I Won't Be Afraid Just As Long As You Stand By Me

Chapter 6: Chopper and Milo Pressman

     It wasn't long before we made it to Quidacioluo's. I asked the owner, George Dusset, for four pounds of hamburger meat while Gordie picked up some hamburg buns, five bottles of Coke and a two-cent church key to open them with.

     Mr. Dusset got the meat and then leaned by his cash register, one hammy hand planted on the counter. A toothpick was held between his lips and his huge beer belly rounded his white t-shirt like a sail filled with wind. 

     He stood, watching Gordie and I as we shopped, making sure we didn't try to steal anything. He didn't say a thing until he was weighing the hamburg.

     "Ain't you Denny Lachance's brother?" he asked Gordie.

     Gordie looked at him awkwardly and nodded, "Yes sir." I know he loved Denny, but he didn't like to being reminded of his brother and his death.

     "Shame what happened to him. The bible says that in the midst of life we are in death, did you know that? I lost a brother in Korea." Mr. Dusset always said too much and today wasn't an exception. "You look like your brother, Denny. People ever tell you that?"

     "Sometimes," Gordie mumbled just loud enough for him to hear.

     "I remember the year it was all conference, quarterback he played. Boy could he throw. Father God and sonny Jesus," Mr. Dusset went on about Denny and I could tell that Gordie was thinking of how it used to be at home. All his parents ever talked about was Denny. But Denny was all the time telling his parents about the good things that Gordie had done, complimenting his stories and acting like family should. "You play football?" Mr. Dusset snapped him out of his daydream. Or nightmare, whichever you wanted to call it.

     "Hmm?" Gordie asked.

     "Do you play football?" Mr. Dusset repeated.

     "No," Gordie replied. Gordie had never taken an interest in football. It was Denny's sport.

     "What do you do?" Mr. Dusset had always been too nosy.

     "I don't know," Gordie shrugged his shoulders, putting the bag of hamburg buns, the Cokes, and the church key on the counter.

     "Yeah, well your brother Denny sure could play football." Why couldn't he just change the subject?

     "Uh, Mr. Dusset?" I spoke up, getting his attention away from Gordie, "your thumb is on the scale."

     "What?" he asked, looking down. Just as I had said, the ball of his thumb was pressed against the scale, weighing it down. "So it is. I guess I just got thinking about your brother," he said to Gordie. When he removed his finger, the needle on the scale bounced back nearly six ounces. He patted on a bit more meat and wrapped it up, putting it on the counter. "Let's see, four pounds of hamburg, that's a dollar ninety-two. Hamburg buns, that's twenty-seven. Five sodas, fifty cents. One church key, two cents. That comes to...” he trailed off, adding it up on the bag he was going to put everything in. "Two ninety-six."

     "Two seventy-one," Gordie corrected, doing the math in his head. I had done it as well, and had gotten the same as Gordie.

     "What are you kids trying to pull?" he began to accuse.

     "You added it wrong. First you put your thumb on the scale, and now you overcharge," I narrowed my eyes at him. He was never that way when Dad and I came. At least, not that I remember.

     "Are you some kind of smartass?" he glared down at me. I raised my eyebrows.

     "No," I shook my head, glaring right back at him, "You aren't gonna jap us and get away with it."