Extended Family
Chapter 1b
[Continued from Chapter 1a below)
Peter’s mother, still half-asleep, hurried up the stairs, tugging at her robe, her slippers slapping on the stairs. Peter followed her into Mrs. McGill’s apartment where his mother turned and put her hands on his shoulders, gently steering him toward the sofa. She ran her fingers through her short, dark, bedraggled hair, then tugged once on the cotton belt that circled her narrow waist. She was a small, slight woman, but wrestling the fifty-pound sacks of flour, five gallon bottles of oil, and large pails of sugar and baking soda at the bakery had toughened her, and made her lean, taut, and strong.
She carefully opened the door to Mrs. McGill's bedroom, and Peter heard her say very quietly, "Agnes? It's me, Mary. I've come to see how you're doing." He heard the door click shut and he sat down to wait. He sat very still on the sofa, his chest tightening and fear welling up from his stomach, acid rising to burn the back of his throat. It felt like last summer, he thought, the horrible summer of 1968 - the arguments between Mary and her mother, her sisters always picking at her, his cousins’ teasing him because he had no father. And then the sudden move to the apartment in Olney. His family’s disintegration getting caught up in the chaos of that horrible year. Bobby Kennedy, Dr. King, riots in the cities, Black Panthers, Weatherman, Rizzo in his tuxedo with a riot club stuck in his cumberbund, nightly casualty reports from Vietnam, some of the numbers included older kids from the neighborhood,gang murders nearly ever day. He heard some people call ‘68, the "Summer of Love.” He had no idea why. He guessed they just weren't paying attention. Sitting alone in the quiet front room, listening intently for any hint of what was happening in the closed bedroom, he felt unmoored, hollowed out, and drifting way.
His mother came out of the bedroom about a half-hour later. She waved for Peter to join her in the kitchen where she flipped through Mrs. McGill's address book which hung from a string attached to her heavy black wall phone. She told him to go downstairs and get her a pair of pants and a shirt that was hanging on the back of her bedroom door. She also needs shoes and socks believe have something to do, to push away the fears and action, Peter ran downstairs and began to gather up his mother's things
When he returned, his mother was talking on the phone to Dr. Sarkis. She asked Peter a few questions about how Mrs. McGill was acting before he came and got her. He answered as best as he could, and she repeated his answers to the doctor. She listened for a while, occasionally making small affirmative noises to indicate that she had understood.
"Germantown Hospital Emergency, right. Yes, I'll take her car. About a half-hour, okay? Thank you, Doctor. Goodbye." She hung up the phone and picked up her clothes that Peter had placed on the kitchen table. "Peter," she said, "I have to take Mrs. McGill to the hospital. She's very sick." She paused. Peter waited. It was clear she had more to say, but was with sorting it out in her head first. "What’s the Harper's number?," she asked. "Who's watching the kids this summer?"
"Mrs. Zink," Peter answered. "She lives a few houses down. She's Joey's grandmother."
"Okay, I'm going to call her and see if you can stay with them while I'm at the hospital. Is that all right with you?"
"Yeah," Peter said. "I'm sure she'll do it."
Peter told her the number. One of the kids answered, and Peter’s mother waited for Mrs. Zink to come to the phone. Mary briefly explained the situation to Mrs. Zink and a look of relief washed over her face as listened to her reply. She said that Peter would be right over, thank Mrs. Zink again, and hung up the phone.
“Peter, everything’s going to be fine. You can stay with the Harper’s until I get back. Go down and get my purse and keys while I change. Be sure to lock the door."
Peter ran back downstairs. He looked around for his mother's purse and found it dropped onto the small barrel chair in the corner of the bedroom. Her keys were on the hook above the kitchen counter. He jammed his pimple ball into his pocket and locked the door before running back upstairs with the purse and keys.
When he reached the top of the stairs, his mother was stepping out of the bedroom dressed and distractedly running a comb through her hair. She went into the bedroom and Peter could hear her softly talking to Mrs. McGill. He could hear low, murmured responses, but he couldn't make out what Mrs. McGill was saying. A few minutes later, his mother was leading Mrs. McGill out of the bedroom, her old woman walking unsteadily and clinging to Mary’s arm. The old woman's eyes were unfocused, and she didn't seem to be aware of Peter.
"Go in my purse and take a few dollars in case you need it. Please don't use it unless you have to, Peter," his mother said. "Mrs. McGill's car keys should be in the kitchen on the key hook. You go ahead of us opening doors and unlocking the car."
Peter nodded, ran into the kitchen, grabbed the keys, and, without breaking stride, wheeled around and ran down the stairs, throwing the doors open as he crashed through them. Mary carefully guided Mrs. McGill down the stairs and over to the car. Peter opened the passenger side door, struggling with the heavy weight of the doors on the two-door Ford Fairlane. He stepped aside as his mother needs the old woman onto the passenger seat.
Shutting the heavy door with a solid thump, Mary turned to Peter. "Be sure to lock Mrs. McGill's door and the outside one. Leave the porch light on. Stay at the Harper’s until you hear from me. I'll call when I know what's going on." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. He wanted to hug her and ask if Mrs. McGill would be all right. He wanted her to tell him not to worry , that things would be okay, but the words wouldn't come. Mary saw her boy frozen in place, not quite as old as he thought he was, and hugged him, whispering in his ear, "Don't worry, Petey. We’ll make it. We always do."
Peter shook himself and looked up at her, a slightly relieved look crossing his face. "I don't have time to drive you, Peter," his mother said as she walked around to the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel. "Will you be alright walking?"
"Sure," he said. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll be okay."
"I'm know you will," she answered. "Remember, I'll be at the Germantown Hospital Emergency Room. I'll call you at the Harper’s soon as I can. Be good, Petey."
"I will. I'll lock up and go straight to Jimmy's."
Mary turned the ignition key, and over the engine’s load rumble she yelled goodbye and waved Peter. She released the passenger brake and pulled away from the curb. Peter watched her as she drove down toward Tabor and then turned right towards 5th Street. He knew she would take 5th St. to the Boulevard and then head down to Germantown. When he could no longer see the dark green, squat form of the Falcon, he walked back up the steps, checked that the porch light was on, locked the doors, and started toward the Harper’s.
Peter marched mechanically in the direction off the Harper's house, his motions controlled directed by ancient remnants of reptilian brain that only needed a goal and then moved ponderously, but steadily, toward the target without interfering with the later, higher brain that overlay the ancient one. Peter's higher brain was lost in reliving and working through the blur of activity he had just passed through. His limbic system was pumping fear, anxiety, and read into every corner of his skinny body, and he struggled to suppress the urge to run. He didn’t want to run because he wasn't ready to reach the Harper's yet. He needed time to think, to calm down, to keep replaying the actions, examining them, turning them over in his mind until the monsters revealed themselves to be innocuous shadows.
Before he was aware of how far he walked, Peter turned the corner of Second and Clarkson. He could see the Harper's front porch halfway up the hill. The kids were on the porch watching for him, and he heard Jeanie yell, "There he is! I won! I won! I saw them first." She was holding on to the iron railing of the porch and bouncing up and down, crying her victory over her older brothers to the entire block.
Jimmy and Doug had been looking up second toward Tabor. They'd expected him to come the longer way because Jimmy Watson had been on the warpath lately and none of the neighborhood kids willingly walked past his house on Clarkson between Third and American, especially not alone. Lost in his thoughts, Peter had strolled right past the Watson’s filthy, decrepit rowhouse, unseen by Jimmy's assorted brothers, sisters, stepbrothers, stepsisters, and miscellaneous rangy and hungry dogs. When Jeanie’s cries had roused him into awareness, Peter was startled at what he just done, the risk he had thoughtlessly taken. He shuddered and remembered how Mrs. McGill would tell him that God looked out for fools and idiots. Maybe she was right.
*********
Mary sat on a hard, steel chair that was once padded, but now had only a torn piece of vinyl over the metal seat. Mrs. McGill was snoring softly on the gurney next to her, an IV in her arm. The past few hours have been a blur of doctors, nurses, questions, and phone calls punctuated by periods of waiting around, and wondering what was happening. As soon as the doctors determined that Mrs. McGill was stable, she was given an injection after which she quickly fell to sleep. Mary took advantage of this opportunity to find a payphone. She called Mrs. McGill's only child, a son who she thought lived in Cherry Hill. He had a good job downtown, and visited his mother about once a month or so, sometimes taking her to his place in Jersey. Mary had been introduced to him and his wife one time, but she didn't know him very well. He agreed to come to the hospital as soon as he could get away from work, but it was a very busy day and t would be some time before he could get away. He asked her if she'd stay with his mother until he get there. Somewhat reluctantly, Mary agreed. She couldn’t just leave Mrs. McGill there alone. Just feeling it would be some time before she'd see him. She was hungry, but didn’t want to buy anything. Money was tight, as always. She hoped that Peter wouldn't have to spend the money she gave him.
Mrs. McGill was out of immediate danger, and Mary's thoughts turned to her side son. She knew we'd be all right at the Harpers, but she didn’t know them that well, and she didn’t like dropping Peter on them like this. She hated looking irresponsible. It was hard enough raising Peter on her own without her neighbors thinking she was irresponsible. She laughed. How many of her neighbors would think a woman who had been knocked up and was raising the kid on her own was responsible no matter what else she did? That boat had sailed 11 years ago.
Mary also worried about herself and Peter which made her feel guilty. The doctors told her that Mrs. McGill had a small stroke, and they were keeping her in the hospital overnight for observation. They were concerned that a larger, more serious attack could occur. Mary had grown very close to Agnes over the past year. Agnes had nearly adopted her and Peter when they moved into the apartment last May. Before long, the doors between the apartment stood open most of the time, and the place became a two-story house, the three of them coming and going as they pleased. Mary joked that her kitchen had never been so clean, as most of the cooking took place upstairs. It was Agnes who had suggested that Peter stay with her while Mary worked the night shift. Before this, Mary had to take Peter to work with her. He slept on a cot set up in the storage room. The boss hadn’t liked it, but he knew Mary was a good baker, and a good employee, so he grudgingly put up with it. Peter never complained, but Mary knew it wasn't good for a child to be awakened early in the morning to ride the bus home, or be awakened throughout the night by the noises of the mixers and the banging of the large oven doors. Mary felt awful worrying about herself when Agnes lay in the hospital bed next to her. But she couldn't help wondering what would happen to her and Peter if something really bad happened Agnes. She'd be alone again, unless she went back to her family for help. No. At least not yet. Something would turn up. She’d figure something out. She looked at her watch and decided it was too early to call the Harpers. She'd wait a while until Jimmy or Peg was home from work.
Then the adrenaline wore off and Mary gave way to exhaustion. She’d only been asleep a few hours when Peter had jolted her awake. Hungry and tired, Mary folded her arms and dropped them onto her lap, entangling her purse in her grip. She leaned her head against the wall, and her body relaxed, her shoulders sagging, as she fell asleep on the unyielding steel chair.
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