"Hey, Jimmy," a voice called from outside his bedroom window. "You ready?"
It was Jimmy's best friend Wallace. Jimmy finished tying his black and white Chuck Taylors and went to the window.
"Hey, Wallace," Jimmy yelled back. He always called his friend Wallace. Not Wally. That's the way Wallace wanted it. "I'll be right down. Oh. Watch out. Carlson almost ate Nicky this morning."
Wallace looked nervously around and then hurried his somewhat chubby body up to the front stairs. Seconds later Jimmy came out of the door.
"Weather man says it's 60 degrees out,'' Wallace said. He always greeted his friends with a weather update. He was obsessed with the weather. While other boys were watching the news for sports highlights, Wallace waited for the local weatherman to step in front of the giant map and point out all the highs and lows coming towards his town. "It's going to get up near 70 with a slight breeze coming out of the southwest," he said, very proud of this knowledge. "Perfect racing weather."
"The southwest?" Jimmy asked. "Will that be behind us on the hill or in our faces?"
"Um. I don't know," Wallace said as they walked into Jimmy's back yard.
They went behind the shed where Jimmy's dad stored the wheelbarrow and some concrete blocks. Next to the wheelbarrow was something covered under an old brown plastic tarp. Wallace and Jimmy each grabbed ends of the tarp and pulled it away, uncovering a wooden go-kart. It made them smile every time they pulled off the tarp and revealed the go-kart's 7-Up design on the front panel that Jimmy's dad had helped them paint. 7-Up was their favorite drink. And seven was both the boys' favorite number in honor of their favorite Boston Bruins hockey player. Phil Esposito.
Jimmy got behind the kart and pushed as Wallace walked along steering the kart towards the driveway. They parked it in the center of the asphalt and stood there admiring it. They were very proud of their kart. It was the third one they had built together and this was by far the best.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
Chapter 1
Jimmy sat on the end of his bed, his elbows resting on the windowsill as he looked up and down Laurie Ave.
It was just before breakfast and the smell of the waffles that his mom always made on Saturday morning drifted up from the kitchen into his room and was carried out past him by the warm, summer breeze. The street was mostly quiet. Off in the distance Jimmy could hear the sounds of the garbage truck. The revving of the engine as it moved from one house to another. The long squeal of the brakes as it came to a stop. The muffled rumble of the engine rose over the trees, growing slightly louder as it moved nearer. He sat there, hypnotized by the alternating sounds of the engine roaring and the brakes squealing, thinking about the big day ahead.
The noise often awoke Jimmy on Saturday mornings. Every other neighborhood’s trash sat out till 10 or 11 during the week, but Saturday morning was always disturbed at 7 sharp on his street. His dad would start every waffle breakfast by kissing Jimmy’s mom and then complaining about the garbage trucks between mouthfuls. He said the trucks came by early on the weekend because the trash men "wanted to be done by lunch so they could start playing cards on the city’s dime." When he was younger, Jimmy used to think that the trash men got paid a dime. His little brother, Nicky, still does much to Jimmy’s amusement.
Jimmy heard the voices of his dad and Nicky and then the sound of the screen door slamming. Jimmy looked down to see Nicky running from the front steps in his slippers and G.I. Joe pajamas. He headed to the end of the driveway to get the newspaper lying on the lawn near the street. Jimmy looked around his room for a tennis ball or something to throw at Nicky but couldn’t find anything. He looked out the window again and noticed the bushes across the street in the Carlson’s front yard moving. The bushes went still but Jimmy could still hear rustling. Jimmy’s stomach tightened as he kept his eye on the bushes. They started moving again, this time closer to the street. Jimmy looked over at Nicky. He was at the edge of the lawn, bending to pick up the paper.
It was just before breakfast and the smell of the waffles that his mom always made on Saturday morning drifted up from the kitchen into his room and was carried out past him by the warm, summer breeze. The street was mostly quiet. Off in the distance Jimmy could hear the sounds of the garbage truck. The revving of the engine as it moved from one house to another. The long squeal of the brakes as it came to a stop. The muffled rumble of the engine rose over the trees, growing slightly louder as it moved nearer. He sat there, hypnotized by the alternating sounds of the engine roaring and the brakes squealing, thinking about the big day ahead.
The noise often awoke Jimmy on Saturday mornings. Every other neighborhood’s trash sat out till 10 or 11 during the week, but Saturday morning was always disturbed at 7 sharp on his street. His dad would start every waffle breakfast by kissing Jimmy’s mom and then complaining about the garbage trucks between mouthfuls. He said the trucks came by early on the weekend because the trash men "wanted to be done by lunch so they could start playing cards on the city’s dime." When he was younger, Jimmy used to think that the trash men got paid a dime. His little brother, Nicky, still does much to Jimmy’s amusement.
Jimmy heard the voices of his dad and Nicky and then the sound of the screen door slamming. Jimmy looked down to see Nicky running from the front steps in his slippers and G.I. Joe pajamas. He headed to the end of the driveway to get the newspaper lying on the lawn near the street. Jimmy looked around his room for a tennis ball or something to throw at Nicky but couldn’t find anything. He looked out the window again and noticed the bushes across the street in the Carlson’s front yard moving. The bushes went still but Jimmy could still hear rustling. Jimmy’s stomach tightened as he kept his eye on the bushes. They started moving again, this time closer to the street. Jimmy looked over at Nicky. He was at the edge of the lawn, bending to pick up the paper.
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