The Blue Jay

"Hey guys, watch this!" Wallace exclaimed as he wheeled his bike around at the head of the driveway. "I'm going to pop a wheelie and ride it all the way down the driveway!" He reared back, yanked on the handlebars and lofted the front wheel skyward while pedaling furiously. It was a beautiful one-wheeled display, one that would have made Evel Kneivel proud. Wallace held the wheelie on that orange Schwinn Stingray with the cool pull-back ape-hanger bars, fat rear slick tire and sissy bar all the way down the driveway until he landed it smack in the middle of the beautiful racetrack I had just finished laboring over for the past thirty minutes. Hot Wheels cars went flying in all directions as the third turn of Darlington was plowed into oblivion in a cloud of dust. "Hey, what's the big idea?" I exclaimed, furious over his display of two-wheeled prowess that was plainly evident to be lacking in the skill of guidance. "Man, I just had the perfect track laid out and you had to ruin it, you dadgum knucklehead!" Wallace retorted "Oh, stop crying Jubal! Go play with your silly toy cars elsewhere and let the grown up boys have the driveway to do grown up stuff!" I was incensed at the "Jubal" taunt, as it resurrected some bad feelings from a previous incident. "I'm telling Mama!" I cried as I scrambled to retrieve the awesome Richard Petty Plymouth Roadrunner that was now crushed into a blue and red banana devoid of it's right front tire and with a big black mark on the hood where the "STP" logo resided. I was a huge fan of "King Richard" and, as usual, he was leading the pack which had Buddy Baker, Bobby Allison and "The Silver Fox" David Pearson falling behind in a single groove going into turn three. Wallace had just ruined my rerunning of the 1972 Southern 500 (my version of the race had Petty taking the checkered flag and NOT that aggravating Alabama boy Allison) and I was livid with him. Wallace started in on me...."Jubal, Jubal, Juuuubeeee Juuuubeee Juuuuubaaaal!" he chanted, bringing the salty, stinging tears to my seven year-old eyes. I picked up a dirt clod and attempted to nail him with it but instead I clonked the rear window of the Pontiac station wagon which made a resounding "fwop" sound and turned into a puff of dust. I was pretty much no-count when it came to baseball, and Wallace often teased me about my "weenie arm" and lack of aim. "Boy, you are in trouble now!" said Wallace. "Daddy is gonna whip that belt off and wear you out good!" With a trembling lower lip and the stinging sensation in my eyes I cried "You made me do it, you big fat dummy!" Wallace threw the Stingray to the ground and exclaimed "Daddy won't believe you. I'm older than you and he believes me more than you; besides, he loves me more 'cause I'm the first child!"

It was on! We locked horns and got cross-threaded right there, rolling around in the dirt and rocks of the driveway in a display of Greco-Roman wrestling that would have impressed Ric Flair and "The American Dream" Dusty Rhodes. Wallace had me in a headlock and was preparing to put me in a "sleeper hold" when Matt cried out "Hey, look over there! Happy has something in the bushes!". We paused with the grappling to see what was causing the commotion in the Ligustrum thicket between our house and old "Fat Back" Stubb's house. We crept over and observed "Happy", our Tortoiseshell tabby struggling with something in her grasp. We saw a flash of blue and heard the loudest "squawk squawk" emanate from her grasping front paws. It was a Bluejay, and Happy had successfully hunted down her prey! The three of us sprang into action and quickly pounced on Happy and her prey, rescuing the poor Bluejay from her clutches. "Wow, Mama is going to be so proud of us for rescuing that Bluejay from Happy" Matt piped in his funny sing-song way of conversation, adding that she would probably prepare an "Army Lunch" for the three of us as a reward for our valor.

Matt had a death grip on Mister Bluejay as we paraded through the front door of 105 South Cook Street, eager to show Mama our newest prized possession and reap our reward for performing such a kind act of humanitarian aid to an avian companion. Little did we know that we were heading into T-R-O-U-B-L-E!

We paraded excitedly down the hall, anxious to present Mama with our prized possession. Matt had Mister Bluejay clutched close to his chest, whom was protesting at his capture. You would think he would have been a bit more grateful over our rescue from a fate so horrible as lunch for Happy. I suppose he didn't quite understand the gravity of his situation. We burst into the kitchen where Mama was enjoying a cup of coffee while sitting at the kitchen table, perusing a "Southern Living" magazine. "Mama, Mama!" we chanted, "Look what we have! You are not going to believe this! Happy was in the bushes, and caught a bird! She was fixing to tear it to shreds and we rescued him! Can you believe it? We have a pet Bluejay now!" Mama looked up from the magazine, put down the coffee cup with the light pink stain from her lipstick and turned to see just what these three towheads had brought inside now. Matt formed the point of the formation and thrust his hands out, and cried "Look! A Bluejay!" She was so impressed with our act of valor, our bravery and humanitarianism that she was speechless! Now, we had adopted many critters in our time and the folks had lovingly welcomed into 105 South Cook Street each and every one, but this time Mama was a bit leery of having a raucous, frightened Bluejay in the confines of our home. Before she could get the words formed and out of her mouth Mister Bluejay sensed a moment of opportunity in Matthew's slightly relaxed grip and made his escape attempt. Breaking free of his grasp, Mister Bluejay fluttered furiously away and made a beeline for the window to the left of the kitchen sink. Pandemonium broke out and the resulting scene was part Keystone Cop Caper, part "Three Stooges"! Mister Bluejay took flight around the kitchen, desperately seeking an escape route with the four of us scrambling to recapture him. If you have ever startled a Bluejay you know what kind of racket they can make! The kitchen was a comical scene as we attempted retrieval of Mister Bluejay, and he stayed one step ahead all during the pursuit. Wallace was yelling "Corner him! Corner him!" while Matt and I raced about gleefully. Mama stood there yelling "Boys! Boys! Please, for God's sake catch him before he gets behind the sink!" Mister Bluejay was smart and took the hint; He fluttered to the floor and made a beeline for the cabinet that housed the kitchen sink. He found just enough of a gap between the wall and the cabinet to wedge himself through and found a safe space in the void, and hunkered down in this inaccessible spot. "Boys, we have to get him out from there" Mama exclaimed. "Wallace, go get a yardstick. Scott, grab a shoebox and stand at the other end. Wallace will flush him out with the yardstick and you catch him. Matt, sit in this chair and don't move a muscle!" Matt, eyes sparkling with tears sat down immediately and softly replied "Yes Ma'am". We spent the rest of the morning attempting to flush Mister Bluejay from behind the cabinet and all we succeeded in doing was to push him further from our grasp. He eventually found a passage into the space between the floor of the cabinet and the kitchen floor. There was absolutely no way we could get to him now! Mister Bluejay then decided it was time for him to sing to us the "song of his people" He shrieked and squawked, making an impressively annoying racket. The three of us thought it was hilarious and Mama did indeed prepare us "Army Lunches", peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in paper bags with quart sized Mason jars of milk. She instructed us to go out into the bushes and play Army until we got hungry, then consume our rations to restore our energy. "Upon completion of your lunch your orders are to make a commando raid on the Taylor's back yard to capture their shop followed by surveillance of the Gulf station gas depot, which is where the enemy is getting their fuel" she ordered. Having dispatched the three of us for a short while, dear old Moms returned to the kitchen table, sat down and had herself a good cry.

Mister Bluejay didn't seem too happy about his predicament either, and proceeded with his protest all afternoon and into the evening. Daddy was assisting the Lillington, NC operation of Becker Sand and Gravel with an uncooperative locomotive and wouldn't be arriving home until after ten PM. The three of us boys just knew that our fate was as dark as the inkiness of the night sky when he arrived home, and we nervously watched as the hands of the avocado green GE clock radio in the kitchen signaled the approach of our impending doom. Mama had silently prepared our dinner of Spaghetti-O's and grilled cheese sandwiches and allowed us the opportunity to dine in front of the TV merely to avoid the cacophony of squawks emanating from behind the sink in the kitchen. It was a grim meal, devoid of joy and we wolfed our repast with haste, told Mama that we enjoyed it and retreated to our shared bedroom for a quick conference to discuss our fates. Wallace made it clear that he was innocent of any wrongdoing and that Daddy would be punishing Matt and I for causing this predicament which only added to our sense of doom. Wallace felt that he was merely a bystander to the incident because Matt was the one handling Mister Bluejay and failed to properly restrain him. He added "We should have let Happy just eat that stupid bird; that way you two guys wouldn't be in so much trouble!" Once again, Matt's eyes brimmed over with tears and I tried to offer some solace: "Matt, if we survive this" I said, "You can have my BB gun and my Snoopy pajamas, and I will let you play with my walkie-talkies any time you want". Matt dried up for a moment at the mention of Snoopy, for he was obsessed with the canine companion to Charlie Brown and had a worn-out, floppy and threadbare Snoopy plush doll that he used as a security blanket which was, of course, in his clutches at the moment. Not long after ten PM we heard the rumbling note of dual exhausts, a familiar tune signaling the arrival of Daddy. We lay absolutely still and silent as the sound of the front door opening and closing was followed by his heavy footsteps down the hall. The muted, muffled conversation was barely audible as all three of us were deep under the covers of our beds in hopes that the layers of blankets and quilts would pad the belt blows we were sure were coming. We laid there for what seemed like hours, scared silly and afraid to move a muscle. Curiosity got the best of Wallace, and he, being the eldest, ordered me to sneak down the hall to spy on Daddy to see what kind of situation we were dealing with. I declined, as did Matt. Wallace said "Let's all three go and see, then". We agreed and cautiously crept down the hall, through the den and peeked around the corner into the kitchen. What we saw was beyond belief! There were tools scattered about the kitchen. A pipe wrench, two large crowbars, an assortment of combination wrenches and screwdrivers were on the floor beside the cabinet that housed the sink. The cabinet was about a foot away from the wall and askew which presented an odd sight, as it wasn't where we were accustomed to it being. The strangest sight of all was that of Mama and Daddy, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the kitchen facing each other. Daddy had Mister Bluejay in his hands and they were laughing. Not just giggling but full on, hearty laughter! I mean deep belly laughter complete with tears streaming down their faces! We returned to the bedroom, relieved to be spared from a certain death! Wallace was particularly elated and stated "Boy, you two suuuure got lucky this time.....I hope you kids learned your lesson!" Matt and I paid him no mind, and I told Matt that tomorrow he slept in Snoopy PJs. After our jubilation died down we lay there in the silence and basked in the moment. Softly, Matt said "Hey, I know where there is a nest of baby mice. They are just a few days old and they are pink and they are cute and we should rescue them and...." Matt never got to finish his announcement because two pillows clonked him on the head him at the same time.