PRESSURE PRESS ARCHIVE

THE DAY BOBBY GREENWOOD DROWNED IN THE CONNEQUENESSING CREEK Harry Greenwood was a part-time barber & full-time crane-operator at the steel-mill. My dad had known him since they were kids & later raised hell around town, chased girls -- but Harry enlisted in the Navy, & my father joined the Marines. It made a difference. The Greenwoods lived on Golf Avenue. Harry fixed some of his basement up as a barber-shop. It was a long time remodeling job, but even sitting on a rock on the bare moon was something as long as Harry had some scissors in somebody's hair. Harry had a voice like a strong drug. He spoke & I, literally, explicitly, fell into dreams there. Bobby was Harry's third & last son, & he was a year younger than me. Bobby was scrawny & meek & sort of a sissy. He wasn't a part of the Ellport gang of boys who played giant wiffle-ball games in old man Cable's field, who snuck cigarettes smoking down under the bridge or had rotten apple fights across alleys. He was strange but it was normal to be sitting in the chair under Harry's narcotic voice & buzzer, 12-year old mind out the window looking thru the woods dreaming like a hawk must see, & turned around at mirrors I'd notice Bobby peeking behind the cellar door. Harry never seemed to have a problem with that. Bobby was strange but it was normal. It was usually Saturday morning. I walked up Golf Avenue throwing gravel at trees. There was also a short-cut path at the top of the woods I'd sometimes take too. My mother decided when I needed my hair cut. Sometimes I went with my dad. It was Saturday morning. I took the path because I wanted to check the place we buried a tortured cat the evening before; me, Gary, Johnny, Fat Fred, Ed, Tony, & Billy burlap-bagged the Atkinson's cat & took it & hung it from a branch & beat it to a dripping, bloody bag with a bat. We hated that cat. I don't know why. The Atkinson's were a reclusive, old couple, childless, rarely seen outside except for driving in their car. We killed their cat one Friday summer evening. We were tribal, but still very innocent. We buried the cat, bag & all, below the path. There was no way anybody knew a dead cat was under some old leaves there. I felt satisfied of that, crossed the path & crossed the alley to Mr. Greenwood's basement barber-shop. I opened the new door. Sweet talcum, fresh laundry, flowers in flower-boxes, sawdust, chicken-soup sweeping down from upstairs commotion; all the odors were like a strong drug too. "HO! Look who's here for a hair-cut!" Harry smiled hugely as he swept tufts of hair on the floor. His hands were cold at the back of my neck. "How are yr parents doing?" "Good." I felt sleepy. "A full-dress." My mom decided whether I was getting a full-dress or a crew-cut. A full-dress was like a half-way crew-cut, almost. "Yessirree it sure is a pretty day today," Harry spoke as he began snipping with scissors & a long comb. I grunted. My eyes were very heavy & I had a bottomless feeling inside me, hollow & bottomless, but somewhere my hair was being snipped off. Harry talked, & talked. I occasionally grunted from my dream-state. I didn't realize Bobby had come into the partitioned shop for a while, but then I noticed him sitting in a chair by the magazines & cards watching me getting my hair-cut. He made me nervous. I had to keep my eyes away from him. "You tell yr dad I sd hello. Ok?" "Ok," I sd handing Harry the money my mother had given me, tip included. Outside, the fresh air shook me back to consciousness & other purposes. My head was cool & sweet-smelling. I took the path back, & again stepped thru may-apples & brush & branches to see if the cat's grave had been found or disturbed. I stepped down on the spot. My shoe sunk a little into the soft earth.