Chapter 3
The Preschool Years
Or
My Little Red Wagon
or
Doctor, Doctor, The Postman's Rung Twice, Now What Do I Do?
Copyright 2002 Bob Boston
Installment 3
I received my first set of wheels when I was four: a little red peddle tractor and matching Radio FIyer wagon. The tractor had a hitch on the back so the handle of the wagon could be easily attached and pulled around like a trailer. I was terror on the sidewalks! Our house was on a comer of a relatively new housing development in Sunnyvale where all the homes looked about the same, and the streets would curve in and out every which way in some feeble attempt to create some interest to the neighborhood. I would ride that little red tractor with trailing Radio Flyer wagon up one street and down another as fast as my four year old legs could peddle. Up the block and around the block, but I was always careful never to cross any streets, like a good little boy.
I didn't know it at the time, not that it mattered back then, but I was impressing the girls. Each day as I would zoom past the houses of all the young girls my age, they would look out from their windows and watch me peddle by and point to me. Occasionally I would hear them say how much they wanted to ride in my little red wagon. They wanted to ride with me because I was the only one in the neighborhood that had a little red pedal tractor with matching red tow wagon, but I didn't know that. I thought they just wanted to ride with me.
Next door and around the comer lived a brother and sister. Well, scratch the brother. Up until this time boys were of little use to me. Except for my dad and my grandfather I got little comfort, little praise, no love and especially no meaningful companionship from boys. However, it wasn't long until I found a very beneficial use for the brother.
Betsy was my age and was a beautiful four year old as far as I could tell at the time. She had cute dimply cheeks, long auburn hair, and whatever else you could imagine a beautiful four year old to have. She also had a brother that was a year older than we were and he loved to drive the tractor up and down the neighborhood sidewalks as Betsy and I rode in the back of the trailer. It was summer and Tommy would pedal for all he was worth as Betsy and I rode in the back clinging to each other to keep from being thrown out of the trailer as Tommy sped around the sharp comers and curves on two wheels, stopping only long enough to eat a quick but protested lunch. The cool breeze from the San Francisco bay a mile away would whistle by giving welcomed relief from the heat. The breeze would catch Betsy's long, auburn hair, and since she always rode in front of me (I arranged the seating order), would blow all over my face and tickle me unmercifully. I loved it. And to top it off, the wagon was just big enough for the two of us to fit in comfortably. In order to sit in the wagon and keep from being tossed out as Tommy took the comers at break-neck speeds, we had to sit very close to each other and I had to wrap my legs around her. Betsy would hold onto the sides of the wagon and I would clutch her tight, around the waist. All I could do was smile as her hair tickled my face and then I squeezed her waist even tighter. And all Betsy ever did was smile back at me, and scoot back closer and tighter to me. We were two four year olds having the times of our lives! And Tommy just kept peddling as fast as he could, up and down the neighborhood, grinning from ear to ear never once knowing what was going on behind him in the little red wagon. Unfortunately, at the age of four, I was incapable of grasping and appreciating the situation that I was actually in, not even dreaming I would rarely find myself in a similar situation again at an age when it would really matter. I was too young to have learned how to play "Doctor" and the only "Post Office I knew at the time was down the road a few miles where my mother bought postage stamps. But I knew I was having a great time with the cool summer breeze blowing through that long auburn hair and right into my face, and my legs entwined in Betsy's and my arms clutching her tight around the waist. My smile let everyone know I was having a great time. And I was sure the great times would never end. I felt good that summer. I felt new and fresh. I really didn't know why I was feeling that way that summer, but I knew I was enjoying what I was feeling.
I rode with Betsy with her auburn hair blowing across my face and my arms clutching at her waist almost every day that summer, until one night late in August. The day had been spent riding the tractor as usual. It was getting late and Tommy and Betsy's mom had been waiting out on the sidewalk outside of their house to flag us down to call them in for dinner. As we came speeding by, Tommy saw his mom and slowed down just enough to make the turn into his driveway without spilling Betsy and me onto the oil-slicked driveway. We spun around several times, mostly on the two wheels of the wagon making for and exciting and wild ride. I held Betsy's waist tighter than ever before, mostly for dear life, but since there is little life to flash before a four year old, I had plenty of time to experience the joys and other exciting and wild feelings that were well beyond my abilities of understanding. Betsy grabbed my arms and pulled them tighter around me and held on tight until the tractor finally slid to a halt. Tommy quickly jumped off the tractor and ran into the house with only a shout of "goodbye." But Betsy slowly got out of the tractor, still holding onto my hands and looked me straight in the eyes, piercing me deeply to the heart. My heart rumbled and skipped a few beats. I believe that's when I picked up that bothersome heart murmur I have. She slowly let go of my hands, sliding her fingers slowly by mine in a reluctant farewell, never taking her eyes from mine. Something happened in that wagon as it went spinning around the driveway that day, but I didn't know what it was. She told me "goodbye," and "I'll see you tomorrow in your little red wagon." as she slowly disappeared into the house. I reluctantly waved goodbye to her as my heart pounded wildly inside my chest as I grasped for breath. Then I slowly turned and floated over to the tractor and mounted it for my short ride home around the comer to get ready for my dinner. As I parked my wagon and went into the house I longed for the next day and riding in the wagon with Betsy, our legs entwined, her auburn hair blowing in my face, and me, holding her tight around the waist. Morning seemed so far away; it seemed like it would never come.
That night was hot and muggy, and I had a hard time sleeping. We didn't have an air conditioner so I usually spent several hours tossing and turning in bed before I could doze off to sleep. I usually thought about what happened in the wagon that day and what might happen in the wagon the next day. Usually it was the same thing, night after night, after night: Betsy's hair blowing in my face and me holding her tight around the waist, until that night. That night I thought about those eyes, and the feelings I had when she pierced my heart when she looked at me. The feelings were so intense, I couldn't wait until morning. I wanted, more than anything in my life, to be with Betsy. And I laid there waiting; waiting, tossing and turning for morning.
After the summer sun had finally set and darkness had engulfed my room, and as I was dwelling on the events of the day, I began smelling a faint scent of smoke that gradually became stronger and stronger. Then outside I heard a commotion of screaming and shouting. I heard someone shouting to "Get out! Get out!" Then I heard the faint wail of sirens in the distance that grew louder and louder as they got closer and closer. Like any four year old boy I enjoyed watching fire engines. The sirens were getting very close and I stood on my bed, barely reaching high enough to see out the window and onto the facing street. As the sirens got even louder, and the horns were blasting impatiently to get everyone out of their way, I could see flashes of red light coming from around the comer and crowds of people running towards it. I caught a glance at several fire trucks as they sped past and turned around the comer. One of them stopped at the comer and hooked the hoses to the fire hydrant. I couldn't see where they were going, and I couldn't tell exactly where the fire was, but I was mesmerized by all the action I could see and the pulsating rhythm of the flashing red lights on the fire trucks. After several hours things began to quiet down. People started going home and the firemen began to roll up their hoses. Then all that was left where there had just been so much excitement and hustle and bustle, was an eerie, still, and quiet darkness. I dropped down to my bed exhausted from watching all the action. Now it was going to be even harder to wait until morning when not only was I going to have the enjoyment of Betsy's company and blowing hair and legs entwined and grasping her waist, but we could talk about the fire and see where it was and survey the damage. From everything I could see, Betsy was in a perfect position to see everything. She would be able to tell me every detail that she saw. I finally fell asleep, exhausted, with visions of auburn hair dancing in my head.
I woke up early the next morning and was so excited I was barely dressed as I ran out of the house to get on my tractor. When I got on the tractor, I put it in high gear and peddled with all my might! I tore out of the garage, down the driveway, wheeled around onto the sidewalk, and headed towards Betsy's house. I couldn't wait. There was so much to talk about, so much to do, hair to fly and a waist to hold firmly on to. Then as I rounded the comer I just stopped peddling. My legs went limp and the pedals kicked at my feet as the tractor slowly coasted to a stop. Tears came to my eyes as the tractor rolled to a stop in front of the charred remains and heaps of rubble that had just yesterday been Betsy's house. I got off my tractor and surveyed the damage for any sign of life.
"Betsy?" I yelled. I don't know why I yelled for her, but I was suddenly filled with desparation.
"Tommy?" I yelled again, hoping, praying for some answer.
"They're gone kid," came a voice from behind me, from across the street. It was old man Goats who lived across the street from Tommy and Betsy. He never talked much except to scream and yell at us each time we plowed by on the tractor yelling and screaming in delight. "They're gone, and they’re not coming back." he said. "Now go on, scoot, get out of here before you get yourself in trouble."
The old man turned and walked back into his house but kept an eye on me through his living room window. I turned and got back on my tractor and slowly began to peddle back home. When I got to the comer I stopped and looked back, hoping to see Betsy running up behind me to ride in my wagon. But she wasn't there. After that I would ride my tractor back to the corner each day and wait, hoping that one day, Betsy and her family would come back and live next door to me once again. But they never did come back. Work crews came instead and cleared off the lot of the charred remains of Betsy’s house. Eventually a small playground was built, much to old man Goat's dismay. I never played there. All I ever did was to slowly pedal my tractor with the little red wagon in tow slowly around the block, and then even slower as I passed the playground where all the neighbor kids were playing and laughing and screaming in delight. Other neighborhood brothers wanted to drive my tractor and even offered to let me ride in the back with their kid sisters. But all I could think of was the cool summer breeze, the auburn hair blowing in my face and my arms clutching tight to her waist. And smiles. Beautiful give away smiles from ear to ear. But they were gone now; all gone. No one could ever replace Betsy. I was miserable; no more smiles, no more legs, no more auburn hair blowing in my face and no more clutching at the waist; Misery was beckoning for company. I was only four, but what little precious life I had was over.
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