Broom Service

BROOM SERVICE

If you look out the back door to where the street just starts to make a bend, you won't see much--not anymore. It ain't always been like that, though. It used to be pretty busy with cars and trucks and buses, and sometimes even lots of people walking by. But that was a long time ago...I think.

There's not much happening inside the house now, either. Oh, yeah, there's still water running, the electric is still on, there's still a hissing noise in the pipes and radiator when the weather gets cold. I still keep the furnace in good repair but by and large there ain't too much activity in here anymore.

Mrs. Cobb died last week--or maybe it was last year; I can't seem to remember which, but it don't make too much difference, really--at least as far as poor Mrs. Cobb is concerned.

Mother and Mrs. Cobb used to talk a lot. They were real good friends, and I can remember when they did some pretty funny stuff, stuff that I really didn't understand, but enjoyed watching. Like the time when Mrs. Cobb had baked some homemade bread. She called Mother on the telephone and asked if she wanted a loaf of it. Mother said, "Sure, it would be much appreciated." Mother could have made her own bread if she wanted to, but most of the time she was too busy trying to keep me amused and outta trouble.

When the bread was finished baking and had cooled off some, Mrs. Cobb would call again and tell my Mother that she was going to send some over on the broom.

Yeah, that's what they called it, I remember now, Broom Service. Pretty funny name, huh? Well anyway, Mother opened the kitchen window and Mrs. Cobb opened her bathroom window; the houses are only about twelve feet apart and it would really have been easier just to toss the loaf, but that isn't how they did it. Mrs. Cobb would balance the loaf--or whatever it happened to be they was transferring--on her broom and stretch as far out the window as she could, while Mother reached across the alleyway with her empty broom, and someplace in between they'd make the delivery. They got real good at this; I can't ever remember them dropping anything into the alley.

Like I said, bread wasn't the only thing they used the broom service for. Sometimes Mother would send across some sugar or corn meal or some other food that Mrs. Cobb needed. It was how they amused themselves and I guess they just looked for stuff to send back and forth, because they got a kick out of the broom service delivery.

I don't know why they never asked me to be their delivery boy. I woulda done it if they asked me to, but they never did.

They used to talk on the telephone an awful lot, almost everyday, sometimes for hours, and this got me real mad. While they were talking and enjoying themselves I had nothing to do except to sit by the back door and watch the road with all those cars going by. That's how I learned my colors. When she got off the phone Mother would sit with me for hours and ask me to name the color of each car that drove past. Maroon was my favorite color. I liked the sound of the word "Marooooohn". Even when a car wasn't maroon, and I hadn't seen one in a long time that was, I'd say it was maroon, just so I could hear myself say the word. Whenever I did that Mother would get real mad at me and tell me if I didn't stop and tell her the right color, she wouldn't sit with me anymore. I hated to sit there and look out the window by myself, so I did what she said.

I'm all alone now, and sometimes I still look out the back door; but there's not much to see. But that's okay because now I know all my colors, I never make a mistake, and Mother wouldn't have to correct me anymore. I know she'd be proud of me.

Not too long ago some people came to my house. They knocked at the back door real loud and they frightened me. When I answered the door they told me that I was going to have to move because the county was going to knock my house down. I told them that I wasn't going to move, that this was my house and no one was going to take it away from me. Besides, I have no other place I could go. They said they didn't care about any of that, it wasn't their concern. They shouted at me like Mother used to when I got my colors wrong, and they made me very angry. When they raised their voices at me, it scared me real bad. I told them not to holler at me because I get all scared and excited; but they didn't care at all about my feelings. They reminded me of the times when father would get drunk and scream at me, and then he'd lock me in the hallway closet where the broom was kept. It was awful dark in there, and big spiders lived in the closet. I could never see them, but I could feel them crawling all over me, and I'd scream and cry for hours until finally Mother would unlock the door and let me out. But that was only after father had fallen asleep someplace.

Those bad people came back again last week, or maybe it was last month. Maybe last year? I dunno which it was, but it was after Mrs. Cobb had died. They had papers with them this time and they started hollering at me again. I invited them in; I tried to be polite. I begged them not to scream at me-but they did it anyway, and I started to cry real hard. They wouldn't stop screaming, and they wouldn't leave my house either. I knew they were going to hurt me, take me away, make me leave my house. I warned them to stop bothering me. But they wouldn't stop.

Now they are screaming. I think I can still hear them in the closet. Can you hear 'em?

I guess they're afraid of the big spiders, too.

I know Mrs. Cobb sure was. Scared her to death, in fact.

END