A Safe Crossing
A Safe Crossing
by
T. J. Robertson
Copyright 2012 T. J. Robertson
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Mom, guess what?” I hollered, bursting into the kitchen and setting my knapsack, bulging with books, down onto the kitchen floor. She was standing by the open door of the oven, taking out a tray of freshly baked blueberry muffins, and, before she could reply, I blurted out, “I was picked to be one of the crossing guards in front of the school.” Reaching into my knapsack, I proudly pulled out a spotless white belt with a shiny silver buckle.
“What an honor,” she exclaimed, setting the tray down onto the counter and turning to me. “Mr. Mooney and the teachers carefully consider the grades, conduct, and character of every student before making their decision.” She wiped her hands on her apron and gave me a big hug.
Frankly, more than the honor itself, I was thinking of the privileges that went with it--like being allowed to enter the first class late and leave the last one early. Too, the underclassmen would look up to me and sometimes I’d even get to stop an automobile to let them safely cross the street.
At the end of school, two days later, after having helped the last of the younger students to cross the street, I started walking home. In front of Tubwell’s Drugstore, Albie Blackwell and Russ Warren were waiting for me. Russ and I used to chum around together until fishing, basketball, and bicycling became too tame for him. He preferred Albie’s idea of fun--stealing apples, smashing pumpkins on Halloween, and bullying others. I wanted no part of those shenanigans.
I wasn’t worried about Russ, a thin, reed-like boy with shifty eyes and a nervous twitch, who talked tough but looked as if he might take off at the first sign of trouble. But Albie, a stocky, young tough, known for his fiery temper and itch to fight, was a different story. He could handle himself. With his cruel eyes, fleshy cheeks, and gritted teeth I likened him to a pit bull. And he had the personality to match. If he was a natural-born leader--albeit an evil one, Russ was a natural-born follower.
“Hey, Tom, where’s that pretty, little belt of yours?” Albie mocked.
“Yeah, where is it, teacher’s pet?” Russ chimed in.
“Is something bothering you guys?” I tried to go by them but Albie blocked my way.
“I just want to see that little belt," he taunted, sticking his face into mine, "before I give you a big belt in the mouth." Proud of his clever use of the word, belt, he burst out laughing.
"Oh, that was a good one, Albie," Russ joined in with a snicker.
“Have I done something to annoy you?” I asked.
“You’ll never get a chance to annoy me.”
At the same time he spit out the words, he grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a good shove. I stumbled backwards but somehow managed to stay on my feet. Had I not, at that moment, caught a glimpse of Becky Tubwell, a classmate, staring out at me from behind the plate glass window of her father’s drugstore, I might not have reacted as fast and bravely as I did. Like a wounded deer, I lowered my head and rushed at him. So hard did I slam into him that he lost his footing on the curbing of the sidewalk and tumbled backwards onto the street.
“Get up and smack him one, Albie.” Russ was cheering his new-found friend on.
He struggled to his feet and, preparing for another attack, raised his fists. At that moment Mr. Tubwell came running out of his store. “You two guys get away from here,” he shouted, pointing to Albie and Russ. “I don’t want you hanging around my place of business, causing trouble.” He paused to catch his breath. “And, you,” he said, motioning toward me, “come over here.”
“This is a public sidewalk,” Albie muttered.
“If you don’t get out of here right now, I’m going to call the principal at the Atherton Howe School.”
With his eyes bulging, face flushed, and arms flailing like a windmill gone amok, Mr. Tubwell, who was normally quiet and reserved, looked menacing and the two of them thought it wise to do as he told them. As they began to leave, Albie couldn’t resist throwing a parting shot at me. “I’m not done with you, teacher’s pet.”
After looking around the corner to be sure they had left, the druggist turned to me. “Your parents have been customers of mine for years now, Tom,” he said, “and I know what fine people they are. And you’re a good lad, too.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied awkwardly.
“Don’t have anything to do with those two troublemakers.” He paused and took another peek around the corner before saying, “Now take the back road and go straight home.” With a pat on the shoulder he sent me on my way.
As much as I might try to deny it, the run-in with Albie had scared me. So much so that by the time I got home I had made up my mind that wearing the belt with the shiny buckle--no matter how great an honor it was or how many privileges went with it--just wasn’t worth the hassle. So, at school the next morning I would go down to the principal’s office and turn it in.
As soon as I arrived there the next morning, I went to see the principal, Mr. Mooney--a big man with broad shoulders and hands like catchers’ mitts. A crop of white hair lay atop his craggy face like snow upon a mountain. Motioning me to a wooden armchair, he sat down on the metal, swivel one behind his desk. “What can I do for you, Tom?”
I hesitated and took a deep breath. “I’ve--I’ve come to give you back the crossing guard’s belt,” I stammered, setting it down on the edge of the desk. “Although I appreciate the honor--” I hesitated and tried in vain to compose myself before going on. “I--I just can’t do it,” I said, crossing my fingers. “So, I’d appreciate it if you’d pick someone else to take my place.”
“You realize the teachers and I don’t bestow that honor lightly upon the students we choose?” he replied, raising a bushy eyebrow inquiringly.
“I understand that, sir,” I said, looking away.
Mr. Mooney leaned back on his chair, his eyes all the while studying me closely. “Why are you resigning?” he asked at last.
Because I wasn't a good liar, I again found myself stammering. “Eh--eh--I’m having trouble keeping up with my schoolwork.”
“That’s strange,” he said with a puzzled look. “You’ve always gotten good grades and your teachers have great confidence in you.”
“I appreciate their trust in me but I’ve made up my mind,” I replied, gripping the arms of the chair so firmly I thought I might rip them off. “My class work comes first.”
As Mr. Mooney cupped the fingers of his large hands beneath his chin and leaned back on his chair, it squealed eerily, sending a shiver up my back. “Since it’s not going to be of benefit to you or the school, if your heart isn’t in it,” he said with obvious reluctance, “I accept your decision.”
Torn between feelings of guilt and relief, I thanked him and quickly left his office.
Two hours later a student messenger appeared in my classroom and, to my surprise, I was asked to report to the principal’s office. Entering the waiting room, I was shocked to find Albie and Russ sitting on a bench. “Ratfink,” Albie muttered.
Before I could react, the principal’s door opened and Mr. Mooney waved us on inside. Albie and Russ sat down on a vinyl sofa and I took the same chair on which I had sat earlier.
“I understand you boys were involved in a shouting and shoving match outside Mr. Tubwell’s store on your way home from school yesterday afternoon,” Mr. Mooney said, leaning against the side of his desk.
“Mr. Big Wheel there started throwing his weight around,” Albie replied, glaring at me.
“Is that right, Tom?” Mr. Mooney asked, turning to me.
“No, it’s not
. I’ve never hassled them,” I replied, staring back at Albie. “I was passing by the drugstore on my way home from school and the two of them started making wisecracks. I tried to ignore them but Albie blocked my way and shoved me. So I pushed him back.”
“That Ratfink’s a liar,” Albie muttered.
The principal’s voice rose in anger as he said, “You’ll watch your tongue in this office.” He paused, his eyes all the while firmly fixed on Albie. “For your information, it was Mr. Tubwell who called me to complain about your behavior,” he went on. “According to him, you and Russ have been hanging out in front of his store, making a nuisance of yourselves. Yesterday, as Tom was passing by, you began taunting him. When Mr. Tubwell asked you to leave, you gave him some lip and threatened Tom.” Turning to Russ, he asked, “Is that what happened?”
Glancing nervously at Albie, he replied, “I didn’t push Tom and I didn’t say anything to Mr. Tubwell. Honest, Mr. Mooney, I didn’t.”
“What do you have to say, Albie?” the principal asked, resting his gaze upon the ringleader.
“Mr. Tubwell doesn’t like me.” He was looking down at the floor. “He’d say anything to hurt me.”
“Albie, this isn’t the first time you’ve been in trouble for this sort of thing and, Russ, you’re not following far behind,” he scolded. “Let me tell all of you once and for all that I will not put up with such conduct spilling over into the community. It reflects badly upon the school.” To emphasize his displeasure he slammed one of large his fists against the desk. “If it continues, I warn you that I’ll do what I always do in such cases.” He paused and then, looking sterner than ever, said, “I’ll expel the troublemaker and both he and his parents will have to go before the school board to get back into school. Do I make myself clear?”
We all nodded that we understood and he said, “Now you may go back to class.”
As they got up and went to the door, he caught me by the arm. “I want you to remain,” he said curtly. “You and I need to talk about another matter.”
After Albie had left with Russ trailing behind, the principal motioned me to sit down again. “The reason you gave up being a crossing guard was because of your run-in with the two of them after school, wasn’t it?” he said, looming over me.
“That’s--that’s right,” I admitted, looking away. Despite my embarrassment, I felt relieved that the truth was out.
“You’re an excellent student, a good school citizen, and a fine person. I also think you have leadership ability,” he said with a sincerity that pierced my soul, “but, frankly, it bothers me that you would be so easily frightened into giving up the honor of serving as a crossing guard. Everything in this life doesn’t always go smoothly, you know?”
“Yes, sir, I realize that,” I replied sheepishly.
“Tough decisions must be made along the way.” I looked across at him but, seeing the disappointment in his eyes, turned and stared down at the floor. “Do you think you can always cut and run when the going gets tough?”
That shook me up. “No, sir,” I murmured.
“I certainly hope not because soon you’ll be leaving here and going to the middle school and there, as throughout life, you’re going to come across obstacles and meet with difficulties. If you don’t learn to face up to them and do what you know is the right thing, I, for one, will be disappointed in you.” He folded his arms across his chest and asked, “Do you understand, Tom?”
I nodded. “I appreciate your frankness, sir.”
“You’re free to return to class now,” he said, walking behind his desk and slumping down onto his swivel chair.
The sadness in his voice shook me up. I got to my feet and walked slowly to the door. After opening it, I paused and turned around to face him again. “Oh, Mr. Mooney?” I said.
“Yes?” he replied, looking up at me and running a hand through his crop of white hair.
“Do you think it would be possible for me to continue to serve as a crossing guard?”
“Yes, Tom,” he said with a knowing smile, “I think that can be arranged.”
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