Your shoulders

Red Flyer Wagon

Onlookers around the neighborhood, consisting of mostly older folk, would often watch the same little boy lugging a classic all-American Red Flyer wagon around town like he owned the place. They didn't know his name and never bothered to ask but figured if the boy's parents wouldn't watch him they could. They rarely ever saw him accompanied by his mom or dad but they knew the house was owned by an older lady. A few neighbors speculated that the woman was his grandmother and his "deadbeat" father had moved back in with the little boy and his new lady.

They would often wave at him from their front porch and always received a thumbs up from him, no more no less.

They would stay out there till they saw him walk back in through his front door or around the back into the yard and never spoke a word to him directly till they found him wheeling a baby in that lil wagon of his. At first, they thought maybe that was one of his cousins as they had not heard a peep from that baby since he was brought outside.

But they watched as over time the little bottle caps and rocks that the boy would find and put in his wagon were traded for blankets, a bottle, pacifiers, rattles, and last but not least, a very little Shawn Hunter. He wasn't an infant but he couldn't have been more than one year old and being towed around by his (barely) older brother as he had been around four or five at the time.

One day one of the neighbors had decided enough was enough. They were sick of so many unanswered questions about the boy so a senior couple called him over from across the street after a week of seeing the boy pulling the baby all around with no parental supervision.

"Hey!" the older man hollered.

The boy looked over and gave his usual thumbs up and a smile, ready to keep on down the street to the liquor store for some candy, something he did often if not every day.

"C'mere boy! I wanna talk to you" the man said, putting his cig out on his brown leather boot that rested over his other leg.

The boy gave a look off toward the liquor store and then back at the man before pulling his wagon over the curb and dragging it across the street.

The man's wife heard him hollering and had just met him outside to ask about all that racket. She then heard the rickety old wagon making its way closer and knew then what this was about.

"Oh, Otto.." she fussed while shaking her head.

He shook her hand off his shoulder before she decided to slip back inside. He watched the boy reach the bottom of the stairs and stand patiently for further instruction.

The boys' blind obedience made him feel uneasy considering how young he was. He'd never seen such a small boy so compliant, it was eery, he remembers boys that age being hyper and wild.

"C'mon up here, don't be shy," Otto said with a thick southern drawl, one that you didn't come by often in Philly.

The boy looked back at the baby in the wagon. The little one didn't have much in that dinky cart that could entertain him but regardless he stayed relatively quiet with a pacifier hanging between his teeth.

"My wagon..." Jack mumbled soft and meek.

He doesn't recall ever seeing a four-ish five year old boy being this quiet either. This had to be the first time he's heard him speak.

"Don't mind the wagon we can watch it from up 'ere"

With that Jack left the wagon at the foot of the steps and walked up the porch. Otto let out a strained grunt as he lifted the the small boy up and onto his lap. Swaying back in the rocking chair he asked,

"I don't recall ever gettin' your name, boy?" said Otto in a thick southern drawl.

"Jack.." the boy replied in a thin mousy voice.