Pipe Dreams The shadow of the mountain peaks inched its way slowly across the village even though the sunset was hours away. The valley was always sheltered from the last rays of the day, the brightness ending long before the cities of the flatlands. The sun dove behind the snow of the ridge and escaped. And those mountains, almost circling Kloster Township, left only one way in and the same way out. The blue of the sky, now beginning its deepening to the richer tones of approaching dusk, ran into the clean whiteness of the snow, on to the multi-hued browns and grays of the rocky places below and, finally, the lushness of the green shades at the tree-line, a green that flowed the rest of the way down the slopes to the pristine quiet of Kloster's streets. Picket fences were more common than neon lights and Main Street was little more than a three block strip of pavement, a little wider perhaps than the roads that joined it. The sandy haired boy pumped the pedals on his old Schwinn, hair tossing opposite to the rhythm, pushing as hard down Elm Street as the tired old bicycle would let him. The boy was Tommy Fulton, twelve years old and a loner, more so than should be for a boy his age, even in a town as small as Kloster. But every town seems to have its own Tommy. Shunned by his contemporaries party through his own choosing and partly because of his history of seclusion, Tommy was the target of bullies ... and Kloster has its share of those too. Tommy lived in his own dream world, always exploring the corners of the valley and living within the fantasy that he conjured. Behind his thick spectacles were the eyes of imagination and Tommy's adventures became his friends. He could control them; they conformed to his wishes, and they never put him in a position where he needed to defend himself, neither verbally nor with fists. And today he was off to discover the "Northlands", as he called the farthest reaches of the valley. He'd discover them again as he had countless times before but today he'd find a new story, written only in his mind. "Where you goin' so fast, twerp?" The voice was that of Rob Waylen, Tommy's age within months but a good five inches taller. Rob was Mister Man-about-town and had worn Tommy's blood on his fists more than once before. He was admired by most of Kloster's youth, his own age, younger and older, but the question always lay open as to whether the admiration was real or was actually fear of the almost joyful violence of the lad. But he had his followers, a gang if that word could possibly fit in this otherwise serene setting. "What's it to you, Rob?" Tommy shouted in defiance putting his weight to the pedals, gaining speed as the bike's chain skipped a few notches and a little more rust flew to the air. "You little jerk," Rob hissed as he ran into the street, the ground between him and the Fulton boy widening. "I'll kick your butt." He spit in Tommy's direction but it was only a gesture as Tommy rounded the corner of Main Street. * * * The shops flew past Tommy as he pedaled his way to the edge of town. He waved to a few folks that he knew, mostly friends of his parents. As the last of the houses fell behind the speeding Schwinn, the pavement narrowed and turned to gravel. This was Tommy's favorite place, where he could truly be alone. The trees grew denser here and the path narrowed further as he strained against both the looseness of the stones and the slight uphill grade that led to the foothills. Some broken beer bottles littered the way, remnants of last Saturday's antics by Kloster's teens, locked in their prison of the three-sided valley and socially in need of excitement. Tommy dodged them effortlessly and, other than that, the coolness of the forest was there for him to enjoy, uninterrupted. As his legs began to weaken from his tightening muscles, the path widened to a grassy clearing, Tommy's secret place, the Northlands. It was here that he envisioned his victory in the battles that never happened, his discovery of buried treasures, even his conquest of beautiful ladies awestruck by his virile countenance. These daydreams were like rainbows, varied and changing through the wide spectrum that his imagination could supply. He came here often, not only when the weather was warm but even in the dead of winter when his bicycle skittered its way over the frozen earth of the path. He had been here so many times before but today it looked somehow different. What was it? he wondered. He scanned the clearing and saw at first only the trees ... his friends the trees. He smiled. These trees had been rival soldiers in the past, monsters fought valiantly away, his court when he ruled the Kingdom of Northlandia. But they were only trees and today they were nothing more than that. And then at the very farthest edge of the clearing, he saw a fallen maple, broken at its base and laid along the perimeter of the forest. "That wasn't like that yesterday," Tommy said aloud. He walked closer to examine the splinters of the severed trunk. And then he saw it, just behind the fallen tree and partly covered by the undergrowth. The gaping mouth of a pipe, its cement rim circling the blackness within. It was no more than three feet across and traveled for six or seven feet before it disappeared into the slope of the hill beyond. "Now where did this old thing come from?" he asked as he bent forward, hands on the knees of his tattered jeans, and he peered into the pipe. A faint light flickered at the far end. "Hello!" he shouted into the gaping hole. Hello ... hello ... hello ... the echo answered in taunting mimicry. Tommy stepped just inside the rim of the pipe, the visions of some exciting new adventure calling him. The light flickered a little brighter now. Don't go in, something whispered deep in Tommy's mind. But he stepped a few feet more, his back bent to the narrow space, the mildew from the concrete finding his jacket. Tommy looked to the light, then back to the clearing. He saw the rusty front fender of his bicycle, concentric on the roundness of the pipe. If only I had a better bike, he thought now. It could be my escape from the monsters of the world, he fantasized. A shiny new bike, fast like a tenspeed. He walked the length of the pipe, the light growing bigger, and the thoughts of that new bike grew bigger too. And at last he reached the end. The light was brighter than any he had seen and he stepped out into it, the chrome and polished red of the bicycle dancing in his mind. And there it was, the bicycle, just as he had imagined it. It stood in the center of another a clearing, remarkably like the one he had just left on the other end of the pipe. A bicycle so new that he could smell the rubber of the tires and the wax-glazed finish. It was red, as he had seen it only moments before in his imagination, and the fenders were mirrors of chrome, reflecting the brilliance of the place. "But I was only dreaming that," he said and he shook his head. Tommy ran to the majestic two-wheeled machine as if beckoned by it. He straddled the seat and found it adjusted perfectly even for his small size. He spent the last of the afternoon in the clearing, circling and speeding through it, imagining himself first on a motorcycle, then a drag racer, and a spaceship traveling through the universe. The time nearly lost him but he soon realized he had better head home. He turned his new plaything toward the pipe, pushed the pedals effortlessly to glide to the opening. But it wouldn't fit through the smallness of the circle. Disappointment filled Tommy as he tested new and different angles of approach, each time finding that this square peg refused entry to the round hole. Oh well, he told himself, I'll just leave it here. It'll be my secret to play with when I want to. He stood the gleaming bike against a tree, savored a last look over his shoulder as he entered the pipe, then crouched his way back to the other side. Visions of the bicycle filled his dreams that night. It's my secret, he told himself. No one needs to know. And he slept a good sleep. * * * The following morning, Tommy was up early, downed a breakfast of unusually large proportions and was on his way to the Northlands well before eight o'clock. "Where are you off to so early?" Tommy's mom asked as the door was about to swing closed behind him. "Around," he answered and his mother accepted it as that. Parents seem to ask the question because it's expected of them. She really didn't hear the answer and Tommy could probably have replied "to Mars" and she would have accepted that too. So he was off to the Northlands, to the pipe and his new tenspeed. His old bike felt heavy and ugly under him as he rounded the corner from his driveway to Oak Street and further toward Main. It had cement tires and a chain greased with Jell-O or at least today it did. But it would serve the purpose. It would travel the distance to the clearing, his clearing. To the pipe ... his pipe. "Hey, Tommy boy." The cry came from behind him and Tommy turned to the sound even though he recognized the voice at once. It was Rob and he broke into a full run as Tommy slowed. And before Tommy could push his weight against the heavy pedals again, the bike stopped abruptly, forcing his chest against the handlebars and his shoulders against those of Billy Jamison and David Jons. These were Rob's friends and it was clear Tommy had been set up. They lifted him from the seat, dropping the bicycle in a red cloud of rust and held him between them until Rob, panting his way down the street, arrived. Tommy fought in vain, the strength of the other two boys over-powering him. The strength of one would have been more than enough against the outsized boy. "Where you going, Tommy? We've been looking for you," Rob said and Tommy could smell his breath this close. "Nowhere," Tommy said. "Just ridin'." Rob punched his shoulder. "That's bull, twerp. You ain't just ridin'. You're ridin' somewhere." Billy and David held his arms tighter. It hurt. "Nowhere, Rob. Really. I'm just ridin'." "Friggin' little liar," Rob growled and kicked the spokes of Tommy's fallen bike, bending three and breaking one clean. "Let the creep go," he said. And as Tommy bent to pick up the ailing Schwinn, Rob kicked him hard enough to send him flying over the bike and scraping along the coarseness of the macadam street leaving pieces of skin on the road, a bloody scrape on Tommy's arm and a mouth full of dirt. Hysterical laughter filled the quiet of the morning as the three walked away punching each other's arms and shouting curses over their shoulders, leaving Tommy sprawled beside his bicycle. Someday, Tommy thought, "Someday" he said it out loud, I'll get back at those guys. He picked up his bike, found it to still work even with the bend in the back wheel, and continued to the Northlands. The pipe was there as he left it yesterday, round and dark and smelling the smell that it could only have. The episode of fifteen minutes earlier faded as he remembered the red tenspeed at the other end. Its speed, its shiny paint and the mirror shine to the silvery glow of the fenders. These thoughts erased the pain of his scraped arm and the pain of the humility in defeat. He crouched his way into the pipe. Duck walk, he thought, and waddled his way along the dim corridor. And the bike. "My bicycle," he said and as he did, he felt the grit of the street on his tongue and between his teeth. "I sure could use a drink of water about now," he said as he stepped through the end of the pipe to the brightness beyond. But there was no red bicycle in the clearing. Instead, he found a small table, carved legs of lacquered ebony and a tablecloth of gay colors arranged in no particular pattern. And on the table stood a large pitcher of icy water, the morning's dew condensing on the chilled glass, dripping slowly down its side in crooked pathways, and beside it a single glass. "Now where did that come from," he said, glad to see it but confused at its presence. He walked carefully around the table, examining this gift but also checking all sides of the clearing for the tenspeed which wasn't there. At long last, he sampled the water and found it refreshing. Now Tommy is a very intelligent young man. His grades in school were top notch and his father always told him he was blessed with what he called "good common sense." He thought long and hard and when he was about to give up in frustration, he knew the answer. "I thought about water and I have water. Yesterday I thought about a bicycle and there it was. That's it! All I need to do is think it and it's here." And with that, he closed his eyes so tightly that his eyebrows almost touched his cheeks. Bicycle, he thought, and pictured it standing against its kickstand, front wheel turned slightly to the right, stars of sunlight floating above the fenders. But when he opened his eyes, he only saw the table and pitcher. There was no tenspeed. He was puzzled again. "I've got it." He ran to the opening of the pipe, stood just inside its gaping circle and thought again. Bicycle. And when he stepped back into the sunshine, the table was gone. So too were the pitcher and glass. In their place stood the shiny red racer, as magnificent as before. Tommy clapped his hands in triumph. He jumped back into the pipe, thought blankly for a moment, then said "ice cream." And ice cream was there, no bicycle, no water, but a dish of chocolate pecan, his favorite. In the pipe, "Television." Outside and there was a television. Inside, "Skateboard." Outside and there was a skateboard. Inside. "Dog." And he heard the bark of the collie puppy even before he stepped from the pipe. He spent the rest of the day conjuring up new playthings, eating all of his favorite foods and playing his adventure games more realistically that he ever could before. And he planned. * * * The next morning, Tommy straddled his old bicycle as he did before but instead of making a fast and clandestine journey to the Northlands, he circled Kloster's streets slowly. At last it paid off. "Hey freak. Stop or I'm gonna make you real sorry." It was Billy Jamison ... alone. "What's up, Billy," Tommy said, stopping the bike and resting its angle on one outstretched leg. "Where you goin'?" Tommy looked to the ground, trying to appear nervous. "Okay, I'll tell you. But promise not to tell David or especially Rob. Okay?" "I ain't promising nothin'. Tell me or I'll give you another arm to match that one." Tommy looked painfully at the scrape running the length of his forearm. "Okay," he said and told Billy about the pipe in the clearing and the magic of the things he found there. "Take me there. Now," Billy said with anger already on his face and a fist curled on Tommy's shirt. And the two rode off down the narrow path, Tommy pedaling with Billy perched comically on the handlebars, the front wheel quivering under the weight and against the gravel. * * * "Just think about what you want, walk through the pipe and you'll find it on the other side," Tommy told him as they stood side by side, staring down the length of blackness. "You better not be foolin' me, Tommy, or I'm gonna make you regret it," Billy said as he moved in to the pipe. "Honest, Billy. I'm not kiddin'." And Billy started through the pipe, Tommy holding back the laughter at Billy's "duck walk." But as Billy was about to step into the clearing thinking thoughts of cold beer and cigarettes, Tommy began to shout into the pipe. "Monsters, Billy! There's monsters, horrible monsters. Big teeth, claws ... man-eaters, Billy. Monsters!" Billy stopped for a moment and looked over his shoulder to see Tommy's face hovering in the mouth of the pipe behind him. What a jerk, he thought, but as Billy stepped into the clearing, Tommy's shouts filled his mind, pushing his wishes away. Tommy heard the screams echoing in the pipe, heard the tearing of flesh and the breaking of fragile bones. Blood, Billy's blood, splattered on the walls of the pipe, and then ... silence. "One down ..." Tommy said to himself. * * * Later that morning, Tommy stood again, hands on knees, peering into the coolness of the pipe. "I'm not kiddin', David. "All's you got to do is think it. I've done it lots of times now. It works." David Jons stood upright and pulled Tommy near his face, both hands on the smaller boy's collar. "And you listen to me. You better not be bullshittin' me. It's a long way out here and I'd hate for you to have to walk back on broken legs, nerd." David looked back into the waiting pipe. "Just think it, David. Anything you want. It's there when you get to the other side," Tommy answered convincingly. David moved into the pipe, looking back in warning to Tommy, and crawled along its musty length. "Fire, David! It's all on fire. You're on fire, burning, melting. Think about it, David. It's burning you up. Fire!" "What do you mean?" David asked warily as he turned around and backed out of the pipe. The acrid smell of burning flesh poured from the pipe. It stung Tommy's eyes but he blinked the sting away and covered his ears to shut out David's last cries. "Two down ..." * * * Rob was going to be the hardest one. A bit smarter than the others, he wouldn't take Tommy at his word. He'd have to be tricked somehow into going through the pipe. Tommy pedaled home with an idea. Late that afternoon, Tommy rode again around the blocks of Kloster Township, leisurely winding his way through the peaceful village. He was holding a radio, its weight swinging on the handle, traveling the course of a pendulum tied to the bike by Tommy's hand. It was obviously new and showed all the sparkle that made it one of the best. Tommy had received it for his birthday two weeks before, but he took good care of his things and no one could tell that it had not come straight from Dandy's Five and Dime on Main Street today. On any other day, Tommy would know better than to take such a prize outside. Rob and the others would certainly turn it into no more than splintered plastic and torn wires. But today it had a purpose and, even if it was lost to the vengeance of the likes of Rob Waylen, he knew it would be worth it. The weight of the large box was tugging at Tommy's tiring arm and he was about to give up when the bait was taken. "Tommy Twerp! Whatcha got there?" Rob walked alone at the far end of Main Street, sneaking a drag from the cigarette he had tucked between his cupped fingers. "Oh this?" Tommy asked innocently holding the radio above his head. "I found it." Rob's interest was sparked. Tommy could see it from the devil-look on his face. "Where?" he demanded. "Up ... in the north valley," Tommy said hesitantly, feigning distrust. "There's a lot more, too." "Show Me'" "Forget it, Rob," he said and pushed his bicycle a little backward. "Don't screw with me, Tommy. You know I'll kick your butt if you do." Rob was getting angry. Just what Tommy was hoping for. "Okay. But don't tell anyone else, promise?" "I ain't promisin' nothin' but to make you real sorry if you don't show me where it is," he said and his voice began to rise, its prepubescent pitch growing higher in excitement. And the two pedaled off to find the pipe again. * * * "Through there," Tommy said pointing into the hungry opening of the cement pipe. It looked even more ominous now. Maybe it was just the light, but the hole looked less inviting, the flared rim of concrete appearing as if the eye of some giant, the slope of the hill its menacing forehead. "Just think about what you want and it'll be on the other side. Anything. Honest, Rob." The anger swelled in Rob's face, changing color to the crimson shades of violence. He breathed more deeply now, veins pulsing in his neck, his fists opening and closing with ever increasing speed. "You lousy little punk," he screamed. "You dragged me all the way out here for that bullshit? How stupid do you think I am?" "Honest, Rob. It's true." Tommy tugged at Rob's sleeve. "Try it. You'll see. Anything you want." "You've had it now, little Tommy. You're dead. I'm going to kick your ass and there's nobody here to save you this time." And with that, he swung at the frightened boy, missing him by less than inches. Tommy ducked away and swerved to avoid a second swing. He moved away from Rob's furious blows and dove into the mouth of the pipe barely escaping Rob's grasp on the tail of his shirt. "Get out here, Tommy. Don't make me come in there after you. I'll break your friggin' neck," he shouted, hoarse now, adrenaline pumping. Tommy crawled on hands and knees, deeper into the pipe, further into the ground. His shirt tore on some sharp projection, his skin parted to reopen the scratches of the day before and leave tiny droplets of his blood to stain the curve of the pipe. He scrambled faster as Rob called his angry threats. "I'll break your goddamned neck, Tommy. I'll rip your arms off." "I'm sorry, Rob," Tommy said weakly through his tears. "I was j...just k...kiddin'." He skidded along the cement, the dirt and mold and slime of this hidden place slowing his movement, making it seem impossible to reach the safety of the clearing, his clearing. "I'll rip your arms off, Tommy." The words bounced their way through the darkness of the pipe. Faster. I need to go faster or he'll rip my arms off, Tommy thought. "Rip my arms off," Tommy said aloud as he scampered out of the pipe on the far side. The pipe lay quiet now, Tommy's screams muffled and forgotten. Rob turned away, picked up Tommy's broken Schwinn and laughed as he threw a leg over the rusty crossbar. He turned his back on the silent pipe, his pipe, the pipe he had found alone two weeks ago. "One down..." Rob said as he rode away.
Copyright © 2003 Tom Soukup |