Wooster nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah. I better get on it too. I want to catch the game at one. You watching?”
Wooster and Paul sometimes watched baseball on Saturday afternoons. Wooster shook his head, “I think I’ll pass today if you don’t mind. I’m pretty sure I’ll need a nap and I don’t want to nod off on you.” Of course, it would not have been the first time he’d nodded off on Paul. But that was not intentional. He was pretty sure he would need a good hour or so of sleep this afternoon.
Paul nodded and said, “Ok, but if you decide different, just let me know. I’ll bring the chips.” He grinned at Wooster and drained the last of his coffee. “Ok, I’m on it!” And with that he stood and headed back across the street. Loreen came out into the garage as he crossed to their driveway. She smiled at him, then waved to Wooster and yelled, “Hey Wooster! Good morning!” Wooster raised his cup to her and grinned. She was a nice gal.
It was about 8:45 by the time Paul had assembled his tools. The tree wasn’t big, so he was gonna use a bow saw to cut the limbs off and to cut the trunk down to about three feet. Course, size would make no difference to his tool selection. He didn’t have much at the house anyway. He began and was about half way through the limbs when Wooster heard Ronnie Waldron coming up the side of the house. Ronnie lived next door. He would come out his back door and crawl under the hedge to get to Wooster’s. They often sat in the back and drank lemonade together.
Ronnie was a nice kid, and he was Wooster’s speed too. Ronnie was retarded. He had other friends, but most kids (not intending to be mean or anything) just were in a different league than Ronnie. Ronnie was unable to keep up. He didn’t speak well. He was uncoordinated. He was slow to think and act. It was like a station wagon at the Indy 500. The cars were all good, but the wagon just didn’t fit in well.
Ronnie rounded the corner and flashed a huge smile at Wooster. “Hi Mr. McDowel!” he shouted enthusiastically. He was enthusiastic every time he saw Wooster; like he found a long lost friend anew each day.
Wooster grinned at him and said, “Hey Ronnie! Sit yourself down!” The two fit well at this point in life for one reason. Wooster was a quiet man, and sat a lot on his porch. Ronnie was a quiet kid, who didn’t mind sitting on the porch. They were perfect company. “Have a cup?” Wooster prodded with a grin. It was a ritual. Wooster would ask Ronnie if he’d like some coffee, and Ronnie would say, “No. Mom says I can’t have coffee.”
With a grin to match Wooster’s, Ronnie answered, “No, Mom says I can’t have coffee ‘cause I’m too little.” His eyes sparkled, for he knew Wooster was just teasing him.
Wooster nodded and said, “Well, moms know best.”
Ronnie came onto the porch and sat down in the rocker left vacant by Paul. He settled back into it, and this left his feet not quite touching the ground. But if he stretched real hard, and pointed his toes, he could make the rocker rock. And he liked that. So the two sat side by side listening to the soft squeak of Ronnie’s rocker.
After a bit, Wooster said, “I think I’ll get another cup. Would you like some milk, Ronnie?”
Ronnie nodded his head and continued to rock. Wooster ambled past him, got in the door and got back with a cup of coffee and a small glass of milk. He hardly spilled any as the screen bumped him! He handed Ronnie the glass and said, “Now careful not to spill.” Ronnie almost always spilled, but Wooster treated him as any other kid. He got the “don’t spill” command just like Wooster’s kids had when they were little. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t spill, it just meant, “I love you and don’t want you to spill.” After all, they were on the porch and heaven knows Wooster had spilled enough milk and coffee out here to fill a bathtub!
When Wooster was seated, and Ronnie had the first coat of milk mustache on his face, Wooster pointed over at Paul and said, “I’m watching Mr. Compton pull that tree out. Mrs. Compton says it doesn’t fit there.”
That was one thing that tipped you off about Ronnie and his retardation. He didn’t respond like you would expect a kid to. Were Wooster to say that to a regular kid, he would probably be regaled with questions like, “Why does Mrs. Compton want the tree gone?” or, “Why doesn’t it fit there?” Ronnie didn’t ask anything. He just nodded seriously, and stared at Paul. He stopped rocking too. He just sat back, sipped at his milk and watched as Paul worked.
Wooster watched Ronnie for a few minutes. He was a good boy. It hurt Wooster to see Ronnie missing so much. But Ronnie didn’t seem to notice very often that he missed things. At least he rarely indicated that he noticed. Now and again he would look . . . wistful (at least that is what Wooster thought) . . . as though he longed for something that he knew he couldn’t get. But mostly he just matter-of-factly said things like, “I can’t do that because I can’t run fast,” or, “I’m not strong enough to do that,” or, “I’m not smart like that.” He knew his limitations, and just worked inside them. It was pretty mature for a kid branded “retarded,” thought Wooster.
The two sat and rocked and watched Paul in silence. And actually, though Wooster doubted he could convince most people, it was a pretty good show! Clearly, Paul was not a gardener. He may know how to invest money (he was a stock broker), but it was obvious he did not know about how to take a tree down. His saw seemed completely dull as far as Wooster could ascertain. And often, Paul just didn’t position himself correctly to place the optimum force on the blade as he worked. Consequently, he would misfire when trying to stroke the blade along the bark. Or he would bend the saw. It was rather hilarious to watch, and Wooster found himself grinning at the misfortune of his friend. He looked over and saw that Ronnie was looking at him and grinning too. He doubted that Ronnie knew what he was grinning about, but if Wooster was happy, Ronnie was happy.
Wooster winked and said, “This should be good when he gets to digging that stump out eh?”
Ronnie grinned a huge grin and answered, “Yeah.”
It was probably ten o’clock by the time the branches were off the tree. Late enough in the morning that Wooster could break out the licorice. Ronnie loved the red licorice. His folks had said to Wooster that it was all right to give it to him too. Ronnie was interesting in that he was very controlled about food. A lot of kids just eat and eat until they are over stuffed. Even the very smart ones would do that sometimes. But Ronnie never did. Wooster could open one of those big ol’ tubs of licorice, set it down between them, and know for a fact that Ronnie would not eat more than five pieces. Oh now and then he’d have more. But just as often he’d have less. He just ate till he felt it was enough, and it was never gluttonous. Again, pretty mature for a kid with some mental problems, noted Wooster.
Wooster looked at Ronnie. Ronnie looked back and smiled. Wooster clicked his tongue and said, “You feel like some licorice?”
Ronnie’s eyes brightened and he said, “Yeah.”
Wooster said, “You know where it is right?” He asked this question every time. Most times Ronnie did know. But now and then he would stare back blankly as though he’d never gotten the tub himself. Wooster just chalked it up to a quirk in his brain that made him forget now and then. This morning Ronnie nodded and said, “I remember.” He slid off the rocker and stood there watching Wooster, waiting for the cue.
Wooster would not have minded if Ronnie had scampered off into his house and rummaged around in the kitchen on his own. But Ronnie never did. He would always wait until Wooster gave him the go ahead. He nodded to the boy and said, “Why don’t you fetch it for us? Go ahead.”
Ronnie smiled and walked to the screen door. He fumbled with it for a second, then disappeared into the house. A minute later he returned carrying the tub of licorice like it was a gold statue from an Egyptian tomb. He treated everything he touched with great care. Wooster thought the boy had probably broken things in the past and after a scolding or two took it upon himself to be diligent with everything he touched. Even plastic tubs.
Ronnie