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Right Between the Eyes

Bill Tope

When I was very little, my family used to visit my dad’s
Mother twice a year: once during summer vacation,
When school was out and again in December, for the
Christmas holidays. The main thing on our minds during
Those trips was, would the old jalopy my dad drove make
It all the way to Franklin County, located about 100 miles
South of our home, which was just across the Mississippi
From St. Louis. Bessie lived in a one-time mining
Community called Buckner, named after an incompetent
Confederate general who served during the Civil War.

We were joined at these gettogethers at my grandma’s
House by my Aunt Blanche, my dad’s sister, and her husband
Art and their two children, David and Christine. Now, the
Millers were everything that we weren’t: my dad worked in
A glass factory as “unskilled labor,” while Uncle Art was a
Foreman at General Motors in Flint, Michigan. Which meant
That Art made about three times as much money as my dad.
And never let us forget it.

Where my mom had dropped out of high school at 16 and my
Dad never went beyond the 7th grade—he enrolled in FDR’s
Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression, probably
Helping to grade the park where you grill your hotdogs on the Fourth
Of July or making the redwood benches at the forest lodge you use
Come Autumn—the Millers were “educated,” which
In those days meant they had finished high school. Aunt Blanche
Had even had a year or so of secretarial school, making her the
Family intellectual; she was very much looked up to! She had
Worked for Public Assistance, which in those days was called
“Relief.” Being mean to poor people gave her an additional
Sense of superiority..

Dad’s sister’s family always seemed to arrive at Grandma’s the same
Time that we did. Perhaps it was a coincidence; maybe Uncle Art
Just wanted to show off the new Cadillac he bought every year. In
Any event, the Millers always commandeered the one spare bedroom,
Leaving my parents to rough it with the kids, scattered across the living
Room floor. I guess it had something to do with dad being the older
Brother who had always helped take care of his sister, the “baby” of the
Family. He had actually helped pay for the secretarial school she had
Attended, a fact no one ever mentioned. And so it was one Christmas
When I was four years old; my brother Gary was eleven; David was six
And Christine two. During these adventures, my brother always
Seemed to escape, to pal around with his “hoodlum” friends; wherever
He went, he must have sought them out, because he sure found them.
More on that at another time.

As we pushed through Grandma’s door, we beheld there on the hardwood
Floor a miracle: the tallest, fullest, most beautiful Christmas Tree that—
Even to this day—I ever saw. There were crystal, sharp, brilliant lights—
Not like the old ones I was used to, where the red paint on the bulbs was
Scraping off—in all kinds of magical shapes: doves, reindeer, ginger
Bread Men, Santas and many others. They glowed bright and clear as
Stars.

There were the “perpetual motion” ornaments, with little seesaws or
Propellers which were powered by the heat of the nearby Christmas
Lights, and the millions of shimmering icicles. Someone had spent long,
Arduous hours hanging them individualiy, no one touching the other and
Each strand reflecting the vivid colors of the ornaments and lights.
They were like metal—probably lead-based in those days—stalactites
Hanging in a Christmas grotto.

There were miniature Nativity scenes—done in wood, not the plastic
That you see today—with each individual wise man and angel clearly
Delineated in pewter. There was even a very tiny silvery Christ Child in
The Creche. Elaborate sun-colored garlands were draped majestically
over the boughs, like strands of Golden Fleece. These were intermingled
With others, thicker and flufflier and red as the planet Krypton. And the
Scent of that balsam fir was—heavenly.

And there were presents! Literally scores of beautiful, individually wrapped
Christmas presents, all swathed in the finest, prettiest wrapping paper I had
Ever seen. I wondered, how could any present do justice to such wonderful
Wrappings? I just stood rapt and absorbed the scene, admiring. My dad
Said, “Lotta presents this year.” “Yeah, and most of them are probably
For Christine and David,” my mother muttered darkly. It didn’t quite register
At the time, just what she meant, but I understood later.

I knew that my folks had bought David some more of his seeming
Unending supply of comic books and they had gotten for Christine a
Special friction toy, a kind of large top. When you pressed down on the
Handle, it spun madly around, rather like a gyroscope, with a fairy princess
Display encased within the glass bubble, which would unfold and
Sparkle as music played. I was convinced it had been created by
Magic elves. It was a marvel. When mom grumbled about the price,
I sagely pointed out that If Santa were going to get Christine a gift anyway,
Then why did she need to? To my memory, that question went unanswered.
I had badly wanted to play with It before it was wrapped—even if it was a
Girl’s toy—but my mother admonished me not to break it. “Christine
Will do that soon enough,” she conjectured. wryly.

We had dinner: turkey, of course, like a scene out of a Norman Rockwell
Illustration; all the trimmings. But that was just a requisite prelude to the
Real order of the day: the presents, the lucre, the loot! “What if, when I
Open a present, I don’t like it!” David asked obtusely. Duh! It was a
Present, you goof! You can’t but like it. What was the matter with this
Character? “Just say you like it,” whispered Blanche, glancing furtively at
My mom and dad. “We discussed this, David.” Apparently his
Expectations weren’t too high in the present department. My jaw jutted
Out in resentment at the callous jab at my parents.

Finally, we all sat round on the floor to open the presents. David had a big
Bag of Christmas candy that he wouldn’t share. I may have growled at
Him. Well, truer words my mom never spoke: virtually every present there
Was for Christine and David. David got an electric train; David got a new
Red wagon; David got a first baseman’s mitt; and on and on. Christine didn’t
Do badly either. These were the days before Barbi dolls and G.I. Joes or else
My cousins would have had dozens of each. Christine was relishing no less
Tha six baby dolls—Tiny Tears was big then—and a crib to put them in, clothes
To dress them in and on and on again. Forgotten was the neat new fricton top
That my dad had worked two and a hall hours to earn the money to buy.
That was left idle, still in its box, the wrapping paper scarcely disturbed. All
It had gotten out of my cousin was a petulant, “I don’t like it!” I could have
Swatted her like a fly.

Grandma got a lot of fussy “old lady stuff” from her children and their
Spouses. Blanche got a fur coat of some sort that she paraded around
In for what seemed like hours, and Art got yet another pipe, like the ones
You saw on the back cover of Esquire magazine, with the bright yellow
Bowls. I don’t believe my parents received anything more than a package
Of new handkerchefs apiece, from grandma. But they were mollified;
Christmas was for kids, after all.

My older brother got a cool Timex watch with an expandable metal band,
Which was all the rage at the time. My parents had spent $10—like $150
Now—to buy that watch because they didn’t want their oldest son to be
Embarrassed by his Christmas gift in front of the snooty Millers; I was
Proud for him, too. Of course, David had to upstage him up brandishing
His new “chronometer,” like the “kind the frogmen use.” Sea Hunt was
Also very big back in the day. Lloyd Bridges was a star!

What did I get? A tiny cap pistol with a translucent orange plastic handle.
I stared down at it, not sure what to say. While David and Christine were
Revelling in their loot, I stood there. forlorn, because I didn’t see anything
Else for me. Whenever I made to select a present, David would jump
Up and shout, “Mine! Mine!” and snatch it out of my hands. What did I
Know? I was four years old; I couldn’t read the gifttags. I thought to
Myself, why did Santa doublecross me? He seemed to like the Millers
So much more.

Everything in the world seemed to belong to my cousins. My mom
Touched my shoulder gently and murmured, “there’s no more in there for
You, honey.” I caught dad’s eye and he gave me one of his grins that
Crinkled his eyes. I knew then that things would be alright. The pistol
Hung down limply from my hand. I blinked, but no tears came. Next, my
Cousin walked up.

David glanced down at my pistol, looked over at his Official Roy
Rogers Six-Guns—with the real leather holster—then looked back at
My tiny cap pistol, and he laughed. He laughed! Ever since that night
I’ve felt like I owed my cousin David a punch in the stomach. Sure, I
Was disappointed that I hadn’t gotten more gifts, but I really felt bad for
My parents, whom I loved very much and I knew wanted so much to
Make me happy. For my dad, who worked four times harder than
Uncle Art but who gleaned so much less from his paycheck; and my
Mom, who scrubbed other women’s floors, on her hands and knees,
For a buck an hour! So I aimed that wonderful cap pistol with the
Translucent orange handle—which I have to this day—squarely between
David’s eyes and defiantly I pulled the trigger. And ended him!

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