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Fiction Short Story

by Susanne Shaphren

When Johnnie Comes Marching Home

I dump sugar-coated nutrition pellets into the Spiderman bowl, add banana wheels and enough milk to barely cover the cereal. Following orders just as precisely as the love of my life is doing half a world away.

"Tommy, last call for breakfast!"

A blur in red, white and blue appears out of nowhere and slumps in the chair. Red baseball hat pulled down tight over sandy hair. The flag T-shirt that I have to wash every single day because Tommy won't wear anything else. Jeans that have seen far more than their share of rough and tumble play. No words. No hug. No hint that another person might even be in the room.

I pour a mug of strong coffee, sit at the table as though invited, and go through the motions of making conversation.

After my father died and my stepmother had to go back to work, I took care of her toddlers, dreamed of the day when I'd have a house full of babies with my strong chin and ocean blue eyes. When I got old enough to know there were too many children already born that needed love, my dreams grew flexible enough to include children who didn't look like me but reached out with open arms.

Nothing at all like this icy stranger. Still, I can't imagine doing anything but trying my best to be a good parent to this child. Making sure Johnnie has one less thing to worry about.

I wasn't looking for love when I pulled into Kendall's Auto Repair six months ago. All I needed was somebody to coax my ancient pickup into lasting a couple thousand miles longer.

Johnnie Kendall turned out to be more of a magician than a mechanic. The engine purred just like a contented kitten, and I walked away with money left in my wallet.

That first dinner was a thank you for a job well done. My pickup found its way to the garage precisely at lunchtime a couple of times a week. Johnnie invited me for pizza and a video every Friday. Once in a while, we splurged on a babysitter and got dressed up for what passed for a night on the town.

Maybe if we'd been together a little longer before Johnnie's National Guard unit got called up, maybe if I'd actually spent the night in Johnnie's bed and come to the breakfast table set with three places . . . maybe this would all be easier. Who am I kidding? Easier would be if Johnnie's parents were still alive or if the Ex was anywhere to be found.

Work. Here, I know exactly what to expect, know exactly what's expected of me. I don't have to censor every word before it comes out of my mouth for fear the red, white and blue blur will escape behind a locked door.

Instead of lunch, I head for the thrift store. Hunting for treasures in the piles and on the racks. Stretching the dollars I've saved by brown bagging it. Almost magic. I manage to put together a whole patriotic wardrobe for Tommy who suddenly refuses to wear anything unless it's red, white, and blue. There's even enough left over for a stop at the 99 Cent Store on the way to the post office.

I add my bargains to Johnnie's care package . . . sunscreen, juice boxes, candy, a few silly surprises . . . I carefully tuck in my feeble attempt at the "right" words and Tommy's latest crayon masterpiece.

Back to the office in record time, but not quite quick enough.

The message on my desk says to call Tommy's preschool. "URGENT!" Why didn't anybody think to try my cellphone? A quick check confirms my worst fear. The battery is dead.

Dialing the office phone with one hand, I fumble to be sure I have the required paperwork with the other. Johnnie made it a point to introduce me to Tommy's teacher and the folks in the front office, but the faces seem to change faster than a traffic signal. There's supposed to be a copy of the forms in Tommy's file, but I've learned the hard way to carry a copy. Just in case.

I don't even want to think about the other papers tucked away in the safety deposit box. We spent one of our last afternoons together cooped up in an attorney's office to be sure Tommy could count on my taking care of her permanently if the unthinkable were to happen.

Hands steady on the wheel, but my stomach churns as I force myself to drive just under the speed limit.

The preschool nurse scans the paperwork carefully, examines me just as intently as she did the printing.

"This is probably just a virus. Push fluids. Call your pediatrician if the fever goes any higher."

Tommy looks like a ghost, must feel even worse. No hint of protest as I hug the limp body.

"Do you want me to carry you?" The words slip out before the internal censor can save me. Any minute now, that sweet little mouth will open and an ex-Marine's cussing will shock the preschool nurse.

"Yeah. If I'm not too heavy."

"Light as a feather."

I settle Tommy on the couch, throw a video into the VCR, and pour orange juice over crushed ice. Must be imagination. I could almost swear I hear a whispered thank you as I dump my thrift store treasures into the washer and start it chugging.

"How about scrambled eggs with melted cheese for dinner and rainbow sherbet for dessert?"

"OK. Can we check for E-Mail first?"

"Sure."

I boot up the computer, open the E-Mail file, say a little prayer.

There's a picture of Johnnie in fatigues working magic on a Hummer, smiling as though that was Disneyland in the background instead of Iraq.

Tommy touches the screen, tries ever so hard not to cry. Tough enough on a good day. Too tough when you're sick, and your Mommy is half a world away.

"It's OK, Princess. Everything will be OK." Just this once, I'm not going to worry about saying or doing the right thing.

Listening to my heart, I hug Thomasina Joanne Kendall really tight and blow a kiss to her mother's picture.

When Johnnie comes marching home, I'm going to make her my wife. Until then, I'm gonna do my very best to be a father to this stubborn little tomboy.


About the Author
Susanne Shaphren's articles and fiction have been published in a wide variety of print and online venues including: ABSOLUTEWRITE, ESPRESSO FICTION, and SPRING HILL REVIEW. DANA LITERARY SOCIETY ONLINE JOURNAL and MONTHLY SHORT STORIES scheduled her stories for July, 2005. Her short story, "Arrangements," is included in the Mystery Writers of America anthology, SHOW BUSINESS IS MURDER.