The Color Of Things Page 3

sickening sound of Mr. Bruce’s TV crashing against the rocks that littered the little stream under the bridge. And as the congregation gathered to slap Mr. Bruce on the back and praise the Lord, little Lenny Helzerman peered over the guard rail. Amongst the shattered glass, broken plastic and cracked tubes a preacher’s-suit-gray liquid oozed from the wreckage and slid over the rocks and swam away with the little stream’s current. It must have been Devil blood.

  RED

  Everybody knows that the red words in the Bible are more important than all the other words in the Bible because they are Jesus’ words, but when little Lenny Helzerman stopped to think about it, it didn’t make sense. Weren’t all the words in the Bible God’s words? Wasn’t Jesus and God the same thing? So, Jesus’ words were God’s words and God’s words were Jesus’ words and that made Lenny think that all the words should be in red or just left alone like all the other words in the world, but they weren’t and everybody knows that the red words in the Bible are the most important words.

  With that understanding little Lenny Helzerman had grabbed the Bible his Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Cleveland, had given him and a red crayon and took off at full sprint into the woods beside his home. He darted down the trail that led to the clearing in what he reckoned was record time and before he knew it, he was half way across the clearing and when he finally came to a stop he was standing by the crooked tree with roots like a bench sticking out of the ground. Little Lenny Helzerman was out of breath, even more than normal, and his chest hurt and his eyes watered but none of that mattered right now. Right now he had to tell his Bible something that it had best not forget.

  On one of those early pages in his Bible, right past the This Bible was presented to Leonard Helzerman by Mrs. Cleveland page there was a section with a word at the top followed by a page of blank lines. The first such page didn’t bother Lenny. It was called Births and that suited little Lenny Helzerman just fine. He even knew what months and days his mom, dad and little brother were born but he had no idea what years they were born. He knew the month and the day—who cares what year it had happened—they were born and that’s what counts. No, the Births page was fine by little Lenny but the next page—the one that had the word Deaths at the top really pissed little Lenny Helzerman off. Didn’t this stupid Bible know that no one in his family was going to die?

  Everybody at church kept talking about how these are the end times and Jesus is going to come back any minute so you had better be ready because you don’t want to get left behind. Even a few weeks ago little Lenny Helzerman thought that he had been left behind when he came in from playing in the woods and couldn’t find anyone. He had looked all over the house and outside—even down at the chicken coop but he couldn’t find anyone. He knew for sure that Jesus had returned and that he had missed it because sometimes when he slid down the hill over near the mailbox he accidentally slid on his back a little. Backsliding is about the worst thing a person can do and people are always going to the altar at church because they had backslid and needed to repent so God doesn’t send them to Hell.

  But this was worse. Jesus had come back and little Lenny had missed it. Now he was going to have to have his head chopped off for not getting 666 tattooed on his right hand or forehead in order to see his family again in Heaven. Even out here in the country they’d find him and make him say that he hates Jesus and take the number of the beast and if he didn’t they would cut his head off with a portable guillotine that they pull behind their anti-Christ police cars—at least that’s the way is was in the movie they showed at church. But before little Lenny had to choose between decapitation and the mark of the beast, he heard his mom, dad and little brother coming up the trail back behind the chicken coop. They had been picking black berries and Jesus hadn’t come back, so little Lenny made a point to go to the altar on Sunday which was tomorrow if only Jesus didn’t come like a thief in the night tonight. Jesus didn’t and little Lenny Helzerman’s soul was okay and he was now in the woods with the Bible Mrs. Cleveland had given him on his knees and a red crayon in his hand.

  And sitting there on the bench roots under the crooked tree little Lenny Helzerman took his red crayon and wrote the most important red words any Bible had ever known on the lines underneath the word Deaths:

  NO ONE IN MY FAMILY IS GOING TO DIE! EVER!!!

  And for a moment little Lenny Helzerman felt the power of red words. He felt like it was true or something—like he had prevented what had happened to Papa Dobson from happening to the people he loved or himself. Jesus would come back soon enough and his family would fly up into the sky all safe and sound and very much alive. They would be together forever. It was a good feeling and little Lenny Helzerman didn’t mind that he was still a little out of breath or that his chest still hurt a little from running so hard. Jesus spoke in red and now he did too and that made him feel powerful and that power might have lasted a very long time if what happened next hadn’t happened.

  When little Lenny Helzerman started across the clearing to the trail that led home something scared him so badly that he thought he was going to drop dead right there in the woods. He was standing face to face with a gigantic pig. Its back was as tall as him and its beady little eyes bore into his and little Lenny’s heart pounded in his throat and he clutched his Bible in his trembling hands and he tried to pray but his brain went all black except for one simple thought. One simple thought repeated over and over in his mind—one simple thought as the giant pig huffed and snorted and decided to wander off—one simple thought that really, even now, doesn’t make any sense; Jesus spoke in red.

  WHITE

  Little Lenny Helzerman had spent the morning during the summer of his eighth year like he had the past three mornings—trying to catch lizards. However, this morning was different. The previous three mornings, even though he had seen a lizard or two here or there, he had not been able to catch one. But on this morning little Lenny Helzerman had been victorious. He had managed to catch two lizards at the same time.

  The lizards had been copulating in the bushes by the front steps of little Lenny’s house and even though they were green at the time, they did not escape his trained lizard spotting eyes, and even though little Lenny thought it was strange that one lizard was just lying on top of another lizard, he was able to trap the lizards and a few leaves in the Bell canning jar his mother had given to him. After twisting the lid tight and poking holes in the lid with an old screwdriver, Lenny was ready to see what would happen. But he needed to get something first.

  The idea had occurred to him five mornings ago when his brother Lloyd, younger than Lenny by two years, came into the kitchen crying—a lizard dangling from his index finger. Little Lenny had never known a lizard to bite, but the fact that one had clamped down on Lloyd’s finger and refused to let go opened a whole world of wonderful possibilities. So, carrying the Bell jar containing two lizards and some leaves, little Lenny Helzerman headed down to the shed to see what would happen.

  The white bucket that Lenny’s dad used to carry chicken feed to the chicken coop was behind the shed. Lenny turned the bucket over and slapped the bottom a few times to dislodge the few pellets that were stuck there. This was as far as he had thought out his plan. So, after turning the bucket back over, Lenny decided to see what would happen. He unscrewed the lid on the canning jar his mother had given him and dumped the lizards into the bucket. Both chameleons. Both green in a white bucket.

  The lizards just sat there blinking—ignoring each other. Nothing happened. Little Lenny waited. He waited for what must have been entire minutes. He waited until the boredom was unbearable—until his mind hatched a new plan that sent him scampering from behind the shed to the plum tree.

  Little Lenny Helzerman was used to breaking limbs off of the plum tree, but not like this one. This one was thick and strong and not at all like the twigs he would pick when his mom told him to go get a switch. No, this one was a stick and Lenny told himself that he had to throw it into the woods when
he was done with it. He didn’t want his mom to know that sticks like this could be found on the plum tree, because sooner or later she’d tell him to go pick a switch like she did last week when he had informed her that he wasn’t “going to pick any more god-damn plums!” Yes, he would have to throw this one away later. But it sure was a good stick.

  As Lenny made his way back to the white bucket behind the shed, the stick in his hand made him feel powerful—like he was in control or something. And as he stood over the white bucket and looked down on the stoic chameleons that refused to move, his plan began to expand. In fact, his plan expanded so much that it was no longer a plan. It was now a test.

  So, little Lenny Helzerman, who was now in control or something, leaned over the white bucket until his shadow engulfed the tiny lizards way down there under his all-seeing gaze. And little Lenny Helzerman, who was now in control or something, began to poke the lizards with the stick. God-like; not too hard—just enough to annoy them.

  First one lizard then the other turned brown—mimicking the stick’s hue. Little Lenny poked a little harder, but not too hard,