The next day, after the last ragged gypsy had stumbled out the door, the kids got a formal press release that ‘things are going to be different around here.’ Their mom now preferred to be called Marge, and had gotten a job at a pet store (which her kids thought was very cool), but there would be less money (which was very uncool). Julie had started working at Jack in the Box over the summer, and was affronted that she was being asked to contribute to the family’s finances, so she ran to her room crying. Susie started bawling, too, apparently for some vicarious loss of luxury, like not getting the pony she wanted. Marty sat at the plastic kitchen table, stunned, with his Frosted Flakes going soggy in their bowl. He hadn’t really considered that if G.O.D. had forsaken them, he would take all his money, too. He remembered his friend Steve from school, and how his parents had gotten divorced, and something called “alimony” was paying the bills. He asked his mom about this, and she made a face. “I get a little for you kids, but I don’t want anything from that asshole.” She spat out the word spitefully, to make it clear that orifice was exceedingly loathsome, and should not be discussed again.
Marty would be expected to ride his bike from the middle school across town, and up a steep road to Susie’s elementary school two miles away, and then escort her across the rounded, grassy hills that separated their high-class neighborhood from the riffraff of Terra Linda. While Marjorie and Julie were at work, Marty was charged with the responsibility to take care of his little sister and the house, and prep for dinner. At an age where most boys were playing Little League or earning merit badges, he was chopping onions and trying not to cry. Marjorie left the keys hidden under a rock, but he simply climbed the fence up to the second-story balcony, which was a much cooler means of gaining access to the big, empty house. After school, he and Susie mostly stayed inside, watched TV, and ate junk food, while the family dog, Heidi, slept luxuriously upstairs on the king-sized bed.
They had to watch whatever was broadcast in the afternoon. There were only 13 channels, and most of them showed the same things at the same time every day. While Marty’s sugary bowl of cereal was soaking in milk, he flipped the channels to try and find comedies instead of soap operas. The Brady Bunch, Hogan’s Heroes, Get Smart, The Addams Family, and other cartoonish sitcoms were usually the best options. His favorite comedy was Gilligan’s Island, mostly because he had a crush on Mary Ann. But his all-time favorite show was Star Trek. Marty was a science geek with a comic book imagination, named after a pilot, and he fancied himself an astronaut someday. The pilot’s name was Martin Tyler, and he was Marjorie’s older brother whom he never met… because he died in a plane crash. Except that he wasn’t flying the plane… but he was possibly responsible for the crash… well, it’s better to tell the whole story.
Marty’s uncle loved to fly, and got his pilot’s license at 16 – the youngest age possible. He hung around with the experimental pilots and mechanics, and learned to race midget planes in small county events. Somehow, he survived that exceptionally dangerous phase of his life and became a commercial pilot, flying “puddle jumpers” between midsize towns along various routes from Pennsylvania to New York. It was common practice in those days for sky jockeys to hitch a ride and fly to another city for their next route. Martin was picked up in Philadelphia by Allegheny Airlines flight 371 on route to Williamsburg, but they never made it. The plane approached the airport in a dense fog, and the captain made one pass at a landing and decided to pull up and circle around for another try. Instead, the plane rammed into the side of Bald Eagle Mountain in a rugged, remote area, killing 25 of the 26 passengers, except for one man who was found crawling down the side of the ridge. It took several days to confirm that Martin was killed on the flight, because his name didn’t appear on the official manifest.
His mother and three sisters, including Marty’s mom, were shocked and grief-stricken beyond belief. Their father had left them a few years before, and now her brother was gone, too! To add insult to injury, the official inquiry into the cause of the crash concluded (by sheer conjecture) that the crash was most likely caused by Martin; inadvertently of course, because he wasn’t operating the plane in any way. He was strapped into the jumper seat at the rear of the cabin where shuttled personnel sat during such flights. The aircraft had a “fluxgate” compass that controlled its navigation, which happened to be located on the floor below the jump seat. The official report postulated that Martin somehow turned it off with his foot! If that was true, what a dumb place to put such a vital instrument! Did the Three Stooges design that aircraft? Without that crucial compass, they were flying blind in a snowstorm, and didn’t see the mountainside until it was too late. The Civil Aeronautics Board concluded in their report that the cause of death was that he “…suffered multiple severe injuries caused by forces of abrupt deceleration.” No shit, Sherlock! Martin’s mother sued the airlines, contesting that the compass should have had a safety cover on it (due to its location) but the airlines had more lawyers than they had good sense, and she lost the case. Then Marty was born less than two years later, and Marjorie named him after her lost brother: a pilot who died in a plane crash as neither crew nor passenger. Sadly, when the lad heard the whole story, he resolved never to become a pilot, which is usually required of astronauts before flying a spaceship. The would-be interstellar explorer would have to content himself with Star Trek reruns the rest of his life.
One day, when Susie was at a friend’s house, Marty took the opportunity to search for any cool stuff his dad might have left behind. He hadn’t called once since the divorce, and evidently didn’t give a shit about his kids anymore, so Marty felt he could evoke squatter’s rights on any abandoned junk as punitive damages. In a shoebox at the back of the master bedroom closet he found a .22 pistol and some ammunition, and naively decided to load it and take it out to the backyard to shoot something. The tiny pistol was much heavier than it looked. Unbalanced by the weight of the guilt he carried in his right hand, he slipped at the base of the stairs and shot a hole in the tile floor right next to his foot! Hopping and yelling, he dropped the gun as if it was red-hot and it went off again! He never found the second bullet hole. With his heart racing he fixed up the tile as best he could, and artfully disguised the patch with craft paints. He used a towel to wipe all the fingerprints off the pistol after removing the bullets and empty shells, and put everything back where he found it. Marty never said anything, and miraculously got away with the fiasco, but his gun karma would return swiftly for vengeance.
Less than a week later, with the TV blasting, Marty and Susie were stuffing their faces with junk food after their long walk home. They watched incredulously as first a gun barrel appeared around the corner behind the television, then the hand holding the gun! Susie was the first to react, blowing out a scream along with bits of Cap’n Crunch. Marty’s hair stood on end as the arm to which the hand was attached thrust out, pointing the gun at the terrified kids on the couch, and a man followed it into the doorway. He looked real mean, said nothing, and wore no uniform. From Marty and Susie’s point of view, they were going to die! From the assailant’s point of view, he saw two miniature mannequins frozen in mid-spoonful, eyes like saucers, and milk dripping from the corners of their wide-open mouths. The theme song to The Brady Bunch inanely filled the silence.
“Aw shit, it’s just a couple of kids!” The would-be murderer released his muscle tension and lowered the pistol. Another man appeared, and this one was in a police uniform. Now Marty was the one to relax a little, because this meant the guy with the gun wasn’t one of the Manson gang or SLA come to kill them and write satanic verses on the wall with their blood. The first guy recovered his sense of authority and asked, “Are you the only ones here?” Two white doll faces nodded mutely in unison. Their great protector, Heidi, woke up at last, and the brave but tardy watchdog came yapping down the stairs to protect them from… the cops?
“Do you live here?” asked the uniform, kicking his foot at the snarling dog assaulting his ankles. Two heads nodded again.
“Are – are you the police?” Marty winced at the squeak in his voice.
“Yeah, we’re – Shaddup!” he yelled at Heidi. “Can you get this dog off me?!” Heidi had latched on to the cuff of his blue trousers, trying to make up for lost time. Susie got up and deftly held her muzzle while she growled with ineffectual menace.
“Your neighbor called and said she saw a prowler climbing through the second story window.” The plain clothes guy glared at me. “Was that you?”
“Y-yes,” Marty gagged, clearing the cereal in his throat that had been caught in mid-swallow. He explained their predicament as if he were pleading their case in court and their lives depended on it. He told them they just lost their dad (that was sort of true), so their mom had to work (that was true), and they were doing their homework (not true at all). The plain clothes guy frowned at the TV and turned it off, then turned back to the perpetrators, deciding their fate. He was older and probably had kids, so he actually looked like he understood. The uniform was a young, ambitious-looking type, and the sort of cop who doesn’t listen to anything you say.
“Where does your mom work?” he asked as if it was a trick question.
“Aquarium Beautiful in San Rafael,” Mary blurted, still trying to lower his voice and sound like a man. The cop wrote that down in his tiny notebook. Susie looked like she was going to cry. Heidi had abandoned her defensive post, and was taking advantage of the unguarded cereal bowls.
“You know there are laws against being home without an adult?”
“Aw, geez Ralph, give it a rest.” That was plain clothes. “C’mon, let’s go.” The uniform looked like he wanted to say something, then turned around abruptly. At the door, Mr. Plain Clothes cast a sympathetic look Marty’s way, and advised him to have his mom get another key made.
They must have called Marge at work, because she came home early. She looked a little sheepish, but Marty pretended he had everything under control. He thought he was making a good case for keeping their newfound freedom, and then Susie foolishly mentioned the gun. “They had their guns out? What were they thinking?” Their mom looked at the telephone angrily as if she wanted to call and file a complaint.
“They probably thought there was a burglar inside,” Marty explained in his best know-it-all tone, “I’m sure that’s what Mrs. Peabody told them.” Mrs. Peabody was the nosiest neighbor on the street, who was constantly peering out the front window of her house as if nobody could see her. She gave all the neighborhood kids the creeps, and often found dead lizards in her mailbox.
“Well, I guess it’s not safe to leave you guys alone,” Marge decided with a heavy sigh. Seeing their crestfallen expression, she added, “I’m sure you can handle it, Marty, but we can’t have the cops coming in here like that!” She discreetly removed the ashtray Jimbo had been using the last time he was there.
And that was how they met Priscilla, the odd nanny.
Susie was waiting in the hall with her hair still wet, and whispered, “Will we have to do this every day?”
“Oh, but you would most certainly benefit if you do,” she said in the maddeningly pleasant way adults have when they want you to do something that’s good for you. “It’s rich in vitamin A and tocopherols.”
“I’ll just have some cereal,” Marty quickly sprang up and opened the pantry. It was nearly empty.
Marge wasn’t mad at them when she found out they had ditched Priscilla, but gave them a phony pep talk instead. The odd nanny had done an amazing job cleaning the kitchen while her charges had absconded, and now the most popular part of the house looked all bright and sparkly. “Just give her a chance, you guys, please? I’ve had just about all I can take lately.” Priscilla had left her eccentric dishes covered on the table, possibly hoping somebody would accidentally ingest the compost, but Marge surreptitiously scraped the leftovers into the garbage disposal. Even their dog, Heidi, wouldn’t eat it.
Priscilla lasted one week. When asked by his friends, Marty made it sound as if he and Susie conspired against her, and drove her screaming from the house, but that was an exaggeration. Let’s just say they didn’t make it any easier for the odd but well-meaning nanny, that’s for sure. Besides, how was Marty to know she didn’t like lizards? The inmates wouldn’t eat a bite of her food, but Steve smuggled them Twinkies and Red Vines from his house to keep them alive, and they pulled them up to the balcony in a football helmet. The chill-dren mostly hid from their guardian, and she mostly cleaned. When she ran out of things to clean, she primly informed Mrs. White that it wasn’t going to work out. On Friday she shook Marty’s hand formally, gave Susie a wink and a pinch on the cheek, and walked out the door with good grace and excellent posture. Jimbo showed up later with a big box of real food, and Jack brought over a bag of day-old baked goods he got from the food bank. Those stale rolls were the best that Marty ever tasted!