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      Chapter Six

      Seemed like everyone in town was talking about Labor Day: Labor Day picnic, Labor Day parade, mayor’s Labor Day speech. Willy didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in Labor Day. He was interested in the Wednesday-after-Labor-Day-day; the day school would start. But Labor Day had to come first.

      “What’s so special about that day anyway?” he mumbled to Drum while they made sandwiches in the kitchen.

      “Well, it’s a day to honor all the working folks. The miners and the factory workers, the mill workers, folks like that, you know. Even the mailman!”

      “Why?”

      “Well, all the stuff we use every day comes from their labor. The money that keeps our town’s businesses from closing down? It’s all from the workers’ wages. I reckon we need to have a day to let them know we ‘preciate that they work and make money, then spend it. How many sandwiches you got made? I got four here, how many you got?”

      “I got you beat, Drum. I made six sandwiches.”

      Willy thought about the folks he saw around town. Mill workers and factory workers, walking home down Harmony Street at the end of the day with their dinner buckets swinging in their hands. They were dirty and too tired to laugh or joke around with each other. Too tired to light the bent cigarettes dangling from their lips. He’d seen the factory smoke in the sky and heard the shift whistle three times a day, but he didn’t know what they did in the factory. And the trains; they came through the town on schedule several times a day. The sweaty engineer waved to everyone and the conductor checked his pocket watch against the big town clock at the depot. Labor Day’s for them?

      “You like parades?”

      “I only saw one parade in my life.”

      Dad was driving through a town he called a po-dunk and the policeman made him stop while he put a striped barricade in front of the truck. Kids came and sat on the barricade. I wanted to go sit with them so I could see better, but Dad said they were white trash and I needed to stay put. He was mad that we were losing time. But we weren’t really going anywhere, so I don’t know what difference it made. I saw balloons, and bands, soldiers, and drums…

      “Well, what you know, we got us a cham-peen samich maker, heh, heh. Let’s put ’em in this box. We’ll take them to the Labor Day picnic. Yes, sir.”

      Willy had a great seat for viewing the parade. He sat on the curb in front of the mailbox. With his elbows on his knees and his back against the mailbox, no one would be in front of him or behind him. Maybe no one would even see him. A wagon drawn by mules passed by carrying important looking men in suits sitting on hay bales in the wagon and waving to the crowd. The wagon was decorated with red, white, and blue streamers. Everyone waved back and cheered. The band marched past, and Willy read the big letters on the drum: Waitnsee School Band. Then a bunch of men in coats and hats, with perspiration dripping down their faces, walked past carrying a big banner that read Local #347. Then another group with signs, Textile Workers United, and everyone cheered. Clowns ran around handing out little flags and pieces of charcoal chewing gum. The firemen drove the fire engine slowly by and the town hollered out their names. The firemen waved, clanged the bell on the hood, and tossed hard butterscotches wrapped in waxed paper twists to the excited kids on the curbs.

      The parade ended in a field at the end of the road. Willy ran down the sidewalk to catch up. The men from the wagon were waiting on a wooden plank stage that was all decked out with red, white, and blue bunting. The electric megaphone squealed a few times before the crowd hushed and the men began their speeches. Willy heard their voices here, there, and over here, as their words echoed around the field in stuttered confusion. The noontime sun blazed down, and Willy began to think about the sandwiches and lemonade they’d brought. The mayor welcomed all the folks of Waitnsee. Then the unions of Waitnsee. Next the business folks in Waitnsee.

      Waitnsee. Waitnsee this and Waitnsee that. I need to ask somebody about this Waitnsee. What’s a Waitnsee?

      When the men from the Union Mission gathered in the mowed field to eat their sandwiches and drink their lemonade, Rake bowed his head, asked the blessing, and brushed grasshoppers off his pants. Drum handed out the food, flicking the crickets away. Willy was getting very comfortable with the men and felt courageous enough to ask the question.

      “What’s Waitnsee? Or what’s its meaning?” The men all looked at him, some stopped chewing.

      “It’s where you at, Willy,” Drum said.

      “Here. Right now,” Zipper said.

      “It’s our home, Willy.” Rake put his hand on Willy’s shoulder.

      “You like it? Waitnsee. You’ll like it better the longer you’re here. Waitnsee.” The men laughed quietly at their group joke.

      Willy didn’t get their meaning. He looked at Rake with a question in his eyes and shrugged slightly.

      Rake laid his arm across Willy’s shoulders. “You aren’t the only one who’s waiting, Willy. Everybody is waiting for something, or someone, or sometime. We, just like you, are learning patience while we wait. And learning to be tolerant and take care of each other. We all have to waitnsee. We all live in Waitnsee, the time and the place. We’re waiting to see what God has in store for us. Our man Isaiah says God works for those who wait for him. We’re blessed you’re waiting with us.”

      “What are we waiting for?” Willy asked. All the men began to mumble to each other and to themselves, and Willy felt excluded. “What-are-we-going-to-see?” he asked again, louder. “What-are-we-waiting-for?”

      Drum said, “What do you want to see? What are you waiting for? What are you praying about? You don’t need to answer, Willy. Those are private questions, and you only need to answer them for yourself and to God. We don’t need to know. But we’ll all be happy to do the waiting with you.”

      “Easy,” Zipper said. “We have need. God has what we need. Easy.”

      “You see, Willy,” Rake said, “only you will know when your waiting is over and you’ll be ready to leave Waitnsee. No one will hold you back from whatever is next for you. It’s between you and God. All of us here, we’ll just help you with the waiting and try to help you be ready for that time, as best you can be. Then, when that time comes, we’ll help you leave. We all help each other to be ready, and we help our friends when it’s time for them to leave. It’s what we do. You won’t need to worry none about it. It’s all very natural, and it will just happen. Yes, just waitnsee! God puts us here, moves us around like chess pieces, and when we’re ready, he takes us off the board and puts us where he wants us next. We just help one another to be ready for that move.”

      “Our place,” Zipper said, indicating his world with his hands. “Our place, Waitnsee.”

      “Hey, kid, you want to play ball? We need one more on our team.” Willy looked up and saw the boy calling. He looked around but didn’t see any other kid. He didn’t believe the boy would be hollering to him, but he was the only one the boy was looking at.

      “No. Don’t want to,” Willy answered.

      “You know how to play ball, Willy?” Rake asked quietly. Willy shook his head.

      “No.”

      “Well, then, we’ll take care of that business tonight.”

      Rake yelled to the boy, “Thanks for asking, but we’re just leaving. Another time, perhaps.” They watched the boy walk away dragging a wooden bat behind him.

      “Well, brothers, we need to get on home. We’ve got to show Willy how to play some ball.”

      All the men chuckled and mumbled and slapped Willy on the back. They quickly gathered up their picnic