Part I

I dance, struggling to make up a fancy-dancy tap step with the polished toes of my church shoes. I hold my precious transistor tightly against my ear and sing along. Tippity-tapping on the hallway floor, on nice and shiny, just-polished wood. The echoes from the wood make great echoes and I make a good deal of noise with only a little effort.

Grandpa hears my tapping and singing. He’s trying to read the thick Sunday paper, but he can’t think straight. He yells up the stairway, making a good deal of noise himself. “Bo, what in blue blazes are you doin’ up there? The ceiling’s ’bout to fall on my head.”

“Sorry, Grandpa. I was just dancing. There’s cool music on my transistor.” The music keeps spinning in my head, begging my feet to keep dancing. I sit down on the floor and yank my shoes off, quick! Then I go right on dancing. But in between a right skip and a left hop, my foot slides out from underneath me and I lose my balance. I stop falling only when my head crashes into the wall. I wait, holding my breath. Maybe Grandpa didn’t hear me this time.

He heard. “Bo, get yourself down here in two shakes of a dog’s tail. If I had your grandmother’s yardstick, you’d be in for it.”

I sit, still huddled against the wall, and my head begins to pound. Maybe if I sit quiet-like, Grandpa will forget me. After all, Grandma says he’s always forgetting stuff.

Not my luck. My luck stinks, if you ask me. “If you aren’t standing in this kitchen by the time I count 3, Barbara Ann, then I’m gonna throw that transistor of yours in that ol’ sink of dishwater.”

I fly down the stairs. “Grandpa! Noooo! Not my transistor. I’ll mind you. Really I will.” I stand at attention in front of his chair with my transistor hidden behind my back.

“I have no idea why you are smashing into my walls, but it wasn’t a good idea. Until you learn to mind me, you can hand over that transistor. You be good all week, and I’ll give it back after church next Sunday.”

“Next Sunday! That’s a whole week!”

“Yes, in-deedy. A whole week by my calculating, too.”

So now I’m mad. Really, really, really mad. But I can’t get mad anywhere, because I know my Grandpa and he really would throw my transistor in the sink if I’m foot-stomping mad. I might be good at getting mad, but Grandpa’s better at getting madder.

I roam outside and sulk, lying on my belly under the Bridal Wreath Bush, dreaming of music beating in my head. Slamming car doors jog me back into the real world. “Hey, Grandma. Grandpa. The cousins are here,” I shout, as all three kids tumble from the car.

Aunt Luisa and Uncle Jesse sit in their car as my grandparents and parents walk over for a look. The car is brand new, although I don’t know what kind, and I don’t care either. Bits of adult talk like “Congratulations” and “She’s a Beauty” fill the front yard. My cousins and I sneak into the back of our lot, way out by the junk pile. Calista is older than me and D.C. is my age. Kirkie is the youngest and he’s nearly old enough to go to school, but he still cries when Aunt Luisa leaves him with a babysitter. Actually, he still cries about lots of things.

“Hey, Bo! Hey, Bo! Hey, Bo!” chatters D.C. as he sticks a transistor in my face. Calista looks irritated, but in an interested kind of way.

D.C. pesters me some, but he’s my favorite cousin so I pester him, too. “Hey back to you, D.C. What’s new with you?”

“Look, I got my birthday present.” He makes a kissy-face to his radio, even though that’s sissy. “A transistor! Just like yours.”

I look at his stupid transistor, just to be nice. “It got batteries inside?”

“Yeah, sure. What ya’ think? A new transistor without no batteries.” D.C. googles at his radio. Calista pinches Kirkie to make him cry and Kirkie pulls my hair. D.C. holds his transistor up to his ear so I can’t hear the music and croons into the little speaker. I throw myself back on the grass and scream. Then, even though I know better, I’m feeling meaner than mean. I snatch D.C.’s transistor out of his hand and throw it into the junk pile. Calista and D.C. and Kirkie all start screaming, yelling for their ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy.’ I close my eyes and sing in my head.

Grandpa, who is fast for a grandpa, comes around the house first and makes a bee line straight for his screaming grandchildren. His voice makes more noise than all four of us kids. “What is going on back here? Can’t take my eyes off you for one second without a racket breaking loose. Calista, stop sniveling and tell me what’s going on.”

Calista is a tattle-tale, even though she is eleven years old, so she gives the adults the story, detail by detail. For her finale, she bursts into tears. “Bo threw D.C.’s transistor in the junk pile. She ruined poor D.C.’s birthday.”

Grandpa studies the situation for about ten seconds. He sees the shiny, black radio nestled in the pile of splintered boards and rusty nails and cases of soda bottles. It’s easily visible. Dad was planning to take that stuff to the junk yard, but he hadn’t borrowed a truck yet. “Don’t any of you reach in for that transistor. That junk is all rusted and sharp. You’ll get lockjaw.”

He pulls me off the lawn by my arm, though rather gently, and brushes the grass stains from the seat of my pants. “Bo, you’re coming with me. You other kids stay out here and be quiet. We’ll be right back.” He mutters in my ear as we head to the house. “Had five kids and they never howled like all you kids. Just like a zoo around here.”

Grandpa was mad at all of us, but he was mad at me the most. “Don’t you have any common sense, girl? Now get in the kitchen and fetch your transistor. It’s in my desk drawer.”

“Grandpa, don’t! Please don’t throw my transistor in the dish water. It’s my most special possession.”

“Dish water? Whatever are you mumbling about, Bo? You’re gonna give D.C. your transistor and tell ‘em all you’re sorry to boot. Then we’re gonna have birthday cake and you’re gonna sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

Grandpa’s words are law. I find my transistor and take it outdoors. My cousins aren’t crying, but they’re all still pouting. Mom and Aunt Luisa stand over them, their arms crossed tightly. They warily eye me as I join everyone, and my mom shakes her head at me. Before everyone can re-hash the fight, I offer my transistor to D.C.

“I’m sorry I threw your transistor in the junk. You can have mine.”

D.C. grins and reaches out for my transistor, but Aunt Luisa grabs hold of it first. “Why, this ain’t no new transistor. I bought D.C.’s brand new last Friday. This one’s all scuffed up and there’s a crack in the bottom. D.C. don’t want this trash.”

“Ma,” whines my cousin. “It’s fine. It’s Bo’s transistor and I want that one.”

“Shush, D.C. You don’t know what you want. Throw that piece of junk away and I’ll get you a bigger and better one tomorrow.” Then Aunt Luisa makes HER mistake. She flings my transistor into the junk pile, right next to D.C.’s shiny, new one.

Everyone eyes the two transistors, laying side by side in the junk. No one moves as Grandpa’s face turns redder than when he gets his summer sunburn. “Why don’t you throw the baby out with the bathtub, Luisa?” he growls under his breath. He turns to the rest of us. “I think this party is done. I’m goin’ inside.”

And since Grandpa’s word is law, the party breaks up.

Part 2

Grandpa stomps off, but the conversations continue…

Aunt Luisa to her sister-in-law (my Mom): “You better get that child’s temper under control. You don’t see my kids acting up.”

My Mom to Aunt Luisa: “At least Bo would appreciates a gift given in good faith.”

Grandma to my three cousins: “Let’s get your stuff packed up quick. You don’t want your parents to drive off and leave you.”

Grandpa to Grandma: “Hurry them up. Luisa and Jesse are in the car. I’ve had enough fighting for one day.”

Grandpa to me: “Say, Bo. Sorry ’bout your transistor and makin’ you stop dancin’ and all that.”

Grandma to me: “I’ll let you borry my little transistor until you can save for another.”

Mom to Dad: “Why didn’t you haul away that junk when you promised? Then none of this woulda happened.”

Dad to Uncle Jesse: “Meet you on the first tee tomorrow. 7:15.”

Aunt Luisa to Mom: “Love ya’, Sis. See you next week.”

Mom to Aunt Luisa and her family: “Had a real nice visit. Love you, too.”

Grandpa to Grandma: “I cherish my family, I do. But do they have to visit every week?”

Grandma to Grandpa: “Hush. Someone will hear you.”

Grandpa to Grandma: “Bah! No one ever listens to me.”

Bo to no one in particular: “I listen to Grandpa.”

Grandpa, hiding a grin, to Bo: “Get along, Bo. Why don’t you take Grandma’s transistor and do a little tap dancing?”

Bo, hugging her Grandparents: “Sure do love you both.”

Grandma to Grandpa, in a whisper: “What a spitfire she is! Just like you.”

Grandpa: “If I remember correctly, you were a spitfire, too.”

Grandma: “Sure enough was. And I still love a good spitfire.”

Grandpa: “Especially when she loves us so fierce.”

Aunt Luisa and her family drive away ’til next Sunday. Dad borrows a truck and hauls the junk away. Mom rescues the transistors, gets them to play, then puts them away for a few days. I dance in the hallway in my tennis shoes, a pretend transistor thumping in my ear. And Grandma and Grandpa hug each other, and head outside to stroll in the garden.