Free Stealing Flowers by Edward St Amant

nineteen-year-old
Italian who had connections with bigwigs and I knew Dalmer and
Darren, two fifteen-year-old orphan Irish brothers who were the
worst bullies on Carling Street. They were really mean and like to
hurt their marks. “I can speak with my father. I don’t honestly
know what he will say. If he helps me, you can never tell him about
our relationship. Do you promise?”
    “I’d never say anything anyway. I’m not a
faggot. I just liked you. I still do. There were no girls at
Carling Street, remember?”
    “Okay. I believe you.”
    “There’s been a guy asking around about you
at Carling Street. I didn’t see him, but Dalmer told me. He gave
him a couple of fins for info.”
    “You’re kidding?”
    “No man. Dalmer said he was a wiry guy with
curly hair.”
    I couldn’t think of who it could be and
wondered if Stan had hired someone to find out about my past. “You
helped me out,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”
    We shook on it and I left. When I returned
Sally was up and I told her about my meeting with Lloyd, but not
the part about the man asking about me. “Go and talk to Una,” she
suggested and kissed me.
    I found Una in the pantry. “You must stop
scratching your scar, my full-grown child,” she said.
    “It itches sometimes.”
    “Resist the urge to scratch.”
    “Lloyd helped me at Carling Street,” I said
with tears in my eyes after I told her about my meeting with him.
“He made sure the bullies didn’t take my things. It was horrible
there and he protected me. It cost him a lot of problems and he has
asked me to help him back. The bullies are forcing him to work for
Digby, a bad man who robs and kills for other bigwigs. Two bullies
at Carling Street are watching him. I promised I’d ask my dad what
he could do, but I’m afraid. What will Mom and Dad think? Will they
think I’m causing them too much trouble or that I’m a bad person
for being a friend of Lloyd’s?
    “I see your problem, my full grown child,”
she said. “To stand up by your people is a sign of strength. I love
that in a person, especially one so young. You’re a good boy.
Tonight, after supper, go with Sally and talk to them. I’ll give
them the heads up and they’ll be open-minded. Trust them. I’ll tell
you something about why I’m their friend. They’re the best people
I’ve ever met . . . your parents are wonderful, as you will learn.”
Una hugged me and my heart filled with love for her. “Go play with
Sally. Mr. Vondt will be here soon enough.”
    Sally and I called on Andy, then swam in the
pool. At noon, I joined Mr. Vondt in the Rose-room. I’d forgot to
put on a shirt and was distracted enough not to hear my regular
inner warning, when he didn’t ask me to go put one on. That sort of
psychological background noise was all around me, but that day I
was lost to it. A large chalkboard had been installed and I started
with printing and cursive writing. He always kept the double-doors
to the outside locked, the front door closed, and the curtains
drawn. He’d said it allowed me to concentrate, but I always felt
closed-in.
    “Go slower, Christian,” he said softly.
“Your writing is improving, but your spelling is still
atrocious?”
    “What does atrocious mean?” I asked.
    “Terrible.” He rose and came to the board.
“It’s your single major problem in passing the test to get into the
school.”
    He wrote the word your on the board. “We
have only two weeks left,” he continued. “Your, you’re, and yore,
are three completely different words. Your is possessive. It’s your
future and you’re learning fast.” He wrote the word you’re on the
board. “You’re – You are learning fast. Yore is a thing of the
ancient past. For example, in times of yore, the knights wore
armor.” He wrote the word, their and there. “Their purchases are
paid for over there.” He continued with two, too, to, and other
anomalies of the English language. “When you take the