Whiskey and a Gun

by Jade Eby

  I shake my head. The level of their stupidity still surprises me.

  My brothers come back into focus just as Ray grabs me by the shirt collar. The metal door handle on the fridge pushes into my backbone so hard it will probably bruise tomorrow. It could be worse.

  "Listen, you little shit. Just because you're in high school and you think you're all that doesn’t mean you can get away with it at home. I'll knock your fucking lights out if you do it again. You hear me?" His breath is full of chewing tobacco and stale beer. It burns my nostrils.

  I push him away from me. "Yeah, I heard you."

  It's Billy's turn. His face is inches from mine and when he talks, he spits in my face. "You're a nobody, Carter. You don't belong in this family. You'll never be better than we are. You're a pussy. A little fag. If it weren't for Mom, Dad would have tossed you on the street the first chance he got."

  If I had a knife right now, I'd slit his throat wide open. He'd crumple to the ground, a crimson river running down the front of him, and I'd laugh. The vision fills me with a disturbing amount of joy. I hold onto the vision and step away from them.

  "Fuck you guys. I don’t give a shit about this family," I say as I walk back out the garage door.

  Our house sits in a cul-de-sac at the edge of town, and there's an enormous clearing behind our neighborhood. I call it the dividing line. On our side are the larger-than-normal houses for people keeping up with the Joneses. On the other side is Windy Mills Trailer Park. In the winter, if you look close enough, you can catch a glimpse of the roof of a trailer. I step in the grass, pausing to look back at my house. It's unassuming with its blue shutters and manicured lawn. No one would guess that my mother's skull was fractured on the bottom basement step or that my nose was broken on the laundry room door. I turn away from my house and push through the clearing.

  Smoke billows ahead of me, and I break through the dividing line to see angry red flames licking the air in a fire pit.

  "Who are you?" That voice. I recognize it. I squint through the smoke and make out Purple Plaid Girl sitting in a lawn chair on the other side of the fire pit. Her plaid skirt is replaced by a pair of jeans. What a shame. Legs like hers should never be covered.

  I wave at her. Then clench my eyes shut. Seriously, Carter? Waving? Why does she make me feel like such a fucking idiot?

  She narrows her eyes. "Why are you here?"

  "I live over there." I point toward my house, but it's hidden from sight. The only thing visible is tall, tall grass. The flames spit and crackle, and a whiff of pine and oak lingers in the air.

  "Okay, but that doesn't explain why you're here. In my yard."

  "I didn't know you lived here." Her attitude doesn't surprise me now. The choice of clothing. Tough, outside exterior. Typical trailer trash. But the way her feet dangle off the side of the lawn chair, one arm draped around the back—it's almost like she's in her own world. Untouchable. Unbreakable.

  Her eyes roam every inch of me. This is what girls like Bridget must feel like when guys like me look at them.

  "You don’t have to stand there all night, ya know. Here," she says, pointing to the lawn chair next her.

  "Thanks." I sit down and she scoots her chair closer to me. She doesn't drop her gaze, just stares. It's creepy.

  "I'm Tawny."

  "I know.” I say.

  "And you are?"

  "Carter."

  "Carter, huh? That's a preppy name if I've ever heard one. You said you live over there–" she points to my neighborhood, "–which means you're a wealthy prick like the rest of them."

  She's so matter-of-fact. So honest. So…fearless. "Yeah, I guess I am."

  She smiles and sits Indian-style in her chair. "At least you admit it. That's a first."

  I don't know what I thought I was going to get by crossing the dividing line, and I'm not sure what this weird girl wants me to say. I turn toward the fire and close my eyes, letting the heat wash over my face.

  "You're pretty quiet," she says as she pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and smacks it against the palm of her hand.

  I shrug. "You know those things will kill you, right?"

  She snickers. "Why do you think I smoke them?" I recognize myself in that statement. This attitude…she needs it. She wears it like a skin-tight coat, hiding something bigger about herself. Can she see that my invisibility is the same way? That these traits are what hold the two of us together at the seams? Otherwise, everything would just go to shit on us.

  "Where were you last year?" I ask.

  She takes several long drags from her cigarette before she answers. "It's none of your goddamn business." She lowers her gaze and kicks at a patch of dirt. "Why? What did you hear?"

  Everyone hates you. You're a skank. Bridget hates you.

  "A little of everything. Drugs, murder, abortion. You know…the usual," I say.

  The corners of her mouth turn upward, though I can tell she's fighting it. "Ah. I was hoping the sluts of South Water would be a little bit more creative. I see I was wrong."

  She sucks on her cigarette, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke out in rings. Perfect O's spiral toward the sky until they dissipate completely. With half-closed eyelids, she exhales, her bottom lip jutting out just enough to make me want to take it in my mouth and nibble. She's a spider, and I'm a fly caught in the middle of her web of seduction.

  "So…is the truth stranger than fiction, in this case?" I ask.

  She blows her smoke in my face. It's something my brothers would do. I clench my fists but release them a second later when I look into her eyes and see myself scowling in her eyes. It's not attractive.

  I relax my expression so I'm back to preppy-boy Carter with a smirk and inquisitive eyes. At least I look the part now.

  "My mom went to jail, and my dad ran off with some bimbo to Florida. I was shipped off to my aunt's in Colorado."

  "That blows," I say.

  She offers me her cigarette. It's been a long time since I've had one, but I take it anyway. I suck in, letting it fill my lungs. I can't hold it in, though, and I sputter. I shove the cigarette back to her.

  "Whoa, killer. Take it easy," she says, sliding the cigarette back to her mouth. It looks better on her. "You're different," she adds.

  "How?" I am different. I've always known it. But not in the way she's probably thinking.

  "I don't know yet. You're not as much of an asshole as your friends."

  "Thanks, but they're really not as bad as they seem."

  Her laugh mocks me. "That's because they actually like you."

  "So why'd you come back then, if you hate everyone here?"

  If her glare could knock someone dead, I'd be a goner. "I don't hate everyone, and it's my home. Even if most of the people are assholes."

  I get it, even though I've never had that experience. We're always moving, always on the run. Never in one place for too long, otherwise someone might pick up on the bruises. The hospital trips.

  "Is your mom out of jail?"

  Tawny snorts. "Out of jail? Yes. Off the drugs? No. It's only a matter of time before she gets caught again, and who knows where I'll go when that happens."

  "Sorry," I mumble.

  "Don't be. It's not your fault." She puts out what's left of her cigarette. "Now that I've shared a glimpse into my wretched life, what's your story? You new this year?"

  "No, I got here last year. My dad's in the military, and he gets shifted around a lot." I say every word with precision and careful thought. It's the truth without giving anything else away.

  "Interesting," Tawny says as she stands up and stretches. Her tank top rises, revealing a length of creamy flesh. Her belly button is pierced with a dangling jewel and it sways against her peach stomach. I tear my eyes away from her taunting body. What the fuck is up with girls today?

  "You never answered my first question."

  "Uh, what was it, again?" Deny, deny, deny.

  "What were you doing in the grass?"

/>   "Oh, that question." I shrug. "I was exploring."

  Her lips quiver like she doesn't know whether to smile or frown. "Now tell me the real reason."

  Who is this girl? Do I tell the truth or lie?

  I look past her to the dump of a trailer behind. The paneling is a faded Pepto-Bismol color, the front window is shattered, and the steps are rotted. The entire thing is just laughable. She might actually have it worse than I do.

  "I was fighting with my brothers. Had to get away for a while. I swear, I didn't know you lived here."

  She relaxes and accepts this answer. "Siblings, huh? I'm glad I don't have any of those."

  "You should be. I fucking hate mine." I can't believe I just admitted that, but Tawny arches her eyebrow and grins.

  "Tell me how you really feel, jeez. Have to be home at a certain time?"

  "No." Yes.

  "Great. Then come with me." She grabs my hand and pulls me out of the chair. Her hand is cold, even though it's warm out and her fire is still smoking.

  "Where are we going?"

  "You'll see. We have to make a stop first."

  I pull my hand from hers. This could get bad. Fast. If I involve her in my life…who knows what might happen to her? "Actually, thanks for the chat, but I think I should probably go home."

  She taps her foot while one hand rests at her hip. "You just told me you didn't have to."

  I've memorized every inch of my father's fist—the way his knuckles jut out at a deadly angle and the faint black hair that stands on edge right before it meets flesh. Visions of my unhinged jaw and blood trickling down my chin play in my mind as I think about being late.

  My skin tingles with warning. It says, go home, don't do it. She's not worth a broken jaw or another hole in the wall. But when I look at Tawny, I see a person so sure of herself, her confidence spilling over to dangerous territories. She's not the kind of girl to give in. Which makes me want to know her. To be her. Tawny flashes me a smile and I see what I didn't before. This girl is going to be an adventure.

  "So, which is it?" she asks.

  "I'm coming with you," I say.

  2000

  Eric's parties remind me of the ones on those stupid made-for-TV movies. You know, the ones where the house is so full of people they filter onto the porch, garage, and roof. Everywhere I look, there are people. Most of them are already stumbling around drunk, acting like assholes.

  Little wisps of smoke filter through an open window beside me, and I breathe in the unmistakable mixture of skunk and burning rope. It reminds me of the time I smoked pot with Chance Walters. Except instead of melting into a chair, contemplating the meaning of life while I hoist chip after chip into my mouth, my muscles ache with tension. and I'm as not chill as I can get. I'd ask for a hit if Tawny didn't have a vice grip on my arm.

  Her expression is a mixture of disgust and unease. She begged me to stay home with her tonight, but I'm tired of sitting on her fucking couch doing nothing. A guy can only screw so many times before boredom sets in.

  "And you thought this would be fun? So far it looks pretty lame to me." She sneers at a girl tripping over her heels.

  "Give it a little bit. Once Grayson and Courtney get here, it'll get better."

  She gives me her classic “yeah, right” look, and I try to ignore it. I don't know why I even bothered to bring her along when all she does is complain.

  Her hand rubbing circles into the fabric of my back pocket erases any doubt I have, though. I glance over to her and she bats her eyes in the way that drives me crazy. She pulls herself tight against me, and the heat of her skin against mine drives a flurry of currents down my body. Maybe I was wrong about the amount of times I can screw…

  "What are you two losers doing in the corner?" Grayson's voice carries over the drunken idiots that are yelling at each other in front of us.

  I point to them and shout, "Avoiding shit like that!"

  Grayson shakes his head and laughs, but he pulls Courtney through the crowd until they fill the space beside us.

  "Wasn't sure if you guys would show," Courtney says, giving us the once-over.

  I shrug and smile. "Nothing better to do."

  Grayson nudges me in the arm. "Have you seen Bridget yet?"

  Tawny's face darkens, serial-killer style. She really hates Bridget. Just last week, Tawny caught her giving me "flirty eyes." I pretended not to notice.

  "I didn't even know she was here," I say, though I assumed she would be.

  "She's wearing the shortest dress I've ever seen. I don't know how it even covers her ass. And she's wasted. Ten bucks says one of the guys here will take a nose dive into her crotch." Grayson's voice has a twinge of jealousy to it and Courtney's ever-present scowl intensifies, but she doesn't say anything. Grayson's a you-get-what-you-see type of guy; there's no changing that dude.

  "And this surprises you?" Tawny says, glowering.

  "Not really," Grayson says.

  There's a beat of silence between us all, something that's been happening more and more often. I want to blame it on the fact that we hardly hang out anymore, but who am I kidding? I hide behind that reason. Grayson doesn't "get" my relationship with Tawny as much as I don't "get" his obsession with varsity football. He's an okay linebacker, but he sure as hell doesn't do it because he loves to play. He thrives on the attention he gets from the other guys. The ones who have girlfriends who look like Bridget and scholarships to Harvard and Yale. I'm about to break the silence when Courtney grabs Tawny's hand. "C'mon, I'm gonna need a drink to deal with hornball here."

  Tawny glances at me like she's waiting for my permission. I nod, and the girls push through dancing drunks.

  Grayson nudges me in the arm again. "So. How are things goings with the Ice Queen?"

  Grayson’s glassy red eyes show me what I missed earlier. The fucker is drunk already. Not that it makes his dig excusable, but Grayson always says things he doesn't mean when he's had a few too many.

  "Don't call her that. And they're great, actually."

  He arches his eyebrows. "Really? Because I just don't see it. I mean, sure, she's hot in that punk, my-girlfriend-could-knock-me-on-my-ass kinda way. But you and her? You come from different worlds."

  The fire in my fists makes its way up my arm. I'd have no qualms about breaking Grayson's nose, but a scream stops me.

  "Get off of me, you psycho bitch!"

  The crowd is so thick around the voices that I can’t see anything. I search until I find a place between two people. I spot Tawny's black sweater and ripped jeans on the ground, and I run faster than I ever have. I dart through the bodies until I'm at the edge of the ring, where and Tawny has Bridget pinned to the ground. There's not even a contest: Tawny is straight up kicking Bridget's ass.

  "Shut the fuck up, Barbie.” Tawny's voice escalates to a roar as the crowd starts to chant. "Isn't this what you wanted when you started talking shit? You didn't think I could fuck you up, did you?"

  The fact that my girlfriend is rolling on the ground pummeling another girl gets me so hot, I could burst right there. Pride swells in my heart until I realize most of the cheering and yelling is for Bridget—not Tawny.

  I could shrink back into the crowd and leave her. But when I look back to their tangled bodies, her glance catches mine, and she smiles. She's fucking smiling like she's winning something important. I move like a ninja.

  I find the sculpted arms of my girlfriend and pull her up. She kicks and screams at me, but I drown everything out. I toss her over my shoulder when she's freed from Bridget and we move through the crowd, the jeers telling us we're not wanted anyway.

  Outside, the thick, humid air has a calming effect. I set Tawny down on the ground.

  "What the hell were you thinking, Tawny?" I yell.

  She wipes the blood from beneath her nose, admiring it on her hand like it's a medal.

  "Jesus, did you hear me? What is wrong with you?"

  She squints at me and holds her hand out for me to pu
ll her up. I ignore it. She shrugs and stands on her own, even though her legs are wobbly. "That bitch was mouthing off about how I'm a piece of white trash, and that when you're tired of kissing the bottom of the trash can, you'll come crawling back to her."

  "She said that?" I choke. Even though I could give two shits about Bridget, I wonder if that's what everyone else thinks.

  "Yes."

  "Well, dammit, you can't go around knocking people out every time they say something that pisses you off."

  She laughs like a maniac. All wild and loud. "Really? You mean I shouldn't act like your father?"

  I glance around for half a second—to make sure no one's nearby—before I charge her. I manage to grab a fistful of shirt, and yank her backward. She falls on her ass hard enough that the thump surprises me. I lean over her hunched body. "Don't you ever talk about my father like that."

  "Carter! What the hell are you doing?" Grayson rushes toward me. The fury still rings in my ears.

  "Go inside, Grayson. This isn't your business."

  He puts his hands up in front of him. "Whoa. Carter, what's up, man? You can't push her around like that. Tell me what's going on."

  "Didn't you hear them in there? She's embarrassing me, and herself."

  "Why do you give a shit? That's what you signed up for when you got with Tawny. I hate to say I told you so‒"

  He doesn't finish his sentence before my fist flies at him. It's a one-two-bam, and then he's on the ground, out cold.

  Shit. Fuck. Damn. What the hell did I do?

  I bend down and shake him. "Grayson! Grayson! Wake up. You have to wake up."

  A scream echoes from the doorway, where Courtney stands frozen, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh my God. What happened?"

  I wipe the perspiration from my forehead. I should have just stayed at home with Tawny and screwed her. Would have been a hell of a lot less drama-filled than things are right now.

  Grayson sputters and comes to life before I have to answer Courtney. I lean him up slowly in case I knocked something loose inside that thick skull of his. He rubs his head and groans.

  "Fuck. That shit hurt, Carter. You been working out?"