Tales from the Fourthdown Card Shop

By Gary Green

Elements of chance come in many forms, some seen many more unseen. One such form is a wrapper, like a wrapper that can hold candy, baseball cards or some other harmless item. But this particular wrapper much money than that. It holds an item one might refer to a "twist of fate."
A "twist of fate," maybe pleasant, disturbing, happy or filled with despair, justice or revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543983050

Book preview

          It is said that fate, or something like it, sneaks, walks, runs or crawls into man’s life, both in various and incomprehensible ways. Events can be altered by the smallest, or greatest factors. That at one time or another, something, anything will change the course of events and produce results never expected.

          Thus, these unforeseen elements can be found anywhere: a truck stop, a department store, a restaurant, or even a sportscards shop. Who’s sales include wrappers, that contain something other that sportscards. 

                                            Be careful for what you wish for…..

© 2019 Gary Green

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-54-398305-0

Table of Contents

Cover

Title

Copyright

Can you hear me?

Surprise Package

Please Come Home

Don’t Trend on Me

Fijorg

Coco loves Errol Flynn

Vanishing Act/Breeze

Probe Number One is no longer responding

Thomas Adidas: Demon Hunter

Can you hear me?

            Shaween Latona walked happily to school. The same routine she performed five days a week and sometimes on Saturday when they had tutoring available from nine to twelve. It was better than nothing. It was better than staying at home.

          The neighborhood was littered with burnt out or boarded up storefronts, that once, maybe thirty or so years ago had been part of a prosperous Italian area that boasted to have been the most cultured in New York City. Fine, back breaking work  that left behind structures that reeked of craftsmanship unequaled today. 

            Where did all those people go? Why did they leave? How come the people who lived here today didn’t take care of the neighborhood? The streets are so dirty, there are so many stray cats and dogs, it smells here. Why?

          Shaween never looked forward to weekends. It meant being in her cramped, noisy, three room apartment, which she shared with her mother, two brothers, and a cat named Jimmy. The apartment was as clean as her mother Sheila, could keep it, working a full time job and three kids to take care of. Their father Jamal, had left when Shaween was six or seven, she couldn’t remember. The only memories she had were hazy recollections, of a huge man, who couldn’t seem to walk straight and had breath that always smelled of wine. About the time he left, mama stopped getting bruises on her face.

          Sheila, her mother, a attractive, high school educated woman, had her children starting in her senior year, Shaween was the first, LaShawn a year later and Dennis three years after that.

Jimmy the cat followed Shaween home six years later.

          But they all weren’t healthy births, Sheila had been in the hospital just before Shaween’s birth, a result of a disagreement with Jamal, which left her bruised and batted. She was admitted to the hospital, where the doctors had to set her right cheek bones,  keep her there for three weeks, and put her on several major antibiotics and pain relievers .Shaween was born two days later, mute and deaf. LaShawn and Dennis were spared any physical abnormality.          Silence was a peaceful land to journey in. She never felt threatened and the limited interference of the world, only served to give her added protection. Shaween felt secure and never worried about any disturbance that might frighten or distract her.

          As a result, she obtained very high grades and always made the honor roll. Conversely, it was a cold, lonely and sterile  world: it offered no comfort when she was sad, no relief when she was in pain and no one to share her thoughts and wishes with.

        In Martin Luther King Junior High School, Shaween was a seventh grader. She encounter many different types of students. There were students that liked her, but were afraid to open up to her. Others, made fun of the retard, by walking directly into her, or behind her, making unkind faces, which would trigger laugher from those either in the hallway, or in the classroom. Shaween, knew what they were doing, sometimes a cold stare would stop them in their tracks, other times, it didn’t.

        Hey dumb ass! Can you hear me? You mama didn’t wash your clothes last night?Shouted Carlos Rodriguez, in math class,  when Ms Snipp’s back was turned, while she was putting up the lesson of the day.  The class laughed, Shaween saw, but did not hear, but  her eyes, scanning the actions around her, completed the picture, that her ears couldn’t.  Ms  Snipp turned quickly,quiet class, she said sternly. I know that was you Carlos. Looks like its lunch detention again, you must enjoy eating alone.

        Carlos shot Shaween an evil look, before returning to the assignment before him. Ms Snipp, having finished putting the daily assignment on the board, then inspected the class by walking up and down the aisles. Her gaze swift, but accurate, carefully accessing the work placed on the desks, on either side of her path. She stopped at the desks of several children before arriving at Shaween. Shaween looked up as the shadow crossed her desk. Ms’s Snipp’s kind but stern face studied her work.

        You’re making the same mistake, she spoke softly, as was her way. She took the pencil from Shaween’s hand and pointed out the corrections, slowly and carefully, making sure Shaween understood, then waited to see if Shaween had any questions. She then stood for a moment while Shaween studied it, then looked back at her, nodding that she did understand.          Shaween, admired Ms. Snipp.  Snipp taught both regular classes and special needs students. Snipp was the best special education teacher that she had ever had.  Snipp never talked down to her, nor did she ever treat her differently or with contempt, things that she had noticed with some of the other teachers. No, Ms. Snipp was the good one.

        Shaween didn’t have very many friends, but Caroline Smiths was one of the true ones. Like Shaween, she was black, poor and lived in a section of the Bronx that few of a lighter skin color ventured into. She had, had a brother who was deaf and had become proficient at sign language.

Not the it really mannered, Shaween could read lips with the best of them.

        They spent all their free time together, often in study hall, lunch, and the few after school programs than hadn’t been cut.

        That afternoon, they were spending some quality time in the lunchroom. Did you see the way William was dogging Shelia? He was just all cover her. And she? That hole was ready to give it up right there, in the art room! Right behind the posterboard of SpongeBob! she laughed. Shaween laughed, she then signed her response to Caroline. I can’t believe it! Such behavior, it’s disrespectful, really! Good thing I have pride in myself, yes sir, I’m so, so cool. Oh, how did you do in Ms Reilly’s English test? I thought it was tricky, questions 11, 12 and 17, weren’t even anything that we covered!

        Oh don’t worry about the test! You’re always worried about some test! There are more important things to worry about. Like I heard you like Theodore Alordore. Word has it that you want him to ask you to the dance. Is that happening? Well, is it?

        Before Shaween could answer, Terry Wilson and Susan Newman walked up behind her. Both girls didn’t know whether or not to sit down. Terry was a light-skinned Puerto Rican girl, who, Shaween knew, carried with her an attitude as big as the auditorium.

        Susan Newman, a plain, white Jewish girl, who on occasion, could be very nice, depending on the company she kept, just stood there sizing up the situation.. But all in all, Susan was a follower, and a wanna-be.

        Well what up? Carol and the queen of finger talk. What’s new in the land of silent and quiet? Terry began, letting her tray fall to the table, attempting to attract as much attention as possible in the noisy lunchroom. Let me tell you something, she continued, her high pitched, annoying voice, spreading across the entire row of tables. Wouldn’t be easier to use smoke signals? That way, the rest of the cafeteria wouldn’t have to smell you either.

          Caroline was the first to react, she had always been short tempered, especially in the protection of friends and family. Why don’t you quiet down those, pear shaped, fish swelling, chicken bone sucking, tire shaped lips of yours? We were just having lunch, not messing with anyone and you have to bring that garbage truck shaped bunt of yours over here!

          Terry, who Shaween thought was going to get angry and perhaps start a verbal altercation, instead, to her and Caroline’s surprise, smiled and laughed. Chill girl, she laughed, I’m just messing with you two. It’s been a boring day, I haven’t been sent to detention once. No matter how hard I tried. Without helping themselves, the four of them broke into a loud round of laughter.Besides,continued Susan, who was silent up to this point, afraid to act or say anything without testing the waters, Theo likes me.

          The four girls spent the rest of the lunch period discussing everything from boys to music, and problems at home.   

            At 2:42 and 1/2pm the school bell rang and the day ended. Actually the day ended at 2:05, but after school tutoring was available from the extra37 and ½ minutes and Shaween was in not hurry to get home.

          She knew what was waiting for her. A depressing walk through Blueberry Blvd, where the junkies hung out on the street corners and the man in the dark raincoat stood. She didn’t know his name, not that she wanted to, but he had deep, dark scary eyes. Like those vampires, in the horror movies. He once followed her half way home, an ominous and dark look on his face, slowly unbuttoning his raincoat. But stopped when he was confronted by, Big Jimmy.

          Big Jimmy, and his crew,BBBB, more or less, ran or controlled the neighborhood.

BBBB, stood for, Big, Black, Bold Bozs.."

          Big Jimmy, was well named. He was six foot four, worn size fourteen sneakers and always had on the same hooded red and green armless sweat suit, with his name stitched on it and BBBB tattooed on his massive arms.

          And he was a friend. What’s happening little sister? He said smiling, his gold teeth shining forth, his  rough sounding street voice echoing down the street.Big Jimmy had always been a friend to Shaween. In fact, he had always been a friend to all the young kids, all the wanna-be’s that had wanted to go gangster," trying to stop them. His dream was to prevent others from going the way he had gone, from making the mistakes he had made, which cost him a brother, a sister and a future.

          Big Jimmy, had never known his parents, and Shaween guessed this was the reason he tried to be one to all the kids in the hood. She didn’t mind. He had always been good to her and she admired him for it.

          They had developed they own sign, which basically was only ten finger positions, involving three fingers. Big Jimmy wasn’t going to take the time to learn real sign. He had too much going on and was always hiding out from the police, which was what he spent most of his time doing. Time was always short for him, so everything had to be done quick So they had put together an abbreviated sign." This was three finger sign that basically, illustrated at least two hundred ideas, depending more on the up or down positions of the  palms, which accented emotion, adding  more to the message. 

          "You had a good day, my little female?

          Oh, it was alright. Ms O’Reilly is having the midterm Wednesday this week.

          Is that good?

          Well, it’s a week earlier, but I can handle it.

          I know you can little sister."

          Big Jimmy, took a minute out from studying his surrounds, to studying Shaween. She looked troubled and sad, she didn’t seem to have the exuberance that he was used to seeing. Something’s bothering you, little sister. What is it? Someone messing with you? he looked at her concerned. ‘Cause if they are, I’ll deal with ‘em and they’ll never and I mean never mess with you again.

          Shaween half-smiled back at him. She was both happy and concerned. She wanted Jimmy’s help, but at the same time, didn’t want to see him get into any more trouble. And she knew, that this was something she had to handle on her own. Besides he was due in court Thursday, the last thing he needed was to be picked up on something else.

          Jimmy, sensing something in Shaween’s hesitation, stood for a moment, then reached into his pocket. He pulled from his blue and red, sweat-suit pocket, a slightly-crumpled packet, of shiny cellophane, about five inches by four inches. On closer inspection, in his huge calloused hand, it looked like a packet of cards.   

            Shaween looked at him was an amused and confused look on her face. She knew, as the rest of the neighborhood did, that Big Jimmy, ruled the basketball courts, but she never figured that in all his life he was a collector of any type of sports cards.

            The pack of packs was unusual, not only in the fact of who it came from, but the color. It didn’t have any. Even with the late afternoon sun shining down on it. Shaween had learned, that light, could be broken down on a shiny surface, would at times reflect  even faintly a spectrum. But this, wrapper, strange as it seemed to her, reflected despite the fact that it was evening, and the sun was going down.

            She reached out to touch it and immediately felt a pulse, it was as if the packet was filled with electricity.

            Take it, little sister, he said,"take it. There’s something in it that I want you to have.

Something that will change you."

            What is it? she asked. Where did you get it?

            Somebody gave it to me, a friend, when I was young. He got it at some card shop, I don’t where. He said that it contained magic. I opened it and that’s what I got. Why do you think I’m still around?

            A look of sadness crossed his face. Shaween recognized that look, she had, had the same look on her face, when she broke the cage of her pet hamster and it escaped through a hole in the wall. Big Jimmy, had the same look on his face, the look of someone who had let something good get away.

            He let her take the packet from his hand and started to turn away, the hunk that was Big Jimmy, suddenly looking fragile and weak. There’s magic in that packet. But be careful, sometimes magic works in strange ways.  You don’t always get what you wish for. Because once you open it, that’s it. The one wish that you ask for is granted, but it may not come in the way you expect, and you don’t get a second chance, he said, like some sage, from a long forgotten tribe.

          "Big Jimmy turned from her and proceeded down the block, checking the street for the authorities, he disappeared around the corner.

          Shaween stood there and watched him leave, then she stared at the small packet in her hand, it was unopened.

          Arriving home, she noticed LaShawn outside, around the corner, smoking a cigarette. LaShawn was ghetto dressed, with over-sized pants and incredibly white sneakers. He liked to wear his clean, L.A.Lakers Jersey, with the New York Yankees cap, tipped to the right side, lowered, so that it covered half his face, which Shaween didn’t think was a bad idea.

          But there were other things he did that was a bad idea.  He was into Hip-Hop, starting to hang out with the wrong group of kids and was starting to get into trouble in school, once a good student, his grades were steadily going down, must to the disdain of his mother, who worked so hard to take care of the family.

          As a matter of fact, the Dean, Mr. Diamond, had called her house just the other day, to report that he had caught LaShawn smoking in the boy’s bathroom.

          He puffed away at the cigarette, not looking at her.

          What are you doing? she sighed.

          What does it look like I’m doing? he said, arrogantly.

          Ma, doesn’t want you to smoke.

          I do what I want. I don’t care what Ma wants.

You’re going to get in trouble.

So what

Cause you want to be a gangster, you want to deal drugs. I heard what you want to do, please stop. Don’t do it. You’ll get hurt.

        He looked at her, for a long time, he could see the concern in her eyes. He then threw the cigarette to the pavement. Get lost, was all he said.

          His answer shocked her. LaShawn had always been respectful, always did everything he could to please ma, but since he started hanging out with these guys, he changed. And not in a good way.

              You think this makes you look cool? When it doesn’t, it makes you look like a jerk.          He turned to her, truly acknowledging her for the first time. I look like a jerk? Me? I got news for you. How many deaf and mute kids go to a music class, after school? You can’t hear the music, let alone sing it, or dance to it. You can only hope some one will let you know what’s going on, otherwise you’ll just think there’s an earthquake going on.

          Sahween, looked at him for a moment, her eyes growing moist, a quick and sharp pain, growing in her heart. She turned from him and ran into the apartment hall way. LaShawn, watched her go, no look of triumph crossed his face, instead, it was a look of doubt, doubting if it was the right idea to hurt someone who had cared so much for you.

        Stepping into the hallway, Shaween quickly came into view of her mother, who always studied her with an eagle eye, making sure that one of her prize possessions was intact. Shelia was on her way into the kitchen, with the firm thought that roast chicken with Spanish rice and a salad of greens would be a good dinner.

        The forty-two year old woman held her figure nicely and dressed like she was always on call for a business meeting, but always had time to listen to anything her children had to bring to her attention. Her dark, curly hair, demonstrated a silvery streak, reflected by the kitchen light as she turned her head to Shaween.

          What’s the matter baby? Are you alright? Anything wrong? she asked emotionally. They walked into the living room, where Jimmy, their white and brown tabby, followed their movements, disinterestedly. 

          Ms Latona lead to a nearby, brown sofa that had large tan pillows, big and comfortable, the ones that Shaween loved to snuggle in during a long night of television. What is it, baby Ms Latona repeated.

        Shaween wouldn’t look at her, but signed slowly, almost painfully. I hate being a freak. I hate it. I hate the way they look at me, like I’m so different, like I’m a monster. Why do they have to do that? Why? They don’t even know me!

          Sheila reached over and tried to put her arm around Shaween’s shoulder, but she pulled away. Sheila would not be deterred. She gentle pulled Shaween close to her. You’re not a freak, she began. I am! I am! I’m a freak! Who else needs to talk with their hands! Who? she signed angrily."

        Sheila’s hug only grew firmer, there was a directness, yet comfort about it. Musician’s talk with their hands, and lips and even their feet. Artists talk with their hands, as do writers and sculptors. Don’t forget clowns ,they can make the world laugh, without saying a word. Remember how much you like clowns? Should I go on?

        Shaween’s features softened as she turned to her mother. She looked into her eyes, in them she saw truth, faith and hope. She leaned her head down into her mother’s chest, and some tears flowed. Sheila didn’t stop them, they had to come out, every once and awhile, they had to come out.

        Minutes later, they headed for the kitchen, dinner was ready. Dennis sat by the table with one of his Power Rangers. He had colored it himself, it was the black and yellow ranger. It had powers that no one had ever heard of.

        The young boy, a bright spot in anyone’s family, had a unique talent of saying the right thing at any given time. Dennis had the appearance of a clean, well-kept young man, more responsible than he should have been, considering his years.

        Mommy’s here, and so is music girl, maybe she sing for us. Maybe she make us both happy, as she do all the time, he said to his plastic side-kick.

          Shaween’s singing, consisted of dancing fingers that moved with a quick and delicate action that gave them the appearance of some exotic dance  and behind them was a bold, bright smile, while she signed. It was an uplifting experience, that brought both joy and happiness to the dinner table.

          To everyone but LaShawn, who thought it was retarded.

          LaShawn, who at that moment, entered the apartment, walked briskly to the bathroom.

He’s been smoking again, signed Shaween, I wish he’d stop, a depressed look on her face.          As soon as LaShawn, sat down at the table, his mother gave him a stern look. Have you been smoking again? After all the times I told you to stop? Let me smell your breathe, she said. LaShawn looked at Shaween, it wasn’t a happy look. Just one cigarette, just to cool down my nerves, he replied, calmly. Cool down your nerves? You don’t need any cigarette to cool down your nerves. Your nerves need to wake up and get your school work down, or maybe just get some of your chores done around here! her voice growing more intense.

        I do my chores.  And I get my school work done, he replied, somewhat defiantly. Well, if that’s true, why did you fail three out of four major subjects!she said with growing anger. Well, maybe, that’s because Mr. Green don’t like me. He just likes girls and students that kiss his ass all day!he retorted. How dare you use that type of language at this table! she said, getting to her feet. Go to your room and think about what you said!

        LaShawn got up, angrily, rattling the table and giving Shaween a bitter look. He walked to his room muttering something, before slamming the door shut. Moments later, the dull rhythms of rap music could be heard coming from behind the door.

        Music time, music time, sang Dennis to his power ranger. Sheila looked at her watch, My goodness, he’s right, we’re going to be late.

          It was a bright, starry evening, back at the school, and parents were dropping from their children for chorus practice. Mr. Wexler studied the students with an eagle eye. The balding, thick-lensed man probably couldn’t see more than seven to ten feet before him, but what he could see with his ears always amazed Sheila, Shaween and Dennis.

        Wexler, who had been the first black man to be a tenor, in an all white southern school chorus, had made history, by having his abilities, highlighted in Time Magazine. Many offers and contracts came his way, the promise of a bright and rewarding future were on the horizon.          That was until, three white supremacists tried to kill him one humid August evening.          He had been walking home that evening, and after dropped off some friends in their neighborhood, outside the college campus. He proceeded back to the dormitory that he shared with several other black students. He wasn’t more than ten minutes into his final journey, when he heard foot steps behind him, as he passed the guardless entrance.

        Goin’ somewhere boy?in a deep grump voice,  were the only words he remembered hearing, before something hard, struck him in the back of the head.  His body crashed to the hard, to the  peddle lined, dirt road. He lay there through the night, bleeding. Perhaps it was the cold night air that saved him.

          The next morning, he awoke to a blurred vision of a rising sun and a blond white girl standing over him, crying Oh My God, in a thick southern accent.

          He was rushed to the hospital, where the doctors were able to save part of his vision, because he had managed to fall on to a rock, which shattered part of his face, but the deep cut to his throat ended any future in singing. 

          But not his desire to see others succeed where he had been stopped, and Shaween had become a special case to him.

        In Shaween, he saw something special, the fact that she watched everyone so carefully: their movements, body language and how some of them swayed to the music. From this she learned to lip-syn  the words to every song, and her body also swayed to the music, that she could not hear and how, he noticed with great respect, the way she felt the music. The rhythm and rhyme seemed to enter her body through every possible opening. It rode the pathways of her body, carried on the blood streams, meant only for the passage of oxygen and other particles.

        In truth, their was little that Wexler could teach Shaween, what  she didn’t know, she picked up in seconds or seemed to absorb through watching others. And there was no shortage of those willing to help her. After all, she was not the only child there with a disability.

          Shaween took her place, in the second row of the three row, eighteen member of the 33th Street Chorus Club. Through not a single note escaped her lips, she sang as hard and as emotionally as any of the other members of the club. And in the wooden benches thirty feet away, along with the other parents and car-givers. Sheila and Dennis hung on every silent note.          Wexler approached Shaween, his rough looking face, lightening somewhat as he sighed the difference between a C sharp and a B minus, trying to get her to better understand the concept of musical thought. He patiently pointed out the pattern of notes, as written down on the paper, in his hand, which she followed intently. Wexler felt that Shaween could understand what he was saying.

          So many times in the past, he had come across students, pushed into his program by parents, trying to find something special for their disabled children, only to be disappointed later, by the fact that their children were too bitter or too angry, to appreciate what his program offered.            So too was the case with Shaween, in the beginning. Filled with anger, she would not attempt to learn, or even try, not until Wexler looked into her eyes, discovering something she would not allow anyone to see. But one time, as she was walking out of the program, she tripped, Wexler managed to catch her before she hit the ground, and for that one split second, made eye contact. Maybe it was his touch, or sincerity in his eyes, or just her need to know someone cared.          From that moment on, a bond was formed, one so strong that it could never be broken, because it was a bond of the heart. The cause or reason, unknown to either of them, but something not to be questioned.

          And it was important for Shaween’s mental health. That was a thought that weighted heavily on Shelia’s mind. She felt that Shaween had the strength and endurance to overcome anything, if and only if her mental state was healthy, and the music made her healthy.

          The following morning, Shaween awoke to a bright and beautiful array of sunlight, leaking through the lace curtains. She lay for a moment on her, white and pink sheeted bed, beneath warm and secure blankets, with Jimmy staring at her from the far corner. She washed and dressed quickly, as was her way, since getting late was not her way, with Jimmy supervising her with one lazy opened eye.

        At the breakfast table, Dennis and LaShawn were finishing up their meal. LaShawn, as usual, left a mess at his chair, knowing full well that Shaween would clean up after him. He purposely spit food on to his plate, knowing  that it filled Shaween with disgust. His coarse manner, only added to the scene, with him, knowingly, dropping food to the floor. See ya later, snitch. Try not to get on my bad side, he remarked as he left the table. His nasty smile was the only expression he left for her to remember him, for the moment.

        Dennis, ate as neatly as he could, which for the most part had shone signs of improvement. LaShawn, not nice, Dennis said, sadly, him bad boy, bad boy. In trying to help Shaween, he only made the mess greater,  dropping pieces of food on the floor as well as himself, but at the same time, his efforts warmed her heart. His small, clumsy fingers picked up bits of food from the floor, only to drop them inches before the garbage can.

        Three times, Shaween had to stop him from eating them himself, because he was getting to lazy to take them to the trash, but she wasn’t fast enough to stop Jimmy, who, with surprising speed, darted in, obtained his goal, of grabbing the bits of food with his teeth, and just as quickly, disappeared.

        Shaween found Shelia’s note on the table, in the usual place, under the painted clown napkin holder, which read,"Eat your breakfast and cleanup. Don’t forget to do your homework when you get home, lunch is on the second shelve of the refrigerator. Have a good day and be careful. Love,

Mom."

        She made it to school in record time, despite the fact she had to drop Dennis off at the daycare center. Shaween, sat down quickly in Miss Snipp’s class and was ready fro the period’s work. But there was an uneasiness about the room. She turned and saw Carlos three rows back. He stared at her with anger in his eyes, and an evil smile on his face. She turned away from him, but still felt his stare burning into her back, it made it hard for her to concentrate on her work.          At lunchtime, the only familiar face at the table was  Caroline Smiths, who was looking a bit sickly.Hi Caroline, she signed,what’s up? You alright?

          Caroling looked back at her with pale eyes and a