Clyde the Cart

A children's story. Or is it?

Clyde the Cart had a big, big heart and humble roots in an old factory surrounded by grease and escaped ball bearings. 

 

When Clyde was only a few hours old, he was loaded into the back of rumbly truck and shipped off in the darkness to his new home: a fast-food restaurant with only one thing in common with his old home—a greasy floor.

 

Clyde did his best to settle into his new surroundings. He waited patiently to be loaded with boxes, he tried not to squeak and squeal when Dan, the man in charge of taking out the trash, pushed him out to the blue dumpster behind the building.

 

But Clyde soon grew weary of his new job. No one seemed to take any notice of him at all. Martha, the manager, complained he was always in the way. Peter, the patty-flipper, grumbled he either brought in too many boxes of burgers or not enough. And Dan stubbed his toes and knocked his shins on Clyde’s corners so often, that one day he howled in pain, then kicked him out the door, straight into the path of a car in the drive through.

 

The driver blew his horn. HONK!

 

Clyde barely managed to roll out of the way in time. At first, he sat unnoticed near the big dumpster. “Surely someone will come and take me back inside,” he thought. But no one came. Finally, it grew dark, and Clyde fell asleep. He was awakened by sharp claws on his back.

 

It was Snap, the black cat that lived on the other side of the fence. “What are you doin’ here?” he asked Clyde.

 

“Dan kicked me out,” Clyde explained. “And I’m waiting for someone to take me back in, but now it’s dark, and I think they’ve forgotten me.”

 

“Pro’bly so,” answered Snap, nonchalantly. “People are like that. Can’t always trust ‘em. Look at me! I used to have a little girl that gave me sardines and scratched me behind my ears, but one day I woke up and the whole family had moved to California. Can’t trust ‘em I say.”

 

Snap leaped off Clyde’s back and balanced delicately on the edge of the dumpster. “If I was you, I’d leave. No use waitin’ around.” Then he disappeared into the giant heap of trash.

 

Clyde sat sadly, thinking. It did seem that no one cared for him. No matter how hard he tried to serve, he’d somehow messed up. He’d done everything he could do, and no one had noticed at all! In fact, he’d been grumbled and complained at, and even kicked! It wasn’t right.

 

The more Clyde thought about it, the more his big heart hurt. He’d given his best, and no one appreciated him at all. Perhaps Snap was right, maybe he should move on. Slowly, his wheels begin to turn. This time, Clyde didn’t even try to keep them from squeaking.

 

By morning, Clyde had rolled to the edge of the parking lot near a little hill. When he saw Dan’s old white car pull in to work, something happened to Clyde that had never happened before. He felt angry. Without another thought, he rolled a little farther toward the hill, then Zip! Over he went, traveling at breakneck speed toward the entrance of a store at the bottom of the hill.

 

Going so fast made Clyde forget he was sad. He felt the whistle of the wind around his handle, and exhilaration flowed through him as he leaped off the ground to jump a pothole.  There was only one problem. He didn’t stop in time.

 

Crash! Glass shattered all around him. Oops. Clyde rolled slowly backward, his wheels crunching over the bits and pieces of the door. Maybe the people at the restaurant had been right. Maybe he really was a bother. He couldn’t even run away without causing trouble.

“Hey!” A large man with an angry face appeared at the door. “What’s going on?”

 

Clyde didn’t wait to hear more. He rolled away rapidly, leaving the man shouting after him.

 

He was in such a hurry he didn’t notice the woman walking toward the store pushing a stroller. At least, he didn’t notice until he ran straight into her. The woman fell to the ground, and the stroller rolled away and came to rest against a parked car. Clyde was too scared to stop. He hoped he hadn’t hurt the woman or the baby, but he knew he was becoming a bad cart. A cart that ran into things and pushed people over, and he didn’t know why. He couldn’t seem to help himself. He wanted to cry, but big carts didn’t cry.

 

Then Clyde saw something. Across the street was a sprinkler. It was watering a flowerbed filled with colorful blossoms. What fun it would be to roll through the sprinkler! Maybe that would help him not to feel sad. Recklessly, Clyde scurried across the street, then tore through the yard and under the sprinkler. He cavorted about, feeling the drops cascade onto his back and run off his corners. This was fun!

 

Suddenly, something hit Clyde hard. He skittered off to the side. An old woman stood there brandishing her cane. “Look at my flowers!” she yelled. “Just look at them!”

 

For the first time, Clyde looked down. The damp ground was torn up in big ruts. Flowers lay uprooted and crushed all around. “Oh no!” Clyde thought. “Look what I’ve done! I really am a bad cart now!”

 

Quickly, before the old woman could hit him again, Clyde rolled down the street. He spotted a hill in an alleyway and thought it might be fun to go fast again. Over he went, racing away toward the bottom. But Clyde wasn’t a good judge of distance, and as he hurtled downward, he realized he would never fit between the wall and a shiny black car parked to one side.

 

Scri-i-i-tch! A long streak of red appeared on the shiny black car that hadn’t been there before.

 

Clyde paused in dismay to look at the disaster. He didn’t want to cause problems, but he didn’t know how to fix the ugly scratch, and he didn’t know how to stop messing everything up.

 

He’d have to leave, now, before the driver of the shiny black car came back and yelled at him. Maybe, if he could go fast enough, he’d forget how miserable he was. Clyde took off at a tremendous pace, fleeing down, down, down the hill.

 

He rolled along so fast his wheels were only little black blurs. On and on he went. At last he stopped near a crumbly old building, just as the sun sank out of view and the little twinkly stars came out.

 

Clyde used to love the twinkly stars. He had imagined they were his friends as they winked down at him. But now the twinkly stars just made him sad. They wouldn’t want to be friends with a naughty cart like him. No one wanted him, Clyde thought sadly. And he cried himself to sleep by the crumbly brick wall.

 

Clyde the Cart was awaken the next morning by a cheerful voice: “Ho! What have we here?” the voice asked.

 

Clyde opened his eyes. A little old man was standing there, looking at him with kindly expression. Clyde could hardly bear the smile the man wore. “I must leave now!” he told himself, “Before he finds out what a bad cart I am. Before he starts to yell at me and kick me. I must go quickly!” And so Clyde threw himself forward, aiming his wheels down another nearby hill.

 

But he had misjudged the distance. Oof! Clyde barreled into the little old man and knocked him over.

 

Clyde rushed past the man on the ground and raced on down the hill. There was a bridge at the bottom of the hill with a river roaring beneath it. Big, ugly rocks poked out of the water. Clyde put his front wheels on the bridge railing and peered over. Maybe he should roll over the side and hide in the rushing water. There, he couldn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn’t scratch fancy cars or root up flower gardens or bruise shins.

But before Clyde could clamber over the bridge railing he heard pounding footsteps behind him. A firm hand grasped his handle. “Oh no, you don’t!” a voice said, and Clyde felt himself dragged backward onto the bridge.

 

It was the little old man whom he had knocked over. “You’re coming with me,” the man said, still cheerfully. “I have plans for you. You’re just what I needed!” And he pushed Clyde back up the hill, up, up, up, until they were once more by the crumbly brick wall.

 

The little old man washed and scrubbed the runaway cart until all the mud was gone from his wheels. He left him to dry in the sun, and that afternoon he painted him with a can of bright red rust-proof paint, whistling all the while. Come nightfall, he pushed Clyde inside and parked him carefully by a pile of boxes.

 

The next day, Clyde was put to work. He carried boxes and bags and random pieces of furniture back and forth in the store the little old man operated. Sometimes Clyde knocked things over, just to see if the man would kick him like Dan had. But the little old man never did. He didn’t complain like Martha and Peter, either. He just smiled at Clyde and said, “I’m glad you’re here, little cart! I don’t know what I’d do without you!” and he would pat Clyde’s handle, and smile at him.

 

And so it was that Clyde begin to trust the little old man. He stopped tripping him up. He stopped waiting to be kicked. And slowly, slowly, Clyde’s big heart begin to grow back together. He wasn’t really a bad cart. He had made some mistakes, it was true, and he might make mistakes again, but the little old man treated him the same no matter what.

 

One night, the little old man took Clyde outside and parked him by the crumbly brick wall. The man sat down on Clyde’s back and leaned against the wall, and they looked at the stars together. Clyde was not afraid to look at the twinkly stars this time. He knew they were friendly, and he was too.

 

Suddenly, he heard a sound. “Meow!” It was Snap. “Didn’t I tell you not to trust people?” he asked Clyde.

 

“Yes,” Clyde answered, his big heart swelling, “but Snap, sometimes you need to trust people. Sometimes that’s what your heart wants most of all. You can stay here for the night, if you like.”

 

“Humph,” grumbled Snap. “That old man would probably throw rocks at me. I’m just a mangy old alley cat, least that’s what I’ve been told.”

 

“I don’t think he would,” answered Clyde. “You see, he doesn’t kick me, and I’ve tripped him up plenty of times. You really ought to stay.”

 

So Snap stayed the night, sleeping on Clyde’s back. And the next morning, when the little old man offered him some old salami, Snap stayed to eat, too.

 

And that, Clyde thought, was the best thing of all—to have his big heart back together and to pass on a kindness to someone else, someone else who wanted to be good but often was bad. Someone else who thought he was not wanted. Someone else with a big, big heart and humble roots. Someone very much like him.

 

The End.