The Comic Book
Linda Villareal

My mind loitered around boredom’s playground. Suddenly I remembered I had a quarter to spend and my hand shot up into the air. It’s a 1970 South Chicago autumn.

“Yes, Mizzzzzzzzzzzzz Garcia?” the teacher asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“May I use the restroom?” I asked. I refused to say ‘please’ to this egocentric, abhorrent excuse for a teacher. “Go ahead. I’m not writing you a hall pass though. It’s too close to last bell.” He said. It was 3:10p.m. and I’d had enough fun.

I jumped up so hard I slammed my legs into my desktop. I limped out of math class, past the girl’s bathroom and out the exit. In ten minutes the cold, ceramic-tiled halls would be teeming with smelly adolescents homeward bound. I was determined to beat them to the corner Mom & Pop shop. I hated it when the older kids elbowed past me with their Pepsi bottles and Marlboro cigarettes, trying to look cool. All I wanted was the new Archie comic book. It’d cost me 12 cents, leaving me a dime for a Snickers and three lucky pennies for my pocket.

The sky was grey and tired. The cold rain slapped me rudely in the back of my neck as I hustled down 169th Street. I pulled my fringed leather jacket tighter around me and hastened my pace. I just wanted to get home, plop down on the couch and peruse the antics of Betty and Veronica. I was 12 years old, bored with school and not all that jazzed about becoming a teenager either. Life sucked for me. But I was just a few minutes away from pure heaven: a chocolate bar and a comic book. I’d have a whole hour before my older brothers and sister got home from school. All I had to do was push my little sisters off the couch. They’d already be there in front of the TV watching the Flintstones. Lorraine was 9 and Victoria only 4 years old. Our mother had left us when Vicki was only two weeks old. My older sister, Cyndi, and I had to learn how to make formula and change diapers. This meant we had to put our baby-dolls away. I was 8 and she was 9 when we became reluctant, terrified, little mothers.

My dad worked 10-hour days at Inland Steel Mill. We kids had to make due. We were instructed to “get along” until he got home. I always breathed a sigh of relief when he came through the door. I knew once he got there, peace would rule. Up until that moment though, I was at the mercy of my older brothers, Dave and Lou. I detested them.

The rain started coming at me in diagonal splashes. It spit insolently across my face and head. I was about to become annoyed when I noticed flickering red lights reflecting in the street puddles. I was approaching the railroad tracks when I heard screeching brakes and a huge, abrasive, heavy, metallic thud. I assumed a vehicle accident had just occurred. Having seen my fill of them, I wasn’t in the least bit interested. I just wanted to get home to my little slice of heaven, my comic book.

The train tracks sliced right through the middle of town scarring up the streets with huge, ugly, black stitches. The trains rolled through on them like black monoliths bound to a schedule. The sound of them was a comfort to me having grown up next to a double set of tracks. So I hadn’t even noticed that a train was passing when I heard the automobile accident.

“Buh-ling, Buh-ling” the tiny bell sang as I opened the door to Ma & Pa Espinoza’s store. “Hola,” I said.

“Hola, Muchacha. Que pasa?” Old lady E asked me. She was sitting on a stool behind the counter, working on her daily crossword and drinking black coffee from a teensy, chipped pink china cup with red lipstick kissed to the rim.

“Nada,” I replied and shrugged. I headed for the comic book racks and stopped abruptly.

“What the Hell?” I said.

“Na-Na-Na, we’ll have none of that kind of language in my store!” Mrs. Espinoza reprimanded me in English now. I glanced in her direction to see her wagging that bumpy index finger at me with the dark red nail polish.

“Lo Siento,” (I’m sorry) I said, but stomped my foot and pouted anyway.

The price of comic books had shot up from 12 cents to a whole 25 cents!! That was more than ….a 50%, no, wait, that was more than a 100% increase…I think…aw crap. Maybe I should pay more attention in math class. My head snapped forward in disgust. What do I do now? All I want is my comic book! I searched the racks for old copies at the old price. Nil-Zip-Squat. I snatched the new November 1970 issue and shuffled angrily to the counter. All I had was the 2 bits and it was a tough choice between a candy bar and a comic. I gave Mrs. E my quarter and smiled apologetically. She waved her hand downward, letting me know it was no huge deal.

I pushed the cold, metal door open and the wind whipped some rain into my mouth. It actually tasted quite refreshing. I rolled up my comic and shoved it deep into my front coat pocket and ran across Kennedy Avenue. I rounded the corner of the Goldblatt’s building and saw car lights flashing. As I neared the railroad tracks, the smell of mud, motor oil and the creotane soaked railroad ties was thick in my nose. I saw three adult figures, all dressed in raincoats, standing next to the train tracks. They were staring at the ground, two men and one woman. They looked down and then at me and repeated this pattern several times. I looked behind me. It was me they were looking at and something else too, on the ground. As I left the pavement and hit the muddy path, I noticed one man started walking my way. I stopped. I changed my direction and still, he came towards me. I stopped again. He held his hands out in a manner that was protective and gentle. I let him get a few feet closer to me.

“What?” I demanded, putting on my meanest big city face.

“You shouldn’t walk this way.” He said softly.

“But I walk this way everyday, it’s the way home.” I said.

“Can you take a different route today?” he asked.

“Um, let me think……No.” I said. I looked past him and continued walking towards the three of them. The man saw that he wasn’t going to detour me and returned to the huddle. He took off his raincoat. The other man bent over when he saw me get closer. He reached for something on the ground that was the size and shape of a bowling ball. He rolled it, very slowly and gently. I looked down now and saw what they were trying to hide from me. It was the body of a woman in a waitress uniform with no shoes on. I stopped. The first man laid his raincoat over her body. The second man lifted up the edge of the coat and rolled the curly haired ball beneath it. The ball had brown hair with streaks of gray in almost every curl. Her nyloned feet were hanging out from beneath the coat. She must have been in a hurry to get to work, I thought. You can never beat a train. I refused to look at any of their faces.

“When does the school let out?” the woman with the two men asked me.

“In like, 2 or 3 minutes.” I said.

“Do lots of kids take this route home?” she asked.

“Nah, most of them take the bus or go other ways. Only me and a couple older kids go this way along the tracks.” I said. I started walking towards home again, cutting a wide circle around them. I took one last peek at the woman’s body trying to imagine her life. It was only four days until Thanksgiving. Another family would be without their mother and grandmother….for the holidays.

The train was still moving; it’s harsh, silver wheels straining, screaming. It took the next three blocks to finally stop. I walked along side of it as I always did. Trains didn’t scare me, I respected them. I passed a woman’s white loafer and looked back at the feminine lump on the wet, soft earth. Should I take the shoe back or let the cops find it? I kept walking. I came to my street and saw that the freight train had stopped short of passing my house. There was a broken, jagged, blue automobile tangled up and still hanging off the front of the engine’s face. I only saw it in my peripheral vision. I didn’t want to look at it too closely. It represented sadness. It represented mistakes. Bad decisions made in haste. I plugged down the soaked embankment to the street and up to my front steps. I walked inside, saw my baby sisters watching TV and I slammed the door.

“Another train wreck outside. You guys stay inside though. It’s nothing to look at.” I said. I locked the door and kicked off my muddy shoes. They went flying across the hall, spots of mud smacking the dusty, hardwood floor. I took my comic book out of my pocket and wiped the raindrops off of it. I lumbered up the unkempt stairway to my room and flung myself on my unmade bed. The comic book dropped to the floor.