It was hot on the day that the Bakey Brothers disappeared. The air was hot. The water was hot. The ice was barely cold enough to tone down the heat. Nobody could work, so the grownups were underfoot all day, assigning stupid chores and snapping like turtles at the slightest indiscretions or annoyances.
We found out a lot about our parents that day and during the days that followed. First, we learned that they had never been the perfect beings that they wanted us to know. Second, we learned that they could be bigger heroes, even when ineffective, than we ever comprehended. Bigger than Superman and Batman. Bigger than Mighty Mouse, if you were a little kid. I was a little kid, six years old, and still a half kid/half baby mix.
We were doing what passed for "settled down", playing war soldiers. I got the nurses since I was a girl, and had to mend the wounded. Fine with me. Blowing up things was stupid. Plus, I could never make good blowing up sounds. So, I cured just about every one of those comic book bargain soldiers and repaired three vehicles with my magic fairy wand before all hell broke loose.
Tomas decided to use a nuclear weapon and forget about treaties. Everything and everyone got killed, including my exempt and excellent nurses, fairies, and magic rocks. The "battlefield" was a mess of mud, partially buried soldiers, lincoln logs (the headquarters), and bits of fabric (the flags of about fourteen imaginary Commie countries).
Tomas had buried a hose in the middle of the proceedings, turning on the water to create a "nuclear mushroom cloud", then sending over "B-52's" to drop water balloon representations of "Fat Man" and "Little Boy", the hydrogen bombs that took out Nagasaki, and Hiroshima.
I looked at the carnage done to my precious nurses and let out a wail that could have served as a civil defense alarm. Grownups came running, kids came running. The older kids screeched to a halt, gaped, then howled in laughter at the spectacular destruction. They immediately started asking how such a brilliant mess could have been made by little first, second, and third grade kids!
The grownups had already been a dark gathering of emotional storm clouds, so they rousted all of us. I had the hiccups that come when a bad situation causes the diaphragm to go into spasms, and spent the next two hours napping as soon as the hiccups went away.
Tomas was banished for the day. The Baker Brothers were sent home with a reprive, and my brother, Pookie, was assigned to gather up and clean off all of his battlefield materials, so they'd be available next time.
Like most little kids, we forgot about the trauma in record time. I woke up and was heading for my doll supply to find a favorite friend: Princess Lulu. I found no Princess Lulu, which was strange, since she was the last thing that I saw before I went to sleep. So, I went in search of her, wondering if she was outside.
I found Princess Lulu, allright. Then I lit up the place for a second time that day. But this time, everyone who came running was scared enough to piss their pants. I never lit the place up without good reason, so they expected there to be something awful (even if it was only awful to the mind of a six year old).
But everyone froze for a few moments. Nobody breathed. Nobody talked. Mommy went "oooohhh noooo." Daddy said "What the Fu...". None of the other kids (a new crew who had come over while I was asleep), had a word to say.
Princess Lulu was in pieces. Now it's normal for little girls with brothers to lose one or two doll heads from time to time. They just popped back on and were fine. Plus, they rarely had any hair left after all of the "styling" that went on.
But Princess Lulu's head was smashed to a pulp. It must have taken a rock or a hammer to do that damage. One crack went from her left ear to the middle of her head. All of her limbs were ripped from her torso, and appeared to have been burned in spots. Her eyes were gouged out and were lying on the ground...
Mommy tried to recover herself and hugged me tight, crooning "Ohhh Don't worry pumpkin! We'll take her to the doll hospital in Sacramento, and she'll be as good as new!"
"She's dead, Mommy." I remember saying. Then I squirmed out of her grasp and started to walk away, hoping never to see the doll again. But I was puzzled...who needed the hug most, Mommy or me? I felt a wierd calm and knew that I should have been a lot more upset. Princess Lulu had been my best friend for a long time, but I couldn't stand to look at her like that. I just wanted to go somewhere and cry.
But, somehow, I also knew somehow that this was not the time to get upset just for myself. Some "big deal" was happening. Pookie and Jacob, my brothers, always talked about "big deals" when something was seriously serious.
So I went back and gave Mommy more hugs. She was shaking a little bit. And Daddy looked more worried than he should have been over the death of a beat up old doll.
Mine was the only heart that should have been upset.
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