Blackbird Wings

(Inspired by the song by Bon Jovi)

Dedicated to the children who aren't as blind as parents think.

The old street was almost a photograph of my memory. The houses were still old and tired, exhausted from too many years of being lived in and scrubbed. I ran my fingers along the bending wooden fence as I passed, some of the pickets still missing. Even the trees drooped with the weight of the memories that the street had soaked up. Once the sound of children's voices echoed off the houses, playing games like Kick The Can and Spud. Now silence filled the air, the sounds nothing more than faint memories of small humans that had grown up and escaped the town that time forgot.

But I had returned.

I clenched the shoebox under my arm as I approached the dingy house, the porch sagging with the weight of various junk. I skipped the second step, which had been broken years before, and raised my hand to knock on the doorframe as the door was wide open.

"Hello?" I called into the dark interior of the house. "Anybody home?" Shuffled footsteps came towards me from down the hall, and I smiled at the man with grayed hair who appeared with the help of a crutch.

"Whossat?" he asked, squinting at me. "I don't want any."

My smile could only widen. "I'm not selling anything, Mr. Keys."

His eyes widened, and he looked at me head to toe. "Sam?"

"Long time no see, huh?"

He laughed. "I haven't been called that since you left for school!" He beckoned me inside, and I stepped respectfully into the house and followed him into the back room. My smile became a little sad at the sight of sagging couch, with the springs that had held too much weight for too long. I slowly sat down as he eased himself into his chair.

"How have you been, Mr. Keys?" I asked, placing the shoebox beside me on the dusty and threadbare cushion.

"Doing alright, all things considered. Now what are you doing here? Don't tell me that you're moving back."

I shook my head with a slight laugh. "No, I have someone waiting for me back home. Just came to visit you and give you something." I picked up the box held together with duct tape and handed it to him. "I thought you'd like to see this."

His burn-scarred hands trembled as he pulled the torn lid off. His face suddenly went soft, and his shaking fingers reached into the box. "My boy…" he whispered, removing a photograph from the pile inside. I moved along the couch to sit closer to him, so I could look at the faded image of a young boy, not yet ready to be a man, and a dreamer in his prime.

I smiled slightly as I recalled the legend of Joey 'Keys'…

It had been a car accident that stripped me of my parents when I was twelve years old. Orphaned in a split second by a drunk driver, I was sent to live with my grandparents in a town at least a thousand miles from anyplace considered 'civilization'.

My first day of school was embarrassing and lonely. The school was a single building for all grades. All the kids had grown up together in the sleepy little town, and didn't warm to strangers as none came often. So I sat in the last row of the room, feeling very put out and pathetic.

My sixth day there, however, marked the end of my loneliness when the door opened half-way through the day and the principal stepped in, dragging a boy in tow by his arm. At first I thought it was another new student as I had never seen him before. But that thought died as the teacher stopped her lesson to say, "Well Joey, what's your excuse this time?"

The boy yanked his arm free of the principal's grip, and standing with his legs apart and his hands buried in the pockets of his weather-beaten bomber jacket, before boldly announcing, "I got lost."

The class erupted in laughter. It took a few minutes for both the teacher and the principal to establish order as Joey stood there proudly in his ragged, torn jeans and dirt-encrusted, untied hiking boots. The teacher then yanked him from the front and pointed to the back of the classroom, where a shelf lined the back wall. Joey plopped down in a chair at the desk-high shelf, facing away from the rest of the class. The teacher continued in her lesson, but I wasn't able to concentrate as my attention was drawn to the boy sitting behind me.

He was drumming his fingers on the desk, as he had no paper, pencil, or book, and was plain ignoring the lesson. His rebellious brown hair was shaggy and hung in his face, out of place compared to the short, military-style haircut all the other boys wore. He turned his head and looked straight at me with bright brown eyes as he rested his chin on his hand.

"You're new, huh?" he asked easily. "I'm Joey. Joey Keys."

"Sam-"

"Guner! Face forward, please!"

I immediately twisted back around, red staining my cheeks. I heard Joey snicker, and I didn't dare turn around again until the lunch bell rang, and then the teacher ordered that Joey stay.

I sat on the bench on the edge of the broken blacktop, poking at the sandwich grandma had made me for lunch. I looked up when I saw Joey open the door and jump down the steps. He looked both ways, and rapidly headed for the fence by the kindergarten sandbox.

Intrigued, I got up, abandoning the brown paper sack to follow him.

His back was to me as I approached, his attention focused on the gate. It suddenly opened, and the lock hung at the end of the chain open.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw him, watching him. He paused for a moment, before a mischievous, crooked smile whisked across his face and he put his finger to his lips. He shut the gate, him on the outside, and snapped the lock closed.

Then he ran off.

I rested my hand on the chain link fence, and wondered at where he was going.

That night at the dinner table, I asked my grandmother and grandfather what they knew about Joey. All I said was his first name, and they both shook their heads, Grandpa chuckling slightly.

"Thatcher's boy, with the long hair, right?" Grandmother asked. "That child has problems."

"Pride is more like it. Cockier than a rooster. Gets it from his father," Grandfather enlightened. "Everyone in this town knows Joey Keys, Sam."

"His name is Joey Thatcher," Grandmother persisted. "And he needs some good discipline from his parents. I saw him the other day down by the general store, during school hours!"

"Why do you call him Keys, Grandpa?" I asked, ignoring Grandmother's disapproval at my interest as I stabbed my potatoes some more.

"Joey picks locks. I can't tell if it's a talent or a hobby. He can jimmy any lock open, whether it be on a car or a cellar." I made the connection with the school gate's lock earlier that day. "He doesn't steal anything. Just harmless fun. Gives the local law enforcement quite a headache, though. But there's no real crime, so they don't charge him."

Grandmother glared at Grandfather, willing him with her eyes to drop the subject. "His mother needs to swat his backside and send him to school," she sniffed, a little prudely. I rolled my eyes and Grandfather caught it, as we both knew a 'swat' wouldn't mean anything to an twelve-year-old boy. "The boy can barely read, for heaven's sake. And a haircut and some church attendance wouldn't hurt. Sammy, I don't want to see you running around with that boy."

" 'Course not, Gram," I replied, trying to seem innocent. "I was only curious, that's all." I decided to see if I could play a pity card and score a few points. "He just seems lonely." Grandmother only sniffed again, and continued eating her dinner, with slightly less grace than before.

The next day caught me by surprise to see Joey already in the class, looking sore as anything as he slumped low in his desk. I passed him as I went to my desk, and he eyed me from his slouching position. I greeted him good morning, and he only sunk lower, tugging the collar of his bomber jacket high around his neck.

During history and science, he didn't do anything except keep his arms crossed and his chin tucked on his chest. I marveled at his determination not to become bored. The teacher shot him several dirty looks, yet never called on him. We were released for morning break, and Joey stayed put in his seat, in the exact same position. He was still in it when we filed back in and took our seats. The teacher's lips were pursed as she started us on reading. No one chose Joey as their partner, and I was stuck with some boy who acted like I wasn't even there. Joey still didn't move.

The lunch bell rang, and I lingered a bit longer after the rest of the class. Joey was glaring forcefully ahead, refusing to stray even as the teacher, strained, started preparing for the next lesson.

Once again I found my lonely bench at the edge of the blacktop, kicking wearily at the loose gravel that mixed with the dirt. The sandwich felt thick and dry in my mouth for some reason. The other kids were running around, oblivious, in their groups of friends. More than ever I missed my old school.

The woman that crossed my vision immediately drew my attention. Her brown curls that bounce lightly with her quick steps framed her worried face as she headed for the school building. I quickly followed her as she went right to my classroom. The two voices met me outside the classroom door that was slowly shutting. I peeked in, clearly seeing Joey's still-stoic face and the hand on his shoulder.

"Mrs. Thatcher, are you aware that your son is failing all his classes?"

"The coursework is hard for Joey, he doesn't understand all of it. Maybe if you explained things more-"

"He has only been to school three days this month. Three FULL days, that is."

"I know, I know. His father is so sick these days and Joey stays home to help and works his little heart out-"

"Mrs. Thatcher!" the teacher's haughty voice interrupted the excuse. "If Joey does not attend every day and do the work, he will be forced to repeat the grade."

"Ma'am, please, understand – Joey, Joey's at a difficult place in his life-" The door clicked shut, finally having finished swinging closed. I sighed and leaned back against the wall, frustrated. I wanted to hear the conversation to see how Joey would get out of it this time.

It was a few minutes later the door opened, and both Joey and his mother exited. Joey looked at me in surprise, and I scrambled to my feet. "H-hello Joey. Everything okay?"

He shrugged off his surprise and settled back into his unfazed expression. "Yeah, everything's fine Sam."

Mrs. Thatcher inspected me, a pleased look on her tired face. "Who's this, Joey?"

At his pause, I awkwardly held out my hand, as I had seen my father do when he met new people. "My name's Sam, ma'am. Sam Guner. I'm a friend of Joey's."

"Joey's friend?" The look brightened, and some of the wrinkles about her eyes vanished. "It's so wonderful to meet you." She shook my hand, rather happily. "You must come over some time, I make delicious brownies."

I smiled. "I'd be happy to, ma'am."

"In fact, why don't you and Joey come to the diner after school?" She bent and kissed Joey's cheek, who didn't move away. "I've got to go now, alright? I need to get back. Please be good." The desperation in the last phrase was apparent, and I tried to keep my face straight.

"See you after school mom," Joey replied, looking away from both of us.

She smiled at me once more as she started walking towards the door. "Nice to meet you, Sam!"

I waved, feeling very stiff as the door shut. Joey turned his chocolate eyes on me in a sharp glare. "So what? You want to make fun of me or something? Go ahead."

"What? No!" I hastily waved my hands in the air. "No, I was just-…just curious!"

"About what?" he demanded, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning forward to seem more imposing. It didn't really work, as I was an inch or two taller. But his cross demeanor was definitely demanding.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't in trouble."

He snorted. "I'm always in trouble. Everyone calls me bad." A pleased look crossed his face, as if he thought being called bad was a good thing. The bell rang, and we both stood in silence as footsteps and voices filled the air as they came back in for class. Joey and I joined the throng, and took our seats.

"Okay everyone, get out your math books and buddy up. Work on exercise 14, please." The teacher then added with a sharp tone, "You too, Joey."

I yanked my workbook out from my desk, and before I got stuck with someone who couldn't work with their friend, I plopped in the seat next to Joey. He looked at me in surprise. "C'mon, don't get her mad." He opened his mouth to reply, but I caught him before he could. "She'll call your mom again."

His mouth shut, and he pulled out the workbook that looked newer than mine. As he flipped through the pages, I saw that he had doodled on them and didn't do any of the work. I started working, and Joey just stared at the page as if it were about to eat him. I adjusted my book so he could clearly see the answers. He looked at me, a judging look on his face. He turned back to the book, and slowly picked up his pencil and began to copy. I smiled to myself, but quickly wiped it away before Joey could see.

When the final bell rang, I was fumbling with my books as the other kids darted quickly from the classroom. As I finally got my backpack shut, Joey was leaning against the door, one booted foot against the opposite doorframe. "So are you coming or not?" he asked.

"Coming?" I asked blankly.

"To the diner," he reminded me, a little annoyed.

I blurted out "Sure!" He took his foot down and started down the hallway and I was quick to follow. He led me off the property, across the street to the houses. "We're taking the brick highway," he stated, hauling himself up on a rock, and then again onto the thick brick wall. "Well? Hurry up!"

I climbed up after him, as he waited impaitently with his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. I had to hold my arms out for balance, looking down the six foot fall. "C'mon," he ordered, and started walking as casually as if he was strolling on the sidewalk. I swallowed hard, and carefully follow. He glanced back at me as I struggled along, before breaking into a run. I gaped at him, so easily running along a six inch wide wall.

Then I realized he was leaving me behind. Taking a deep breath, I sped up, not going anywhere near as fast as Joey, but walking faster. I saw him stopped up ahead, and as I got closer he took off along the wall to the right. I followed him again, gaining some more confidence as the act became more familiar. He stopped for me a few times, the final time before he jumped off the wall onto a pile of wood stack against it and to the ground.

When I finally joined him, I had been almost jogging along the wall. I looked at him with a smile, and he shot me a quick smirk before turning to the street. We were now in the more shop district, and he headed for a corner diner. I followed, and the bell tingled as we entered.

I saw Joey's mother behind the counter, working at serving the two or three people in the place. She smiled warmly at us as I followed Joey's action of taking a stool and dropping his backpack. "So boys, what'll it be? Ice cream and brownies?"

I nodded eagerly, the dry and half-eaten sandwich lonely in my stomach. She left for a moment behind the wall, and Joey and I sat in silence until she came back with a tray bearing snacks.

"So Joey, how was school?" she asked, setting the bowls loaded with vanilla ice cream and fudge and a thick brownie before us.

"Alright," he replied, stabbing at his food.

"Sam?" She gave me a smile, lines appearing on her tired face momentarily.

"It was school," I shrugged. She was still pleased with the answer.

"Anything else I can get you two, let me know," she said as a new customer entered and she had to bustle away.

The sugar fest lasted as long as we could stuff our faces, and when it stopped we sat in lazy silence for a few minutes before I started, "Hey Joey?"

Using his foot, he slowly moved the stool back and forth. "Yeah?"

"Why does everybody call you Keys?"

A grin crossed Joey's face, as he lowwered his foot. "Wanna see?"

"Sure."

He jumped off the stool, and headed for the back door. I followed again, as we entered the tiny parking lot that lined along the back of the shops. He strolled along the cars, and asked, "Which do you like?"

I paused, before asking, "Which car?"

"No, tricycle," he replied sarcastically.

I pointed at a bright red one, not sure what it was, but it looked cool. Joey grinned, and started poking around the trashcan. A few seconds later he unearthed a coat hanger. He walked over to the car, with a quick glance around. "My best time is twenty-three seconds," he boasted, straightening the coat hanger. He pushed it between the window and the black rubber, and slowly worked the hanger up and down until I heard a faint click and the lock popped up. Joey's grin widened, as he removed the coat hanger.

"See?" he swung the door open. "I can do it faster than the guys at the autoshop can."

I gaped at the open door, before slowly asking, "Are you going to drive it?"

He rolled his eyes. "No," he replied, disgusted. "I'm not THAT bad."

"Oh." Relief flooded me. He dug around in the car for a moment, finding a pencil anan envelope. He scribbled in barely legible writing 'Joey Keys say hi'.

"It's 'says'," I corrected. "Add an S."

He obeyed, then propped it up against the steering wheel. He locked the door, and shut it. He turned to me proudly, and asked, "Wanna go do some more?" I nodded eagerly, and we ran off amid the cars.

To Be Continued