A Little Orange in the Big Apple

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  6: “Returning Soda Pop Bottles”

  When Ali woke up the next morning, she smiled and was happy to be at her real home, not Mrs. Amity’s. So many things to catch up on. She hurried to put on her new cowgirl hat that Grandma Nettie gave her, and went out to find her mother in the kitchen making pancakes. “Sweetie, go wash your hands and brush your teeth, before your eat breakfast,” her mother told her. That never made sense to Ali who thought that doing such things before going to bed at night was enough. But Ali decided not to give her mother any trouble; she was just happy to be home. By the time Ali got back to the little kitchen nook after hand-washing and teeth-brushing duties, the pancakes were ready for her. “Honey, you eat your pancakes while I read this letter from your father, OK?” While Ali ate breakfast she watched her mother read the newest letter her father had written. When he wrote long letters to her mother, he would tell her all about the cities he was visiting and the shows he sang in and all about the fun he was having. At the end of the letter her would tell Caroline how much he missed her.

  “Did Daddy say anything about me?” asked Ali hopefully.

  “Let’s see. Yes, right over here in the margin, he said give Ali a big hug from me.” Her mother pointed to the side of the letter where Ali’s name was located.

  “What’s a margin, mother?” asked Ali.

  “It’s the little space on the side of Daddy’s letters, Honey”. A new word for Ali: m-a-r-g-i-n. A little space, little, like Ali.

  Ali was growing up in the margins of her family’s life. She lived in another family’s house during the week and came home on the weekends to watch her mother mow the lawn and clean house and add up numbers on a piece of paper----the amount of the bills. “With your father away on the road, I just can’t seem to do it all,” Ali’s mother would mutter while looking over at Ali, as if asking for some kind of understanding. Ali wanted to help, but she was only 7 years old. Her mother would read the letters over and over and she would laugh a little and then suddenly wipe a tear off her cheek. Ali’s father was a good writer. When her mother finished the letters, she would set them in a small basket by the picture of Ali’s father, on top of the piano in the living room. Her mother finished the letter and was placing it by George’s photo when she yelled out from the living room, “Ali, after you put you dish in the sink, why don’t you go out and play? Go find your brother and see what he’s doing.” Outdoors was always better than indoors. Ali wiped the syrup from the pancakes off her mouth in a hurry, grabbed her cap gun and raced out the door to spend her weekend shooting at bad men and exploring the neighborhood.

  After the screen door slammed, and her mother yelled, “Ali for the umpteenth time. don’t slam that door!”, Ali took off running. She never was quite sure in what direction she would run. She simply decided as she went. Would it be the river? If her friend Jenny was out playing, she might stop and play with her. Would she venture three blocks away to Ventura Boulevard where all the shops were? She was told not to go there without

  Reynolds, but Reynolds was nowhere to be seen, which was OK with Ali. When she was brought home from Mrs. Amity’s house the other day, she noticed that a new house was being built down the block. That was something to check on. The best thing about a new home being built, besides the smell of the sawdust which Ali loved, were the empty Coke and 7-Up bottles that could be found and returned to the market for money to buy candy. The new house it was, Ali decided. She had her cap gun to shoot badmen that might be lurking in the new house. No workers were there because of the holidays. Good, thought Ali, no one would shoo her away. Most of the kids in the neighborhood were with their families and playing with their new toys. Maybe a lot of the bottles would be there from the last day the workers had been there.

  Ali looked around and since the coast was clear, she ventured into the new house which just had a lot of wooden boards nailed together at all kinds of funny angles. There were lots of nails lying all over the ground in the sawdust. The sawdust smelled so good, so fresh. Ali smiled; bottles were still littered all over the place.

  She gathered up as many bottles as she could, stuffing some in her jacket and even trying to shove a couple in the top of her oversized boots which made walking difficult. Next stop, the supermarket.

  Walking up to Ventura Boulevard wasn’t easy when your clothes are stuffed with bottles and your hands are gripping several more. Ali kind of clanked and stumbled as she made her way to the store and her hands were sticky with little bits of liquid still in the bottles. To the back of the store there was a man who worked behind a little half door that had a place to set bottles when they were returned.

  “Well, young lady, looks like you need a little assistance there,” said the man behind the half-door; the bottom was closed, but the top was open.

  “Clank,” one bottle fell and hit the floor, but didn’t break.

  “Here we go,” the man said as he reached down and collected the bottles from Ali’s hands.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” they counted as they set them all in a row.

  “That’s a lot of bottles for such a little girl,” the man said smiling down at Ali. Ali got a handful of change and was ecstatic. Money for candy, or maybe later she would buy some ice cream when Good Humor man drove through the neighborhood in the afternoon.

  “Thank you,” said Ali as she walked away, clutching her shiny coins.

  “You’re welcome,” the man said.

  As Ali was walking out the front door of the store, engrossed with all her shiny coins, she heard a familiar voice, “Hey, what are you doing here? Mom’s going to be mad if she finds out you came here without me”. It was Reynolds.

  “Hey, how much money did you get?” he said, suddenly sounding a little friendlier.

  “Let’s go back into the store and buy something,” he suggested.

  Ali’s first thought was to not share. She did all the hard work, but she also knew her mother would be mad at her if Reynolds told on her.

  “Well I don’t have that much, but OK,” Ali replied to her brother. After spending all the money on a Hershey bar, breaking it in half to share, and eating it on the spot, Reynolds suggested they get some more bottles.

  “I think I got all the bottles at the new house----there aren’t any more there,” said Ali.

  “I know where we can get some more. Follow me,” said Reynolds with great assurance.

  Reynolds led Ali to the back of the market where all the returned bottles were stacked in wooden crates behind a rickety, old chain link fence.

  “We’ll dig a hole under the fence and take some of those bottles. They have a ton of bottles back here. Who’ll know if we take a few?” Reynolds said to Ali. Ali was a little shocked at the idea, but intrigued. It wasn’t as bad as stealing cattle, and having the sheriff come after you she thought. She knew it was wrong, but the idea of some more money sounded good. She and her brother started digging under the fence, all the while looking around for anyone that might see them. There was just enough space to reach under and and start pulling a few bottles from behind the fence.

  “See I told you it would be a cinch,” said Reynolds smugly as if he had done this before.

  “You take them back in there and I’ll be the lookout,” he said shoving Ali in the direction of the store. Once again, she stumbled up to the half door and the man who took the bottles.

  “You back already, little girl?” asked the man, tilting his head to one side.

  “Yes”, was all Ali could say, starting to feel a little uneasy about this latest batch of bottles she was returning. She got her money, but this time it wasn’t as much fun. Something was bothering her. Did the man know why her hands were so dirty? Was he going to follow her outside the store? As Ali rounded the corner of the store to the back where Reynolds was, she saw him dragging out even more bottles.

  “Here, I’ve got some more bottles for you, Ali,” said Reynolds.

  “I wa
nt to go home now”, said Ali guiltily.

  “What a scaredy cat you are,” he replied. Just then the back door of the market leading to the stacks of bottles opened, and the man who gave out the money for the returned bottles came out.

  “Hey, you kids-----what are you doing back here?”

  Ali knew when to run and “get out of Dodge” as she heard the cowboys on the television say. She started running back home. Reynolds reluctantly left his stack of bottles and took off not far behind Ali. Ali could still hear the man yelling after them and knew she would never be able to take empty bottles back there again.