Leech Hoose, part one

Leta's marriage to husband number our—Leech Hoose—was unstable from the start. They had been seeing one another for several months, although surreptitiously since Leta was still married to Ora Freeman when they met. All of their meetings had been at a speakeasy and at night. Leech was a bulky sort of person who claimed he liked good home cooking and fresh whiskey. He always dressed nicely and shared that he drove a delivery truck. How he could rise so early in the morning after drinking so much whiskey the previous evening baffled Leta, but apparently he managed. If he was not sitting at the bar when she arrived on her evenings to relax, then he would arrive soon after, looking rested and refreshed. She liked how he always wore a tie.

What neither recognized is that they were little more than drinking buddies. While Leta’s sexual nature drew men to her, including Leech, his own sexual desires were minimal. He was gentlemanly; he always pulled her chair out for her to sit, or rose when she arrived. He ordered for her. He paid for her drinks. He walked her to the trolley when it was time for her to go home. However, he never made any sexual or even romantic advances. He never tried to kiss her. He never pressed his body near to her. He rarely looked at her breasts, not that she had large breasts, but she still she made sure that they were well displayed. In some ways, he reminded her of her first husband Ralph.

His lack of attention in this way saddened her, but after a couple of drinks, she became more relaxed and simply enjoyed his company. He was far better company than Ora had ever been.

Leta could not recall which of them even suggested marriage. She was already separated from Ora, and their divorce was in process. She and her children Vivian (age 15) and Dale (age 12) were floundering economically, relying on handouts from friends and family to maintain even a simple lifestyle. They were living in a dingy one-room attic apartment in a questionable neighborhood. While she took in some sewing work, she barely made enough to pay their meager rent. In her divorce filing, she petitioned for alimony, but the legal proceedings were dragging on. Ora kept stalling.

Having children was becoming burdensome. They had so many needs, both physical and emotional. Vivian was becoming a beautiful young woman, and although quiet and introspective, she drew the interest of boys and men in their neighborhood. One very hot August afternoon, as she was walking home from the library with Dale, Vivian attracted the unwanted attention of two older boys in the neighborhood.

She was holding her books protectively across her chest, as she usually did when walking. She also kept a brisk pace, while Dale flitted around her, his body following his curious and restless eyes. The boys were loitering in front of a large Victorian home that Leta called a “flop house,” because there were always a handful of individuals, mostly men, loafing on rusty metal chairs on the oversized porch or on the steps in their dirty undershirts, obviously imbibing on some homemade beer in brown bottles. Leta had taught her daughter to walk briskly past, looking straight ahead and ignore anything any of the men said to her. The children still interested them, however, and they referred to Dale as “pipsqueak” because of his small frame and Vivian as “teacher” because she wore glasses and was always holding books.

The house was four down the street from their own and one past the corner, which the children turned on their route. There was a large elm tree near the edge of the yard. Right after they turned the corner, the two boys appeared from behind the tree and stopped them. They were both smoking cigarettes, rail thin and covered in grime.

“Howdy, teacher,” one said. They were both about the same age, seventeen or eighteen at most. One had a few freckles, the other one was slightly darker skinned, although it was hard to distinguish between them. Both wore hats that shaded their dark eyes.

“Where you headed off to this fine afternoon?” the other one inquired.

Vivian was moving determinedly forward until the boys blocked her.

“Whatcha reading?” one asked, reaching for the books so carefully placed and held so tightly.

Vivian quickly stepped back.

“No,” she gasped.

“You wanna read to us?” the other boy inquired, sliding closer to her.

“I’m sure that if you wanted to read, you could go to the library for your own books,” she suggested.

“You hear that, bud?” one boy laughed. “She wants us to go to the li-berry.”

The other moved in.

“Aw, teacher, they won’t let us into the li-berry on account of we’re too smart.”

The other started to guffaw.

“Yeah, too smart,” he choked between his bellows. ”Good one, bud.”

“All you need is a card,” Vivian continued, “and they let you check out the books you want. Of course, you have to return them. You’re just borrowing them.”

This sent the laughing boy into deeper paroxysms of laughter.

“Oh yeah, borrowin’! Hear that, bud? Teacher says we can borrow stuff.”

Vivian pulled her books tighter to her.

The boy stopped laughing.

“We borrows everything, teacher. We just don’t never take it back!”

Vivian thought she had opportunity and stepped forward, but the other boy was standing on her other side. He slammed his arm on the top of her stack of books, flipping them out of her hands and onto the ground.

Vivian was breathing heavily and holding back tears.

“Now, watcha gonna do, teacher?” he asked, his dirty and scarred face close to hers, his breath reeking of rotten moonshine and stale cigarettes. She winced and drew back.

To be continued.