Following My Own Footsteps Read online

  One afternoon I brought Heidi with me and asked him if he'd ever read it. Of course he had. William has read just about every book written, including Moby-Dick. I'm not talking about the Classic Comic either. He read the real thing, all five or six hundred pages. Didn't skip a single word. Not even the long boring chapter about whales. That's how smart he was.

  I opened Heidi to the part about Clara and handed it to him. "Look at this."

  William glanced at the picture of Clara walking into her grandmother's arms while Heidi watched, grinning like crazy.

  "If Clara could learn to walk again, you can, too," I said. "All you have to do is try. T-R-Y."

  Miss Whipple had just said the same thing to me that afternoon about my multiplication tables. I hadn't believed her, so don't ask me why I expected William to believe me. I guess I was desperate.

  "Clara's a girl in a book," William said, sounding scornful. "She's not real, Gordy. The writer made her up."

  "I know that." I scowled at him. "I might not be as smart as you, but I'm not stupid either."

  I felt like adding, "Besides, I can walk," but I kept my mouth shut. It was time to go home for dinner anyway.

  The next day the news we'd all been waiting for finally came. The principal himself ran into our classroom and shouted, "Boys and girls, the Germans have surrendered! The war in Europe is over!"

  You never heard such a commotion in your life. We jumped to our feet, yelling and hollering and dancing like crazy people. Girls cried, they were so happy. So did teachers. Even Langerman and I forgot we hated each other. It was one of the happiest moments of my whole entire life. And, to top it off, school closed early and we all ran home, screaming and laughing.

  We'd been expecting it, of course. For weeks the Allies had been rolling through Germany so fast nothing could stop them. Not Nazi guns, not Nazi tanks, not what was left of the Luftwaffe.

  Not even Hitler himself. When he finally realized he was losing the war, he'd killed himself and so had a bunch of other Nazis, including Goebbels. Some took poison, some shot themselves. Cowards every one of them, scared to face what they'd done to the world and their own country.

  Frankly, I'd hoped to see those Nazis shot or hanged. Maybe even tortured the way they tortured other people. Or at least shot and hung upside down in a square like Mussolini.

  Neither William nor Grandma agreed with me—they both thought I was bloodthirsty. But so what? The Nazis deserved the worst we could give them for the stuff they did. The pictures in Life magazine proved that—all those dead Jews in the concentration camps.

  Anyway, that afternoon William was waiting for me on the front porch, grinning and holding up the newspaper to show me a headline a blind man could have read, it was so big and black: NAZIS QUIT.

  We read the paper together. It seemed the war in Europe had lasted five years, eight months, and six days. That's a total of 2,076 days, beginning on September 1, 1939, when Hitler invaded Poland and started it all, and ending on May 7, 1945. In that time, The Grandville Sentinel said, forty million people had been killed, wounded, or captured. Civilians as well as soldiers. Old people, mothers, kids, babies. Jews who died in concentration camps worse than anything in hell. Towns bombed to rubble, crops destroyed, farm animals slaughtered. Which meant no homes, no food. All because of Hitler.

  While I was reading, I glanced at William and caught him staring at the gold star in his window. It gave me a lump in my throat to imagine what he was thinking. The soldiers would be coming home soon, including Donny, but William's father wouldn't be with them. That had to be tough for him. And his mother, too.

  "Daddy was a hero," William said softly. "He died for his country. But I wish he hadn't, I wish he was coming back with the other pilots."

  I patted his shoulder, thinking of people I'd known in College Hill who wouldn't be coming back from the war either—Butch, Jimmy, Harold. Others, too: kids' fathers and uncles and brothers. All dead because of Hitler. I cussed that Nazi good, which shocked William, but I didn't care.

  "When do you think your brother will come home?" William asked.

  "Donny? Soon, I hope. He's been over there since just after D-Day."

  "I heard the longer you've been in Europe the sooner you can leave," William said.

  "Sounds fair to me," I said.

  "Unless they decide to send you to the Pacific," William added.

  That got me to cussing Tojo worse than I'd cussed Hitler.

  The next day was a holiday. V-E Day—Victory in Europe. School was closed but a lot of people were too worried to celebrate. After all, the war was only half over. Soldiers and sailors and marines were still dying in the Pacific. It seemed Tojo wasn't ready to give up yet.

  After lunch, I went next door to ask Mrs. Sullivan if William could come outside. The grass was growing tall and green and birds were singing and hopping around, building nests and finding food. Blue sky, flowers, sunshine. She couldn't say no.

  Mrs. Sullivan pushed William's chair to the tree and gave him the usual warning about getting chilled. Then, looking back once or twice, she went inside.

  William and I played war for a while; then we read a couple of new comics he'd bought with his allowance. A breeze stirred the leaves above our heads. The sound made me restless. Tired of sitting still, I climbed the tree and hung upside down from a branch. I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue to make William laugh. Then I skinned the cat and dropped down in the dirt beside the wheelchair.

  "I wish your mother would let me take you somewhere to celebrate V-E Day," I said.

  "Me, too."

  We both looked at the house. Faintly, we heard the theme music swell up for "The Right to Happiness," a sappy show about this divorced lady and her dumb little kid, Skippy. It seemed to be coming from my house as well as William's. Our mothers didn't have much in common, but they both listened to the same silly soap operas. In fact, women for miles around were probably getting out their hankies, all set to cry for the next fifteen minutes. Suddenly I got an idea.

  "Does your mother listen to 'Backstage Wife,' too?" I asked.

  William was smart enough to guess what I was thinking. "She'll be glued to the radio till 'Young Widder Brown' is over. The world could end and she wouldn't notice."

  I got to my feet and quietly pushed William around the house, through the front gate, and down the sidewalk. "Where do you want to go?"

  "How about Costello's Drug Store?" William reached into his pocket and showed me his money. "Thirty cents. We can get bubble gum. Cherry Cokes. Good and Plenties. Mother never lets me have stuff like that. She says it's bad for my teeth."

  Before we'd gone more than a couple of blocks, I found out pushing a wheelchair was hard work. The farther we went, the heavier William got and the hotter the sun beat down on my head. I had to get him over the curb and back up again every time we crossed a street. I discovered hills I'd never noticed when I was just walking along.

  By the time we got to Costello's, I was glad to ease the wheelchair through the screen door and maneuver it down the aisle to the soda fountain in the back. Thanks to the big fan hanging from the ceiling, it was a little cooler inside. But not much.

  The lady behind the counter leaned over and grinned down at William. "Bless your heart, I haven't seen you in a coon's age," she said. "You look real good, honey."

  William thanked her and ordered two cherry Cokes. He wanted me to hoist him up on a stool, but I couldn't do it. He was just too heavy. So he had to drink his Coke sitting in the wheelchair while I twirled round and round at the counter.

  "Who's your friend?" the lady asked William, but she was looking at me, all beady-eyed with curiosity.

  "Mrs. Maxwell, meet Gordy Smith," said William. "He's living with his grandmother, Mrs. Aitcheson."

  "Well, I'll be," Mrs. Maxwell said, giving me all her attention. "You must be one of Virginia's children. I knew your mama. We went to high school together." She paused to give the countertop a swift wipe with a towel an
d then added, "I remember when your daddy blew into town. He was a handsome rascal, that's for sure."

  Leaning a little closer, she dropped her voice so it sounded solemn, but I could hear nosiness buzzing around my head like a mosquito. "How's your mama, honey? I heard she's here in Grandville, but I haven't seen hide nor hair of her."

  "Mama's just fine," I said. Looking her in the eye, I sucked up the rest of my Coke, making as loud a noise as possible.

  "You favor Roger," Mrs. Maxwell said. Maybe insulting me was her way of getting even for the noise I was making. "You've got his eyes and coloring."

  "I've got my own eyes and my own coloring and I don't favor anyone. Not Mama. Not Roger, either." Giving Mrs. Maxwell one last dirty look, I slid off the stool and grabbed the wheelchair. "Come on, William, we have to go. 'Lorenzo Jones' is just starting."

  William took the hint. "Young Widder Brown" came on after "Lorenzo Jones," and it would take us nearly fifteen minutes to get home. Maybe longer, as I wasn't feeling as strong as I had when we started out.

  "You be careful, Gordy Smith," Mrs. Maxwell called after us. "I'm surprised Shirley let you bring William all this way."

  I let the screen door slam behind me. "Nosy old bag," I muttered, adding a few cuss words just to get William's goat.

  "You shouldn't have been so rude, Gordy," said William, sounding like the worrywart he was. "What if Mrs. Maxwell calls Mother and tells her you brought me down here?"

  Not being as smart as William, I hadn't thought of that, but it was too late to do anything about old busybody Maxwell now. The important thing was to get William home before his mother noticed he was gone.

  Somehow we managed it, even after being chased two blocks by Langerman's chow dog, which probably helped since it surely sped us up. Anyway, when Mrs. Sullivan came outside we were sitting under the tree reading comic books as if we'd been there all afternoon.

  "You look hot, Gordon," said Mrs. Sullivan. "Maybe you should go home and lie down for a while. Cool off."

  "Yes, ma'am," I said.

  Mrs. Sullivan stopped at the clothesline to hang up a basket of laundry. I leaned close to William. "Just think what fun it would be to walk to Costello's," I whispered. "You could go anywhere you pleased. Climb trees again. Ride that bike rusting away in your garage. Play in the creek."

  William frowned and plucked at his blanket. "There's no sense talking about it, Gordy. I can't, and that's that."

  Keeping an eye on Mrs. Sullivan, I went on talking. "We could sneak off to the park every day and practice like Heidi and Clara in the meadow. Imagine how happy your mother would be if one day you just walked through the front gate and up the steps and in the door."

  As I talked, I imagined William sauntering along beside me. We'd have our hands in our pockets and we'd be singing the Army Air Corps fight song. It would be sunny and warm like today, a nice breeze, birds singing. The picture was so real I knew it would come true. It just had to.

  William smiled like he saw the same picture. "Do you really think I could do it, Gordy? Really and truly? Cross your heart and hope to die?"

  "Yes, yes, yes!" I zoomed around his wheelchair making airplane noises. "Off we go," I sang, "into the wild blue yonder, flying high into the sun."

  Mrs. Sullivan peered out from behind the sheet she'd just hung up. "I thought you'd gone home, Gordon." Coming closer, she gripped the handle of William's wheelchair and began pushing him toward the house.

  "See you tomorrow, Gordy," William called.

  I watched Mrs. Sullivan maneuver the chair up the porch steps. Soon she wouldn't have to do that. William would be running ahead of her, taking the steps two at a time, beating her inside.

  Grabbing the limb of my tree, I did a dozen chin-ups and then ran home singing the rest of the fight song.

  Fifteen

  The next afternoon, William and I sat under the tree, waiting for "The Right to Happiness" to begin. When the first throb of organ music floated out the kitchen window, I jumped to my feet. "Let's go, William."

  I thought he'd be as excited as I was but he gave me one of his worrywart looks. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

  Instead of answering, I started pushing his wheelchair around the house. William didn't say anything, so I kept going. Out the gate, down the sidewalk, around the corner, heading for Meridian Hill as fast as I could go before William decided to tell me to stop, he'd changed his mind, he didn't want to walk after all.

  When we got to the park, I was so hot I thought I might have sunstroke like the English soldiers I once saw in a movie about the Sahara Desert. I wanted to get a drink at the public fountain but William said I'd better not. You never knew who'd drunk before you or what germs they might have left behind. He finished by saying, "Do you want to end up with polio, too?"

  "Next time I'll bring a thermos or something," I said, remembering those cherry Cokes at Costello's.

  I rolled the wheelchair down a little slope, trying not to think about pushing it back up, and stopped in the nice shady place I'd told William about. There wasn't a soul in sight. The park was as deserted as a meadow in the Alps. I wouldn't have been surprised to see a goat or two grazing on the grass.

  Too pooped to do anything else, I flopped down to take a breather.

  William stared at me. "What now, Gordy?"

  "As soon as I get my strength back, I'll help you stand up. Then we'll take a step or two."

  He looked around, smiling like he was enjoying a change of scenery. "This is nice, Gordy. Can't I just sit a while?"

  "That's not what we came here for, William. You want to walk again, don't you?"

  His hands tightened on the wheelchair's arms. "Yes, but I'm scared it'll hurt."

  "It probably will at first," I said, remembering how Clara winced and cried in the beginning. "But you'll get used to it."

  "What if I fall?" His voice came out sort of high and wobbly.

  "I'll pick you up."

  "You're sure I can do it?"

  "How many times do I have to tell you? If you try hard enough, you'll walk. Remember—T. R. Y. Try."

  I took hold of William's hands. I thought I could just pull him to his feet, but even though William was shorter and skinnier than I was, he seemed to weigh two or three times as much. Maybe it was because he couldn't help lift himself. Anyway, we ended up tipping the chair over. The grass was soft, so it didn't hurt William much when he tumbled out onto the ground.

  "Now we have to get you up on your feet," I said.

  We struggled and tried and grunted and groaned, but William just couldn't stand up. It seemed easy when Heidi and Clara did it. I couldn't figure out why we were having so much trouble.

  "William, you're just not trying," I said at last.

  "I am so!" It was the first time he'd ever yelled at me.

  "No, you aren't!" I hollered back. "You like sitting around having people wait on you and feel sorry for you and let you have your own way because you're crippled!"

  That made William cry. He even tried to hit me, which wasn't easy because he was lying on his face in the grass. "It's not true," he cried. "I'd give anything to walk. I hate being crippled!"

  "Prove it," I said. "Stand up and walk!"

  "Who the hell do you think you are? Jesus?" William was sweating and his face was all streaked with tears, but he'd stopped crying.

  Actually what I'd had in mind was this sergeant I'd seen in a movie once. He'd been tough on his men because he thought that would make them brave and strong.

  "No," I shouted. "I'm just trying to help you, that's all!"

  I turned around and walked off. I wasn't really going to leave him. I was faking to see if he'd get so worried he'd get up and come after me.

  "Gordy," William screamed, "come back! Don't leave me here!"

  I stopped but I didn't turn around. I was still hoping he'd take a step or two in my direction.

  "I hate you, Gordy, I hate you! You're nothing but a low-down stinking bully!"

&
nbsp; William's voice wasn't any closer than it had been before. Finally I turned around and looked at him. He was still on his stomach, propped up on his arms, trying to drag himself toward me. His face was red and he was crying so hard his snot and tears had mixed together. He was cussing me out, too, using words I'm sure he'd never spoken before in his whole entire life.

  Suddenly it hit me like a fist in my guts. William couldn't stand up and walk, no matter how much I wanted him to. No matter how much he himself wanted to. He'd been right all along—Clara was just some girl in a book and so was Heidi. This was real life. Trying to make him walk was the dumbest thing I'd done since I jumped off the roof when I was little, thinking I could fly like Superman.

  I ran back to William and tried to calm him down, but he was so mad I couldn't get through to him. He flailed around and tore up grass and carried on like a crazy person. He kept on swearing like he wasn't ever going to stop. I've got to admit he was better at stringing words together than I was.

  At last he wore himself out and lay there. He wouldn't look at me, he wouldn't speak to me.

  For a few minutes, I stared down at him, trying to decide what to do. The truth is, I felt like crying too. Finally I took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry, William, I'm sorry."

  It was the first time I'd ever apologized of my own free will. First time I'd ever truly been sorry for anything.

  "You were right all along," I added. "It was a dumb idea, and I wish you'd quit being mad."

  But no matter what I said, William wouldn't speak or look at me. He had those dry shudders people get when they've cried a long time. Though I'd never experienced them myself, I'd seen June act like that after a bad scene with the old man.

  "I know you hate me, William, but I have to get you back home." I set the wheelchair up, glad I hadn't broken it like Peter had, but William kept his head turned. He didn't seem to care if he stayed in the park all night.