Through Sullivan's
Eye
The Copper Mine
by
J C Sullivan, Ohio, USA
It was Mrs. Weekley's fault, not mine; I got the idea from her. My eight year old imagination had immediately been inspired. And as a result I would be able to buy Mom the mink coat she always wanted but couldn't afford.
I was never aware our family didn't have some of life's affordable niceties until bicycle-riding age. That's when I realized some in the neighborhood had nice Roadmaster bicycles and we didn't. I learned something else, too. A million bucks would buy a lot of things. Like a woman's fur coat. That's why Mrs. Weekley's words were so inspiring.
My sister Mary Jo, eleven months younger than I, initially resisted my idea. My vision of the results of the endeavor, however, finally convinced her that much good would come if she allowed me to proceed. I also convinced her that we would have a lifetime supply of candy when the project was completed. She finally relented and agreed to go through with it.
We gathered the necessary tools of the trade and stealthily entered our parents' bedroom, carefully closing the door behind us. We wanted to maintain top secrecy to insure the surprise was complete.
I carefully tied the corners of the bath towel around her neck, letting most of it cover the front of her clothes, just like I'd seen it done before in barber shops. It was easier than I'd imagined. A snip here and there did the trick; the copper curls fell noiselessly to the floor. I carefully scooped them up and deposited them in a brown paper bag. When the task was completed, Mary Jo didn't look any worse for the wear, or so I reasoned.
I peeked out the bedroom door and, seeing the way clear, dashed for the outdoors, bag in hand, Mary Jo following. Naturally, the first stop on our itinerary was Mrs. Weekley's house. The door opened in response to my knock. Ah, 'twas our lucky day. Mrs. Weekley herself greeted us.
"Would you like to buy some of Mary Jo's curls?" I confidently inquired with my brightest smile. "We're selling them for a million dollars." I knew she was a natural customer. After all, it was Mrs. Weekley who had admired Mary Jo's red hair and curls so much that she had remarked to my mother, "Why, they're worth a million dollars." I know, 'cause I heard her say it.
Something wasn't right. Mrs. Weekley looked as if she'd seen a ghost. She stammered something and kept peering back and forth at Mary Jo's head and into the paper bag. When it became apparent she wasn't going to buy the curls I began to feel a let down.
We left her porch and continued down Shelley Court, determined to sell someone our valuable product. Our next stop was the Zaubi home. My sinking feeling about our chances of success increased when we received the same bewildered look from Mrs. Zaubi. It was becoming obvious to me that this wasn't going to be as easy as I'd imagined. As we turned to leave the porch I saw her .
It had never previously entered my mind that my mother could actually run but, here she was, in full gallop. Our surprise was ruined. That was the moment I accepted the reality of the situation - there would be no million dollar sale and no fur coat . I understood Henny Penny's terror when he believed the sky was falling.
Mary Jo hadn't yet looked at herself in a mirror so her own private horror hadn't set in yet. Mine, however, came swiftly. Mom put scissors into Mary Jo's hands so she could take a swipe at my hair; the same pair of scissors I had so deftly used. Conjuring up an 'evil eye' I stared at Mary Jo with my best if-you-do-you'll-live-to-regret-it look. It worked, she hesitated, and told Mom she didn't want to. Unfortunately, Mom was to prevail. Mary Jo finally grabbed a sizable clump of my hair and, despite my banshee cries and shrieks of injustice, cut.
I found myself imprisoned in my bedroom for the rest of
the day. Looking in the mirror I thought that at least my
cut didn't look as bad as Mary Jo's. The solitary
confinement gave me ample time to reflect on my budding
sales career and barbering initiative. I made a decision
that day that I would stay out of the hair business. And I
have.
One-Time Rights to Mayo AliveCopyright © 1996 J C Sullivan, 9240 Milford Dr, Northfield, OH 44067
Sullivan is an internationally-published Irish-American writer residing in Northeastern Ohio. He is an American correspondent for the Mayo News. jcs1@alltel.net
The Nallys of Rockstown in County Mayo, Ireland
