Renaissance Man - Part 1

Scene 04 _ They're Only Shoes

Scene 04 Rev F

Scene 04 “They’re Only Shoes”

Torey Campbell – Protagonist
Brodey Campbell – Torey’s father / Antagonist
Nessie Campbell – Torey’s mother

         Torey did not want to open the door. He knew what was waiting. After a long pause, he swung open the screen door, then the kitchen door, and stepped in. Nessie was sitting at the kitchen table with Brodey, her husband, Torey's father.
         The Campbell kitchen was small; indeed, the whole house was small but immaculate. Nessie was a disciplined fastidious housekeeper. Torey spent much of his life in this kitchen. It was all here – delicious meals, pleasant small talk with mom, hostile arguments with dad. He loved and hated this room.
          "Torey, where have you been? I've been holding supper waiting for you," asked Nessie, rising and moving to the stove. The small kitchen held the aroma of Nessie's cooking close. Torey reveled in the treat to his nose whenever he entered the room near meal time.
         Ignoring Nessie and looking squarely at his father, Torey blurted, "Pop, I blew out my shoe playing soccer," as he took the remnants of the shoe from his shoulder and showed it to his father.
         "Oh, my goodness, how did you do that?" asked Nessie, turning to join the conversation.
         Brodey lifted his head from reading his newspaper, looked at the shoe, then at Torey. "You think you can just destroy shoes, and I'll run out and replace them for you? I'm not made of money, boy! Ya hea me!" he bellowed, his face reddening with anger.
         "I'm sorry, Pop. I didn't do it on purpose." Torey's eyes were welling up with tears, and his voice was choking up as he spoke.
         "It's not his fault, Brodey."
         "I just bought him those shoes."
         "No, Pop. These shoes are over a year old, and I wear them every day."
         "He's just a boy, Brodey."
         "Oh no, young man, not more than six months ago."
         "Over a year, Pop, over a year."
         "You'll have to wear other shoes," said Brodey, backing down a bit.
         "I only have one other pair – dress shoes."
         "What about school shoes?"
         "These are my school shoes. I wear them every day."
         "Honey, he needs to be able to go to school and to play. Besides, he’s a growing boy. He can’t fit in the same shoe size for over a year. Boys his age outgrow shoes before they wear them out. So if he’s been wearing those shoes for a year, that’s some kind of miracle you should be grateful for … and ashamed of."
         Beginning to feel defeated, Brodey changed the subject, "When did you start playing soccer?"
         "Today was my first day," replied Torey, hoping the storm was over.
         "You didn't ask if you could play soccer. Nessie, did you know he was playing soccer?"
         "No. I didn't know."
         "Mom! I told you as I was going out the door." Torey looked at her with tear-filled eyes.
         Flopping down on the yellow Naugahyde kitchen chair, Torey smelled the machine oil on his father's work clothes. Yep, green work clothes, today must be Wednesday, he thought.
         Brodey Campbell was a senior machinist at Flywheel Machining, a company that manufactured parts for the big three auto makers. He made good money for the world he lived in — certainly enough to care for a wife and one son, in a small row house in Drullins.
         "I can't afford to buy you shoes for a stupid game," said Brodey. But it was more a matter of attitude than money. Brodey grew up in a blue-collar family with distain for everything but work. There were no sports in his life. The purpose of school was to obtain the minimum education (readin’, ritin’, ‘ritmetic) then get to work.
         Frustrated, Torey let it all pour out. "Pop, I like this game. This is a real team. Coach says I'm pretty good. This team feeds the high school team. I'd like to be on a high school team."
         Brodey Campbell had come down from rage to sullen grouchiness. "What do you need?" he asked, with a hint of surrender in his voice.
         "I need two pairs of shoes. One for soccer and one for school." Torey explained quietly, hoping the storm had passed.
         "How much do they cost?" Torey could have said anything. Brodey had no idea of prices or value; except everything was unnecessary, poorly made, and too expensive.
         "I don't know, Pop. I think maybe thirty dollars for the soccer shoes and twenty-five for school shoes." The boy's reply was a wild guess. Torey had no idea about the price of shoes. He was just as bad as Brodey, except that he was only 13 years old.
         "I'll give you forty dollars. Get both pairs. If forty won't do, then I don't know what to tell you. It's just a game." The red was leaving his face as his anger dissipated. Brodey was a small man with a big rage. Standing at just over five feet tall, he weighed in at 150 pounds soaking wet. Had he been a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier, his anger would have probably killed Nessie, Torey, or both before now.
         Nessie sensed that forty dollars would not be enough. She chimed in with a forced smile and a happy voice, "I'll give you twenty dollars from my rainy-day stash."
         "Thanks, Pop. Thanks, Mom"
         I just got permission to play soccer! Torey was sure his parents could hear his thought because it rang so loud in his head.
         "Where did you get a rainy-day stash?" Brodey asked, shooting a disapproving look at Nessie.
         "Brodey Campbell, that's none of your business. It's not your money!" Nessie replied, forcefully looking defiantly at her husband.
         Maybe I can pick up an extra shift at the plant. Brodey mused, feeling completely defeated.
         "Thanks, Pop"
         "Rainy-day stash, eh?" Brodey grumbled, returning his attention to the newspaper he had been reading.
         'You're Welcome' would have been nice, thought Torey. His mind was racing with questions. Why is everything so hard? Where do I buy soccer shoes? Did I guess high enough? What if I don't have enough money? Why is everything so hard? Never mind! Mr. Dreyer said we'd work it out. All that matters is that I got permission!
         "Both of you sit down," ordered Nessie, "We need to eat before dinner gets cold."
         Torey's mind snapped back to the present. His growling stomach demanded attention. The smell of Nessie's 'Stovies' filled the room. Potatoes, onions, and sausage simmered in a saucepan, 'Stovies' was one of Torey's favorite meals. Brodey's too. For the moment, all was right with the world.
         Where do I buy soccer shoes?

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Word Count: 1,095
Readability Consensus (based on 8 readability formulas)
         Grade Level: 4
         Reading Level: easy to read.
         Reader's Age: 8-9 yrs. old (Fourth and Fifth graders)