . . .

A spotlight focused on that bloom --

Like somehow it was planned . . .

(to be continued)