Living Up the Street Read Online Free

them to water the lawn while we went inside where I was given a bowl of ice cream. I took this treat to the front window and lookedout on a knot of smoky neighbor kids who were staring in silence. One of them asked if I was blind.
    “No, Frostie,” I called through the screened window. “I can still see your
mocos
.”
    That night I was pampered by Mother; Rick and Debra grew envious because I was served more ice cream, more this and that, and was allowed to stay up until nine-thirty to watch
Dobie Gillis
in my smoky sunglasses. I could hear my brother in bed trying to talk to me.
    “I’m going to get you, Gary,” Rick said. I laughed especially loud at each funny scene, and when the program ended I said, “Boy, that was real good.”
    When I was sent to bed, I took off my sunglasses carefully and fogged them with my breath, rubbing them clean with my T-shirt. I placed them on the bureau and climbed into my bunk bed, while Rick muttered threats because he felt that I was being spoiled.
    The next day we were again warned by our mother, who worked until four candling eggs for Safeway, not to go outside the house until one or the police might arrest her. The neighbors should not know that we were being left alone.
    “But, Gary, you have to stay inside. I don’t want you to go out in the sunlight.” At the door she reminded me with a shake of her finger, “You heard what the doctor said. You can go blind,
m’ijo
.”
    I watched the morning movie in which John Wayne, injured in an attack on an aircraft carrier, had lost the ability to walk, but later, through courage and fortitude, he pulled himself out of bed, walked a few stiff steps, and collapsed just as the doctor and his girlfriend entered the room to witness his miracle comeback. I saw myself as John Wayne. Nearly blinded by a mean brother, I overcame my illness to become a fighter pilot who saves the world from the Japanese. I took a few Frankenstein steps across the living room, shouting that I was healed by theLord. My brother countered with “You’re not funny.” He got up and went to the garage with Debra where they hammered on boards they said were going to be a scooter.
    At one o’clock Rick and Debra went outside to ride their bikes in front of the house as I sat at the window yearning to join them. They rode by slowly, then with great speed, as they made certain to turn to me and smile to show they were really getting a kick out of riding their bikes. They rode for a while, their brows sweaty and their cheeks reddening, before an ice cream truck jingled up the block. They pulled together from their pockets seven cents for a juice bar which they took turns licking slowly under a tree. Rick looked at the window where I sat with my sunglasses on, and, very exaggeratedly, called out, “Ummm, good!”
    They came inside, cooled off with Kool-Aid, and watched a game show neither of them cared for. Bored, Debra turned off the TV and went to her room to play with her dolls while Rick disappeared into the garage, where the rap of the hammer started up again. I peeked out the kitchen door that led to the garage, but he warned me that if I came out he would tell Mom.
    Minutes later he came back into the living room where I was drawing and asked if I wanted to go to the playground.
    “But Mom will get mad,” I said.
    “Ah, don’t worry,” he argued. “We’ll be back before four. She won’t know.”
    Debra returned to the living room and stood by Rick. Reluctant at first, I gave in when I saw them walk down the street without looking back, and trotted after them while holding onto my sunglasses so they wouldn’t fall off.
    At the playground I was a celebrity; the kids milled around me and asked if I was blind, did it hurt, would I have to wear the sunglasses forever? I played checkers and Candyland with Ronnie, happy that I was noticed byso many. Even the coach asked how I was, touched my hair and tenderly called me “knucklehead.” This made Rick mad