Something about Freddy

            A Wednesday Morning Writing Exercise

Freddy Wilson wanted one thing: a chance, and who was going to provide that? No one he knew. His mother worked day and night -- days at home, herding Freddy and his four sisters into a queue for their turn at the bathroom before ordering directions for the day. At night she tucked in her offspring before heading down to Mason’s Bakery where she kneaded dough by hand, poured thick concoctions into mixers, and perspired in front of hot ovens until dawn. Four hours of sleep, and she was back at it . . . day after day.

Freddy’s father was another story. He seldom made it home at all, and when he did, he flopped on the sagging sofa sleeping soundly until duty called. A stench of alcohol filled the air around him as he stumbled to the toilet at the back of the house for a bout there. Freddy had learned to make himself scarce when his father came home. It was safer that way. Freddy sadly knew, early on, that he really didn’t have a father at all.

School was an outlet, but not a pretty one. Freddy’s appearance set him apart. His clothes were shabby, threadbare, and soiled, and his face bore an expression of indifference and distain. He had learned very quickly to set up a defense against the odds and to that end, his eyes seldom met with another’s. Even Freddy’s teachers seemed to maintain a distance. And how was he supposed to learn anyway when his stomach rumbled and his head ached? In time he was given a job scraping and stacking dirty trays in the school cafeteria. The task gave him purpose, provided a spare apple or muffin, and kept him away from the stares of students who should have known better. It gave him a place to think. Amid the clatter of dishes and the chatter of the lunch ladies, Freddy found some semblance of peace, for he recognized a truth. Though he wanted a chance in the worst way, the concept was as illusive as a bird in flight.

Chance didn’t lie in the hands of those who had brought him into this world. It didn’t lie with his siblings. It didn’t lie with teachers or with the students who surrounded him. No. Chance was his alone and he was willing to have at it. Call it risk, luck, or possibility; if chance were accidental, Freddy planned to do one thing: turn it upside down. “I’ll make my own way,” he told himself, “chance or no chance.” And he did.