Love Songs: The Wrong Note - A Collection of Short Stories

3

Gucci was fearless and smart. He was the Leonardo of Elm Street. A true Renaissance man in a kid's casted body.

That just wasn't any old ride off a barn roof.

For over three weeks, we rifled through every garbage can and trash pile in our neck of the neighborhood.

Gucci was the Grand Wizard of repurposing any junk to fit whatever clever scheme his mind was always dreaming up.

Before recycling, there was Gucci.

He sketched and planned obsessively.

His first thoughts when planning his flying craft was to commandeer Stinky's big wheel. The over-sized front wheel, Gucci surmised, would help gain traction on the old tin roof of the barn. The fact that the body of the trike was plastic was a plus too. Anything lightweight was good.

Gucci was sure Stinky's big wheel was the perfect choice.

But Gucci's little brother was not called Stinky without reason.

When Gucci found Stinky, he was in the neighbor's patch of tame blackberries. Those vines were thornless, but the fruit was just as potent.

From the looks of the front of the little boy's shirt, Stinky must have consumed about three gallons of berries. Not to mention the size of the runny load he'd left in the seat of his big wheel.

Gucci kicked the grass in disgust. He'd have to start over on his sketches and plans.

***

He had a unicycle from the old Bears and Rearbock's catalog.

It was the least expensive model.

Gucci had saved his allowance forever and sweet talked his grandmother into ordering it for him. Surprisingly, he hadn't broken anything during the time he was teaching himself how to ride the thing.

It was a real hoot to tie a ski rope to the back of the banana seat of my bike and pull Gucci all over the neighborhood. We thought it was better than skateboarding.

Kidge Billheart's uncle had been fighting off the aggressive spread of bamboo his wife had planted in their backyard for years. Kidge was only too glad to let Gucci and me get as much as we liked.

Gucci had also conned his granny out of an old bed sheet. That boy had that old lady wrapped around his little finger so tightly that I'm surprised his finger didn't drop off from lack of circulation.

It took four days to complete Gucci's wing creation. Gucci was a perfectionist, and we built and trashed a number of prototype wings before he settled on the one he thought would work best.

Next was the motor for the unicycle.

I wasn't too keen on adding mechanical parts to something that rode on one wheel, but Gucci once again reminded me why my name was Bland.

That little jewel of generated power came from one of the trash can digs around the neighborhood. Bixley Foretense was a renowned tinkerer. Bixley's wife, Vionne, was a fastidious housekeeper.

The two were like oil and water. And Bixley always seemed to be on the losing end. The Foretense's trash bins were always full to overflowing.

But Bixley's loss was Gucci's gain.

On the big day that Gucci was to take flight, the sun rose in a clear blue sky. There was a slight tailwind.

Gucci and I made our way to Herman Blight's barn.

Our wagons were full of wings that Gucci had been clever enough to build in a way that allowed them to be broken down and reassembled on site. The unicycle was pushed by it's seat by it's owner/operator Gucci.

I was just the pack mule/cheering squad.

Gucci and I got all the parts up on the roof. He was all business. Serious. Quiet. Meticulous. And in no time, he was wearing his wings and had that little motor purring like a kitten.

***

He would have flown, or at least floated safely off that roof too, if that little motor he'd wired to his unicycle's frame hadn't went berserk. The pedals on that thing were running so fast, Gucci had to take his feet off of them, spreading his legs out in the air to keep from taking a beating.

It didn't help either that one of the two wings he was wearing, snagged on a piece of rusty tin at that same moment, throwing him off course, and causing him to miss the hay pile he was aiming for.

A dried pile of horse manure does not have the natural softness and fluffiness needed to guarantee fracture-free landings.

***

Gucci's unicycle was relegated to the garage.

Not that there was much left of it that wasn't bent, twisted, or mangled.

But Gucci had hopes of using it for some future project someday. Besides, he'd had the thrill of a lifetime and had only cracked himself. The foot. The wrist. And the rib.

They were very small cracks, at least according to the x-rays.