An Excerpt from “Life Could Be A Dream”

From Chapter 10

Cyrus showed Robby a sketch of the layout of his latest fort. Built like a World War One bunker, it had tunnels, a big chamber, and trap doors, with a lookout post at the far end like a frontline sap. They dug their forts in the vacant lot across the street and took advantage of the irregular terrain for concealment. Tall weeds and piles of dirt made it easy to hide their work. This was his best plan yet.

They didn’t dig on weekends because Malcolm might spot them and make them fill in their work. Robby couldn’t dig much, but he helped scavenge wood for roofs and tunnel reinforcements. Danny and Charley helped with the digging. They camouflaged the work at the end of the day, anchoring tumbleweeds over the entryway, a trap door that led straight down six feet to a tunnel, with notched holds in the wall to climb in and out.

The tunnel connected to the main chamber, an roofed over with old lumber, reinforced with four-by-four posts. This was to be their clubhouse on hot summer days, playing cards by candlelight, smelling the cool earth. On the roof, they put sod leftover from redoing the school’s lawn and watered it with buckets. From the main chamber, they dug a tunnel out to a smaller chamber. They made a lookout post from a wooden crate with slots cut in the sides. They could pop up and spot anybody without being seen. One side was hinged so they could crawl away behind a rise at the far end of the vacant lot.

When he got home from work, Malcolm was mad at Cyrus for beating up Stanley after he stole from the coin collection to buy treats. He wanted to spank him, but Cy was too fast. He ran to the fort and slipped down the entryway. Malcolm was too slow. He searched for a half hour and gave up. When Cyrus came home later that night, Malcolm didn’t even look at him.

“Where have you been?” Naomi asked. “Playing three flies up.”

“He was not,” Stanley said. “He was in the new fort.”

Cyrus lunged at him.“Dirty tattletale.” Stanley ducked under the dining room table.

Malcolm grabbed Cyrus by the arm. He removed the belt from his pants. “You come with me, young man.”

Whipping a junior high student is hard for a lot of reasons. Cyrus was too big. Even though he pounded on Robby sometimes, a spanking wasn’t right. Junior high kids got grounded or lost a week’s allowance—not beaten with a belt. Humiliation was wrong. It was torture. Not the way to change the mind of someone that’s nearly grown up. Cyrus didn’t cry, sitting on his bed, angrier about the fact they were losing a good fort than from his whipping.

Robby said, “Using the fort to hide from Dad was a bad idea.” “We’ll disguise it better.”

“We have to hide our work from Stanley too.”

“I have a thought. Let’s move the fort before Dad destroys it.” “You can’t do that. It’s a hole in the ground.”

“No, no. Let’s move the sod and make it look like it’s the fort.

Stanley doesn’t know exactly where it is.” “We gotta work fast—only four days.”

For the next three days, they labored furiously, sacrificing baseball time and sneaking out at night. They put healthy sod on top of flat ground one hundred yards away. It looked a lot like the original fort, which they scuffed up to make it look like the rest of the vacant lot. Solid earth was all that lay underneath the sod.

Early Saturday morning, Malcolm said, “Show me the damn fort.”

Robby and Cyrus shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cyrus said.

“I’ll show you.” Stanley stuck his tongue out at his brothers. Through the front window, they watched Stanley lead their father to the false location. With fresh turf, it was hard to miss. Malcolm carried a shovel on his shoulder. He jabbed with the shovel. He stomped on the sod and stomped and stomped.

Nothing happened. He grabbed tumbleweeds and poked with the shovel like he was looking for landmines. Nothing.

Cyrus and Robby laughed so hard they rolled on the floor. Robby’s sides ached from laughing. He got a cramp under his jaw.

“What’s so funny?” Naomi asked.

“Nothing, Momma,” Robby said. He was better at lying than Cyrus, who always blushed and gave it away.

“Is he after one of your forts?” Robby decided he’d better not say anything and make her mad at him. She looked at Malcolm coming in the back door, dirty, sweaty, and red-faced.

“Were you planting crops, dear?” He grunted and headed to the bathroom to wash up.

Robby looked at Cyrus. He grinned. Apparently, she recognized the joke and didn’t tell on them. He looked at Naomi out of the corner of his eye. With a little smile on her face, she turned on radio station KHJ, loudly playing the kind of sappy music that Dad hated.