Billy Straight

42

When the lock clicked on the back door to the Jewish church, my brain froze and I couldn't move.

What would the Jews do to me? Now I was finished.

As the back door opened, I jumped under the big table, crawled into the cabinet, and closed the door quietly. I could hear footsteps from inside.

Just one person walking- yes, just one.

The cabinet was empty and smelled of wood and old clothes. My mouth tasted of crackers and fear. I pushed myself into a corner and didn't move. Praying whoever was in here wouldn't open the doors.

The sign said no prayers till tomorrow; did the Jews have secret prayers?

Whoever it was out there walked around, stopped, walked some more.

Now he was close to me. If he did open the cabinet, I'd jump out, I'd scream like a maniac, surprise him and escape.

Escape, how? Not through the back door, unless he'd left it unlocked.

The front- could you open it from inside? The bathroom window again- that would take time. My stomach started to hurt really bad. I felt like I was being suffocated.

I didn't even do anything really wrong- just ate some of their food, and it wasn't that good. Crackers with an onion taste, some butterfly-shaped cookies that were stale.

I didn't even mess with the silver bottle with the Jewish star on it, just shook it to see what would fall out. Even though the lock looked dinky. I thought about breaking it, but the bottle looked nice and I didn't want to damage it.

This was a Jewish place, but it was still a church, so maybe God was here, too.

I'd tell him all that if he caught me.

No I wouldn't, I'd yell and scream and run to the bathroom, lock myself in, get that window up.

I remembered what Moron said about Jews being out to kill Christians… that's got to be crazy, but what if…

Now he's farther away. Back and forth, back and forth- what's he doing?

Uh-oh, he's coming closer again. I hear rattling- he's shaking the silver bottle. Now it sounds like he's scraping the top of the table- probably cleaning up the cracker crumbs… now he walks away. Maybe he'll see no one stole anything and just leave-

Now he's walking back-

The door opens.

I don't jump out and yell.

I just push myself harder into the corner.

A face stares at me. An old face, kind of fat. Glasses with thick black frames, a big nose, red, kind of big ears.

A fu

He doesn't look mad. More surprised. I keep pushing myself into the corner. The wood is hard against my back and my butt, but I can't stop pushing.

He steps back some more, says, “It's okay,” in a deep grumbly voice.

I just sit there.

“It's okay. Come on out, I don't bite.”

Then he peeks in closer, smiling, showing me his teeth, like trying to prove they're not for biting kids. The pervert grandpa smiled that way, too.

He's giving me room to get out, but I can't move, I just can't move.

He starts saying it's okay, if I'm hungry I should eat right, not junk.

I figure if he gives me troubles I can just push him down. Even with those big, thick hands, he's an old guy.

Finally, my body relaxes and I crawl out. He grabs my arm and he's pretty strong and I try to kick him and he lets go and I run to the front of the synagon, but the door's locked with one of those locks you need a key for so now I'm stuck.

I go back. He's sitting down on a church bench. He laughs, holds out a box of chocolate doughnuts, tries to give it to me, but no way will I get close enough to him to take it.

Not just because he's Jewish, because he's a person and you can't trust anyone.

He starts talking again, telling me he'll unlock the back door for me, I don't have to crawl through the window.

Then he pulls out money! Two twenty-dollar bills- forty dollars!

What's he trying to buy?

I don't take it, and he puts it down on the floor along with the doughnuts and gets up and unlocks the door and goes to the bathroom.

I grab up everything and race out of there.

Outside, I breathe again. Inside my pocket, the money weighs a ton and the first doughnut I eat, walking through the alley, tastes fantastic. I eat another one. Then my stomach starts to hurt, and I decide to save the rest for later.

Stores are opening and more people are walking and skating, and the first thing I do is buy a hat, a Dodgers hat with an adjustable band in back. I fit it to my head and bend the brim over my face so it'll keep the sun off, and also to hide it.

Because buying it is a strange experience. The place I find it is this little shack a ways up from the synagon. The guy who sells it to me is ugly, with bad skin, mirrored sunglasses, and long greasy blond-and-gray hair. He looks at me fu

I guess he could be from Hollywood, but I never saw him before. He's got a weird accent, like a bad guy from a spy movie- Russian, he sounds like a Russian spy.

So why's he looking at me like that? I mean, I can't be sure he really is, because of the mirrored sunglasses. But it seems like he is- the way he turns his head toward me and just keeps it there. Taking a long time to give me my change.

As I turn away, he says, “Hey, you, kid,” but I leave, pushing the hat down over my face. When I turn around a few moments later, he's in front of the shack, still looking in my direction, so I duck between some buildings and walk through the alley a little, then back to Ocean Front, too far for him to see me.

The ocean has turned pure blue, and my bones finally feel warm. I smell corn dogs and popcorn, know I have money to buy them, but I'm still full from the crackers and the doughnuts. All these people, and I'm walking along with them, like it's a moving sidewalk and we're all together doing some dance; no one's bothering anyone.

The corn-dog smell makes me feel I'm at a carnival. I was at a school carnival once. Had no money to buy corn dogs or anything. This feels like a warm bright dream.

I reach the end of the walkway and there's no place to go but sand.

The whole beach is like the end of the world.

I figure I'll try the other end, turn around, walk for a while, until I spot the ugly Russian guy coming my way. He's in the crowd, but he's not part of it. Everyone else seems to be having a good time. He looks angry. And his eyes are all over the place. Looking for something- me?

Another perv?

I don't want to find out. Slipping back over to the alley, I walk back in the direction I came from, checking over my shoulder a few times. I see a couple of people, but not him. Then the alley's empty again and here's the synagon. There's a huge old white Lincoln Continental with a brown top parked there. Must be the old guy's.

Jew canoes, Moron called them. Cadillacs and Lincoln Continentals.

Soft cars, he used to say, for soft people.

But the old guy had a strong grip.

The way he just gave me all that money- forty dollars, like it was nothing. So the Jews are rich. But he didn't want anything from me.

Maybe I can get some more money from him.

I'm still out in the alley thinking about it when he comes out, sees me, and gives a surprised smile. He's really short. This time I notice that his teeth are too white; they have to be false.

Mom had some false teeth made up for the back of her mouth where the rotten ones fell out, but she never put them in and her face started to get saggy.

He holds out his hands, like he's confused.

“What?” he says. “You already spent it all?”