The Junkyard

“Mom, can I go outside? Please?”

Billy Thomas sat at his kitchen table, looking out of the window at all of his friends playing in the street.

“Not until you finish your lunch,” Mrs. Thomas, a thin woman with long, brown hair and big blue eyes, said, wiping her hands on a towel.

Billy looked forlornly at his half eaten sandwich.

“Trevor doesn’t have to eat all of his food,” he muttered, picking it up and taking a bite.

“Trevor also always comes over here for food,” Billy’s mother said disapprovingly. She put a dish in the cupboard just above her head and turned to him. “You’re a good boy, Billy, and if you finish the rest of your sandwich now, you can have a popsicle with your friends later.”

The little boy brightened at that, and soon his food was cleaned from his plate. Jumping off of the chair, he excitedly made his way to the door.

“William Thomas,” his mother called from the kitchen. Billy froze, just inches away from the door handle. “You come in here right now and wipe your face.”

“Aw, Mom!” the blonde complained, trudging glumly back the way he’d come. “I’m just gonna get dirty again.”

Without saying anything, Mrs. Thomas grabbed a wet dishcloth and wiped away the peanut butter and strawberry jam from her son’s face.

“There you go,” she said, smiling. “Now you may go outside.”

Without wasting time, Billy darted to the door and jerked it open, dashing outside in the warm summer sun. He breathed deeply. Freedom.

“Hey! Billy!”

Billy looked out beyond his white fence to one of his friends, Alex Boyd.

“Hey, Alex!” he called, unlatching the fence and striding through. Alex trotted to greet him, hands in his overalls.

Alex was a short boy, barely reaching Billy’s chin. He always had overalls on and never wore shoes on his feet. His hair was a dirty blonde, which suited him because he was never clean, and his eyes were a light grey with flecks of brown here and there. He was always doing something mischievous and, almost all the time, no one had any proof that was him.

“Did ya hear?” Alex said, eyes sparkling with excitement. He had a dirt smudge along his cheek and his clothes were dusty from the road.

“Hear what?” Billy asked, curiosity rising.

“Trevor got a toy plane from his ol’ man. Said he’s gonna fly it today by the junkyard iffin anyone wanted to watch. You comin’?” Alex’s eyes sparkled with the mischief he was thinking up.

“’Course I’m comin’. Why would I miss that?”

Alex’s smile widened and they both set out running to the junkyard.

As soon as the large wire fenced gates were in view, Billy and Alex slowed. Trevor was there, along with Betsy -Trevor’s younger sister- and Gabe –Trevor’s next door neighbor–.

Trevor and Betsy looked a lot alike and not just because they were siblings. Betsy’s and Trevor’s hair were the same brown, though Betsy had it in two long braids hanging down over her jean overalls, and their eyes were the same shade of green. Gabe, on the other hand, was a much different looking kid. He was rather chubby with freckles dotting his cheeks and nose, and had messy red hair falling in ringlets to the tips of his ears.

The three of them were standing in the street just before the road that led to the junkyard’s locked gates.

“What took you so long?” Betsy asked, hands on hips. She was tapping her foot on the dirt and from the look on her face, Billy could tell they had been waiting for some time.

Without giving Billy a chance to answer, Trevor asked, “Is everyone here?”

Alex nodded. “Let’s get on with it already.”

The plane was red with white stripes and was attached by a long string to a spool in Trevor’s right hand. He held the plane gingerly with his left hand and Billy could tell he wouldn’t let anyone else try to fly it.

“Okay,” Trevor said, eyes sparkling. “Everyone stand back. I don’t wannna hit you.”

The group complied and Trevor crouched, the plane outstretched in front of him. He sat there for a few minutes, then, when the wind picked up, he jumped up and raised the plane above his head, running as fast as he could down the street. Suddenly, the wind caught the little plane and it soared up in the air, catching on the string. Everyone cheered, and Betsy clapped at Trevor’s success.

They watched as it darted about in the wind, swooping down then soaring higher and higher up in the air. Unexpectedly, the wind changed direction, causing the little plane to veer Trevor toward the junkyard fence.

“AH!” he cried, “Help me! I can’t make it stop!”

Billy was the first to act, and ran toward his friend and the struggling plane. The wind was really strong by now and the little plane jerked and wobbled at the verocity. Suddenly, the string Trevor was holding snapped and the red and white aircraft coasted over the junkyard gate and in the broken window of a small BMW. The little brunette sank to the ground in despair, holding the spool between his small hands.

“What am I gonna do, Billy?” he asked, eyes fixed on the wire fencing.

“Gee, Trevor, I dunno,” Billy replied, scratching his head and staring at the little wrecked plane.

Betsy and the others finally caught up with them.

“Nice going, brother,” Betsy said, crossing her arms. “How do you s’pose you’re gonna get that out?”

Gabe quickly wobbled over to the gate and peered through. “Oh boy, Trevor, you’ve got a problem; ol’ Mr. Duggans has his Rottweiler, Buoy, loose.”

Trevor’s eyes watered.

“It’s okay,” Billy soothed, “I’ll think of something. Don’t you worry.”

The others watched as the blue-eyed blonde paced back and forth in front of the gate.

After a few minutes passed, Alex impatiently asked, “Hey Billy, you done thinkin’ yet?”

“Be quiet, Alex!” Betsy scolded, giving the boy an icy stare. He backed off, but stuck out his tongue when she wasn’t looking.

“I’ve got it!” Billy suddenly said, eyes dancing. Everyone’s attention turned to him. “Anyone got some meat?”

An hour later, after much trouble with the butcher, the gang of young children reassembled in front of the junkyard gates, ham proudly in the grasp of both Alex and Trevor’s dirty hands.

“Okay,” Billy said, “here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m gonna climb the back of the junkyard’s fence and make my way to the front. Alex, you and the others try and distract Buoy with one piece of meat and I’ll have the other, just in case it doesn’t work. Does everyone understand?” The children nodded and Billy smiled. “Good, now wish me luck.”

Just think of yourself as Superman. Billy stared at the fence. He couldn’t see the dog or his friends, which he hoped were distracting the dog and which he hoped it was working. He took a deep breath. I am Superman.

In his mind, he envisioned himself in a red cape and blue and red outfit. He was standing before a tall mountain, impossible to fly over, yet possible to climb. Taking a deep breath, he started his huge ascent, placing his hands carefully in various handholds.

I am Superman.

He believed it now; he just knew he was Superman. It was like knowing he would always be freckled.

He was at the top of the mountain now, looking over the other side. What he saw amazed him. It wasn’t a mountain, it was an empty volcano! There were rocks (or cars) everywhere, and, off in the distance, there was a red and white plane that had crashed, the occupant trying to get loose.

I will save you! I am Superman.

He flew down, landing on the dirt ground. He crouched, looking around to make sure no beasts were in sight. You never knew when they would pop up on you. Still crouching, he stealthily made his way around the many rocks. Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he froze.

A huge monster with eight eyes and twenty legs stood snarling and drooling just to Billy’s right… it was Buoy.

He could see the airplane now; about ten yards away; if only he could reach it. He took a step. The monster grew louder, the snarling filling Billy’s ears. No good. He had to think of a plan. If only Superman was invisible!

Then he remembered; the ham! Carefully, Billy pulled the ham from his pocket. It wasn’t big, so he’d have to run as soon as Buoy chased after it.

Standing, he gathered as much strength as he could muster then threw the ham the way he’d come. The monster fell for the trick and darted after the piece of meat with invigoration. Without wasting time, Billy ran as fast as he could toward the wreck.

I am Superman. I am Superman. I am Superman.

Finally, he reached the helpless aircraft and loosened it with his inhuman strength, raising it above his head and running toward freedom.

He could hear people cheering. They were cheering for him.

Then, a voice rang clear and frightened, “Billy! Behind you!”

He looked. The monster was back, tongue lolling out of its mouth, eyes fierce. Fear crept through him and he ran faster; faster than he’d ever run before.

I… am… Superman!

He climbed the mountain as fast as he could. If only he could fly! He reached the top just as the monster reached the bottom. Without hesitation, he jumped, and when he landed, he was Billy again; out of breath, side aching and head pounding.

“You did it, Billy!” It was Trevor’s voice. He could see the smile on the boy’s face as he leaned over him, offering a hand. Billy grabbed on and let himself be pulled up, the plane clutched fiercely in his arms. Everyone was slapping his back and offering congratulations. A smile spread over his face and he pushed the plane into Trevor’s hands.

“What happened?” he asked Trevor. “Why didn’t the ham work?”

“Because,” Betsy cut in, “Gabe got it too close to the fence and Buoy gobbled it up, then went after you.” She gave the redhead her all-to-familiar stare.

Gabe shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’ worry about it, Gabe,” Billy said, slapping the boy’s back good-naturedly. “Come on, my mum promised popsicles at my house. I think we deserve it after today.”

Everyone heartily agreed and they all followed the hero away from the junkyard, happy that the adventure was now over.

The End