Fort On Stilts

23 Fort On Stilts second edit 3/27 3:00 PM

The governor, Andrew Cuomo, wanted everyone to quarantine themselves. To stay inside and not have any contact with those outside unless absolutely necessary. So that's what I did. That's what we all did at Van Schoonhoven Square. And when we were out in the halls, we had to keep at least six feet between us.

No one was out in the halls when I went to check the mail. Not even Mrs. Sciocetti. It was like a ghost town.

When I was a kid, I had Ghost Town. It was a toy made out of metal, an old abandoned downtown out of the old west. I used to like to set my men up on it and then shoot at them with rubber bands. I loved it. But then our cat peed on it. It wasn't the same after that. It rusted and smelled funny.

I went back inside my apartment. I started working on my book. I was sharply focused, buth then there was a knock on my door. I got up to see who it was. No one ever comes to visit me. I was surprised when I opened the door and saw Mrs. Sciocetti standing there.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gibson.”

“Well good afternoon to you too, Mrs. Sciocetti,” I replied.

“There's a young man outside who came here looking for you. He said his name is Richie. I couldn't let him come in because we can't have any visitors, don't cha know.”

“Richie? Did he say what he wanted?” I asked.

“No, he just asked for you,” answered Mrs. Sciocetti. “I asked him to wait outside and I would see if you were in.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said, as I made my way down the hall.

When I got through the door to the outside, I saw Richie half sitting, half leaning on the railing. I opened the door but didn't step outside.

“Hi Richie! What's up?”

“Well, with this virus quarantine and all, I thought I'd come by to see if you needed anything,” he said.

“No, I'm pretty good,” I replied. “I had groceries delivered Saturday.”

“OK. Do you need to go anywhere?” asked Richie.

“Well, to be honest, I've been cooped up in my little apartment too long. It would be nice to get out of here. But we're not supposed to get any closer than six feet to anyone.”

“Hey man, I've been in isolation myself. I've been getting a little nutty,” said Richie. “I thought I'd get out for a drive and then I thought of you.”

“Nice Richie, thank you,” I said. “But with the quarantine...”

“Look man, if I've been in quarantine and you've been in quarantine, then we can't have caught anything, right?”

“I guess...” I answered.

“So we're good,” said Richie. “C'mon, hop in. Let's blow this popcorn stand.”

“Well... OK. Hang on, I have to grab my cane and camera,” I said.

“Not a problemo, bud,” said Richie after me.

I shuffled quickly down the hall to my apartment, grabbed my stuff, shuffled back as quickly as I could, and went out the door. As the door was closing, I stuck my foot in front of it to stop it and checked my pocket for my keys. Damn, forgot them.

“Hold on Richie!” I hollered. “Be right back!”

I shuffled double-time down the hall to my apartment door. I hope I didn't lock it. Nope, it's open. Sometimes it's good to be forgetful. I ran in, grabbed my keys, and shuffled on out again. Richie was waiting in his jelly bean at the end of the ramp that ran from the driveway to his jelly bean's door. I opened it, and with a little bit of difficulty got in. If only they made these new cars so they weren't so low to the ground, that would be great. Why don't you stop calling them jelly beans? Why? Because it's getting tiresome, that's why. It was amusing the first time you said it, now it's getting annoying. Fine.

“Thanks Richie!” I said.

“It's cool man,” said Richie. “Where too?”

“I dunno. I guess Swayze Acres, take a swing through there and see what the kids are doing. It's Sunday. But St. Mary's canceled all church services because of the virus,” I said.

“What virus?” asked Richie.

“You know that virus. Coronavirus. That's it.”

“Virus?” asked Richie quizzically.

“Yeah, why we were quarantined!” I answered.

“Quarantine? Are you thinking of polio?” asked Richie. “The Salk vaccine took care of that. We don't need to quarantine anymore.”

I looked at Richie long and hard. I don't think he's messing with me. I think he's serious. Just shut up. Get your bearings. You know you confuse easily, especially after your second concussion.

Richie leaned over and turned on the radio. “Walk Don't Run” by the Ventures was playing. Gee. I haven't heard that song in years. Catchy tune. What a great instrumental. Three guys playing guitars and a drummer. I started tapping my fingers to the music.

“Do you like the Ventures, Mr. Gibson?”

“Yeah I do,” I answered. “Great band. They don't make 'em like that anymore.”

Richie looked at me strangely, a frown on his face.

“Didn't you see them on American Bandstand?” asked Richie.

“No. I, uh, guess I missed it.”

“Oh, it was great man,” said Richie. “They were all wearing white bucks like Pat Boone.”

“Really? What are bucks.”

“Bucks. You know, loafers. But yeah man. They were great. And then they played Wipe Out with TWO DRUMMERS! They were out of sight, Like battle of the bands with one band,” said Richie. “That surfing music is really catching on.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said quietly. Mostly to myself.

“Did you know that Dick Clark was from upstate New York?” asked Richie.

“No, I didn't know that. Where?” I asked.

“Mount Vernon,” said Richie.

“Well, I consider Mount Vernon to be a suburb of New York City,” I answered. “I think real upstaters would consider him to be a city boy.”

“Yeah maybe so,” said Richie.

“Well, just splitting hairs, I guess. It's really not important anymore.”

“Here ya go, Mr. Gibson. I'm gonna go for a drive. You want I should pick you up later?”

“That would be great, Richie,” I said as I opened the door and slid out.

These old cars are much better than the new ones. First of all, you can get in and out of them. They weren't built so low that you felt like your butt was on the ground. And the doors were wider. Richie's Olds F85 has style too.

“Thanks for the lift Richie!” I yelled to him as he drove away.

Richie tooted his horn twice and slowly turned around at the intersection of Lea and Barratt, by Jimmy McFarlane's house.

I started shuffling down Lea Avenue. It was as I pictured it. What a pleasant little neighborhood. I saw girls jumping rope down by Bombard's house. One girl on each end of the long rope, one jumping in the middle, and a couple of girls waiting.

Two of the girls waiting were playing patty-cake.

Miss Ma-ry Mac Mac Mac

all dressed in Black Black Black

The twirlers were singing...

Cinderella dressed in yellow

went upstairs to kiss her fellow

on the way her girdle busted

how many people were disgusted?
1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

Fun. I stopped to watch. The jumper took one end of the rope and a twirler sat with the others, as one of them got up to jump.

Little bear little bear climb up the stairs
Little bear little bear say your prayers
Little bear little bear turn out the lights
Little bear little bear spell goodnight
G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T!

Little bear little bear turn around
Little Bear little bear touch the ground
Little bear little bear climb the stairs
Little bear little bear say your prayers
Little bear little bear turn out the lights
Little bear little bear spell goodnight
G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T!

I laughed to myself. I wonder if little girls jump rope? Or play patty-cake?

I heard hammering behind Chumley's house again. It must be Russ and other kids building something. It always is.

I was by Yager's house anyway, so I walked up the driveway to the back. What I saw was... oddly different. I kept approaching, slowly moving along because the ground was uneven here. Don't want to fall or nuthin'. Would you stop with that! With what? With this falling down nonsense! Hey, don't give me that, because you didn't even exist until I fell the second time and cracked the toilet with my head. Who says I didn't exist? Me. Well you're wrong, I just didn't have anything to say. Well try not saying anything now then. Fine. Fine.

I got close enough where I could see... it. It was a... um... box made out of doors. Not on the ground, but on poles sticking up out of the ground. It looked like something from another planet had landed in Chumley's back yard.

“Hi Mr. Gibson,” yelled someone from the box.

“Oh, hi Bob,” I called up to Bob Van. “Where's Russell?”

“In here Mr. Gibson!” yelled an unseen voice from inside.

“What are you guys building?” I asked.

“Well,” explained Russell loudly, “my dad said we couldn't build a tree house in our tree in the back yard. He said we had to tear it down before it fell down. And we didn't want the doors to go to waste, and we didn't want other kids to knock it down if we built in on the ground, so we did this.”

“Yeah, isn't it great?” yelled Bob Van from the roof.

“OK. I guess,” I answered, “but is that even safe?”

“Safer than if we built it on the ground!” yelled Russ from inside.

“No, I mean it won't fall down will it?” I asked.

“Why would it fall down?” answered Bob from the roof. “We're using ten penny nails we scavenged from a house being built on the Second Street.”

“Yeah,” said Russ. “They were bent and the men just tossed them aside. They don't even try to straighten 'em.”

“Imagine that,” I chuckled.

“Hey Bob!” yelled Russ from inside.

“What?” Bob answered.

“We didn't put a door in. How am I gonna get out?”

And with that, I thought I should be shuffling home.