Army Men
by Joshua Spiro
She played with army men and the neighbors gave her looks. In the
stairwells of her apartment, she would drop the green figures shrink
wrapped in their thin plastic parachutes inside her perspiring fist,
down the space between the banisters; then she would race down all six
flights of stairs, always hoping gravity might grow lethargic or
magnanimous and huff down after her, or smile, so she knew she'd been
allowed to win.
She
emptied the rounds of her feet echoing on the black and pink tiles into
the nearby apartments, and the old bachelor in 5B hummed along. In
keeping with his life, though, he hummed alone, and the only reason the
remainder of the building restrained their fury was because of her
grandfather. It was common knowledge, as these things are in small
communities, that Lester Gruber had become very ill very suddenly.
There
were very few children in the building, as though they were implicitly
forbidden by the stern sign riveted to the face of 28 Arbor Avenue that
read: "No Pets Allowed." The sixth floor was home to only that strange
Meagan girl and Steven Mitsmucker, a round boy who kept two wads of
bubble gum in his cheeks and to himself. "I guess it's to be expected,"
the neighbors muttered. "The mother's an art dealer, the father, a
writer and teacher of high school English." "When she opens her mouth,
I just think how bad it'll be once she starts school."
Paul and
Victoria Gruber worked the two halves of the day with the tenderness and
synchronization of honeymooners sharing a tropical fruit. Each took
care of Meagan while the other was gone, and in the instances when
circumstance lured them both away Mr. 5B would gladly babysit, though he
just continued with his routine as if he were at home across the hall
and one floor down. It was during these hours when the old man
transplanted his reading and stretching punctuated by staring contests
with empty space to her apartment that Meagan could fill the halls like
a one girl army of ants.
Now, for
instance, she was a millipede, chomping on imaginary tumble weeds she
came across, stomping her many feet and clicking her teeth around empty
air. The tumble weeds tasted like spherical pretzels. The millipede
stopped in front of Steven's door. She hesitated and began to hop up
and down trying to pound the door with both arms and legs at once. In a
few moments Steven opened the door wide, like a man who lived in a
crocodile's mouth. He kept his hand on the knob.
"What do
you want?" he said without hostility or interest.
Meagan
bulged her eyes in her best insect fashion and said, "Would you like to
be a spider? They don't have as many legs, but they have extra eyes."
"Huh?" It
was a word his mother was trying to break him of.
"What I
mean is, you need two people to pretend really well and I'm already a
millipede."
"Nah, I
don't wanna be a spider. I wanna watch TV. My mom says next year I'm
going to be in a kinder-garden so I'm watching all I can now."
"Okay,"
Meagan nodded solemnly.
She never
understood why Steven didn't want to play games with her. She didn't
sit in chairs long enough for the backs of her legs to stick to them but
they were each in their own sort of hurry. Left without willing
participants in her play, she would incorporate anyone who crossed her
path. If the Petersons jumped back when she dashed into the elevator,
it was because she had the plague. She wouldn't visit her Grandpa that
day for fear of contaminating him.
Breathing
on people was a no-no, and she had to move fast, though she always did,
because germs were mucky and poky. To be left behind.
Meagan
turned away from Steven's closing door and promptly crushed a green
plastic man beneath her feet. A personal space worth of plastic held
his feet together and kept him standing. She loved when she misplaced
toys because she got to find them all over again. Dad said the super
called it, "a lawsuit waiting to happen."
Today the
army man would be named Cal. Toys' names changed to fit her mood, but
they showed no signs of confusion. Sometimes the army men became army
women. Cal and Meagan. Meg. Together, they had a lawsuit to fight.
It was out there somewhere, tiptoeing about on its cuffs, biding its
time.
"We
should tell Grandpa, Cal." "He'll believe us if anyone will." Cal was
silent, but from the look on his face she saw his determination and his
obedience to his commanding officer. General Meagan Emelia Gruber.
"Double time men. Cal, I can't run this whole army myself."
Her
grandpa had always lived in the apartment that adjoined hers. Until he
started staying in bed all the time he had taken his meals with them at
his kitchen table. He would prepare simple dishes he took from a
battered red All Purpose Cookbook. He had worked for the city
newspaper, loading bundles on and off the truck. After he returned from
being drafted late in the war, he took a management position with the
paper. Now he had no energy but he was able to eat regular food. He
couldn't take pride in putting food on the table now, so he comforted
himself with each IV drip he didn't need. The aide only came once a
week.
Marching
with wide overconfident strides, the General and company trekked through
her apartment to her grandpa's. Passing through the living room, she
saw Mr. 5B reading a thick green book with yellowing pages; Meagan would
have tried to sound out the title without the presence of more pressing
matters. They set up a cross-legged camp on the chest at the foot of
his bed. His eyes rolled open like pillbugs.
"Grandpa,
there's a lawsuit on the loose."
"Is there
now?" said Lester, sounding sleepy.
"Cal and
me are gonna fight it with our army but we wanted to warn you first."
"Well
what's it look like, so I can keep my eyes peeled?"
"It has
black pants and a black jacket and a tie covered with flames."
"Real
flames or a design?"
"It's
just a picture, silly," she said, puckering her lips to a light red
asterisk and shaking her head.
"Meagan,
are you in here?" her mother called from the door between the
apartments. Only her head stuck in and she looked like somebody's
mounted hunting trophy.
"I have
to go." she said. "Don't tell Mom."
"Oh I
won't," he assured her. He maintained his upright posture until she
scampered away. Only then did he slouch back into the pillows.
"I just
got home and I want you to try on a pair of overalls, honey." "They're
in your room," she added, making it clear that these overalls urgently
needed a pair of five year old legs in them.
In her
room, Meagan groaned at the sight of the overalls. They were purple
corduroy. She dutifully slid into them with her back on the bed and her
legs wiggling in the air. Ignoring the straps, she lay stiffly on the
bed, pretending that this was her funeral and she was being buried in
horrible clothes. But the corpse in the dark purple cords got tired of
seeing who'd come to say good-bye and her eyelids began to sink. She
dreamed.
She
dreamed she was standing at the world's tallest point. The wind was
blowing lightly and she could see nothing around for miles. Then Meagan
felt a tugging at her arms and heard two noises, each like the sound of
a yogurt container opening. She had a fur-covered flap of dark brown
skin stretching between both of her elbows and hips. She stepped to the
edge of the world's highest point and leaned over it until she was all
lean.
Gliding
was nice. She could make out her starting point now, as the wind spun
her in circles. She had been standing on her grandfather's forehead.
Around and around she went trying to catch a glimpse of the expression
on his face. Failing this she tried to drift back to his chin and climb
on, but the winds pushed her back as if an adult held her at bay by the
top of her head.
Suddenly,
a smaller version of Steven appeared on her wings. He was hopping up
and down on a red bouncy ball, giggling, then looking solemn, then
giggling again. The bottom of the ball had a spike which poked a little
hole in her wing with each bounce. They were adding up.
It was no
longer a glide but a plummet. She passed her grandfather's shirt pocket
and Mr. 5B was tucked inside. He waved to her, and as she fell past he
started to whistle and the sound spiraled down after her like a maple
pod.
She could
make out shapes on the ground now. Faster. The wind in her ears, a yawn
turned up full blast. There were her neighbors. The Petersons, the
Brinkleys, everyone. Her parents were in the middle, holding hands.
The neighbors tugged at her mother and father's sides until they
stretched out to catch her. She hit them and felt them sag towards the
ground. She was not slowing down enough she would be a pancake.
Instead, they sent her back into the sky, half as high as before. This
time though, her grandfather was a sequoia tree with no bark.
"What
have you been doing all day?" Meagan's mother shook her. "You shouldn't
be falling asleep in the afternoon."
"Cause
when I take a nap, I can't sleep in the night?" Meagan was becoming more
alert.
"Right,
exactly right." "But you know what, your father and I were going to
watch "Auntie Mame" tonight, and you can stay downstairs and watch too
if you go to bed when you get tired." "Now run along and play while I
make dinner."
"Thanks
Mom." Meagan headed into the hallway and stopped. She saw another
soldier lying on the ground next to his own arm. "Come," she told him
"we'll fix you up as good as new."