“I’m the fireman,” he said. The camera moved busily as a different woman handed out paper bags to each of the excited children.
Someone knocked on Kevin’s door. “Get out of here,” he hissed.
“Kevin?” It was Mrs. Poole, speaking from the hallway.
I didn’t have time to climb out of the window before the doorknob turned. I slid under the bed.
Mrs. Poole stood in the open doorway. “I saw the lights,” she said. I could see her bare feet.
“I was just watching some stuff.” The projector was still running and light played across the carpet.
“You look like you were having fun there,” she said, moving into the room.
“She wouldn’t let us keep our candy. I think she ate it. Look at that fat ass.”
“Now, come on,” she said, but she was laughing. “You never wanted to trick or treat here.”
“It’s for kids.”
“You’re still a kid, you know. You’re just fifteen.”
“I feel like I’m dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t mean it.”
“How do you know what I mean? You don’t know me.”
The film ran out of the projector, and the loose end slapped against the reel until Kevin got up and turned off the machine. The room fell into darkness. He sat down again. There was a long silence.
“Why’d you let me come back here?” he said.
“This is your home.”
“I don’t have a home.”
“I’m sad to hear you say that.”
“You know what my home is? Me. I’m my home.”
“That’s a lonely feeling, I bet.”
“How do you know what I feel?”
“You need to be around people who care about you.”
“I don’t need you!” he said, with sudden vehemence. “I don’t need anybody. I don’t need any of this shit. This baseball shit and these fucking posters.”
“I don’t want you to feel that way…oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, you’re crying. Don’t cry.”
“I’m so tired of everything,” he said, his voice choked. “I’m so tired.”
“I know,” she said. “Come here. You’re just a baby. Let me…I can…I can hold you. Will you let me do that?”
“I’m not a baby,” he said through his tears.
“Okay. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I said that. I’m just trying to help you.”
“Everybody’s always trying to help me. But they don’t. They just make it worse.”
“Make what worse?”
“I hurt!” he wailed. The sound was huge and awful like the sound of an animal in the throes of death.
“Why won’t you let me take care of you?”
“I want…,” he said, but his words were trapped by his tears.
She sat down on the bed. “Tell me what you want.” There was some movement above me. “There,” she said. “That’s right. You just need to let someone hug you.”
The room fell into a silence punctuated only by the sound of his muffled cries and her shushing him. Suddenly, she moved abruptly.
“Stop that! No. You can’t do that!” She stood up and moved away from the bed. “You can’t…what are you doing?”
“You’re not my mother,” he growled.
“You can’t touch me that way. That’s disgusting!”
“See? I’m disgusting. I’m sick. You don’t give a shit about me.”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re twisting my words.”
“Are you gonna tell Jerry now?” he said, mockingly.
“You made a mistake.” Her voice shook. “It was a mistake. I know you didn’t mean it.”
“Are you gonna send me back to the center?”
“I am not giving up on you. Do you hear me? You can be a good boy. I can make you good. I can fix you and make you better.”
He moaned as if her words had physically injured him. “Go away. Leave me alone!”
“Fine. If that’s what you want.” I watched her legs moving to the door.
“Why did you bring me back here?” he cried out, miserably, but she was already gone.
I waited for him to say something to me, but he didn’t. I was scared to face him so I stayed under the bed and listened to him sob. His cries were desolate sounds, like the noises Malcolm made. When he quieted, I crawled out from underneath the bed. He sprang up, his surprise evident. His face contorted with rage.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He lunged at me and pushed me up against the wall. Then he brought his hands to either side of his head as if he were trying to block out a loud sound. “I gotta get out of here,” he said. He threw open the window. I climbed out after him and ran to the bike, but he was faster.
“I want to go home,” I said as he mounted the bike. He pushed off and began to pedal. “Please,” I begged, running beside him. I reached for the handlebars and managed to throw him off balance. He stopped before he fell. “At least ride me home,” I said. He didn’t put up a fight, so I lifted myself onto the handlebars.
He pedaled hard and the bike flew down the road. We traveled along the highway toward Bombay Beach. Before we reached the turnoff, he stopped at a small cluster of houses set back from the road. I jumped down from the handlebars. He wheeled the bike to a dilapidated house that looked no bigger than a shack. I reached for the bike, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the front door. The door opened and I looked up into the face of Calvin Epps.
“What did you bring him for?” he said.
“Where’s Ronnie?” Kevin said, pushing past Calvin and bringing me into the house. The living room was dominated by an enormous red sofa and a coffee table shaped like the number eight. A poster of Muhammad Ali looking poised to throw a punch hung behind the couch, its corners curling away from the wall. The house smelled like leftover fast food. Duane came into the living room, took one look at me, and glanced at Calvin, who shrugged.
“Where’s your brother?” Kevin said. He tapped his foot quickly against the floor.
“Doing some business.”
“Is he here?”
“Looks like someone’s freaking out,” Calvin said.
“Is he here or not?” Kevin said.
“Is who here?”
I looked over to see Ronald standing in the doorway. His leather jacket hung on his shoulders in a way that made me think it had once belonged to a bigger man. His mustache accentuated his drawn face and sunken cheeks. He walked into the house and handed a paper bag to Calvin, who removed a jar of cheese spread and a box of Triscuits from it and tossed the bag on the floor.
“Hey! This is my house, man. Use a fucking garbage can,” Ronald said, and Calvin quickly picked up the bag.
Calvin sat down on the couch next to Duane, and the two started eating.
Ronald looked me over. “I’ve seen you,” he said.
“He lives around here,” Kevin said.
“Him and that retard kid,” Calvin said.
“No.” Ronald squinted as if trying to see me more clearly. “I’ve seen you two together. In that truck. With that guy.”
“Kid was snooping around my house,” Kevin said. “We had to take him home.”
“Who’s the driver?”
“This guy I have to live with.”
“He a cop?” Ronald said.
“Fuck no,” Kevin said.
“Is he?” Ronald said, directing the question to me.
“He’s a biologist.”
Calvin and Duane hooted, crackers spluttering out of their mouths.
Ronald studied me for a while longer, then crossed the room.
“I need something,” Kevin said. “I really need something, like, right now. I’m, like, all fucked up.”
Ronald disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator open then close. He reappeared carrying a bottle of beer. He sat down on a folding chair and took his time drinking. Kevin was jumpy and
picked his face. Duane lit up a joint and passed it to Calvin.
“Share the wealth, little brother,” Ronald said.
Reluctantly, Calvin reached over and handed the joint to Kevin.
“That’s not what I want.”
“Looks like it’s what you need,” Ronald said. “Something to smooth you out. You’re a nervous motherfucker.”
“You got any black beauties?”
“Pass it on,” Ronald said of the joint.
Kevin took a quick hit and passed me the joint. Calvin and Duane watched me. “Look at the kid,” Duane said. “He’s about to shit his pants.”
I remembered looking up into his face as he landed a kick in my stomach. I had been inconsequential to him, such an easy target. I might have been an empty soda can or a piece of wood. I could tell he and Calvin would relish a chance at me again. I put the joint to my lips and inhaled. The smoke burned my throat, but I managed not to gag. I didn’t feel anything except the heat, which fanned out through my chest. The joint was passed around a few more times, and Kevin began to calm. He sat down next to Calvin.
“You look uncomfortable,” Ronald said to me. “Are you uncomfortable?”
“No.” I felt a small buzzing in my head, as if the lining of my brain were vibrating very softly.
“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Ronald said. He took a gun out of his jacket pocket and set it on the table. Then he pulled out a baggie and poured out some pills. Kevin lunged for them, but Ronald caught his hand. “I’ll take some money.”
Kevin reached into his pocket. He counted out some wrinkled bills and gave them to Ronald, who looked like he was expecting more.
“I just want one,” Kevin said.
“You’re not going to buy something for your friend? That’s not very polite.”
“He doesn’t care.”
“Maybe he’s going to run home and tell mommy.”
“He’s not.”
“You can take back your cash, brother,” Ronald said, scooping up the pills. “I don’t need the trouble.”
Kevin shot me a look, considered his options, and handed Ronald more money. Ronald picked up two pills, handed one to me, but held on to Kevin’s. “Guests go first,” he said when Kevin protested.
“Do it,” Kevin said to me.
I held the pill between my fingers and hesitated. Calvin laughed.
“Eat it!” Kevin said.
Inertia washed over me. I had seen too much that day, more than I could understand. There seemed to be no way out of my situation, no way out of the life I had fallen into. Suddenly I didn’t care what happened to me. I put the pill in my mouth, threw back my head, and swallowed.
The next thing I knew, my body was spring-loaded. My heart beat so fast I thought I could see my shirt twitch. I couldn’t stop moving. I laughed but I wasn’t happy. I talked but I didn’t know what I was saying. Someone put music on, and I threw myself against the walls and onto the couch and other people, but I couldn’t hear what was playing. Every cell in my body felt like it was bumping up against every other cell.
I don’t know how long we stayed in that house or when the decision was made to leave, but the next thing I knew, I was in a car, and someone was yelling: “Not in the car! Not in the car!” A hand pushed my head out the opened window. I retched and saw my trail of vomit break apart in the wind. Then someone pushed me out onto the ground, and the car drove away. My bike lay next to me. I looked up and saw the one red and one green Christmas light of our trailer winking on and off.
I made it to the bathroom in time to vomit again. I flushed the toilet and leaned weakly against the wall. My head was still buzzing. I couldn’t locate myself, couldn’t tell if I was sitting up or lying down. I was having thoughts but they were coming from outside me. My self was lost. I knew, finally, what it was like to be my brother. Malcolm was lost not only among people, but also inside his own body. And there was no way out. I was terrified. Count. I told myself. One, two, three… Malcolm counted pennies, pebbles, buttons from Laurel’s lost button box. Four, five, six… The numbers kept building up, but I felt no calmer. Twenty-one, twenty-two… The numbers would never end. Twenty-three, twenty-four… Was this what Malcolm felt every second of his life? Did he feel like he would suffocate inside the empty white prison of his brain? Was he as scared as I was now?
“Hey, now. Hey,” Richard whispered in my ear. He lifted me up and carried me to my bed and lay me down. “What happened to you?” He looked into my eyes and saw his answer. He shook his head wearily, pulling the covers up to my chin, and laid his hand on my forehead. “It’ll be out of your system in the morning.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“She has enough problems.”
He started to take his hand away but I held on to it. “Stay.”
He sat down at the edge of my bed. “Okay. I’m right here.”
SEVENTEEN
At school, I felt like I was swimming. Kids moved up and down the halls, their boisterous conversations coming at me as if through water. I thought about raising my hand in social studies but decided not to because what did it matter if I knew the right answer? What did it mean? At the end of fourth period, rather than going to math, I left the building, emerging into the crash of sunlight that reflected off the roofs of the cars in the parking lot. A maintenance man stood on a ladder next to the school’s announcement sign. One by one, he affixed big plastic letters to the board, using long metal pincers. I watched until I figured out that the letters were going to form the words “Go Team!” I started to laugh.
I went back to school at dismissal to get Malcolm. The only person in room 23 was Mrs. Murphy, sitting at a child-sized desk.
“We were looking for you,” she said.
“Where’s my brother?”
She looked up at me. She had been crying. “I didn’t know,” she said. “There are so many kids. I didn’t know.”
MALCOLM AND I WERE SITTING outside the principal’s office when Richard arrived. He looked at us but said nothing. He took off his hat and rubbed his head self-consciously, hunching his shoulders as he approached the secretary’s desk as though embarrassed by the formality of the office. “Their mother is at work,” he said.
“And you are?”
“I’m their mother’s…I’m a family friend.”
“I’ll let Principal Philipson know you are here.”
Malcolm and I waited while Richard and Philipson talked inside the office. When they emerged, Richard motioned for us to follow them. Philipson led us outside the school and across the yard to a place I was familiar with—it was the place Malcolm always went when he escaped his class. Now the area was blocked off by wooden construction horses. As we approached, the air thickened with a familiar smell of rot.
“Have a look,” Philipson said.
The hole was filled with dead birds. Most of the birds were small, no larger than a hand. They lay together like old men in overcoats, huddling against the cold.
“I don’t understand,” Richard said.
“Malcolm dug this hole,” Philipson said.
“Malcolm likes to dig,” Richard said. “He’s a world-class digger. Looks like he found something strange here.”
“He didn’t just find this,” Philipson said. “He put them here. Another student saw him kill a bird.”
“How would he do that?” Richard said.
“With a shovel.”
Richard was quiet. His eyes darted back and forth, as if he were looking for a way to escape without divulging his intention. “Why did he bury them?” he said, uncertainly.
The answer, I knew, was that Malcolm remembered when I buried the gun. He thought that is what you did with your secrets.
Richard was silent. He folded his arms over his chest, then let them drop by his sides as if he sensed they were useless to him now. He turned to me. “Did you know about this?”
“No.”
“He started to defend this area,” Philipson said.
“He wouldn’t let the other children near it. He became aggressive.”
“He gets confused,” Richard said.
Philipson said nothing.
Richard inhaled, drew himself up. “Look, the kid has problems. We know that already.” Then he let go of the air, and with it his resolve. “He’s a good kid,” he said. “A sweet kid.”
“He’s been killing birds,” Philipson said.
“No!” I said. “He loves birds. He wants to be a bird.”
“We really don’t know that,” Philipson said.
“I know that. I know what he thinks.”
Philipson smiled grimly at Richard. “Okay, kiddo,” Richard said, placing a silencing hand on my shoulder. “Let’s not make this worse than it is.”
I stared into the open grave. The birds looked cozy and peaceful, as if they had found a way to ward off life’s whimsy by bundling together in death.
That afternoon, I sat on my bed, my stolen objects on my lap, fingering the palm tree key chain, the deck of cards. Richard and Laurel stood outside the trailer by my open window.
“I said we’d look into getting him help,” Richard said.
“Help?”
“He killed birds.”
“A bird,” she says. “They saw him kill one bird.”
“Why don’t you want to help him?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s like you’re content to let him be this way.”
“I like him this way. I love him this way. Maybe I’m the only one.”
“But you’re not. That’s just what you decided. Everyone else is the enemy. Everyone else wants to hurt him. But you’re the one.”
“I’m the one what?”
“You’re hurting him.”
“He’s safe here. I can keep him safe.”
“I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. I don’t think you’re keeping him safe. I mean, look around, Laurel. This isn’t paradise, you know.”
“Fuck you,” she said softly.
“I’m not the one who’s getting fucked.”
“Get out,” she said, her growl low and commanding.
“Laurel—”
“I want you to go.”
The door of the Jeep slammed shut, and Richard drove away. I looked down at the useless objects in my lap. Everything around me was falling apart. My life felt broken, and there was nothing in the house, no person, who could keep me safe.
The God of War Page 17