48. Childhood

[Reach For The Stars]

The massive mansion that sat by itself in the swamp outside of downtown New Orleans was known to be the Rica estate. Vincent Rica, a gruff, unhappy man who kept to himself most of the time. The few times he did appear in town, it was only to buy what few provisions he would take.

Since his wife had left him, Vincent was a lonely man. He had a young son, but the boy was rarely in town.

Today was different.

Vincent had decided he didn't want to go into the town. So he sent his son. It was a good way to further isolate himself from the rest of society. Little David was old enough to shop on his own.

After all, the boy was eight.

Eight year old Jackson David Rica wandered down the streets of downtown New Orleans. The boy was dressed in a tattered jacket that had once been his nice church clothes, back when his mom lived with them.

Now she was gone. One night, he had heard his mother and father argue, and she decided to leave. Rica was only four at the time, so he did not understand what happened. In the last four years, his father had become mean.

Tonight, though, Rica was excited! It was the first time he was allowed to go out on his own. It was nearing 11PM. Rica was supposed to have been back a few hours ago, but he had gotten lost and hadn't even gone to the store yet.

It had been an adventure! Rica wasn't even scared, even though the sun had gone down and the crowds of people on the streets had dispersed, leaving only a few people left. Everyone still out at this hour seemed to be... unusual.

Rica watched with interest as a big man with a mohawk was drinking from a odd dark green bottle and then smashed it on the ground. He saw some strange women in very tiny dresses who got into cars with random people. Then he saw a man with a ski cap on his head handing a small bag of what looked like candy to another person in exchange for money.

The tiny boy continue down the darkened street, watching the people with interest. He seemed happy and curious. His big blue eyes were widened with interest as he walked. Eventually, the boy found the store his father had sent him too.

It was closed.

"Uh oh..." Rica mumbled. He knew that whenever his father wasn't able to get the things he wanted from the store, it made him very unhappy. He would yell, and break things, and Rica always hated that.

The small boy paused. He noticed that the window was open, but he was too short to reach it. He headed into a small alleyway next to the store and he found a large wooden box. He pushed it as hard as he could, and soon had the box beneath the window.

He climbed up on the box and then pried the window open wider and climbed inside. The fall was steeper than the boy expected. He hit the ground with a thud and suddenly had to sneeze from the dust.

The tiny boy stood up, his hair was dirty from the floor now and he tried to brush the dust out with his fingers. He looked around. The store was completely dark, and little Rica could not make out much in front of him.

So he slowly walked, putting his hands in front of his face and bumping into things. He hit a shelf and knocked it over. With a massive thud, Rica heard several glass bottles hit the ground. Still blinded by the darkness, he bit his lip and wandered forward.

He yelped out in pain and fell to the ground again. He had stepped on a piece of the broken glass and it went right through his shoe. The liquid from the broken bottles stung the cut and the boy cried as he clutched at his foot.

He lay on his side for a few minutes, smelling the foul stench he recognize as alcohol all around him. Eventually, he managed to sit up and pull the glass from his shoe, though it made him cry.

Rica wiped his face on the arm of his sleeve and hugged his knees to his chest. It was cold, and being covered in the alcohol didn't help matters. He rocked slowly back and forth, sniffling, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Once he could make out more than just vague dark shapes, Rica moved forward, staying close to the wall and being careful not to knock over any more shelves. The boy headed towards the wall, where he spotted the light switch.

He was too short to reach it, so he climbed onto the counter where people paid for their things. He shuffled across the conveyor belt and past the register, but found that the counter ended well before the light switch.

Rica frowned. He turned back around and crawled towards the register, hoping that there would be a button on it to work the lights. He was only eight, and did not really understand the difference between a cash register and a computer.

He stumbled and fell off the counter. He let out a squeak and rubbed his shoulder as he sat up. Beneath the register was an open compartment. Forgetting about the lights and his current predicament for a moment, Rica's curiosity was peaked as he looked into the small basket beneath the counter.

"Oooooh." Rica reached into the basket and found a pistol.

The boy picked up the heavy metal firearm. He knew what it was – his father had a collection of guns. Vincent never let Rica look at the guns, though. The one time he had tried to play with one, Vincent hit him with his belt buckle.

Rica was intrigued. This pistol looked different than the kind his dad had. It was larger and the nozzle was wide at the end. Rica decided to play with it, so he held it up above his head and pulled down on the trigger.

It was a flare gun. Little David Rica did not even know what a flare was. He yelped out as the bright burning hot flare shot straight up towards the roof. He watched in amazement as the red ball of light hit the ceiling and spun around in the darkness.

Rica thought it was really cool!

Then the flare hit the ground, near where Rica had knocked over the shelf.

The many broken bottles of alcohol had soaked a wide patch of the floor, and the flare immediately caught it on fire. Flame sprang up, and in a matter of seconds the entire store was on fire.

"Uh oh..." Rica mumbled. He always had a knack for getting into trouble, but this was worse than most of what happened to him. He rushed towards the door, forgetting entirely that he had come in through the window.

Rica grabbed at the doorknob, twisting and pulling it, but as the door swung open it caught and stopped after opening just a couple of inches. The chain was on the door, and it was up far too high for the eight year old to reach.

Rica yelled as he felt the heat from the flames. He jumped against the opening of the door, trying to wiggle his way free. There wasn't much room, but somehow he forced himself through the narrow opening and out onto the cold street.

He quickly scrambled down down the street a little ways, ignoring the pain in his foot as he ran. He screamed out for help, as flames consumed the entire store.

Rica got halfway down the street when a woman in a slinky dress spotted him and rushed over to the boy.

"Hey, kid, you okay? What's a kid doing out in this neighborhood at night, anyway?"

Rica launched himself into her arms, crying. After a while, he sobbed out an explanation, and the woman took him home.

Vincent was less than pleased to see his son come home, smelling of booze and ash and being escorted by a prostitute.