Bitsy stepped into the modest wooden floored kitchen and
greeted Gramma
Bear with a hug. She smiled in his direction, being half blind, and
reached for her purse.
"Good morning to you, Gramma." Bitsy said, pouring some
coffee for the elderly bearwoman. She nodded and smiled.
"And good day to you, young scamp. Now, how are you
this morning?"
"Fine, thank you. And you?" Bitsy asked.
Gramma Bear reached into her purse. "Bitsy, I dread to
ask you, but I know that Bingo won't be up until the sun is halfway down,
and I really need some flour from the store for baking this afternoon."
She fished out a dull silver half dollar, and handed it to Bitsy, who
carefully pocketed it.
"Will that be all, Gramma?" Bitsy asked.
"Yes, Bitsy, and you may buy some chocolate meeps with
the change." Gramma said, reaching over to fuzzle Bitsy's hair. Bitsy
leaned forwards and wiggled his ears, so she wouldn't miss his furry
head.
"Thank you, Gramma." Bitsy said, as he turned to walk
out onto the porch.
"Bitsy..." Gramma called after him.
"Yes?" Bitsy inquired.
Gramma wrung her paws together. "Please... be careful.
Don't take the sidewalk that horrible Irish cop patrols."
Bitsy Bear crossed his arms. "Gramma, to point out the
policebear's ethnic origin is not necessary. I'm certain that poor
officers in law enforcement can be found in every cultural background. As
a matter of principal, I will not stray from my path. I will walk that
same sidewalk he patrols, as it is my right to do as a citizen. Yet, I
will be weary of him. I will keep my distance, and
keep my chatter to idle small talk, as not to rile him with any talk of
politics."
Gramma Bear nodded, fretting. "It was awful, what, with
his rapping you on the head with his club and whatnot."
Bitsy shrugged it off with a stout expression. "He was
mentally zilch. I suppose physical contact is the only way he knew how to
get a point across."
Half an hour later, Bitsy was entering the ringing door of McCoo Raccoon's General Store. As luck would have it, Bitsy did encounter the same Irish accented policebear that had rapped him on the head only a few weeks before. Bitsy held his head up straight and proud as he passed by unchallanged. Perhaps the policebear had learned his place in the grand scheme of things. Bitsy fought back a smug feeling of self satisfaction. Now was no time to revel in such a petty victory, albeit a sweet one. No, today, Bitsy was on an errand, to purchase flour for baking, which would surely nourish his family for days to come.
"Good day to you, Mr McCoo." Bitsy said, offering a
curt bow of his head to the stocky raccoon man. Mr McCoo peered down at
Bitsy through his spectacles.
"Ahhh, yes, young Bitsy." He said, drumming his furred
fingers on the counter. "What can I do for you today?"
"I, on behalf of my family, sir, have come to purchase
a bag of your finest flour. Gramma said I could take the change left over
in chocolate meeps." Bitsy said, rubbing his tummy and licking his lips
as he thought of the tasty little chocolates.
Mr. McCoo raised his eyebrows. "Oh, she did, did she?
You're sure you're not just making this up, boy?"
Bitsy pouted a bit, self indignantly. "Sir, I would not
do such a thing. It wounds me that you would suggest such dishonesty from
me, who is known for his unshakable integrity."
The shopkeeper huffed, and turned his back to get some
flour from a bin. "Well, ok." he muttered. "I have to go to the storage
room. Don't steal anything."
Bitsy pounded his furry fist on the counter and bit his
tounge. Once again, his own youthful shortcomings had undoubtidly caused
suspicion and mistrust. It was difficult trying to live the life of a
responsible manbear whilst only being 6. Bitsy realized that the
shopkeeper's behavior was probably drawn from prior experiences with
young cubs stealing from him. Though Bitsy knew in his heart that it was
unfair for Mr. McCoo to group him with such lower class scamps, he also
understood Mr. McCoo was only being cautious. A bit over-bearing and deft,
perhaps, but cautious.
Mr. McCoo returned with 36 cents worth of flour, which
Bitsy had a reciept written up for. Then Mr. McCoo handed Bitsy 14 cents
in change; a dime, and eight half cents. Bitsy wrinkled his nose.
"Sir, no one uses half cents anymore. They are old,
dirty, and were discontinued before Gramma was born. They're too large,
undervalued, and a general waste of copper. Besides, I specifically asked
for the difference in price between the half dollar and the flour be paid
to me in chocolate meeps."
The shopkeeper shrugged. "No more meeps. Depression
closed down the factory over a year ago."
"But sir, I purchased some just last week..." Bitsy
protested.
"That was back stock. Now we're out. Good day." Mr.
McCoo turned his back on Bitsy and began sorting shelves. Was it Bitsy's
imagination, or did the shelves look a little barer than usual? Lack of
stock? Bitsy pondered this while cursing his lack of chocolate meeps, but
there was no need to. The answer was obvious. The Great Depression
(although the term would not be coined for another decade) had found it's
way into Bitsy's small, self supportive town.
"I was a fool!" Bitsy cried, shuffling home. "To think that our town would not be affected by such a national economic slowdown is egotistical of me, and showed a lack of understand of the most basic of economical principals! We are not an island here! We are part of a great engine, and when something doesn't run right in the engine, we all feel it. It took over three years, but this slowdown has finally come into our little haven. God preserve us!"
When Bitsy returned home, he gave Gramma the bag of flour, and rubbed his tummy while thanking her for the meeps, as not to scare her with the impending economic ruin her hometown faced. He went to bed that night, uneasy. It was the first time Bitsy ever slept with money under his pillow, clutching it in his paws as he slept. One dime and eight half cents.
-1994 David Orth