A Modern Day Version of The Treasure Seekers

Jeneva M. Fraas

12/01/00
 

"This is the story of the different ways we looked for treasure, and I think when you have read it you will see that we were not lazy about the looking"(1 Nesbit).
 

Our home is number 452 in the welfare apartment complex behind the power lines on Greyson Street. It has three bedrooms, a bathroom, a dining/living room, a small kitchen, and hallway. We get free lunches in the complex commons during the summer, since we canÆt get the free school lunches when we're not in school. The government wants to make sure us poor kids grow up strong and healthy just like everyone else. I say that's nice of them to try and help, but we can take care of ourselves.
 

There are three of us kids (the two younger ones have to share a bedroom), who live with my mom. Dad left when I was in kindergarten. I don't think the other kids can remember him, considering that I barely remember anything about him. I like to pretend that he's off in another country with the military. That's where my next-door neighbor Tom's dad is.
 

Mom works two jobs to support us. She is a smart lady, but she never finished high school. She married my dad the summer before her last year of high school (when she was pregnant with me). Now she works as a waitress, and she does seamstress work at home after she fixes us dinner. She's always busy doing something. If she's not at the restaurant or sewing she's on the phone with someone, such as the one who is threatening to turn off our electricity if the bill isn't paid in full within a day (they haven't done it yet, though). I don't think Amy and Steve (my little sister and brother) appreciate Mom as much as I do. They complain that they don't have the same new book-bag and pencil case as other kids at school, because they had to get the less expensive ones. I say, who cares!? The only thing that I wish is that I could have one of those Lunchables kits for lunch sometimes instead of the meals that I get on the free lunch program at school. That cardboard pizza starts to get to you after a while.
 

One day when we were all in the playground, Amy kicked some of the wood chips under the swings and saw the edge of a five-dollar bill poking out on the freshly uncovered dirt. She gasped with delight and said, "John, look what I found!" I stared down in sheer delight as Steve ran over and plucked it up out of the ground.
 

"It ain't fake either. Look." Steve pulled the edges of the bill tight and held it up into the sunlight.
 

"Maybe there's more. We should keep looking. I bet tons of people drop money here." I started to move around the wooden chips with the heel of my black boots, the ones I got from the Salvation Army store. Amy plopped down off the swing, and both she and Steve joined me in the search. Maybe we could find enough money so that Mom could play with us once in a while and not have to work all the time. Halfway through our digging Tom ran by and yelled, "My mom gave me fifty cents for the ice-cream man. I'll give y'all a bite if ya want. Come along. Hurry before he leaves." We could all hear the familiar tune as the big white truck pulled around the drive.
 

Amy's eyes lit up and I knew what she was thinking. Oh well, I guess we'd have to wait to find treasure to help out Mom. We needed some ice-cream (don't try to say you wouldn't have done the same thing in that situation). Amy bolted, following Tom as quickly as she could. Steve and I glanced at each other, smiled, and then ran after Amy, both passing her on the way to the ice-cream-filled truck. (That's because boys are faster than girls.) Chuck smiled as we stopped by his window, almost jumping with excitement. (We never knew if that was his real name, but it always said "Chuck's Ice-Cream" on the side of the truck.) "What'll it be, kids? I'm almost out of my five cent gumballs, but I save a few for y'all. What color today?"
 

ôI want the chipburger.ö Amy pointed to the ice-cream sandwich made with two chocolate chip cookies and vanilla ice-cream, which was then rolled in more chocolate chips. I ainÆt lying when I say that must be what food is like in heaven. I had one once when Grandpa came for a visit and bought me one. It was the best thing I ever tasted.
 

Chuck frowned and said, ôThatÆs the most expensive one I have, Dear. It costs two dollars. Do you have the money for it?ö Chuck knew us all too well, but that was working against him this time.
 

ôI have five dollars right here.ö Amy snatched the bill from SteveÆs hand and waved it in the air proudly.
 

ôWhereÆd you get that kind of money? Did ya win the lottery or something.ö Chuck winked as he reached back and grabbed one of those heavenly sandwiches out of the freezer. ôWhat about the rest of yas?ö Steve and I glanced sideways at each other. We knew that there wasnÆt enough money for both of us to get our own chipburger. If growing up disadvantaged as they called us taught us anything, it was to share or get nothing. So, we got a chipburger and a screwball (you know, that pink sherbet stuff with the gumball in the bottom) and vowed to split both of them.
 

Tom looked down at his red popsicle with disgust. It didnÆt look so great compared to the feast that Amy, Steve, and I were about to have. ôHow about letting me have a bite, John? You know IÆd let you have some if I ever got one of them chipburger thingys.ö
 

ôAll right, but just a bite. And remember this next time you get your popsicle and all we have are gumballs.ö Tom was lucky that IÆm such a nice person. IÆm glad that my family is worse off than TomÆs. WeÆre all nicer because of it. The more you have, the more selfish you are. At least thatÆs what Mom tells us.
 

Tom grabbed the ice-cream sandwich out of my hand and took a bite. His eyes closed in sheer delight as he made that ôhmmmmm, ummm hmmmmmmö sound. Steve and I split what was left and downed that sucker in less than two minutes flat. We waited to eat the screwball until we got home, since we needed spoons, but weÆd have to hide it from Mom so she wouldnÆt ask where we got the money and why we wasted it on ice-cream. Honestly, I couldnÆt see that it was a waste. I mean, it was a little pick-me-up that would help us to do better on our homework, which would help us to do better in school, which would help us to get better jobs, which would help us to make more money. The way I saw it, ice-cream was a necessary part of life, vital to our delicate futures (as the teachers called it). We asked Amy, who was still working on her third bite of her chipburger, to go in first and watch out for Mom so we could run to the kitchen and get some spoons. ôI canÆt . . . IÆm still eating.ö Steve and I glanced at each other, then at the ice-cream dripping down AmyÆs arm, and then again at each other.
 

ôLet us help you,ö I said. Amy twisted around so that her back was towards me and Steve. She was such a baby sometimes. We had to stand there and wait while she finished her ice-cream. Then, since her hands were covered in melted mess, we had to wait while she rinsed them off in the creek. ôOur screwball is gonna melt, hurry!ö I shouldnÆt have shouted at her like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
 

Amy ran into the apartment slamming the door behind her. The window was open, so we could hear the conversation from outside. I heard her ask Mom if she would braid her hair for her. The sewing machine noise stopped and Mom said, öOkay, but I need to finish this hem for tomorrow. Hurry up, get your brush.ö
 

ôCan you do it in my room?ö Amy pleaded. I could picture the puppy dog eyes that she was giving to her at that very moment. I heard the door to AmyÆs bedroom close and then there was silence.
 

SteveÆs hand was already on the doorknob when I shouted, ôGo!ö We ran in a frenzy to the silverware drawer, grabbed two spoons, and spun around to book it on out of there when there was a knock at the door.
 

ôOne second,ö Mom yelled through the closed door. I donÆt think whoever it was could have possibly heard her.
 

I had to think fast. ôIÆll get it, Mom,ö I volunteered.
 

ôThanks, Dear.ö Steve and I both breathed a sigh of relief. I made him hide the screw ball and spoons under a pillow while I went to open the door. (Mom found the screwball three days later, all melted and dried to the pillow. Steve and I had to do the dishes every night for a week as punishment.)
 

It was a little girl selling something or other for her school. ôWould you like to buy something from my school fund-raiser?ö was all that came out of her tiny mouth. I went to tell mom, but I knew that she wouldnÆt buy anything. She says that stuff is way too expensive and besides, we have to sell that stuff for school too.
 

ôJust tell her weÆre not interested,ö Mom said, while holding AmyÆs hair in her hands and AmyÆs brush in the corner of her mouth. I did what she said and then an idea came to me. We could do a fund-raiser for our family. I had been learning the clarinet in school and Steve was learning the violin. Amy could dance or just do something cute and then we could put on a concert. WeÆd sell tickets to our neighbors and make a bundle for sure!
 

I explained my idea to Steve right away. We immediately went to work at making tickets. WeÆd sell them for a dime a piece except for the tickets that we cut with the special zigzag edge scissors. Those weÆd sell for a quarter a piece cause they were cooler. Amy and Mom came out while we were still working. Mom went back to her sewing and we explained the plan to Amy.
 

Selling the tickets was easier than I thought it would be, although a lot of people seemed a bit confused. Some people would say ôno thanks, Hon,ö but then IÆd tell then the price and theyÆd be like ôso you just want a dime?ö TheyÆd hand over a dime to each of the three of us and then tell us to have a good day. We sold about a ton of tickets, and our feet were starting to get tired, so we stopped selling and went to set up for the concert. It was to be on our porch.
 

When it came time for the concert the three of us waited, bright-eyed, me with my clarinet, Steve with his violin, and Amy with her baton and pompoms (even though she didnÆt know how to use them). Mom came outside with a big smile on her face. She was always our biggest fan. No one else came to the concert, but that didnÆt matter. Mom was always there for us in the best way that she knew how: to love us. I guess she would have played with us all day if she could, but she had to work: ôThatÆs what keeps dinner on the table every night,ö she says.

We made a total of three dollars in ticket sales and decided to buy a single flower from the convenience store for mom. You should have seen her face light up as we handed it to her, all wrapped in foil. If we arenÆt rich, I donÆt know what rich is. ThereÆs no such thing as being poor, unless you donÆt have a family, that is.