Jackie came out of the garage with a burlap sack on his head. Wrapped around the burlap sack was a bike chain fixed to his head with a padlock. One hole was made in the sack about an inch wide. His right eye peered through the opening.
The summer heat sat down in the middle of the neighborhood. Jackie stumbled up and down our street. His head baking like a roast. A group of the neighborhood kids followed him.
“Jackie, why do have that on your head?”
“It’s to keep all my thoughts to myself.”
I rode off down the street to the corner store for a Freezy Pop and some Boston Baked Beans. Jackie always fascinated me, but I knew there would always be something else down the line just as interesting. Life didn’t have to be put on hold. On my way back, Jackie was lying in the middle of the road like a speed bump, burlap sack and all. He was lying straight across the street. His arms to his side, legs extended. He was perfectly still. He had on jean shorts, a white muscle shirt and a sack on his head.
Cars were honking when I pulled up. Our street was narrow, and with a parked car on it, two cars could barely pass each other. Jackie put an end to traffic down our street. He refused to get up.
“Jackie, get out of the road!” someone yelled.
Jackie said something but it was inaudible with the sack on his head. I remember thinking, ‘is this a protest?’ Now, cars where two and three in a line, waiting. More honks, and more screams from drivers and neighbors, brought the street to life. It was like a parade, only it wasn’t moving.
Finally, two men got out of a car, picked Jackie up like a sack of sand and threw him on his lawn. A few minutes later, when the police finally showed up, Jackie was sitting in a lawn chair outside the garage, the “For Sale” sign over his shoulder. His legs were crossed, dignified. He was reading the newspaper with a scuba mask on.
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