By Jonathon Ferrini
My name is Arthur. I’m a metal artist, and a lot of my inspiration including my raw materials come from wandering through old automobile salvage yards. I was scrounging around for pieces for a new project when I spotted a beat-up little red wagon, an iconic model named “Radio Flyer” wedged between the rusted shells of two old cars.
The Radio Flyer was founded by an American company in 1917 and became an American cultural symbol. Its mangled condition wedged between cars made overseas was a strong metaphor for simpler times, manufacturing jobs lost forever, the American rustbelt, and something much more profound to me.
The wagon had been in a collision of its own. Twisted up inside the shards of rusting red metal was a tattered notebook. I paid five dollars but would soon discover my purchase was more than artistic, the contents of the notebook were a repayment of my small investment beyond measure.
One rainy evening in front of the warm glow of a fireplace with a glass of brandy, I opened the notebook and realised it had been written by a little boy who was just learning to write.
I want to share the original contents, but found it necessary to fix a child’s misspelling, no grammar, and lack of punctuation so his observations are understandable. The rest I left alone, because every now and then an old junkyard gives back something that shouldn’t have been lost, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this little notebook was all that was left of one small boy’s adventure and the long walk through a short life he took with his red wagon.
THURSDAY
I am Tommy.
I am four.
Mommy gave me this notebook.
She said if I write in it every day, I will be smart.
I have a red wagon.
Gramps gave it to me for my birthday.
He said red things are easy to find if you lose them.
Today I found a bird.
It was under the old oak tree in the park.
I thought it was a leaf because it was jumpy.
Then I saw it was a red robin.
It had a red tummy.
Its wing was all funny.
I asked, “Your wing broke?”
The bird looked at me.
It was sad.
Then I put my sweater on him and put him in my wagon.
Mommy says we help with little things, even scary insects if they are outside.Inside, they go to insect heaven.
Mommy and daddy weren’t home, so I took the robin to the animal doctor.
The lady said, “Doc Ross is sick.”
I said, “My bird is sicker.”
She said, “Maybe the hospital can help?”
I said, “For birds?”
She shrugged.
Grownups shrug when they don’t know what to say.
The hospital was across Sycamore Road.
Mommy and daddy say, “Don’t cross Sycamore Road.”
Grampa says some people forgot how to be happy “down there”.
I don’t know what that means.
I know what pancakes mean.
I know what hugs mean.
I know that I’m not happy when I am sick.
The bird made a little peep.
I think he wants me to pull.
So, I pulled.
The wagon made a squeaky noise.
I like that sound.
It sounds like a mousy with boots.
I got to Sycamore Road.
Nothing happened.
No monsters.
No dragons.
Just a busy road.
So, I crossed.
A nice man was smelly and pushed a market cart.
He helped me cross the street.
He held my hand while I pulled my cart and he pushed his cart.
He said, “Wait for the green sign to say, ‘WALK’. Green says it’s safe to cross but look both ways anyhow, okay? We live in a world where everything doesn’t mean what it’s supposed to, young man. Keep pullin’ your way through life and I’ll keep pushin’.”
He went away with his cart full of his closet like mine at home.
I waved goodbye.
I think he was nice.
I crossed Sycamore Road for the first time.
The houses have gotten old.
There was broken glass.
Lots of trash lying around.
One house had flowers.
One had no windows.
One had a chair on the roof.
I don’t know why?
Maybe somebody wanted to sit high.
A dog barked at me.
I barked back.
Then I remembered I must be brave because the bird was little and hurt.
If I was little, I would want somebody to pull me too.
I think I got lost.
I cried a tiny bit.
Not a lot.
A girl found me.
She had black hair.
She said, “What’s that bird doing in your wagon?”
I said, “A robin needs to go to the bird hospital.”
She said, “You’re not from here.”
I said, “No. I’m from my house.”
She laughed.
I liked her laugh.
It sounds like gumdrops falling on the floor.
“My name is Lily”, she said.
“My name is Tommy.”
Lily said, “My momma works at the hospital.”
I was happy.
I almost hugged her.
But I don’t know if she liked hugs.
She held my hand.
Her hand was warm.
I wasn’t lost anymore.
The hospital was big.
It smelled like soap and dirty laundry.
A man had a hurt foot.
The baby was loud.
A nurse came.
She had tired eyes.
Lily hollered, “Momma!”
The nurse kissed Lily.
Lily said, “Tommy has a sick bird, but doc Ross is sick.”
“Oh dear,” she said.
She picked up the robin like it was a bubble which can pop.
“My name is Beatrice.”
I said, “I’m Tommy.”
She took us to a little room.
Then a doc came.
He said, “The wing is injured but not broken. He needs somebody to love him for a little while. I know a ‘bird lady’ who will take care of your friend.”
Hospital wasn’t happy.
People are scared.
People are hurt.
Everyone wearing white and green ran around in a hurry.
Then a lady came in.
She had white hair.
When she saw Lily and Beatrice, they all hugged like they loved each other, like Grampa when he looks at the moon and thinks about Grandma who died.
Then she looked inside my wagon.
“My,” she said.
“I had a wagon just like this.”
I asked her if she lost it.
“No, sweetheart. I lost being little.”
I didn’t know you could lose that?
“My name is Mrs. Willow.”
She lifted the bird up and put him on the table.
The bird liked Miss Willow.
“I can fix this wing with a simple soft gauze bandage to keep the wing close to the chest and immobile. You can come and visit every day.”
I asked, “Do you live below Sycamore Road?”
“Yes, Tommy.
“I have a big house with happy birds, trees, and a kitchen with milk and cookies for you and Lily when you visit.”
I forgot I wasn’t going to pass Sycamore Road anymore.
I cried a tiny bit again.
Lily and Miss Willow asked why?
I said, “Daddy and mommy gonna’ be mad.”
“I’ll try and help them understand, dear.
“You were being compassionate and a steward of nature.”
Miss Willow took Lily and me into her clown car.
It was painted with flowers.
Lily said, “Miss Willow drives a hippie car.”
I liked the hippie car.
When I got home mommy and daddy were on the porch.
Mommy hugged me so hard my nose got squished.
Daddy asked me, “Where did you go?”
“The hospital with my hurt red robin,” I said.
“You crossed Sycamore Road?”
“I guess so.”
He shut his eyes and shook his head. Daddy does that instead of yelling at me.
Mommy asked, “Were you scared?”
I thought about my day.
I remembered the dog.
I remembered getting lost.
I remembered Lily.
I remembered Beatrice.
I remembered Mrs. Willow.
I said, “It is not good to cross a road unless the green lite says ‘WALK’. No, mommy. I wasn’t scared.”
“Then why did you cross against our rules?”
“Because my sick robin would die under the oak tree.”
I told them Miss Willow was a bird doc who drove a hippie car. Mommy hugged Miss Willow for bringing me home.
SUNDAY
Miss Willow, Lily and her Beatrice came to my house with the robin.
Miss Willow made cookies.
Beatrice brought soup because Grampa had a cough.
Lily picked flowers for mommy.
We all sat on the porch.
Miss Willow sat close to Beatrice on the porch.
They smiled at each other.
Like they had a secret.
Grampa smiled too.
Later I asked him.
Are they friends?
He said, “I think maybe they always were.”
The robin got better.
He jumped and flapped.
Miss Willow said the bird needs more rest at her house and we can visit.
Mommy said, “Okay”.
Daddy went golfing before they came over.
I don’t know why.
WEDNESDAY
We went to Miss Willow’s house.
Lily lived there with her mommy and Miss Willow.
Lily said she has no daddy.
Lily said she was happy with her mommy and Miss Willow.
It was an old house but happy.
I saw birds.
Dogs.
Sleeping cats.
I smelled cookies.
Miss Willow had a party for the bird.
Everybody was there.
Me.
Mommy.
Grampa.
Lily.
Beatrice.
Mrs. Willow.
Lots of people I don’t know came to the party, but Daddy was playing golf. He likes golf very much.
Beatrice and Miss Willow don’t know golf. I like that.
I picked up the robin.
I told the robin, “You don’t have to be scared.”
I opened my hand.
He fell.
Then he jumped
He flied out the window.
He flied over the house.
He flied over Sycamore Road.
Miss Willow said, “Birds know how to get home.”
I think people do, too.
Gramps said, “Birds don’t know where people make lines they won’t cross.”
I think that is smart.
Mommy says I must write what I learned.
I learned birds are little.
I learned wagons squeak.
I learned hospitals are good.
I learned Lily is my friend.
I learned Mrs. Willow smiles with her eyes.
I learned Beatrice does too.
I learned Daddys can fear things they don’t understand.
I learned mommy’s and daddies are different.
I learned robins don’t care what side of Sycamore you live on.
I learned don’t trust signs even if they are green.
I learned we meet nice people anywhere.
SATURDAY
I miss the red robin, so mommy made a trip to a national park to see if he was there.
Maybee, he has a friend like my friend Lily?
Mommy says I will see lots of birds.
Daddy says it will be a long drive in the car and won’t want to make any stops to save time.
I hope I see my red robin and he’ll know it’s me when he hears my wagon wheels.
I’m tired and need to sleep in the car until we get to the national park.
Jonathan Ferrini is the author of nearly 100 short fiction stories, poems, and screenplays. A partial collection of his short fiction may be found inside “Hearts Without Sleeves-Twenty Three Stories” available at Amazon. Jonathan is the writer/host of the Razor’s Ink Podcast nearing 90 weekly episodes where he discusses film, television, and music. Jonathan received his MFA in motion picture and television production from UCLA and is a candidate for the undergraduate diploma in Creative Writing at Oxford University.
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