Shoe Shine Boy

Spit. Shine. Spit. Shine. It’s where they get the term spit shine from. Jack Williams thwacked his cleaning blocks together and a cloud of solvent burst into a loose cloud and fell onto the sidewalk. Glancing up at his customer he recommenced his labors and collected the worn nickel.

Whistling, Williams gave the pale by the chair a smart kick and it turned upside down and he took a seat. He was happy to get the nickel but the man, Mr. Franklin, was as reliable as the rain and he may not get another customer on a Tuesday. Most men got a shine once a week, depending on weather of course, be it on Sunday or Monday. Business became inconsistent starting Tuesday. Maybe Mr. Franklin had been taking an interest in young Jack, but maybe he just enjoyed one-upping his colleagues by out shining them on the floor level.

Williams shrugged his thoughts away and procured a harmonica from within his well worn navy blue vest. With his left foot he slid a cup containing two pennies out in front of him and began to blow “Ballin’ the Jack”, tapping his right foot in time. He made four more pennies over the next hour and took a break to rest his lips which had become raw. He pulled out a rag and rubbed the harmonica down; nodding to a man that tossed a penny at his cup but missed badly, sending it rolling into the crowded sidewalk.

The man had instantly looked the other way so Williams got up to search for the penny and found it inches from the storm drain. He picked it up, flicked it with his thumb, grabbed it out of the air and spun on his heel to return to his perch. A minute later an elderly man stepped up to the chair and Williams offered a greeting before rubbing and brushing his way to another nickel and another meal.

Reassuming the pale, he starred at the frayed hems of his pants legs. The back of his pants were once plaid brown like the rest but now appeared black from being stepped on so often. The pants were easily four inches too long he speculated. He couldn’t be picky as they cost him nothing, but he decided to perform some alterations and with his pocketknife, he removed three of the worst inches and made plans to hem up the other inch once he got back to the riverside. Marlene would certainly have some thread to spare and had already taught him basic sewing. Stretching out his arms he looked around as the sun began to rise in the sky and bring heat to the town. He thought about his name and how much he liked it. He had had many good ideas for a name, but Jack Williams was his favorite. He even made an I.D. card using a roughly cut rectangular piece of cardboard. It felt good to have a name and on this day, Jack was feeling especially fine.

After the sun set, Jack returned to the river with a loaf of bread and a brick of cheese and set about to fix up his pants. Marlene gave him the necessary thread and he was finished with the little project in under an hour. He stood up and looked down at his handy work admiring the repairs. He shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted his toes up in the manner of someone satisfied.

Just then Jack heard shouts of excitement and ran down to the river to look at what all the fuss was about. Three row boats containing men in the unmistakable uniform of police officers were fast approaching the small community of gypsies. They had already been here for one month and it seemed as if the eviction notice was on its way. Jack Williams made for his belongings and hopped on the first barge to push off.