For a Baseball, a Diary and a Nickel, Short Story, Part II

Late summer found Wayne inside the five and dime, TG&Y, clutching a small white paper bag filled with penny candies. He wandered up and down the aisles nervously, palms sweating, fearful yet determined. Along the last isle on the left, divided, displayed and ordered, lay all of the writing pads, blank notebooks, pencils, pens and the small, palm-sized diaries, key locked, each with its own key. Wayne had had his eye on those diaries all summer.

Each weekend he would enter the store with his meager allowance for doing the dishes, taking out the trash and sweeping the floors and gawk and dream. Oh, how he wanted one yet they cost over three dollars each and his allowance each week was only seventy-five cents. Sure he could have saved for a few weeks and he had the best intentions, yet each time he saw the isles of candy he grew weak and as usual was about to leave the store with no more that an nickel and a few pennies left jingling in his pocket.

Again, he walked back and forth past the diaries, pretending not to look, casting nervous glances around and over his shoulders. How easy it would be to slip one into his bag and head out the store. He had thought about taking one many times, each time intending to do the crime and each time losing his nerve at the last moment. This time he was determined, this time he must do it, get it over with. It was only a little thing. No one would miss one little diary and it wasn’t such a bad thing really, not really. It was only one little diary, three dollars, three seconds, one quick grab then out the store.

Then he could write, each night, each day, tell of his life, his adventures, became a great writer like those he admired and cherished. All he needed was that one lone diary, the brown one that looked like leather. That was all he needed, all that separated him from literary greatness and he would have it.

He could do it. Once more, he circled around the aisles, once more passing in front of the diaries. He had spent far too much time roaming around the store and he well knew it. The clerk and the manager would be getting suspicious soon so he had to act and he had to act fast if he was to succeed.

“Go on. Reach out. Get it. Take it…come on”, he scolded.

One more time around the aisle, one quick check, over his shoulder, left, right, then, now! His fingers wrapped quickly around the edge of the book, pulling it in as he clumsily fumbled to open the bag and deposit his booty.

“Ok”, he thought, his heart racing, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “There, stash it deep, deep inside, under the candy. Look up casually. Pick up an item or two, examine them casually then put them down, walk slow. Ok , Now turn around, walk to the door, smile, whistle lightly.”

Suddenly came a voice behind him.

“Watcha doing kid?”

“Oh shit”’ he was busted” his heart filled his throat. In his mind he pictured the shiny black belt, and winced at the pain.

Tuning quickly with one hand behind his back, holding the bag out of view, he looked up into Stephan’s face.

“Dummy”, was all he said as he thrust another bag into Wayne’s free hand.

“Take this, hurry”, he said.

Reaching around and snatching the first from Wayne’s shaking fist, he turned, pushing Wayne before him, heading him quickly towards the door.

Wayne knew it was up, at the door stood the manager and the clerk. Both were frowning.

“Boys, let me see what ya got in them bags, will ya”.

That evening Jack stood in the doorway facing Wayne and Stephan, both seated before him on the sofa. He said nothing, only slapped one end of the belt into one open palm, repeatedly. A silly grin lay painted across his face.

Their mother raged in anger. Curses spewed from her mouth as her fiery red eyes bulged from her head.

“Which one of you little shits is the thief”, she yelled. “I want to know and I want to know damn quick. And for a diary, what a sissy thing to do” I know I didn’t raise no damn sissies, did I”?

Wayne sat in silence, tears streaming down his face as he spoke. His knees quivered at the sight of the belt and of jack, sneering, waiting. He had to pee, a trickle of wetness seeping out along the front of his pants.

“Mom…I…I”.

“Come on, spit it out crybaby”.

Stephan stood up, facing Jack, fear etched across his face yet strong and resolute, his jaw firmly set, one quick swallow then.

“It was me Mother. It was me. I took the diary. I took it so I could write about my life. I told them that at the store”.

“Yeah I know. I just had to hear it for myself”, she said, staring hard at Wayne.

” My Stephan, a sissy diary. My God, what’s next, gonna bring your boyfriend home for dinner”?

His mother turned to Jack, both silent for but a second, before they both burst into laughter.

“You…You”, said Jack. ‘you want to write about your life, your pathetic little life?

He turned, still laughing, disappearing into the shadow draped bedroom.

His mother, looking after Jack, simply said to Stephan”, get your ass in there thief, time for a little learning.”

“And you cry baby, get the hell out of my sight. I can’t stand to watch a sissy crybaby. Specially one lets his own brother take a whipping for him. Coward”!

Wayne waited in their room, crying, listening, and wincing as each new stroke of the belt slapped against Stephan’s bare legs and butt. He could hear each grunt and moan as the belt struck. Yet he heard no crying. Stephan never cried, not anymore.

Wayne and Stephan never spoke of that day again.

A week later, beneath his pillow, Wayne found a small leather bound diary, key locked, with its own key.

© 2011 Tim Wilkinson/Wayne Wilkes