Flight, Raymond Trainor [e novels to read .TXT] 📗

shortly.”
The plane rolled and I could see the ground and then the sky. “If this is little, what’s a lot,” I blubbered to myself.
I glanced over at Frank. He gripped the seat handles and stared ahead like a Boris Karloff zombie. He was sucking in air and I figured there would be two of us trying to wash soiled clothes in a tiny sink in the men’s bathroom at the airport.
I couldn’t concentrate on Frank though. I had to wallow in my own misery. I just knew that at that moment, I was the most wretched person in the world, the entire world. Scared, sick and no place to up-chuck, I remembered the last words the pilot had said when we took off, ‘Enjoy the flight.’ Crap. Oh crap, I thought, and then prayed for “shortly” to hurry up.
God must have heard me because the rattling and banging stopped, the wobbling wings stilled. The plane now seemed to have a purpose, fly smoothly into Jefferson City and then on the St Louis.

The flat fronted city bus rolled down Market Street. St Louis was big, all brick and busy. As we rolled down the street, Frank blurted, “You forgot your knapsack.”
Nuts, stupid me, I thought. I could kick myself, but what could I do. I guess the dead worms will get a free airplane trip back to Kansas City. I shrugged.
Then Frank noticed a gold lettered sign on a storefront window, The Pinball Palace. He elbowed me. “Let’s get off and play pinballs. We got a couple of hours before the Kansas City bus leaves and the station is an easy walk. We got a few bucks we can spend.”
“Yeah, good idea.” I pulled the bell cord.
We walked into the store and each of us cashed two dollars into nickels. I dropped my change on a glass topped machine labeled Flash Gordon and started playing. I played two games and got a “tilt”. I needed to switch machines. Frank, playing The Monster, had forty free games. I had to pee and asked the old guy behind the change window. He pointed to a door.
The bathroom stunk and the stool lid had bits of crap on it. I was glad I was a boy and didn’t need to clean up other peoples stuff. I carefully aimed. At least I didn’t add to the mess. I stepped back to Flash Gordon. My pile of nickels had disappeared.
“My nickels are gone,” I yelled at Frank who was gently tapping his machine and concentrating on the flashing lights.
“Huh!”
I ran back to the change maker. “Somebody stole my money off the top of the machine.”
He shrugged. “Hey kid, I ain’t your mama. You gotta watch your stuff.”
I heard the front door open, and a youngish man with a thin mustache slid out onto the sidewalk.
I grabbed Franks shoulder. “Come on, I think he stole my nickels.”
Frank pocketed his nickels and followed me out the door.
The man walked down the sidewalk. I ran up. “Hey, mister did you see a pile of nickels on a machine.”
He stopped, turned and glared. “Kid you better watch your mouth. Now get outta here.”
He towered over us and his message was clear. I stopped. Frank shrugged. “We better let it go.” Frank whispered. “I have a bunch of free games. We can share.”
Being on our own was fun but. . . . What next, I thought.
We walked back into the Pinball Palace and a tall high school kid stood in front of the Monster, grinning and playing Frank’s free games. I glanced over at the change man behind the window. He was reading a newspaper and I knew he wouldn’t help. Frank froze and sized up the boy who glanced at us with a don’t bother-me-frown.
“Maybe we should get down to the terminal and catch the bus,” I mumbled, “before we get into trouble.”
Frank nodded and pointed down a street. “The guy driving the city bus into town said that we should go this way.”
We hiked down the street, past store front shops, a firehouse and crossed a wide avenue with a street car line. A thin, white man stood in front of a butcher shop, eyeing street traffic and walkers like us. We kept walking past rundown, brick apartment houses with rickety front porches. Black people sat on the entrance stairs or on the porches. A heavy black walked down the street smoking a cigarette. One man on a stoop tossed a bottle of booze onto a strip of grass and glared.
“We don’t belong here,” I said in a squeaky voice.
Frank mumbled something and walked faster.
I realized we had wandered into a black neighborhood. The only blacks I had ever met were janitors that shoveled coal into the furnaces and did odd jobs around the apartment buildings in Midtown Kansas City. It was indeed a strange, alien world.
“Whats you white kids doin here”, a deep voice behind us growled.
I didn’t have an answer and keep walking.
“You got any money.” I felt a hand grab my shoulder. We both turned to face two black boys with stubble on their chins.
I cleared my throat. A . . . Well—no sir. We’re just goin’ to the Trailways to catch a bus. We—we gotta go home. ”
“What are yo gonna use for tickets? Or do white boys ride for free.” He paused, bent down and focused on my eyes. “Gimme your money or else we’ll take you back into that alley, beat the crap outta you and take it anyway.”
Oh criminy, I thought, If we give’em our money, we’d be trapped in this miserable place. I started shaking. Frank stared down the street, like he was hoping for some white knight to gallop down the street and save our asses. I glanced over to an older black man rocking on a porch. A car rattled by and a group of black kids ran down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, flipping a ball. Nobody paid any attention to us. I felt so alone and tried to hide the shivers running down my spine.
“What’s you boys doin with the white chillin?” An older, heavy-set black lady had slipped up behind. She half-grinned, but also glowered. She reminded me of the Aunt Jamima that graced all the pancakes boxes at the grocery store.
“Oh, mama we’er just talkin’,” one of the men said.
“ Don’t look like no just talkin’ to me,” the lady said sternly. “Now leave ‘em be and get on your way, for some cop comes along. Your mama ‘d be ashamed.”
“Yes ‘um,” One of the black men mumbled.
“Now you chillin get out of here. Why’s your mamas letting you wander all over the place.”
“Er—I don’t know, but we’re leave’n”,” Frank yelled as we turned and ran. We got back to the Pinball Palace as a police car drove by. We waved. The cop drove over to the curb. “Please sir,” I gasp, “how do we get to the Trailways bus station.
“Hop in boys, it’s only a few blocks down. You boys ain’t runnin’ away are you?”
I sat like a frog on a log. If he thought we were running, there would be more trouble.
“I ask you boys a question.”
“Oh, no sir. Our aunt dropped us off at the pinball place and told us how to get to the bus station. We just got lost.”
Frank had really come up with a great answer. I breathed deeply, winked at Frank and smiled.
The cop shrugged. “Next time she ought to be more careful.” He dropped us off at the bus station. I could smell home. Wow, what a day.
“Thanks,” I said and waved as the cop car pulled away. A bus with the route sign labeled Kansas City, roared out of the driveway and sped down the street. Frank pointed and his mouth opened, but nothing came out. He didn’t have to talk. I realized that was probably the two o’clock bus we were planning to catch.
We dashed into the bus terminal and up to the ticket window. A chubby man behind the window casually thumbed through some papers while we both fidgeted and waited for him to notice us.
He finally looked up.“What do you boys want?”
“Is that bus that just left the two o’clock to Kansas City?” I asked.
“Sure is.”
“When’s the next one?”
“Seven o’clock, an overnighter. Gets there early in the morning.”
“But we gotta be there before midnight,” Frank groaned.
The man shrugged. “Sorry boys.”
I frowned and gulped air. I could see Mom lying awake all night, worrying and fretting when we didn’t show up. I knew if we arrived in the morning, there would be a big to-do, probably the biggest to-do I had ever experienced. I could picture myself setting in the living room the rest of the summer, and having to listen to her dumb, afternoon radio shows while my friends were out having fun.
Frank started sobbing. “I wished we’d never. . . ”
I could figure why. His old man sometimes used a belt when he was drinking and I knew my mom would call Frank’s in the middle of the night, to see if we were there. Then Frank would have all hell to pay.
I guess the ticket man took pity on us two wretched, sick-looking kids.
“Look boys, I can’t get that bus back here. Even if I could somehow contact the driver, which I can’t, we gotta keep the schedule. I don’t