Paint the Town Red

 paint the town red     -an english idiom               

I don’t know why Billy hasn’t come home to play with me yet. This morning he told me he was going to spend his birthday painting the town red with his friends. I couldn’t come because it was a pub they were going to, but Billy said don’t worry, he’ll be home early and we’ll buy strawberry ice cream together. I didn’t know what he meant by painting the town red, I didn’t think anyone owned that much paint and if they did that was a waste of money, but he said silly goose, it just meant he was going to have a lot of fun. I told him I didn’t see why fun needed red paint, but then he told me he didn’t see why fun needed strawberry ice cream, and I guess that’s a good enough argument. 

Except for the fact that the sun is already setting and Billy still isn’t home. Daddy tells me to stop asking about him and to just watch the TV, so I press the power button and wait for the static to sizzle out. Barney the newsman is on, but before he can finish his sentence about the color red, Daddy turns it off and tells me to play with my doll. 

“I don’t like dolls, anymore, Daddy,” I say, and it’s true because Gracie told me yesterday that dolls are for children. I’m ten, which means I’ve grown out of them.

Instead, I ask, “Where is Billy? He told me he’d buy me strawberry ice cream,” only I don’t think Daddy can hear me because he’s staring at the floor, stiff and all. He reminds me of my doll a little bit, and any other day I would think that’s funny because Daddy is a grown man and not a doll, but for some reason I don’t feel like laughing right now.

There is a knock at the door, and Daddy walks over to open it, and there is a policeman standing outside. They whisper things to each other, and I see Daddy’s head bobbing up and down and left and right. 

“You’re not going to leave her at home alone on a night like tonight, are you?” the policeman asks him. But I say, “Mister, don’t worry, my brother Billy is coming soon to buy me ice cream. Plus I’m already ten years old.” Daddy only shakes his head at me and asks me to quickly grab my jacket, so I do. 

+++

It is dark and cold outside now, and the blue-red-blue-red lights make me dizzy. After a while, we drive into a parking lot, and after parking, the policeman opens the door for me.

“Strawberry ice cream, eh?” he asks once we’re inside the convenience store. I don’t know how he knows, but I figure it’s what Daddy was whispering to him about. “Yeah,” I say.

The lady at the counter hands me a sugar cone with two pink-red scoops. “It’s on us today, dearie,” she says, looking over to the policeman. “We’re married, you see,” he explains with a wink. And then to the ice cream lady, “Could you look after her for an hour? I’m going to show Rob… around.” He coughs loudly, pulling Daddy towards the automatic doors, and the ice cream lady asks me if I’d like to play with some of her daughter’s old dolls. I tell her no thank you, Gracie said dolls are for children. But I can tell by her smile that she still thinks I’m a child.

“Whatever you’d like, dear. I have to finish cleaning the storage room, but feel free to play with whatever you want.” After patting my head, she goes inside. 

I think to myself that Billy must be home by now, even though I’m not at home, which must be confusing to him. Suddenly, the ice cream doesn’t taste good anymore; it tastes like guilt, which is salty and bland. Maybe I can walk home and share it with Billy before it melts. Gracie always tells me I walk really fast. 

+++

Once I’m out of the parking lot, I turn right because it is the opposite of left, and left is the way the police car turned earlier. I see flashes of blue and red in the distance, and I decide that it's probably a good way to go, because even if it’s the wrong way, I’d find Daddy, and then I could explain about Billy and ice cream, and then I could ask him to take me home. 

I lick the sides of the now-soggy cone, but some of it drips onto my hand and then onto the ground. There is a trail of small pink-red splotches behind me, and each drop of my ice cream makes me wonder how far away from home I must be, how far away from Billy I must be.

The sirens are very loud now, and my ears hurt because I hear sobbing and yelling and panicked voices. I’m scared. I need to find Daddy. I push through the crowd, but they push me back, and then I fall, and so does my ice cream, and pink and red splatter all over me and all over the ground. Now I’m really crying, and I keep saying “sorry, Billy” over and over again because he won’t get a chance to eat this guilty-tasting ice cream. Suddenly I am in the front, nearly falling over the caution tape, and my tears are making everything look like the police sirens. Blue and red, and red, and red… and I realize that the color red is painted all over the street. A man wearing Billy’s baseball cap is lying in the middle of the paint, and his red legs are crushed under a red-splattered car, which looks just like Billy’s. His eyes are wide open, and he is so very still, and the whole scene reminds me of my doll.

+++

One day later, Barney the newsman is on TV again, though Daddy doesn’t bother turning him off this time. His voice is smooth like ice cream: “Last night, a young man celebrating his birthday had a bit too much to drink. Here’s what happened—and more—right after the commercial break.” 

I’ve always liked that voice, but today I hate it. I grab my doll and sprint outside, flinging it as far as I can. I don’t want to cry because I’m ten and I’m not a child anymore; only children cry over dropped ice cream and broken dolls. But the little plastic body crumples onto the cement, and I’m reminded of pink and red stains. I cry and cry, and suddenly I’m in Daddy’s arms and we’re crying together.  

“Sorry, Billy,” I say over and over. We cry louder and louder and louder, until Barney’s voice slips into the distance.