The Collection

It's a Family Addiction
by Robert Baucom

Jim Elliot

First Boy
by Denise Brown
Third Place Winner, Fiction

“Yeah,” I answered. “I’m almost done.”

In one moment my stood in the doorway and the in next she was beside me and snatched the comic book out of my hand. “You’re done now. And take your feet off the bed.”

“Ah, mom,” I said as my lifeless arms fell to my side. I spun my feet around and placed them on the ground. “Dang, it was just getting good. You see Spider-Man just saved this girl from falling out a window and when he brought her down to the street, bam, the Scorpion attacked him.”

“That’s nice. I need you to run some deliveries.”

“Aw, do I have to?”

Her answer was to place her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed and her lips drew tight and fixed me with a stare that told me she was in no mood to bargain. “What year is this?”

“Uh, 1969?”

“That’s right and if you would like to see 1970, you better do as I ask.” Her face softened. “Jimmy, you know how your father is. I have to get dinner finished and I really need you to get these orders delivered and get back here before your father comes home.”

“Yes ma’am.”

My mom stayed at home, but to add to pop’s income she sold Avon door-to-door. My brother and sister and I were sworn to secrecy that pop would never know she had this business. It would mean that he couldn’t take care of his family. So my mom took orders from the women who lived in all the apartment buildings that ran the length of the block we lived on. After pop left for work, my mom carried around the blue fabric sample case that was filled with vials, salves, potions and other artifacts of girly voodoo magic. When their orders came in my brother, sister and I helped her sort out the merchandise into little pink and white bags and stapled the receipts to the bags. My mom collected all those dainty little bags and placed them into larger shopping bag that boldly announced in large gold script, underlined with a pink ribbon that formed the exclamation point for the words, Avon Calling!

The first two deliveries were on the same floor and thankfully Mrs. Kurtz and Mrs. Hernandez were both home and they paid me with exact change. The next two deliveries were in my friend Richard Sweringer’s building. Richard was downstairs when I came by and he gave me his typical hangdog nod. Normally, there were two things I dreaded being caught carrying in public, one was any product with the word feminine on it, and the other was the “Avon Calling!” bag, but being seen by Richard was okay. His mother once made him wear lederhosen to school for a week; he was now member-in-good-standing of the all-losers club. Seeing me carrying the Avon bag made him seem less pathetic, so he helped me make the next few deliveries. Mrs. Valentine, Mrs. Del Torre and Mrs. Swann gave us each a tip for being prompt with their deliveries. Richard couldn’t wait to spend his loot and took off the Rexall to buy some candy. I had one last delivery and that was for Mrs. Henry who lived on the top floor of the last building at the end of the block.

I knocked on her door and waited for someone to answer. A voice small and cautious came from the other side of the door. “Yes? Who are you? What do you want?”

“Uh, Avon?” I answered.

“Excuse me?”

“Avon. I have an Avon delivery for you, Miss Henry,” I answered. I tried to keep my voice low just in case anyone I knew was lurking about.

“I don’t believe you. You’re not the Avon lady.”

“I am, I mean I’m not, but my mom’s a lady, I mean she’s my mom, but…I’m just dropping off your order.”

The door opened timidly and a face like a relief map peered out. She gave me the once over with her deep-set blue eyes and then opened the door wide. Her voice changed, becoming lighter and energetic. “Come in, come in.”

“Thanks, that’s okay. I’m just here to drop off your order.”

“I know, but you want get paid don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then you’ll have to come in while I look for my purse.”

I came in and she directed me to sit on the sofa. Her apartment was laid out just like the one my family lived in, except less cluttered, a lot quieter and the furniture was covered with knitted doilies that were on all the arm rests. The air in the living room was still and dry; as if she hadn’t opened a window in years. She excused herself as she went to the back room and I sat stiffly on the sofa, not wanting to mess anything up. On the coffee table next to this week’s TV Guide was a small box decorated with buttons. Every surface, even the bottom had a dozen or so buttons glued to it. When Mrs. Henry reappeared I pointed to the box and asked, “What’s that?”

“That’s my button collection,” she answered. “Do you collect anything?”

“Yeah, I collect comic books.”

“Really, which ones?” She recognized the names of Superman and Batman, but not Spider-Man.

“Do you want to see my buttons?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Mrs. Henry opened the little box. “Pull out any button and I’ll tell you something about it.”

I reached in and pulled out a button covered with a white cloth material “That’s an easy one. That button is from my wedding dress. I was married in 1918 and my dress had 64 buttons just like this one that ran down the back. It took half an hour to button it up,” She chuckled and added, “But only five minutes to unbutton it.”

I didn’t get the joke.

“How about his one?” I said holding up dull green one.

“That one is from Frank’s uniform. He was in the army during World War One. He was wounded and won a Purple Heart.”

“Dang, a Purple Heart? World War One, how long ago was that?”

She laughed, “Let me tell you it seems like a life time ago, but it has really been only 50 years. Wait a minute,” she said interrupting her own thoughts. “If you think that one was old, you’ll love this one.” She rummaged around the box until she pulled out a tarnished gold button. “This one came from the uniform of my grandfather. He fought in the Civil War.”

“No lie?”

She crossed her heart. “No lie. He was killed in one of the last battles, too. The war was declared over, but I guess no one told the other side, yet.”

We went through her collections. She had a button from old boyfriends, from her mother’s favorite summer dress, the overalls her father wore, her two other husbands, and her children. One of her sons was killed on Okinawa in World War Two, and her only daughter, Alice, was a supply clerk during the Korean War, she died in plane crash the on her way home from the war.

“Your family has been through a lot of wars, Mrs. Henry.”

She turned her attention away from the collection and looked at me. “I have a grandson just a few years older than you. I worry about him. He could end up getting drafted for this Viet Nam War.” I thought about that for a moment. My brother was almost four years older than me. In a few years he could be drafted, too. I wondered how it would feel if all I had to remember my brother was a button.

We chatted on until I realized I was supposed to be home a half-hour ago. “Oh shoot, I’m going to get creamed.”

I left her package and bolted out the door. When I got home my father was already sitting at the kitchen table along with brothers and sister. My mom was standing up serving.

“Where were you?” Pop growled.

I looked quickly up at my mother who evaded my eyes, I was on my own. “Uh, I was with Richard Sweringer. We were doing homework. I’m sorry I’m late.”

My father scowled at me for a long moment, as if he could discern the truth by staring at me long enough. I was sure he was going to say, ‘bring me the belt’, but instead he said, “Sweringer, isn’t that the kid who wears those homo pants? You’re not becoming a homo are you?”

“No, sir.”

“Go wash up and come back to eat. Next time you be more mindful of the time.”

“Yes sir.”

Dinner went on as usual as we all ate in silence. The TV was on and pop only watched the news. Normally I tuned out the droning of the news guy, but this time I listened as he spoke about the war. The places he named all sounded so very far away, but the names he read, well they sounded too familiar.

After dinner my mom came into my room and I gave her the money I collected.

“I’m sorry I was late, but I lost track of time with Mrs. Henry.”

“It’s okay. I know how she can talk. She called a little while ago. You forgot to bring home her money.”

“Shoot, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll stop by tomorrow and get it from her.”

As my mom left I returned to reading my comic book. After a while I went over to the closet I shared with my brother, pulled out his favorite flannel shirt and chewed away the thread that held the top button.

The Perils of Time Travel
by Ben Greenstein