No Harm Done

Undeterred by the loss of his wagon or his adventure in the sea, Willie Foot somehow persuaded Uncle Len to build him a scooter. It was primitive, just two boards, set at right angles, a handlebar and a pair of wheels. For a time, Willie set it in his front yard and decorated it with grass and roots. Then he painted it, crooked stripes of bright red and white and added a straw basket for collecting rocks. Inevitably, he walked the contraption to the top of the hill and began riding it down, landing first in the ditch and then the Sullivan's front yard and lastly, on a bright Monday morning as Nana was hanging clothes, careening down our steep gravel driveway at breakneck speed. Nana looked up and shouted a curse then began flailing her arms but Willie never noticed. He turned the handlebar and headed straight for the clothesline with my grandmother screeching in protest. In a matter of seconds, Nana, Willie and the scooter were all on the ground in a tangle of wet sheets and clothespins. The back door slammed and my mother appeared with a mixing bowl in her hands and a puzzled expression on her face then the dogs, roused by the commotion and not to be left out of the fun, came rushing around the corner and immediately dived headlong into the whole soggy, sorry mess. Nana's pristine white sheets were soon a muddy, grass stained mess and while my mother laughed so hard she dropped the mixing bowl, my grandmother emerged with a look of homicidal fury. Flinging aside sheets and pillow cases, she got to her feet, adjusted her glasses, smoothed out her apron, and began a methodical search for Willie who had managed to creep under the woodshed and was well on his way to a clean getaway, his more or less intact scooter clutched under one arm.

She stopped only long enough to snatch an ax from the woodbox then marched toward the back field. I'll have you and your damn scooter for firewood, Willie! I heard her threaten, That I will! She found him cowering just outside the playhouse, curled up in a ball in the tall grass and sobbing piteously, one arm around his scooter, the other wrapped in a pillow case, his bright green hair matted with mud and weeds. From the playhouse window, I watched her lower the ax, sigh deeply, and then awkwardly get to her knees beside him. Never mind, Willie, she told him resignedly, We'll just wash it all again. No harm done. He looked at her with a shaky smile, his crossed eyes filled with tears and his wild hair half covering his face. Like a child, he shyly offered up the ruined pillow case and then a pocketful of pennies, holding them in his grubby hand like treasure. Nana sighed heavily and took a deep breath.
You keep them, Willie, she said gruffly and struggled to her feet, Now, go home and get cleaned up. And she managed a smile. And Willie, she called after him as he skipped up the driveway, From now on, you ride your scooter in the cove! He nodded happily before carefully putting the scooter on the ground, saluting her smartly, and then detoured through the strawberry field, the remains of the scooter slung over one crooked shoulder.

My grandmother walked slowly to the clothesline to survey the damage to her morning's work. She looked to the sky as if for strength then gathered up the linens one by one and began again.