Frisco Sullivan had read so many books from when he was a little boy that always captured his mind and heart into worlds he never knew that could be possible. He we would stay up many nights reading brand new books, and some fabulously written by an unknown writer he parents knew, and he briefly met once. He was happy that the summer of nineteen hundred and thirty two, and he even had many more books to read during the fall and winter.
At the age of twelve, Frisco loved and appreciated life from all of the travels that had been on in the world. Martha’s Vineyard was a treasure to him in the summer season. For this particular summer everyday was cloudy and gloomy. Even though he was from a black family of wealth and prominence, he had longed for independence to make his own money. His grandparents had bought him a bicycle for his birthday in July, and he had never ridden it. While vacationing at his parents’ summer house in Martha’s Vineyard they recently purchased, it was said that The Vineyard Gazette was looking for someone to deliver newspapers even on cloudy and gloomy days. He immediately rode his bicycle to The Gazette and applied for the job.
“My darling, Frisco Sullivan, you have come to apply for the newspaper delivery job. How wonderful!” Maggie Childs was the secretary of the Gazette, and a long time resident of the vineyard from an old and wealthy family of mixed races. “Yes, it sounds swell, but how did you know, Mrs. Childs?” He never asked nor told his parents about the delivery job, but the bicycle was perfect for it. “An old lady like me knows a young hero when I see one, and I commend you for it. Martha’s Vineyard is far from being a lazy community, and you have a mission to prove those people wrong.”
Frisco was happy that his parents decided to stay on the vineyard for the rest of the year. He and his parents loved Kingston just the same, but it was imperative for them to be in Martha’s Vineyard. “If I am given a chance, I am sure that I will do a great job,” said Frisco. Frisco and Mrs. Childs were the only people in the office of the paper. Frisco had noticed that the clouds were getting darker, but with a very pretty purple accent. “Young man, you know that this job is meant for you; you can start anytime you like.” Frisco could not help but look out the window at the dark purple clouds together in the gray sky. He was fascinated and delighted at the thought of something of that sort had only ever occurred for the first time, or was it the first time? Mrs. Childs had given him a chocolate bar and muffins with ice cold milk. “The dark and purple clouds along with the gray sky really like you, Frisco. They know that you love to look at them, and they are here for you, and while you work.” He believed every word that she said, and he liked the idea of it.
The job belonged to Frisco Sullivan, and he thanked almighty God for the time and the most wonderful opportunity. “You are one of the fortunate children to live on this island; this island loves you. It is embracing you more than you know,” said Mrs. Childs. Frisco could tell from the taste of the muffins that they were freshly baked, and he drank the ice cold milk with his eyes closed as if he were drinking water from a picturesque waterfall. He surprised Mrs. Childs by not eating the chocolate bar; she was sure that he would have eaten that before anything else. He was caught into worlds like no other simply from being in the office of an established and respected newspaper.
“This is very nice of you, Mrs. Childs, and my think that my parents would be happy,” said Frisco. Mrs. Childs knew that his parents would not be too keen on him working in Martha’s Vineyard, especially delivering newspapers. Mrs. Childs liked the idea that Frisco could do whatever he wanted as a child within reason, and his parents would not object. “I know as well as you do that your parents are fine with you working. How about you start tomorrow morning at six o’clock?” It may even be cloudy and lovely like it is now. Mrs. Childs had adorably baked the muffins in a way that they were to be protected and not-so-much eaten. She placed the muffins into a small suede container before he left the newspaper office. “These little darlings will take care of you, my dear.”
The rest of the day was like any other day on the vineyard. Older married couples enjoying their retirement, and newly married honeymooning. The children had their own time to be on the beach to play chess, make sandcastles, and some even read like Frisco. The day was still cloudy and gray with the dark purple clouds with harmony an appreciation and likeness for Frisco. He was no rush to go home and share the news with his parents, so he went to the beach, wishing that he had his bag filled with books to read. Whenever he would go to the beach, he never took off his socks and shoes while walking in the sand.
As young as he was, Frisco Sullivan knew that he was different from the other children on the island, because he never played with the other children; he liked them, and they liked him, too, but as a child, playing was never in his thoughts. “Hello, Frisco, the water is wonderful!” said a boy the same age as Frisco, but tall for his age. “I am sure that it is.” As he walked along the beach, he was deep in thought about what had occurred at the newspaper office with Mrs. Childs. Did she know him more than he thought was possible? There was a place on the beach past the jetty that most of the islanders stayed away from, and it did not make sense to anyone, certainly not Frisco.
He stopped to look at the water, and saw that it was different from the entire ocean water. The color of the water was the same dark purple as the dark purple clouds residing in the sky with the gray sky. He could have not been seeing things! The color of the water was beautiful and captivating. It was a perfect match for a boy named Frisco Sullivan. The sun had partially come out, but the purple clouds held their ground. Like many of the residents and tourists of Martha’s Vineyard, they enjoyed the life, the lives of the rich and wealthy, and even though there were some who worked and worked hard, Frisco Sullivan dared to be among the working class.
However, the purple clouds have staked their claim on the island. Frisco was ready to start his new job delivering newspapers. He opened the small suede pouch where Mrs. Childs had stored the muffins, and he saw a note folded with the scent of lavender. “My darling, Frisco, please forgive an old lady. I will have my nephew bring plenty of tomorrow’s copies to you. Enjoy my little darlings, my darling.” He took out of the muffins, and thought that he would give them to his parents or a neighbor of theirs. The muffins looked too innocent to even eat, but to be looked after like they were new babies. The feeling of one of the six muffins felt communicative to his fingers, and Frisco appreciated it. He looked at the muffin that he held, and the color of the muffins were the same color was the same as the dark purple clouds that still lingered in the sky. Could something so pretty taste as equally good? Had Frisco Sullivan tasted food with the color of purple, and could he? The aroma from the muffins had permeated magically and appropriately for a child and an impulse and finally bit into the muffin.
Frisco could have been in a dream filled with fairy wonders, but Martha’s Vineyard had just as many wonders as any fairy tale. The muffin did not taste of purple at all; Frisco could taste many different flavors, flavors that were completely unknown to him, and it melted in his mouth. There was no way that Frisco could share these muffins with anyone! As he proceeded to eat another muffin, Frisco was stopped when all heard was absolute silence on the beach. The water moved, but was silent as well. Frisco was incredibly thirsty from eating the muffin, and overlooked the ice cold milk in a mason jar. He quickly opened it and drank the milk, which also had a unique taste.
Frisco had noticed that the water was quiet along with the rest of the lives on the beach. It did not faze him, nor did it scare him; had something like that ever occur, or was something magical taking place in the life of Frisco Sullivan? As quiet as it was kept, Frisco did enjoy fairy tales. Somehow, he felt that keeping that to himself was strangely best. He believed in the possibility of that coming to life, and it was more prevalent when it was believed in. The beach, the purple clouds, and all the elements presented themselves to him in a time that was meant to be. Frisco was happy, and it had driven him to write about it in his journal he always carried with him in his satchel.
There was no place to write on the beach, and he did not like that. The purple clouds had disappeared as did the gray sky. Frisco had gone home to a quiet and peaceful home to write in his journal at a sitting area in the garden. A lovely breeze had made its way, making an entrance the purple clouds and the gray sky to return; Frisco was pleased. As he was writing in his journal, he thought about what Mrs. Childs had said about the purple clouds and how they liked and embraced him.
It could not have been a bad omen for the other people in Martha’s Vineyard, and a good one for only Frisco. Mrs. Childs was respected, and there was no way possible that she was delusional, working for the newspaper. The thought was intriguing and unavoidable at all costs. “Honey, I see that you have made it home from visiting Mrs. Childs and your parents have gone to Kingston, and they will be back in a week,” said Mrs. Canton, the housekeeper originally from the Caribbean. “I am very proud of you, Frisco Dean Sullivan for being such a true hero!”
She called out his entire name, now normally parents would only do that when a child has been caught doing something that they should not have been doing; she was not even his mother! “Thank you, Mrs. Canton”…he looked into his journal with concentration, tightly holding his favorite goose quill. It stunned him that Mrs. Canton knew, and it made him wonder if she also knew about the purple clouds and its purpose. Was Mrs. Childs not alone when it came to the purple clouds? No doubt that Frisco was in some ways beyond his years, and in his heart, mind, and soul, he could and would not dismiss what these two ladies who clearly had wisdom in their older years. He wanted to write more in his journal, but he liked what Mrs. Canton was saying to him. “What does it all mean, Mrs. Canton? I am very curious and excited!”
It was as if Frisco was in a deep sleep, and nothing was remembered. He had broken a record of delivering newspapers to the entire island in the same morning, under two hours. The whole time that it took to complete the deliveries, the sun shone without one single purple cloud and the sky was clear. The purple disappeared for Frisco Sullivan so that he would do his job with the driven force that they would return to bring happiness to a young hero assisted by the purple clouds and the gray sky. The purple clouds returned, and brought joy to Frisco and everyone else in Martha’s Vineyard.