The Lovely Chocolate Mob Read Online Free PDF Page A

disgusted for viewing it, but like everybody else in Lovely, wanted to know the state of the company.

A Sad Childhood Story
    The next week I was back in Miss Planter’s office, telling her a few stories about childhood days growing up on the southside of Lovely.
    “You could say we were Americana,” I said. “Little girls wore dresses; little boys wore baseball caps and blue jeans, t-shirts, even overalls. Girls had long hair, and boys wore theirs short; there were no tattoos or body piercings then. We hosted lots of neighborhood kids in our backyard, since Mom and Dad took out all the stickers in the yard and put in some swings.”
    Miss Planter gave me a look of curiosity; I needed to explain.
    “A sticker was a burr in the grass; my parents had both gone out back with yard tools and gloves and pulled up all the weeds so we wouldn’t have any problems going barefoot, something common that kids did then.”
    “How did you get along with your playmates, Mr. Owen?” Miss Planter asked.
    “I think I got along with them rather well. I did have a run-in with one of them when I was younger, but it was just a childhood fight, nothing to be upset about.”
    “Who won the fight?” asked Miss Planter.
    “I did.”
    “Then you didn’t have to be upset about it.”
    “You’re probably right,” I said. “The winner doesn’t have to be upset about that. The loser was the one who had to adjust.”
    “Do you have any stories about your neighborhood playmates that did upset you?” she asked.
    I stopped for a moment to recall one story that I kept buried.
    “Yes,” I admitted, after the pause became awkward. “I have one. I’m still ashamed about it.”
    “Would you care to share it?” she pried.
    “I suppose I could. It was a long time ago, and it was another backyard episode. I was playing in our sandbox when Billy Blevins came from next door to play. He was about 18 months younger than me, and so he was always a bit of a tag-along friend. Anyhow, we were playing in the sand box, when he decided that he was going to climb up one end of the swing set, crawl across the top of it and down the other side, like the bigger kids did. I told him I didn’t think that was a good idea, since our parents told us not to do that. He knew, but said he was going to do it anyway.”
    “Did you tell him ‘no’?” Miss Planter asked.
    “No, I decided to let him go ahead, since I had warned him. I had my back to the swingset, and was working on a project in the sand box. I could hear him climbing up the swing frame, and getting to the top. Then he started across on the support beam, and that’s when he ran into trouble. I don’t know whether he slipped and couldn’t make it, and decided to come down the chains on the swings instead of the poles… well, that’s probably what he did. I didn’t know; I didn’t turn to see. He called for help, but I wouldn’t have been able to do anything to help him; I was just a little kid, too. His mother heard him crying for help. She called to me from their backyard next door to help him, but I just ignored her. She ran around the fences through the front yards to get to our backyard to help Billy down from the swingset. She then carried him back to their house. I sat the whole time in the sandbox, working on my little sand project.”
    “You ignored his cries for help?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you still feel guilty about this?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “Because Billy was my friend, he was younger than me, and I should have helped him. But at the time it seemed to be a matter of self-preservation.”
    “Why? You wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway,” she said.
    “I didn’t even try. I could have at least tried to help.”
    “You may have got caught up in the swingset chains yourself,” she said, trying to help, or else was acting the devil’s advocate.
    “Maybe so, but that would be better than carrying this guilt around all these years,” I replied.
    “Did