ringing the island belle
by William P. Adams
Kirby Hopper was busy applying a feather duster to the swath of neatly arranged canned goods lining the wooden shelves inside the Island Belle Market on a perfectly fine Island morning in late June. Kirby and the Market were so closely linked that no one on Belle Island could remember when there was one without the other. He was a constant, ageless fixture who seemingly never took time off and ran the market, which was open from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m., by himself, without help. Some of the Island old-timers thought they remembered Kirby as a young man, but no one could be certain on that issue, and the argument ran in circles, always ending in – well, it could have been him, but my memory ain’t what it used to be…
A unique one-of-a-kind shop, the Belle specialized in hard-to-find items like Squiffy Bars, Melo Mutts, Shim-a-Ree Pops, Jugga B’s, and Kuzzle Loops. The vintage open-top beverage cooler contained glass bottles of Fizzola, Bubsawizzle, and Frizzy Dewdrop, all bathed in icy-cold water, with only the bottle caps emerging for air.
Twelve-year-old Ockie Swenson, an Island Belle Market habitue of the first order (when he was flush with shekels), pushed open the front door, causing the little bell above the jamb to jingle his arrival. Kirby hung the duster on a hook underneath the counter and warmly greeted the lad with a hearty “Hiya, Ockie! What’s new with you?” Ockie, whose penchant for the hard-to-find delectables was widely known on the Island, answered with, “Oh, nuthin’ much, Kirby, just lookin’.”
It happened that on this day, Ockie’s pockets were empty, but his desire for the enticing treats outweighed his pecuniary deficiency. He knew Kirby was a cash-on-the-barrelhead sort who required payment up front and had a no-tabs policy, but still, he thought there had to be a way. As Ockie perused the tempting array of brightly packaged goodies, Kirby intuited that the lad might only be window shopping and lack the necessary coinage. He was about to inquire further when he heard Classy Lassiter’s delivery truck backing into the Market’s loading dock. Beep, beep, beep!
Kirby grabbed a hand truck and asked Ockie, whom he trusted, to “Watch the place while I’m out back.” Ockie said he would, and Kirby opened the Market’s back door, rolling the hand truck onto the dock. Seeing the effervescent and always cheerful Classy caused Kirby’s ticker to flutter, and he sang out, “Hiya, beautiful! Got my Kuzzle Loop order?” “Yep, and four cases of Bubsawizzle,” she answered happily. After a few minutes of friendly banter, catching up on the latest Island gossip, Kirby loaded the goods onto the hand truck. “When are you gonna quit this place and run away with me?” Classy asked playfully. Kirby looked at her and scratched his thinning scalp. “How about today, gorgeous?” “Suits me fine,” she said, laughing.
In the Market proper, Ockie’s moral compass had gone awry. While Kirby and Classy were in the back, he stealthily snagged a Squiffy Bar off the shelf and fished a bottle of Fizzola out of the cooler, then started for the front door. Something deep inside him, where right and wrong were all mixed up, made Ockie hesitate long enough for Kirby to come through the back door with the loaded hand truck, hear the bell ring, and see his trusted watchman with one foot out the door holding the tasty treasures, looking just like the cat that gobbled the canary.
Kirby parked the hand truck next to the counter and slowly approached his young friend. Ockie, remorseful and in tears, looked up at the kindly Market proprietor, whose brow was furrowed in disappointment, put the two items on the counter, and confessed that he “didn’t have the scratch” and was trying to get away without paying. Kirby looked thoughtfully at the youngster and offered: “How 'bout you grab the broom, give the place a good sweepin’, and we’ll call it square?”
Ockie grabbed the mop, too. When he finished, the Island Belle Market floor shone like the noonday sun, and he and Kirby sat outside on the old wood bench while Ockie savored a Squiffy Bar and an ice-cold bottle of Fizzola.
BIO: William P Adams lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. His short, twisted, caffeine-infused fiction and poetry have appeared in 101 Words, Cafe Lit, Jake, Little Old Lady Comedy, Neither Fish Nor Foul, Sea Wolf Journal, X-R-A-Y Magazine, and other places.