A Boy Named Joshie

A Boy Named Joshie
By Andy Brown

Please, please, come in. Sit down. Would you care for a drink? No? How about something to eat? My wife is in the midst of making these just absolutely wonderful crab cakes. They are to die for. We have those with a little red wine, it really brings out the flavor. How’s work been? I hear we’ll be having a visit from the president of the company soon. Everyone’s minding their “p’s” and “q’s” for this one. Hmm, I wonder how we’ll do. How are the kids? They doing alright in school? That’s great to hear. As for mine, well one’s a real troublemaker, but we got him under control. He’s just at that age when he’s acting out. Actually I have this really interesting story I’d love to tell you about. Please, sit. Let’s get some more wine.
---
There were people everywhere. They were running back and forth. From where the boy and the old man were sitting, they could only catch snippets of conversations: “Honey, do you have the tickets?”, “Where’s the nearest ATM?”, “Diet coke, please.”
“Figures,” the old man sitting next to him huffed, “Another bunch of crazy kids being stupid. When I was there age you had two options, you either fought in ‘Nam or you were arrested doing otherwise.”
He turned the page of his newspaper. The boy’s eyes caught the front page, it read: “Three students killed in college shooting.”
They sat there, the two, amongst the bustle of the crowds. “Flight 97 is ready for boarding,” a ghostly voice said. Strange men and women dressed in nice business suits were running through the halls. One of the strange woman’s suitcase opened, causing a litter of clothing to jump onto the floor. Atop these was a set of pink panties. She quickly attacked the pile of clothes, blushing and spitting curses under her breath. The other people just stared at her as they passed. The boy didn’t think anyone actually noticed the pair of underwear, other than the woman. She was all embarrassed. She closed her bag and quickly ran down the hall to catch up with the other dressed-up men and women.
The boy turned to the old man, “I can touch my eye, wanna see?”
Before the old man could say anything, the boy pulled at his bottom eyelid and proceeded to poke at his eyeball. The man cringed in disgust and pulled his paper up over his face.
“Flight 97 is now leaving.”
The boy sat there for a moment, then began humming a song. His head was rocking back and forth and he was steadily drumming a beat on his leg.
“Look, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to read the news,” the man huffed again.
“Why do people read the news?” the boy asked, tilting his head, still drumming on his leg.
“To understand what’s happening in the world,” the man responded.
“Why are people so interested in what’s going on in the world? They have plenty going on at home.”
“Son, it’s our duty as Americans to understand what’s wrong with the world and how we can fix it.”
“Why do we have to fix it? Why don’t we spend our time fixing our own problems instead of everybody else’s problems?”
The man put down his newspaper. He inhaled for a brief moment, as though he was about to say something, but decided not to. He thought for a moment.
“You sure do ask a lot of questions. You have a name, boy?”
“Yup, it’s Joshua Fletcher Robertson, but I like Joshie.”
“Alright, Joshie, my name is Walter Green. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You want to see me touch my eye again?”
---
As you may have guessed, Joshie is our hero of the story. But we’re a little to far ahead of ourselves right now, let’s take a step back in time.
---
“Crash!”
Joshie’s eight year old hands brought together a Superman and a Batman action figure with such force that it made a loud noise.
“Joshie, stop all that nonsense. I’m trying to concentrate,” his old mother crooned.
The sun was low in the sky. Its golden-orange waves shone in through the windows. The small, square house was not unlike the others in the neighborhood. Each small, square house was perfectly spaced apart from the previous small, square house. Each lot was the same size, each with its own mailbox and its own shrubbery up the walkway.
Joshie sat in a small, square room hammering away at his toys. His mother was in the other room bent over a pot of boiling water. She was muttering something under her breath. Her blonde hair looked red in the sun. There was a mellow drone of a television in the background. From what Joshie could hear, it sounded like an old woman giving instructions to make something. His mother was desperately trying to keep up with the old woman.
There was a gentle breeze outside that caused a set of wind chimes somewhere in the neighborhood to jingle. A few birds quickly scurried from place to place in the middle of the street when suddenly a small car zoomed in. The sound of the little engine caused the birds to quickly take off. The little car zipped into the driveway of the small, square house.
“Daddy’s home!”
There they were, the three, sitting at the dinner table. It was silent. A long, rectangular table caused Joshie’s mother to sit at one end, and his father to sit at the other. Joshie was left to sit in between the two of them.
“How was work, dear?”
The scrawny man at the other end of the table shot up out of his seat. He grabbed his napkin off of his lap and threw it down on the table. He threw it with such force that his neck tie flew up over his shoulder. He huffed and his face began to turn red.
“You want to know how work went? I’ll tell you how work went. My boss, the fucking retard that he is, hired a new idiot to be my partner. The damn motherfucker doesn’t even know how to run Microsoft goddamn Excel. He’s such a fucking loser! The both of them can just go to hell for all I care.”
Joshie sat in between his mother and his father, at the long rectangular table in the small square house. He was looking down into his plate as though he would see something change if he stared long enough. He was pushing the peas on his plate back and forth.
“And then, you know what the motherfucker was saying? What he was saying was he was talking about how fucking great his goddamn kid was. Playing in soccer games and winning trophies and all that shit. And then he asked if I had any kids and I said I did but he’s too much of a dumb ass to win any trophies.”
“Honey, please keep your voice down. Don’t yell in front of Joshie.”
---
Of course, things didn’t get better for Joshie and his family. Countless nights he would be kept up late at night by the sounds of a poor woman and a monster.
---
The boy left the old man and boarded his plane. Before the boy left, he showed the man that he could touch his eye, again. The man didn’t look away this time, he laughed instead.
Joshie sat quietly on the plane. He had his headphones in his ears and he was dancing. Loud techno music blared out. A woman with a baby sat next to him. The baby was fast asleep, the woman, however, looked as though she hadn’t slept in days. The boy was pretending he was playing the drums. He held his hands as though there were sticks in them and began swinging wildly at the air.
“Hey,” the woman said, “HEY!” she was hitting his arm, trying to get his attention.
Joshie looked at her and smiled and proceeded to continue air-drumming. The woman pulled one of his ear buds out and looked at him sternly.
“Can’t you see that my child is slee--” the baby began crying. “Great, thanks a lot.”
People sitting all around them began complaining. There were a few soft “pings” of buttons on the ceiling. Joshie looked at the woman, puzzled, and pulled his headphones out of his ears.
“What’s all the commotion?”
The lady looked at him sourly, “you woke my child up! Now he’ll never get back to sleep.”
Joshie proceeded to look at the baby. The baby stopped crying. Joshie began pulling at his face and his cheeks. He made an assortment of funny faces and noises. The baby smiled and laughed. The woman just sat in sheer amazement. Joshie put his headphones back on and began air-drumming, yet again. The baby watched quietly and smiled. His hands reached out for Joshie and Joshie smiled. The baby laughed and then tucked his head back into his mother’s breast, and within minutes, fell back asleep.
---

Joshie woke up one morning and there were police cars outside of his home. The lights flashed blue and red through the windows. He arose out of his bed and slowly started down the hall. There were people everywhere. They were moving and pushing each other. There was a flash from a camera. He overheard snippets of conversations: “Died not but an hour ago,” “See the marks on the neck here? Strangulation,” “Yes, sir. Right away.”
Joshie looked confusingly around. There were an unusual amount of people piled into his parent’s bedroom.
“Joshie?”
He wheeled around to see an old woman.
“Granny!’
Her hands quickly swept him up and pulled him tight. His head was devoured by the woman’s saggy breasts. He tried to push away, but she pulled harder. She picked him up and took him outside.
“Granny, what’s happening? Where’s mommy?”
---
The airplane landed and Joshie stood in the middle of the Brooklyn airport. He looked around. Flashing lights blinded him. He pulled off his backpack and pulled out a small, square piece of paper. He unfolded it and began to read.
“Dear son, I have left. I don’t love your mother anymore. The life I was living was a lie. There so much left for me to do, and I’m still so young. I can’t be tied down. One day you’ll understand.”
---
“What’s the news, doctor?”
His grandmother sat in the waiting room, Joshie sat in the office. The doctor stood between the two.
“His mother’s death has taken a great toll on him. He’s having trouble maturing mentally. He still has the mindset of an eight year old. This is primarily due to the trauma the death of his mother and the leaving of his father brought him. He’ll be this way for quite some time. There’s not much we can do for him, he’ll just have to get past it himself.”
Joshie sat in the doctor’s office, all alone. He held his scuffed Superman action figure in his hand. He was pretending it was flying through the air. It was a strange sight, seeing an eleven year old boy acting as though he was eight. He had grown so much that he could pass for fifteen or sixteen. His long hair covered over his eyes. He was dressed in a green “Lucky Charms” shirt with a long sleeve shirt underneath. His blue jeans were dirty and grass stained.
---
He brushed a few crumbs off of his nice, clean pants. He folded up the tin foil with the words “Burger King” all over it. He stood up from the cold, hard, plastic seat and walked to the trash can. Joshie reached into his pocket and produced the small note once more. He reread the last line: “If one day you want to see me again, I live on first street in Brooklyn.”
---
“Hey there! What’s your name?”
Joshie sat in a tiny, hard, plastic chair. He was surrounded by many small children. They were all whispering amongst themselves.
“Joshie”
“Joshie? That’s a nice name.”
The sun shone in through the windows. It was early in the morning and the birds were chirping. The room smelled of paint and chalk dust. On the board were the words “Mrs. Jay’s fourth grade class.”
There was a low hum outside and Joshie’s grandmother walked out of the car. She stepped into the school through the large swinging doors. The school smelt of vomit and old textbooks. She walked down the hallway. Each step seemed to take her away from her destination. She stood in the doorway of the principle’s office.
“Please, come in. Sit down.”
Joshie’s grandmother sat across from a short, fat man in a suit. He smiled. The room was decorated with pictures of the man and his children. There was an apple on his desk. A file cabinet behind him was littered with cards. Birthday cards, holiday cards, and “get well soon” cards.
“We understand Joshie’s condition, and we’re willing to make the accommodations for him. But we’re afraid that he just doesn’t meet the requirements to move on to the grade level appropriate for his age. He’ll just have to repeat the fourth grade again.”
---
Joshie stepped into the taxi cab outside the airport. He had no luggage with him, and the driver found this to be very odd.
“Where’ll be, buddy?”
“152 Main Street, please.”
The car zipped down the road and on to the highway. It was quiet inside the cab, aside from the low hum of the engine. The radio was on and there were faded sounds of the news playing through the speakers.
“Hey, aren’t you kind of young to be traveling alone?”
“I’m fifteen and I’m running away from home.”
“C’mon kid, you cant run away from home. Here, where do you live, I’ll take you back.”
“I live in California.”
“Well that ain’t gonna work then. You got a name or something?”
“Yeah…it’s Joshua Fletcher Robertson, but you can call me Joshie.”
“Joshie, huh. You got a pretty unique middle name, kid. Where’s that come from?”
“I don’t know. It’s a family name. It’s like an arrow, you know, like the feathers on the back are called ‘fletching’. Ever seen an arrow fly in slow motion? It doesn’t fly straight. Well, it does, but it wobbles all over the place. Weird, huh?”
“You’re a strange kid, you know that?”
The cab driver turned around when he said that, but Joshie wasn’t paying attention. He was humming loudly and rocking back and forth in his seat.
“Hey, kid, you listening to me?”
---
His grandmother sat on the floor of her kitchen in her small, rectangular house. She was crying heavily. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. In her hands she held a napkin with scribbling on it.
“Dear Granny,” it read. It was written in crayon. “I’m going out for a wile. I will be bak very soon. Im taking my moneys that I have saved from my piggy bank. I love you very vry much. (heart), Joshie.” Underneath that were the words, “P.S. Don’t forget to feed Rover. P.P.S I love you.” And underneath that was the drawing of two stick figures holding hands.
---
Joshie stood before the door of a small house. On the door were the numbers “152”. He rang the doorbell once.
“Go away,” a voice from the inside yelled.
He rang again.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
The voice grew louder and louder until the door opened and the voice was matched with a body.
“Oh my God, Joshie! Joshie, what are you doing here?”
“You told me in your note, if I ever wanted to see you again, I could. So here I am.”
“And here you are, my son. What can I do for you?”
“It’s not what I can do for you, its what I can do for mommy.”
As he said this he brought his hand up by his head and threw it forward. His fist met his father’s face.
---
And that was the story of a boy named Joshie. Wild, isn’t it? What some kids will do nowadays. Oh, well, it’s almost time for dinner. Did you enjoy your wine? It’s a rare red wine, 1876. Amazing isn’t it?
“Joshua, dinner’s ready.”
Come, that’s our call. So, tell me about you. How are the little ones?