Dead Man’s Hill
“Polk Brothers?”
“Yup.” Joey spoke with confidence. He was fourteen.
“But that place sells washing machines and refrigerators.” Vinnie was nine.
“Uh huh.”
“I need a sled.” Vinnie’s lip quivered, his skittishness on display.
“Sleds are for girls or rich kids.”
“I ain’t no girl,” Vinnie said, puffing out his chest.
“And you ain’t rich either. That’s why we’re goin’ to Polk Brothers.”
“My ma said I shouldn’t go.” Hands stuffed deep in his pockets; Vinnie kicked at the crust of a pile of black snow.
“Your ma doesn’t fly down hills.”
“She said I needed to stick to the park.”
“The hill at the park is for babies.” Joey looked away studying the sky.
“I ain’t no baby.”
Joey turned, smiled, and pulled at Vinnie’s pants.
Vinnie jerked away, pulling up his pants. “Whatayou doin’?”
“Checkin’”
“For what?”
“Diapers.”
“C’mon Joey.”
The two walked west on 79th. Joey wore oversized Chuck Taylors, baggy green work pants, and a sweat shirt, Popeye lifting weights emblazoned on its front. Vinnie, his grandpa’s red wool “boiler room” coat, his cousin’s snap up black galoshes, his brother’s brown corduroys, and a pair of frayed leather gloves of unknown origin. “Ain’t you cold?”
“Nope.” Joey squinted, leaning into the wind. “So, you’ve never been?”
“No. My ma’d kill me.”
Joey shook his head
“What? Vinnie raised his voice.
“Maybe you ain’t ready.”
“I’m ready.”
“We’ll see.” Joey picked up his pace.
“But I watched.” Vinnie now trotting, trying to keep up.
Joey stopped. He regarded his young friend with a loving scowl. “You watched?”
“Yeah, it’s a big hill, Joey.” Vinnie shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
“And you still wanna go?”
Vinnie stopped and kicked at new a pile of dirty snow. “Yeah.” His voice barely discernible. “More than anything.”
“You sure?”
“I can do this.” He turned back to Joey, toeing the slushy mess. “I can.”
Joey nodded toward the street. “Turn left at Cottage Grove. Then just a couple blocks. But when we get to Polk Brothers, we go down the alley.”
“Why the alley?”
“’Cause that’s where the boxes are.”
“Boxes?”
“Vin, my man.” Joey smiled at his young plebe, speaking with a professorial tone. “The boxes are our sleds. Refrigerator ones work the best.”
“We need real sleds.”
“Boxes are better than sleds. And who’s got a sled? You know anybody that’s got a sled?”
Vinnie pondered the question, his face blank. “No…I don’t.”
“That’s why we gotta use boxes. I use ‘em all the time. That’s what I used to beat Freddy Ferraro last year.”
“I heard about that.” Vinnie’s eyes widened.
At the corner of 87th and Cottage a huge sign rose into the sky towering over a massive warehouse. Polk Bros in bright red scroll brushing the clouds. Reining over the entire block it presented a kaleidoscopic experience to the onlooker, pulsing from rapid on illumination to off, bulb to bulb. Vinnie shook his head as if to dislodge a foreign object deep within it. “Wow!” he exclaimed like a kid seeing Christmas lights for the first time. Through the store’s giant glistening window was a sea of appliances that could fill Soldier Field. “Look at that!” Vinnie said, eyes bulging, struck by the multitude of shiny kitchen, bathroom, and laundry appliances. “And that! What is that thing?”
Joey smiled smugly, a hint of arrogance in his laugh. “Vinnie, my little friend, that is called a dishwasher.”
“And look at that, and that!” Vinnie wide eyed, not able to contain himself.
“Yeah Vin, cool,” Joey pointed towards the long sidewalk adjacent to the store, “but we’re going for the boxes around the back, in the alley.”
“The alley?” Vinnie whined, pulling himself away.
“Yup. They unpack all the stuff, stoves, washing machines, refrigerators, everything; flatten the boxes, and toss ‘em in the alley. ‘Fridge boxes are the best; long and wide. Joey held his hands apart. And I slice holes at the end to steer. They fly down the hill like rockets.”
The two boys padded down the long snow-covered sidewalk like thieves ready for a heist. Hands deep in their pockets, heads down; the northwest wind rapidly accelerated. “You ain’t cold?” Vinnie said, through chattering teeth.
Joey stopped, blowing into his hands. “I ain’t cold! And if you think this is cold wait till you get to the top.”
“The top?” Vinnie yelled into the frigid blast.
“Of the hill, Vin!” Joey screamed; his eyes fixed on his young friend. “The top of Dead Man’s Hill.”
The two stood, still. Vinnie’s frozen face turning pale. The howl of the wind deafening. Tiny pellets of snow whipping down the sidewalk. Vinnie mouthing the words, silently. “Dead Man’s Hill.”
A moment passed. The wind, a wild roar.
“C’mon Vin,” Joey hollered, placing his hand on Vinnies shoulder, “Let’s go, it’ll be okay.”
“Why do they call it that?” Vinnie screamed back.
“Let’s go, Vin. We need the boxes.”
***
The two turned the corner that led to the alley. Their faces felt ready to shatter from the cold.
“Get the hell outa here!” The voice like gravel.
The two boys froze.
Vinnie trembling, then nudged Joey, ever so slightly.
What appeared to be a man, hovered over a smoldering fire smoking a cigarette. His bony purple fingers tightly gripping a rectangular bottle.
Joey took Vinnie’s hand. “Easy Vin.”
“You hear me!” The man stepped closer. “Get the hell out!” He wore a long ragged coat, two un-matched rubber boots, one bright yellow and the other cracked in black, and a fedora with a dirty- brown feather drooping in its band. His red-purple face was covered in stubble and his ears were as bright as a freshly painted fire-hydrant.
“We came for boxes!” Joey screamed into the wind.
“I got claim!” The man screamed back.
“We just need two.” Joey pointed to the pile of cardboard strewn around the snowy alley.
The man chewed on something in his sparsely-toothed mouth. “Two!”
“Yup,” Joey said, gaining confidence. “Just two.”
The violent gusts made for an eerie scene. The man kept chewing as if this important decision would decide the city’s fate for eternity.
From beneath the cardboard rubble a ferocious outburst. Another man appeared. His eyes flashing. A wooden cross dangling from his fingers. A thread-worn parka draped loosely over his significant torso. His tan trousers slathered with a black grease-like substance. A gagging stench hung like a cloud over him. “What’s goin’ on!” he yelled.
“Joey!” Vinnie clutched at his friend’s sweatshirt.
“Easy Vin.”
“Two boxes, that’s it!” The first man yelled. “Just two!”
“Stay here,” Joey said to Vinnie. He walked towards the two.
“Whataya gonna do Joey?”
Joey dug into his pocket. His eyes fixed on the two vagrants.
“No Joey!”
Vinnie knew.
To slice the boxes. Joey had said.
“No!” Vinnie cried.
Joey stopped, then turned, moving slowly toward the pile of boxes, eyes remaining locked on both men.
“Two kid. That’s it.” The one with the bottle shouted again.
“We got claim!” the other screamed.
Joey climbed up on the hill of boxes, his legs wobblily, determined to keep his balance. He rummaged through the pile like a man digging for gold. Suddenly he turned to Vinnie smiling holding up a gigantic flattened box with red letters stenciled across its width that read FRIGIDAIRE. “One!” he screamed tossing it to his friend, it spun in the air like a wounded helicopter.
“Them be ours!” The man holding the cross yelled again.
Bending once more over the massive pile Joey pulled one box, then another, and two more, out of the mess. Finally, he arose from the garbage triumphantly, balancing a colossal cardboard container over his head, waving it like an Olympian, “Number two!”, its label, KE_M_RE, only partially visible.
“There! You got ‘em. Now get the hell outa here!”
Joey glared at the two, carefully stepping down from the cardboard chaos, then toward them, tossing the box aside.
“There’s two a us kid.” The man with the cross wiped spit from his mouth.
Joey clenched his fists. His jaw rigid.
“Two a us,” he said again.
“C’mon Joey, we got our sleds. Let’s go.” Vinnie pleading.
“Get out! Now!”
“We shouldn’t a come!” Vinnie cried. “It’s my fault!”
The wind tore through the alley. It’s howl like a shrieking witch.
The two charged.
Joey pulled it. A click, the blade flashed.
“Joey!” Vinnie screamed.
Joey did not move.
They were on him.
White powder rose above them.
The snow oozed red.
It was over.
They trudged silently, to the hill.
Dead Man’s Hill.