Finding Tim
A Fourth Alternate Reality

 by: Charlie

© 2005-2008

 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Episode 61
Sid

Tim was back at Kramer Middle by Friday. He arrived toward the end of the day and asked to see the Principal. They talked for a while, and Tim agreed to work with him on some kind of an assembly program. The Principal had his secretary check on Sid, but he wasn't in school that day. They had no idea where he was. Tim thanked the Principal, arranged a time to meet again to talk about an assembly, and was off to Sid's house. Thanks to Sid's need to hide his money, Tim knew where the house was.

No one was home. Obviously Sid wasn't sick; he had cut school. Tim suspected that this was a not unusual occurrence for Sid. He decided to wait him out, and sat down on the front steps of the apartment building/former townhouse and waited. The first to arrive were two older boys. They said "'lo" in a not very friendly tone of voice, but otherwise didn't pay any attention to Tim. Certainly they didn't recognize him. Then a middle-aged woman arrived and walked up the steps. Tim took a guess and asked, "Are you Sid's mom?"

"Is he in trouble?"

Why did everybody assume that if a white guy came around it meant you were in trouble? "No. I met him the other day and thought I'd say 'Hello.' I looked for him at school, but he wasn't there today."

"Then he's in trouble. Who are you? Do you have something to do with that bullshit story he told me about where he got $200? Where'd he steal it? You looking for your share?"

"It's his. He earned it fair and square. Selling papers."

"He don't earn that in a month of selling papers."

Tim continued, "Tell you what. If I could come in and sit down and talk, I'd tell you all about it."

"Are you from Social Services? We in trouble?"

"No, and no. I'm a student at the University of Maryland, we were running on the mall, we met Sid, invited him to breakfast, and then drove him home with his money and on to school."

"Who was running on the mall?"

"May I come in? I'd really rather sit down to have this conversation."

"If you want."

They went in the front door. An anteroom with a door and stairs greeted them where normally there would've been a living room. They went up one flight and into the second floor apartment. It was poorly furnished, except for the big TV, but neat and pretty clean. It was about as good as you could do with almost no money. Sid's mom took off her coat, hung it in a little closet, and invited Tim to sit on the sofa. He did, and almost sank to the floor–even weighing as little as he did.

She asked, "OK, tell me what was going down on the mall."

"A group of us were running. A friend of mine, Hal Bruder, and Senator Cox were leading the run. Sid was there when we finished, selling papers. He's a smart kid. He'd found our pictures in the paper and figured people might like to have something to get autographs on, and his newspapers were perfect. He hawked the papers very courteously. The money was sales and tips. He was polite and helpful, and people liked him. A good smile, like Sid's, is the best way to get tips. He did well."

"He goes down there early every morning to sell those papers. He usually makes a little less than ten dollars. Then he has to get back for school. It's hard, but he makes more money that way that most kids around here do. I guess today he just didn't bother to come back for school. He does that sometimes. He spends the day wandering around those museums. I think maybe he learns more that way than in that school. Anyways, I can't make him go to school. I got to get to my own job."

"Sid says you work for the DC government."

"Streets Department. I answer the phones. I'm trying to get my typing good enough to move on to a level one secretary."

"Do you have a typewriter to practice on?"

"I can use one at lunch." (When Tim told me the story that night, I didn't need to ask to know what he was thinking.)

Then Sid was heard running up the stairs. When he came in and saw Tim he stopped short, seemingly in shock. His mother said, "You weren't in school today. Tim here was looking for you."

"Oh, shit."

Tim asked, "Did you spend the day at the Smithsonian? Which museum, the new history building, natural history? I'll bet with the airplanes."

"Naw. I been to those, but I like the art museums. I spent most of the day at the Freer. I like that Whistler Room with the fighting peacocks. It's beautiful. I can sit there for an hour."

"What else do you like to look at?"

"The paintings at the National Gallery."

"Anything else."

"The National Portrait Gallery."

"Where's that? I never heard of it."

"In the old Patent Office Building. It's neat."

"And that's where you spend your days?"

"Honest, I'm usually in school. But some days I just can't resist."

"So where do you eat lunch?"

"I know a lot of the street vendors around the museums. I can usually get a free hot dog, or at least get one at half price."

"That's it? A hot dog for lunch?"

"It beats the school lunch."

A woman came up the stairs, leading two little girls. Sid said, "These are my sisters. Aunt June keeps them after school."

The little girls were very cute, and equally shy. They headed into a back room to play.

Tim said to Sid and his mom, "Look, I'm not doing anything important tomorrow. What if I picked up Sid and he showed me around the National Portrait Gallery. Then in the afternoon I'll take him out to the University and he can watch me practice my gymnastics?"

"Your what?" said Sid and mother almost in unison.

"Gymnastics. It's a sport, kind of like tumbling, but with different pieces of apparatus."

"You do that?"

"Yes."

"Are you any good?"

"Yes."

"How good?"

"The best in the world."

"Yeah, sure."

"You'll see. Want to come tomorrow?" To his mom, "May he?"

"OK," from both.

"I'll pick you up at eight."

"Oh, no. I got to sell my papers. I'll meet you in front of the Freer at 8:30."

"We have a date."

And they did. It was quite a day. Sid had obviously played hooky more than he would admit. He knew his way around Washington, and around the Portrait Gallery which, Tim learned, had opened just two years before. Sid had favorite paintings, and loved some of the old patent models that were on display in the center gallery. Tim was equally fascinated by the art and models, but more so by Sid. Here was a kid from the ghetto that had found a place of refuge in art museums. He was clearly smart, and seemed to have a pretty good eye for art.

The obvious question was, "Sid, do you paint or draw?"

"I got a lot of pencil drawings at home. Mom likes some of them; I'm not sure. I like the stuff on the walls here better."

"These artists all started with kid's drawings and got better. When I take you home tonight, will you show me your drawings?"

"OK."

They headed for the university, stopping at a lunch buffet where Tim knew Sid would like to really fill up. Tim drove him around the University a little and then stopped at the gym. Sid waited while Tim changed and they headed for the gymnastics apparatus. Tim decided to start on the high bar, certainly his most showy event. Tim always drew an audience, especially on the high bar and the rings and especially on Saturdays when a completely different crowd was likely to be around the gym. Today was no exception. He admitted he'd been showing off for Sid, and milked the audience for all he was worth. He got the applause he was looking for. Sid was awestruck.

  

Tim showed Sid a couple of easy moves on the floor and put him on the parallel bars and the pommel horse, but he really couldn't do anything. Tim told me later that he thought Sid was much more likely to be an artist than a gymnast.

Sid finally got talking with one of the other gymnasts who was watching Tim. He asked, "Just how good is he? I don't know anything about gymnastics."

"He's the best in the world. Won a ton of Olympic medals. Ranked number one in the world."

Sid thought for a minute and said, "He said that. I thought he was being funny."

"You came in here with him, didn't you? Didn't you know who he was?"

"Not really. I just met him Tuesday. He was running on the mall with a big group. I was selling newspapers. He was real nice to me, and invited me to breakfast at his house. He drove me to school, and then came by yesterday and invited me to spend time with him today. When he talked about gymnastics, I asked him if he was any good at it. He said, 'The best in the world,' and I really thought he was being funny. But you're serious, aren't you?"

"What's your name, kid?"

"Sid."

"Well, Sid, that guy over there [pointing to Tim] is one exceptional guy. You must be a pretty good kid as well, or he'd have ignored you. He doesn't have time for losers. I'd stick to him like glue, if you can. By the way, Sid, Tim's a diver too. Get him to take you to a pool someday. Oh, yeah. If you want to know more about him, go to your school library and look him up in the magazine index."

When Tim came down off the rings and walked over to Sid, he was greeted by a really strange stare. "What's the matter, Sid?"

"I just learned that you weren't being funny when you said you were the best in the world. How come somebody like you is spending time with a kid like me?"

"I like you. And after you gave me that museum tour this morning, I think you're pretty special. But today's about over. You ready to go home?"

"I guess."

They headed home, and Tim collected the whole family, whom he learned were named April (Sid's mom), Tish, and Mona (his sisters). They came and got me and we headed to Friendly's for sandwiches and ice cream. April was embarrassed to accept "charity," but Tim simply wouldn't hear that, saying, "You're Charlie's and my guests for dinner. I had a fun day with Sid and now I'm having a fun dinner with his family. It's got nothing to do with charity. Now the used typewriter that I have in my trunk may be charity, but it's pretty important for you, April, and you'd better take it."

"A typewriter?"

"It's an old IBM Executive. I've tried it out. The keys work well, but the type is not well-aligned. But that won't make any difference as you practice your typing. You need to teach Sid to type as well."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. If you're going to be good in high school, typing will be a real advantage."

"If I go to high school."

"You can't go to art school if you haven't been to high school."

"Art school?"

"We'll talk about that later. But when I take you home tonight I want to see your pile of drawings."

"I'm not sure."

"Well, I'm sure."

"OK."

A week later when Tim met Sid he was greeted with, "Tim. I found your picture on the cover of Sports Illustrated. And on Time. You're one Hell of a big man. I showed the magazines to the principal and he almost pissed his pants. He said, 'That's the guy who came in here with you, isn't it?'"

"I told him, 'Yes.' I wanted him to think we were old friends."

"Sid!"

"Yeah?"

"Don't push your luck."

"If I don't who will?"

"I'm going to try."

Tim had to be careful not to get too preoccupied with Sid, but he'd always been a good time manager, and kept his perspective. He did do an assembly for Kramer Middle. They gathered all the kids in the gym (in two shifts) and he bounced on the trampoline, worked the parallel bars, and did floor exercises. He was, of course, pretty impressive and popular. Sid became a minor hero when kids figured out that he knew Tim and had spent time with him.

Tim was convinced that Sid's art interests and talent needed to be fostered. He took a batch of Sid's drawings to the art education department at the University and asked what they thought. He got a nice report, but no rave reviews, which he wasn't expecting.

Tim decided to try a little bit of shock treatment on Sid. One Saturday as they visited the National Gallery of Art, he asked Sid if he knew the name S. Dillon Ripley. As Tim suspected, Sid did know the name. "He's the man at the Smithsonian, ain't he?"

"Yes, he is. His office is in the castle. He's the Director of the Smithsonian Institution, which runs all these art museums which you love so."

"He's a pretty important guy."

"Yes. And you and I are going to meet him at 9:00 o'clock on Tuesday morning."

"You're shitting me."

"No, I'm not kidding you. You sell your papers Tuesday morning, and meet me at quarter of nine in front of the Castle. And wear your church clothes. I'll call your principal and get you excused."

"They won't give an excuse for anything."

"I think they will. But this is important, you might just have to cut school that day."

"I thought you been telling me not to cut school."

"Right. And don't. Unless it's important. You know, in this world it's you that finally has to make decisions about your life. Believe me, you're going to want to meet Mr. Ripley."

It'd been somewhat of a pain to get through to Dillon Ripley on the telephone to set up the meeting with Sid. There were three lines of receptionist/secretarial defense. To get through the third, Tim had had to identify himself as the visitor of a while ago whose visit had been set up by Chief Justice Clark. He did get through, and asked for the same ten minutes we'd gotten before. He also wanted somebody knowledgeable to tour Sid through the Freer and someone to do the same at the National Portrait Gallery. Ripley was a good sport about it. He asked Tim, "I suppose that if you don't get exactly what you've asked for that I'll get a very friendly call from Mr. Clark; but a call that makes if very clear that he'd be glad to go beyond friendly if that was necessary. Right?"

Tim said, "Hey, it's Washington. I was taught how to pull strings by the pros. I know perfectly well that I'm talking to one of those pros, and clearly we understand each other. I got a kid named Sid that lives in the ghetto and has a chance of being pulled out. I need ten minutes of your time. And, sure, I'll pull all the right strings to get it."

Ripley said, "Nine o'clock Tuesday. I'm seeing you in a new light, and I'd like to meet this Sid. You may even get fifteen minutes."

They got an hour. Ripley made the mistake of asking Sid what he thought of the Freer Gallery. Sid had waxed eloquently for several minutes, displaying a knowledge of the exhibits that one would only expect from a curator or art expert. Sid had read every exhibit label multiple times and had understood them. Ripley was astounded, and the two talked for over a half hour. The rest of the hour Ripley spent quizzing Tim about himself, how he'd met Sid, and his connection to the Chief Justice. That led to questions about me, the Olympics, gymnastics, diving, the usual litany that Tim routinely responded to. Ripley's secretary looked simultaneously impressed and annoyed when they came out after an hour.

An Assistant Curator at the Freer met them at the entrance. Ripley had called him while they walked over to the Freer, which is right next to the Castle. After introductions, he said to Sid, "Young man, I understand from Mr. Ripley that you're very familiar with our exhibits. Perhaps you'd like to see some of what's behind the scenes."

Sid would. And did. For two and a half hours. Sid's interest was palpable, his questions intelligent, and his enthusiasm overwhelming. Mr. Coldbedder, an Assistant Curator, was duly impressed, and introduced Sid to the Curator of the Freer at the end of the tour. The afternoon at the National Portrait Gallery was a repeat performance. At both places Tim had shown Sid's collection of drawings to the Curators. The response from both was, "He should have formal art training." Regrettably Kramer Middle School had only the most rudimentary of art programs.

Tim did talk to Sid's Principal. With Tim visiting Sid fairly regularly, his attendance had improved somewhat, but he still missed a day every two weeks or so. His grades had improved from C's and D's to C' and B's. He continued to be regularly late, but Tim noted that that was because he was selling papers, a job his family was dependent upon. Under Tim's influence, the school had come to tolerate the tardinesses, thus encouraging Sid to actually come to school rather than skip when he was late.

One night as we settled into bed I asked Tim about Sid. In particular I was worried about the amount of time Tim was investing in Sid. I was also worried that Tim was setting Sid up for a pretty big fall when Tim left Washington in a little less than a year.

"Charlie, I know. It worries me. I don't think that Sid's going to get the education he needs in the DC schools. Even if he finishes, he won't qualify for an art school after high school. I've been talking to a number of people, including the folks at the Smithsonian who toured Sid around. But so far, no good ideas."

"Tim, I'm worried about your time as well."

"Charlie, don't go there."

"Yes, Tim, we both need to go there."

"Have my grades slipped?"

"It's too early to say, we haven't seen fall semester grades. But you're going to feel awfully silly getting your first B."

"I'm keeping up with my work."

"Diving? Gymnastics?'

"All right, the diving is slipping. I'm not diving competitively and I don't need to keep up. My gymnastics are OK."

"I'll bet Tor's are better than OK, and you are going to meet him again in some big meet. Besides, that's crap about your not keeping up with your diving. That's not the Tim I grew to know and love."

"Charlie, what're you saying?"

"Nothing. I'm just worried about you. You're obsessing with Sid."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That's the first time in our partnership that you've ever said that, Tim. It's a bad sign."

"Charlie, leave me alone."

We went to sleep that night not spooned together–the first time in our lives except when we were sleeping separately for some reason. It troubled us both. About 3:00 a.m. Tim noticed that I was awake, as was he. He backed into me and said, "Hug me, Charlie."

I couldn't resist him, even if I was a little sore at him. We slept together for the rest of the night, but the continued discussion in the morning suggested that we'd not resolved the differences of the night before.

I worried that day at work. Was I overly concerned? Had I pushed him too hard? After all it was his life to live. But I could see him getting so involved that he was losing sight of priorities that used to be his whole life. Maybe this was good; was he moving beyond athletics? I simply didn't know.

I walked home and was greeted at the door by Tim, who immediately pulled me inside, turned around with his back to me, pulled his pants down to his ankles, shoved his bare ass toward my face and said, "Spank me."

"What?"

"Spank me."

I gave him a little slap on the ass.

"Spank me."

I repeated the gesture.

"I'm serious. Spank me. Like you meant to punish me."

"Tim, I don't do things like that."

"You do now. Spank me."

I hit him a little harder.

"I'm serious, Charlie."

I gave him a good whack.

"Again."

I did.

"Again. Harder."

I gave him all I had. With his legs caught in his pants at the ankles he lost his balance and fell front, easily catching himself. His butt was pretty red. He pulled his pants off one leg and stood up. He grabbed me hard, kissed me, and said, "Thanks, Charlie. I needed that. I acted like an ass last night. And you're right about Sid."

I hugged him back. "Tim, I'm never going to spank you like that again. I don't think I should have this time."

Tim said, "That's the first real spanking I've ever had. It was good for me. Thanks, Charlie."

"You know, I didn't mean that you should dump Sid. Just that you need to get some perspective on your time."

"I know Charlie. I've been thinking about it all day. You're right. And I'm not much closer to working out anything meaningful for Sid."

I said, "The problem is worse because you're leaving Washington. But, even if you were going to be here a while, I'm not sure that you have a solution for Sid. He needs good schooling, and enough money to live a decent life. I don't know where you're going to get him either one."

"I thought about New York. There are a lot more opportunities for artists there. But Tina and Merle have moved to Paris. With no contacts in New York, that doesn't work."

"We aren't even sure where we're going to be next year. We haven't really talked about universities. Regardless, I don't think any of the university towns we're considering would be the right place for Sid."

"And if he were to leave town, what about his family? He doesn't add much income, and he probably eats a lot, but I think that family needs him."

"We're going to have to stew about it," I said.

Tim said, "Charlie, the best thing you've said is "WE are going to stew about it. Thanks for being a part of it, Charlie."

"I always was, Tim. But you've been working pretty hard at flying solo on this."

"OK, Charlie. I'm appropriately chastened. But you don't get another whack at spanking me."

He was still standing with his pants down to the floor, wrapped around one leg, the other leg free. He looked ridiculous. I grabbed him, picked him up and threw him over my shoulder. Up two flights of stairs I dropped him on our bed. His pants had been lost about half way up the second flight of stairs. I rolled him onto his stomach, grabbed his ankles from the bottom of the bed, and pulled him down so that his waist was at the edge of the mattress. "OK, kid, do you want to be fucked or spanked?"

"Neither. Use your finger and find my sweet spot."

"You mean your prostate?"

"Whatever?"

I deliberately got enough KY on my hand and his ass to make a mess, and I pressed in. With my first two fingers I felt all around, while he squealed. I'll have to admit it was fun. By fondling his prostate I got him to drip a few drops of fluid. "Charlie!"

"What?"

"That felt good. Now fuck me."

I dropped my pants and did the deed quickly and forcefully, but entering gently enough so that it didn't seem to hurt him. My orgasm was pretty quick. As soon as I pulled out, Tim flipped over to face me and pulled me toward him. With my pants at my ankles I couldn't resist, and I fell on top of him. He quickly wiggled on top, flipped me over, and jabbed his dick into my mouth. He fucked my mouth hard, and quickly sent a load down my throat. Then he slid down and we were hugging. "God, Charlie, that was fun. Sometimes rough sex like that is what I need. I hope you were comfortable with it."

"Someday I'll show you really rough sex. You might not like it. This was fun."

"I'll have to think about rougher than that. I don't know."

"I know. And I know that this was as rough as I want to play. I don't think I'm into S&M."

"What if I was, Charlie. What if I begged you to knock me around, beat me, torture me? Could you do it? Would you? If I really wanted it?"

"I don't know, Tim. It's bad stuff. Don't put me to the test on that."

"Oh, Charlie, you really looked worried. Don't be. I'm no more into that than you are. The farthest I want to go is our silly tying each other up games."

We hugged and kissed, hard. Tim came up for air and said, "Now that kind of rough I can deal with." He kissed me harder than ever.

The next evening when I came home I looked at Tim and said, "Grand Forks!"

"What about Grand Forks?"

"That's where Sid needs to go. And his mother. And his sisters."

"Why Grand Forks? We won't be there."

"No, but there's a support system there that we could plug Sid and his family into. Good schools. We could get his mother a decent job if she works on her typing. Good schools for his sisters too.

"Negroes are going to stand out in Grand Forks."

"Just like gay couples."

"OK, you got me there."

"Tim, you need to start with April. It isn't fair to suggest a move like that to Sid unless his mom is OK with the idea. It'd be a pretty dramatic change for them."

That Saturday Tim and I visited Sid's family. I took the three kids for a walk around Anacostia, while Tim talked with April. She was flabbergasted at the idea. "You could arrange that?"

"Yes."

"You think I could get a job?"

"For sure."

"Really sure? You not just dreaming?"

"For sure. And a decent place to live. I don't know where, but we'll find a job that'll pay enough to cover a reasonable rent."

"That sure don't happen here."

"North Dakota's a different kind of place. Listen, I think it would be Grand Forks. But my brother lives in Bismarck, and it might be that we could make better arrangements there. We'll have to see."

"It's cold there, ain't it?"

"Cold as Hell. Terrible winds. You all will take at least two winters to get used to it. But real people live there, and you can too."

"I don't know, Tim. Washington ain't much, but it's home."

"Do you have family here?"

"Just my sister, June. The rest are down South. Mississippi. I don't see Momma much. My other sisters neither. I got a brother in Detroit. I guess I'd be closer to him."

"Actually, the Midwest is a big place. You're a lot closer here in Washington to your brother in Detroit than if you lived in North Dakota. You're about 500 miles away now. In North Dakota you'd be a thousand miles away. We're talking about a real move for your family. Half way across the country."

"You think this would be good for Sid?"

"Yes, I do."

"What about Tish and Mona?"

"Look, I don't know them. But the schools in North Dakota are a lot better than here, and that's the big thing in their lives now. But there's one other thing you need to realize."

"What's that?"

"There aren't many Negroes in North Dakota. Not even near North Dakota. Is that going to bother you? How about Tish, Mona, and Sid?"

"I don't know. Colored folks sticks together, but that's not the best way to run the world. We can always come back, right?"

"Right."

"Talk to Sid."

When I came back, Tim said to Sid and me, "We need to talk. Just the three of us. Let's go to dinner."

I said, "Let's all go to a buffet. We can sit at one table, and April, Tish and Mona can have their own table."

That's what we did. The little girls had never been to a buffet before. It was a real thrill for them. Sid had only been to a buffet with us, and he'd been as wide-eyed as the girls on his first time. This evening he tried to be sophisticated, but we could tell he was as eager as his sisters to dig into the food.

When we all had platefuls, we sat down, and Sid, after shoveling two huge bites into his mouth, said, or tried to say, "What do you want to talk about?"

Tim said, "We need to find a good school for you; a better place to live; a better job for your mom; decent schools for your sisters. We don't know how to do that in Washington."

"It ain't going to happen in Washington. It ain't going to happen noplace."

Tim said, "It can."

"Where?"

"North Dakota."

"That's way the Hell far away from here."

"Fifteen hundred miles. Halfway across the country. And north. Where it's cold and windy."

"But they got good schools?"

"Yes."

"And my mom can get a job?"

"Yes."

"My sisters be OK?"

"Yes."

"Where will you be?"

"We'll get you moved as soon as we can, if that's what you all decide you want. Charlie and I have this year in Washington. Then we're going to be somewhere else for three years at a University. Then we're going to live in North Dakota. Grand Forks, North Dakota."

"That's four years. What about us for four years."

"We have lots of friends in Grand Forks. That why we thought about Grand Forks. We can work things out for you there. We don't know how anyplace else."

"Let's go."

"Just like that? No thinking about it? No talking about it with your family? No asking your mom? Just, 'Let's go'?"

"Let's go. I learned that you guys are magical. You make things happen that aren't supposed to happen. You tell me all that about North Dakota, I gotta believe you. Hell, I got nothing in Anacostia. I'll miss the museums, but they aren't enough to keep me in Washington. Let's go."

It wasn't quite as simple as that, but almost. The whole family agreed. I don't think the girls had any idea what they were agreeing to at ages 9 and 10. And I don't think anyone in the family had any concept of a North Dakota winter. But they sure knew about Washington summers, Washington schools, and the lack of decent Washington jobs. North Dakota looked good.

Tim doesn't waste time. He had Prexy on the phone Monday morning. "I need to find a job for this woman, and a place for them to live. I'm going to get Fred looking for a place for them to live, but I'm hoping that there's a secretary job at the University."

"Tim, I'm going to have a hard time working around competitive hiring policies."

"How many Negroes do you have on your administrative and support staffs?"

"Almost none."

"Is that legal in this day and age?"

"Probably, but just barely."

"April's a Negro. Problem solved."

"All I can promise is an interview."

"Listen, she's just learning to type. Wait, that's not true. She knows how to type, but isn't fast enough. We just got her a typewriter to practice on. She'll be OK. But maybe not right at first."

"The typing test would have to be part of the probationary period. She needs to understand that."

"OK."

"As soon as Fred has housing I'm going to fly out with them."

Fred had housing in two days. He found a decent two-bedroom apartment, away from the University but with a bus connection. It had to be away from the University to get out of the inflated, and poorly maintained, student housing. He paid the security deposit and the first month's rent. He said, "I don't expect to be paid back. It's coming out of your inheritance."

Inheritance? It'd never occurred to Tim that he was going to inherit something from Fred. But I was Fred's stepson, and he was my partner; Fred had no other children. It threw Tim for a loop. But that was overshadowed by how quickly things had fallen into place for Sid and his family.

Thursday evening he went over to Sid's and asked the whole family, "When do you want to go to North Dakota?"

Sid thought he'd be funny and said, "This weekend."

Tim said, "OK."

April said, "What? This weekend?"

"Better sooner than later," said Tim. "Can you quit your job tomorrow, or do you have to give notice?"

"They don't care. At my level of work, they can have a temp replacement in an hour. If I quit tomorrow and don't give them notice, they won't pay me for tomorrow, even if I stay and work. Without notice, the pay stops the minute you say, 'I quit.' But that's OK, I need my time to get ready."

Sid said, "What's to get ready. Our clothes will fit in two boxes. There's almost nothing else to take except the TV. This furniture is either crap or it's furnished. Actually, the furnished stuff is crap as well. You got a couple of books, a Bible, some pictures, a little junk, and that's it. We can be ready in an hour."

I said, "Do you have to give notice on this apartment."

"Hell no," said April. "I'll lose my security deposit, but I'd have to fight for a month, and maybe go to court, to get it back anyway. I'll just lock the door, call the landlord and tell him I'm gone, and put the key in the mailbox. And June can have the TV."

"What about money, bank account, insurance, driver's license, that kind of thing?"

"Ain't got any of it. I got birth certificates on the kids. I got one for me, too. I got a box of papers; it's got a marriage license and death certificate for the kids' father. Maybe we need to get school papers. Maybe."

"Money."

"What I got is under the mattress."

Honest, that's what she said. And she wasn't kidding. There it was, $107. All she had to her name, plus Sid's $200, which was now down to $195. Her next paycheck would've paid the rent. This was for food."

It wasn't going to buy four airline tickets to North Dakota. Tim and I had assumed that we'd be fronting the money. It wasn't clear whether it'd ever be paid back. We didn't care.

I had to work on Friday. Tim could miss school. It was a whirlwind. He had to get Sid out of school, then the two girls. He had to get addresses and forms for requesting school records to be sent to schools in Grand Forks. They needed four suitcases, which he got very cheap at Goodwill. He called Billy and Sara, whom he'd alerted a couple of days before. "They'll be there Sunday. Keep them at the house Sunday night, and get them settled into their apartment on Monday. Get the kids into school as quickly as possible and get April an appointment with Prexy."

Sara asked, "Aren't you flying out with them? I thought that was the plan."

"It was. But I wasn't thinking straight. I don't have time to go out to North Dakota now. Besides, you people out there have everything under control. I'm not needed to make this work."

"But we'd love to see you, Tim."

"And I'd like to see you guys, too. But right now we have to deal with Sid and his family. I've been spending a lot of time on them, which is why I can't spare the time for a trip home. Charlie got really pissed at me over the time I was spending with Sid. And he was right. You'll like Sid. He's neat. You'll like the whole family. And I know they'll like you all out there."

Sara said, "Whew. Can anybody keep up with you? Seriously Tim, after everything that you've done for Billy and me, we're glad to help out. If these folks are as eager as you say they are, it won't be a problem."

Saturday we got them packed. We gave them another buffet dinner, and drove them down to the mall where the capitol and monuments were all lighted up. Tim said, "You're leaving a special place. And Grand Forks isn't a lot bigger than this mall. But I think you'll like a new life in the Midwest. And if it doesn't work out, you can come back."

April got it right when she said, "I'd like to come back to Washington sometime. But as a tourist. And I want Sid to show me his museums when we come."

Tim and I realized for the first time that April had never been in the museums that had been so important in her son's life. We looked, and saw tears in Sid's eyes. Leaving Anacostia was no big deal. But the Smithsonian museums were the most important thing in his life. And he'd be fifteen hundred miles away. I think that S. Dillon Ripley would've been touched by the scene. At least I hope he would've been.

The next morning they flew out of National Airport. Except for a couple of trips to Mississippi, it was their first venture out of Washington. They managed the plane change at O'Hare, and got into Grand Forks about 4:00 p.m. Fred, Mom, Billy, Sara, Jim, Kara, Andy, Amy, Prexy, and Larry met them. They didn't stay at our house, as there weren't enough beds. They stayed at the University Guest House, as guests of the President of the University. Between Fred and Prexy their way into North Dakota was smoothed as only those two could arrange. By Wednesday they were in their apartment, the kids were in school, April was working in the University maintenance office, and Mom had seen to it that their shelves were full of groceries.

It was exactly two weeks since Tim had first mentioned North Dakota to the April Madison family. Two of the most wild and wonderful weeks of their lives. Or at least we hoped that that's how they'd look back on them someday. Only time would tell.

To be continued...

 

Posted: 07/18/08