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By Root 426 0

hardly wait until the adventure is over. I want to get to the real thing, the message. That’s what counts. I had spent the entire day sharpening pencils, practicing twirling the knob on my plastic simulated gold Decoder pin. I had lined up plenty of paper and was already at the radio by three-thirty, sitting impatiently through the drone of the late afternoon Soap Operas and newscasts, waiting for my direct contact with Tompkins Corners, my first night as a full Member.

As five-fifteen neared, my excitement mounted. Running waves of goose pimples rippled up and down my spine as I hunched next to our hand-carved, seven-tube Cathedral in the living room. A pause, a station break.…

“Who’s that little chatterbox….

The one with curly golden locks….

Who do I see …?

It’s Little Orphan Annie.”

Let’s get on with it! I don’t need all this jazz about smugglers and pirates. I sat through Sandy’s arfing and Little Orphan Annie’s perils hardly hearing a word. On comes, at long last, old Pierre. He’s one of my friends now. I am In. My first secret meeting.

“OKAY, FELLAS AND GALS. GET OUT YOUR DECODER PINS. TIME FOR THE SECRET MESSAGE FOR ALL THE REGULAR PALS OF LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE, MEMBERS OF THE LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE SECRET CIRCLE. ALL SET? HERE WE GO. SET YOUR PINS AT B-12.”

My eyes narrowed to mere slits, my steely claws working with precision, I set my simulated gold plastic Decoder pin to B-12.

“ALL READY? PENCILS SET?”

Old Pierre was in great voice tonight. I could tell that tonight’s message was really important.

“SEVEN … TWENTY-TWO … THIRTEEN … NINETEEN … EIGHT!”

I struggled furiously to keep up with his booming voice dripping with tension and excitement. Finally:

“OKAY, KIDS. THAT’S TONIGHT’S SECRET MESSAGE, LISTEN AGAIN TOMORROW NIGHT, WHEN YOU HEAR.…”

“Who’s that little chatterbox….

The one with curly golden locks.…”

Ninety seconds later I am in the only room in the house where a boy of seven could sit in privacy and decode. My pin is on one knee, my Indian Chief tablet on the other. I’m starting to decode.

7….

I spun the dial, poring over the plastic scale of letters. Aha! B. I carefully wrote down my first decoded number. I went to the next.

22….

Again I spun the dial. E …

The first word is B-E.

13 … S …

It was coming easier now.

19 … U.

From somewhere out in the house I could hear my kid brother whimpering, his wail gathering steam, then the faint shriek of my mother:

“Hurry up! Randy’s gotta go!” Now what!

“I’LL BE RIGHT OUT, MA! GEE WHIZ!”

I shouted hoarsely, sweat dripping off my nose.

s … U … 15 … R … E. BE SURE! A message was coming through!

Excitement gripped my gut. I was getting The Word, BE SURE …

14 … 8 … T … O … BE SURE TO what? What was Little Orphan Annie trying to say?

17 … 9 … DR … 16 . . 12 . . 1 … 9 … N . . K … 32 … OVA . . 19 . . LT …

I sat for a long moment in that steamy room, staring down at my Indian Chief notebook. A crummy commercial!

Again a high, rising note from my kid brother.

“I’LL BE RIGHT OUT, MA! FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.”

I pulled up my corduroy knickers and went out to face the meat loaf and the red cabbage. The Asp had decapitated another victim.

V I POKE AT AN OLD WOUND

… I sat staring sorrowfully into my flat beer. Flick, in his best Bartender’s barside manner developed over years of sympathizing with despondent drunks, said philosophically:

“Well, chicks come and chicks go. They all want something from you.”

I did not answer. He went on:

“Have you ever had an Ovaltine stinger? I’ll whip one up for you if you’d like to try it.”

“No, Flick, I’ll stick with beer this afternoon.” I was now rapidly approaching one of my Reflective moods.

“Flick, not only was I undone by Little Orphan Annie, but do you remember a girl named Junie Jo Prewitt?”

He stared for a moment out at the Used-Car lot, thinking hard.

“No, I don’t believe I do.”

“Well, Flick, I do.…”

VI THE ENDLESS STREETCAR RIDE INTO THE NIGHT, AND THE TINFOIL NOOSE

Mewling, puking babes. That’s the way we all start. Damply clinging to someone’s shoulder, burping weakly, clawing our way