Cat's in the Cradle

This is a story about that certain age boys get to where they must have everything they see, which in actual terms is called shoplifting.

It was a quiet Friday evening and I came strolling into the living room where I found the family glued to the TV watching those stomach churning reruns of the Brady Bunch again.

They were spread out all over the room; Jason stretched out on the couch, Liz taking up three-quarters of the floor, little Sonja taking up the other quarter, and mom and dad in their own little place on the other couch. The only place left was the armchair, but the cat was basking there. So I just remained standing up.

"Hey mom, can I spend the night at Greg's house?" I asked.

"I guess so," came her kind reply.

"You've got to come back tomorrow at nine to do your chores young man," dad said sternly.

"Nine o'clock?! But dad!..." I blurted.

"Back at NINE!" he emphasized.

Oh well, that was that. My dad's kind of strict about those things. I remember the time I got tossed across the table because I forgot to take my artwork back to school.

I donned up my beat up jacket and proceeded to Greg's house.

There was a cool breeze out of the east. The sky was clear and the moon wasn't out, so the stars shined extra bright tonight. I got my bike and rode it through the backyard to the edge of the orchard, then walked it the rest of the way to Greg's house.

I hitched my mount up in his garage and I let myself in through the breezeway. They were eating dinner when I came in the house.

"It figures he'd wander in as soon as he smelled food," his mother said jokingly.

"Why thank you, but I'm not hungry," I replied. Her eyes widened.

I went into the living room and sat down in Dan's favorite chair. He wasn't there to kick me out of it.

After all the slurping, munching, gurgling, and belching died down, Greg came in, sat on the couch, looked at me, and asked,

"Well, what do you want to do tonight?"

"Hmm, let's go to the store!" I said.

"What are you going to get?" he questioned.

"Anything" I replied.

After a few minutes of persuading his mom, "Hey mom, we're going to the store" we mounted our trusty steeds and headed off. We covered the two miles swiftly, letting a few cars pass by. We stopped in at a drug store and found the checkout line to be quite long. We took advantage of the situation. I looked around while he went down the junk food aisle grabbing a few candy bars. Now it was my turn. He wandered around this time and I went down the aisle and came across a couple boxes of bubble gum.

I was outside by the bikes when he came out. He was going to put his candy bars in the basket with mine. But when he looked in, his eyes filled with amazement. After a few seconds of speechless conversation, his voice found its' way back,

"You thin you got enough?!"

"Well," I sarcastically said, "I did leave the other case!"

He gave a little snicker then we mounted up again and headed off, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid rides again!

We passed a hardware store and we decided to put our skills to the test. There was a display near the front entrance stacked with flashlights. We casually strolled inside, casually looked around, then I casually stuffed a few flashlights in my pocket. We casually strolled down the tool aisle. By now we were doing their inventory list wonders. We figured we needed a diversion so we were going to buy something. We went to look at some lures.

"How about this, it's 49 cents" I asked Greg.

We felt a heavy weight land on our shoulders.

"Hey Greg, did you feel anything?" I quietly asked.

"No," came his unassuring reply. "How far's the door?"

"Farther than you think!" came a most assuring reply from behind.

Slowly the store turned around under our feet and we found ourselves staring directly into the chest of what looked like an escaped gorilla. On his chest was a tag that read, "We're happy to serve you."

Before we could see his face, the weight on our shoulder shifted and he began to lead us to a dark stairway.

"Come this way," he grunted.

It was a narrow passage up into a dark room, by the smell of it I reasoned that this was his lair. He went over to a desk and turned on a lamp.

"On no!" Not the spotlight!" Greg yelled.

"If you're going to beat us, do it gently!" I pleaded.

He reached into a drawer ...

"Oh no! He's getting a whip!" Greg cried.

... and pulled out a pen and a couple of forms.

He sat down in a chair and motioned us over. Referring to me he said sternly,

"Name?"

Without realizing it I said,

"Gary Danford"

"Age?"

"Thirteen"

"Place of residence?"

"Home" I alluded.

"Where?!" he said most angrily.

"1482 Voorheis Av, Pontiac, Michigan, 48054" I falsely replied in haste.

"Phone?"

"681-9297!" Greg blurted out.

Quickly I nudged him in the ribs.

"Why did you say that?" I whispered.

"Oh" came boy wonders reply.

"Empty your pockets" King Kong said.

Two flashlights hit the table.

"The rest!" he impatiently demanded.

Another quickly joined in accompanied by a few wrenches, a couple of screwdrivers and some saw blades.

"Now, why did you take them?" he asked sternly.

"We had to fix our bikes and it was dark out?" I asked.

‘For the kicks of it' he wrote.

Since Greg didn't have anything, he turned to me,

"You know, I could put you in jail"

"Oh please no!" I begged dropping to my knees.

"I'm only thirteen and I haven't started shaving yet!" I saw my whole life flash before my eyes.

"Instead, I'm going to call your dad" he continued.

"Oh no!" I cried. "I'll go to jail! Do my time! Please don't call my dad!"

He picked up the phone, dialed the betrayed number, and told my dad what happened. I could hear some faint screams. When he finished, he put the receiver back in its' cradle. He informed me that my dad wants me home right now.

After a long cynical stare, as if he was laughing inside, he let us depart.

The way back was deathly silent. I could sense the darkness retreat from me as if I was a disease.

A pair of headlights came toward us and pulled off to the side of the road. The door of the van opened and the driver stepped out into the headlights. In his left hand hung a leather strap, tarnished with use. His right hand was clenched in anger. He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes filled with fire. Then, igniting in sparks,

"You really did it this time didn't you!" he screamed.

"You bastard! You took it too far this time! You got your mother upset and you got me angry as hell!" he spat out.

I could see his left had ready for action. He took a couple steps closer, his right arm poised for a backhand. He stared down into my eyes a few seconds then dropped his arm.

"You really disappointed me," he somberly said. "Go home."

He turned away from me like I was a disease. I watched him as he left.

I got on my bike again and faced homeward. There was a cool breeze out of the east. I peddled toward the wind. A song came to me ...

    "My child arrived just the other day,
    he came to the world in the usual way.
    But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay,
    He learned to walk while I was away.
    And he was talking ‘fore I knew it
    And as he grew, he'd say
    "I'm gonna be like you dad,
    You know I'm gonna be like you""

A tear rolled down my cheek.

All images & contents copyright © G.A. Trammel 1992 - 2003