Chapter 1 of BackStories

I had a gut feeling something was off when I saw that old box truck creeping around the school after hours. As a kid, if you spotted an ice cream truck, you’d squeal into the house pleading for loose change or a dollar. But as far as selling popsicles, this one had been out of commission for a long time.

It belonged to a slimeball named David Schlesky who dropped out a couple years back. Rumor had it the insides were gutted and fixed up with a hotplate, small refrigerator, and stained mattress in back. He supposedly lived out of it in one of the trailer parks where broken Tonka toys lay scattered on patches of dirt and whatever dead grass was left.

As old and beat up as it was, that ice cream truck still ran. He even kept the jingle – a tinkling version of “The Entertainer” played through a speaker held on by a haphazard string of wire. When played, the tune wavered through the air, sounding like drunken notes from a warped xylophone.

Today, I spotted it parked on a side street while walking to school. I was alone, having left my house early to finish some homework in the library. I froze momentarily before crossing over to the other side of the road. Standing behind a maple in a neighboring yard, I glanced behind me to see if there was anyone I could join on the rest of my walk.

The truck leaned tiredly to one side on a dead-end road in front of the old Cortland place with its weathered siding and collapsed porch. It concealed itself in the shadow of trees choked by tangled vines and overgrowth. Rust spots splotched the mismatched fenders like a bad case of acne. I could still see the Creamy Treats lettering though a sloppy paint job which tried to hide the logo. But he left the damn clown face which stared out from the side panel with an odd grin.

A movement in the hedge that bordered the high school parking lot caught my eye. Someone in a hoodie cut through the bushes and was slinking up to the door of the truck. He looked around before tapping on the side glass. The window rolled down followed by a brief conversation that I could not hear well. The kid in the hoodie pulled a hand out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt and shook hands with David or whoever was in the truck. My pulse quickened not knowing if I was actually seeing something illicit taking place.

            I need to get out of here.

I hesitated, waiting until the kid in the hoodie to cut back through the hedge. But before I could leave, the other door of the truck squealed opened. I squinted and saw Tonya Yelenik climb out.

Geez, don’t tell me you’re hanging out with David Schlesky. You’ve got to have more sense than that.

I stayed where I was, giving Tonya time to make her way toward school. Hearing some voices behind me, I saw a couple of other kids coming down the sidewalk, so I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before stepping out from behind the tree. I stared straight ahead, trying to look like I’d been minding my own business when I heard the rumble of the truck motor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it ease out and turn onto the main road, slowing down to a crawl as it approached me. David rolled down the other window and was staring at me as his truck matched my pace.

“Hey, can I get you anything? A ride, maybe?” he asked with a crooked grin pasted on his face.

I ignored him, locking my eyes on the school building just two blocks ahead. But his truck turned in front of me onto Gleason Street and stopped. My breath caught in my throat as I heard the sound of his door opening. I quickly looked around hoping the other group would catch up to me, but they were still too far behind. I decided to cross over the other side again, when the growl of a motorcycle caused me to jump back onto the curb.

The rider’s engine grumbled as he slowed to avoid me, but when he spotted David’s box truck, he pulled up suddenly cutting David off.

Sliding off his motorcycle, he yanked at the chin strap of his helmet which had obscured his face. The rider was Billy Murdock, a guy I’ve known for years, unfortunately. Billy had a temper and held a grudge against too many people. One of those was apparently David. Holding his helmet under one arm, he stepped into David’s space and muttered “You need to piss in your own back yard, Schlesky.”

David stepped forward, almost bumping into Billy’s chest. “I can piss anywhere I want, and right now, I’m about to whiz all over you.”

Billy wasn’t as big as David, but they definitely had enough attitude to match each other. Being a girl, I thought it best to stay put and let this play out without sticking my nose in it.

Billy turned to hang his helmet on his bike, and David took advantage of the distraction. Without warning, David swung a fist and caught Billy in the side of the head causing him to fall against the motorcycle.

At that point, I heard someone yell, “Fight,” as they rushed past me. Almost out of nowhere, a small crowd gathered at the back of the truck, keeping a safe distance from the brawl. 

Billy scrambled to his feet and rammed his shoulder into David’s gut. David grunted and stumbled backward but regained his footing quickly. Balling his hands into fists, he brought them down between Billy’s shoulders causing him to slump to one knee. David grabbed the sides of Billy’s head and pushed him away. A final thrust with his boot put Billy on his back.

“Piss off, Murdock,” David spat, making sure Billy wasn’t going to charge him again.

But it was obvious the fight had gone out of Billy. David looked at the small crowd of onlookers and said, “Show’s over, kiddies.” Then he looked at me and smiled. “Catch you later.” When the ice cream truck started pulling away, we heard “The Entertainer” come warbling out of the speaker.

Artwork courtesy of Daniela Harrell of Durham, NC