Lifers

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Or ironic.”

  “Both work,” I agreed, happy that he understood.

  “I don’t know…” he began, biting his lip.

  I want to do that. Jeez, my inner monologue is a horny harlot.

  “I do know, so get out of the darn car and help me find what we’re looking for, Auto Boy.”

  He scowled but unclipped his seatbelt. “You sure have a lot of nicknames for me.”

  “I know. I’m creative like that. You should hear the ones I’ve got for my new step-mom.”

  “I didn’t know you had one?”

  “You don’t know everything about me,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  Before he could reply, we were approached by an enormously hairy guy, the size of a WWE wrestler. I was very glad that Jordan was with me, because this guy was seriously scary.

  “Well, well,” he bit out, in a deep baritone voice. “If it ain’t the notorious Jordan Kane.”

  Ooh, hadn’t counted on that. I hope things aren’t about to get violent.

  “How you doin’, Hulk?” Jordan asked, quietly.

  Oh wow! Winding up a 400 pound monster is not my idea of smart.

  “Better than you, boy, that’s for sure.” Then the monster-man held out a meaty fist. “Good to see you, kid.”

  They shook hands in some complicated man-moves and slapped each other on the back. Jordan coughed slightly and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see his spine sticking out through a lung.

  Then the Hulk turned to me. “And who’s the purty lady, you dawg!”

  “Give me a break,” Jordan muttered, looking and sounding embarrassed. “This is Torrey Delaney. She was nice enough to give me a ride.”

  “Was she now?”

  “Hi!” I said brightly, proud that my hand didn’t tremble as I held it out.

  The Hulk took my fingers gingerly and gave my hand a gentle shake, as if afraid I’d disintegrate if he held on any tighter. His eyes flicked up and down me then turned back to Jordan.

  “So, what are you doin’ over this-aways, kid?”

  “Need me some tires for Mikey’s truck, Hulk.”

  Oh, so ‘Hulk’ is his name, not an insult. And Jordan has been ragging on me about nicknames.

  “Yeah? How many you need?”

  “Four.”

  Hulk looked surprised. “What the hell you do?”

  Jordan didn’t reply, suddenly finding the dirt at his feet utterly fascinating, so I stepped in with the answer. “Some asshat slashed them.”

  Hulk looked back to Jordan who was still staring at the dusty ground.

  “Think I might have what you need, kid,” Hulk said. “Grab ahold of that tire iron and follow me.”

  Hulk led the way and I trailed at the back.

  “Hey!” I hissed at Jordan. “How well do you know this guy?”

  “Pretty well, why?”

  “Just wondering. I didn’t want to end up in his car crusher.”

  Jordan grinned at me. He had nice teeth.

  “Nah, you’re safe. Hulk is a pussycat.” Then his smile faded. “Me and Mikey learned all we knew about cars from him.”

  Hulk led us past a small mountain of mangled metal, to the truck area of the junkyard, where the maimed and three-wheeled had limped to a halt, the spare parts huddling together for comfort.

  “Help yourself,” he said, waving his arm at the plastic and aluminum carcasses.

  He started to walk back to the office.

  “Um, Mr. Hulk?” I said, a little nervously. “We only have fifty dollars…”

  Hulk looked amused. “There’s no charge.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Nope.”

  And he turned away again.

  “In that case…?”

  He looked over his shoulder, his expression patient.

  “What is it now, girl?”

  I don’t like being called ‘girl’ but right now I need his help—plus I don’t know if he turns green and doubles in size if he gets mad.

  “I was wondering if you had any spare car paint. Jordan’s truck kind of got redecorated, too.”

  “That right?”

  His eyes flicked across to Jordan who shrugged.

  “I’ll see what I can find. This a-way.”

  I trotted behind Hulk and he led me to a shed behind his office. It was a cornucopia of metal paints. Cans of all colors and all sizes were scattered around. Some had dried to powder, but there were enough that were still usable.

  “Wow! This is great! Thanks, Hulk.”

  He nodded then frowned at me.

  “You ain’t from around here.”

  It was a statement, not a question.

  “No, I’m just passing through.”

  “He don’t need no woman trouble.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Not all women are trouble.”

  “Sez you.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Jordan’s not a bad kid.”

  “I agree. In fact I’m sort of surprised to find anyone other than me and my mom who’ll actually talk to him.”

  Hulk studied me steadily. “You’re that preacher lady’s girl, ain’t you?”

  “Yep, that’s me. Guilty as charged.”

  “Huh. So, Jordan is your charity case—that right?”

  I stared back coldly. “There’s nothing wrong with charity. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m just helping out a friend. What’s your excuse?”

  He barked out a loud laugh that made me jump. “Well, ain’t you a lil’ firecracker! I’m glad to see Jordan done got hisself a good ‘un.”

  Then he ambled back into the office, still chuckling.

  I was left alone with the paint stash, feeling a little confused.

  By the time I’d sorted out which ones Jordan was most likely to want, I was very dusty and sweaty. I collected the thermos of coffee from my car and went to find him.

  He was even sweatier and dirtier. I guess wrestling four truck tires would do that to a man. He’d abandoned his t-shirt and was standing in just his sneakers and those baggy cut-offs. They ought to come with a health warning, because I was sure I was going to stroke out watching him hitch them up at regular intervals.

  “Hey, cowboy! You forgot your damn coffee again!” I yelled.

  He turned and gave me a big smile then walked over and flopped down next to me in the shade of the building.

  “Did you find what you needed?” I asked, passing him the cup of coffee.

  “Yeah, four good tires.”

  “Excellent. The question is, do you think we’ll be able to get them all in the Princess?”

  “We should be able to get three in the trunk.”

  “Oh, goodie, because so many trucks run on three wheels.”

  “Yeah, who knew?”

  I slapped his arm and he leaned away, dodging as I swung again.

  “You play rough!” he said.

  I raised one eyebrow and watched with vindictive pleasure as his cheeks pinked up again.

  “So, cowboy. Wheel number four goes where? Or do we have to make another trip?”

  “Well, we could. But if you don’t mind, we could fix one on the roof.”

  I looked at him suspiciously. “Won’t that dent it?”

  “Not if we’re careful. All we need is that blanket you’ve got in your trunk so the paintwork don’t get scratched. And I’ll borrow some rope from Hulk.”

  “Well, all right then. But if there’s one single scratch or tiny dent, I can’t promise that I won’t get violent on your ass.”

  He smiled and winked at me. He actually winked! Yay!

  About 15 minutes later, after much sweating and swearing from Hulk and Jordan, the tires were all loaded into and onto my car. I wasn’t very happy about it, and the Princess looked very unhappy, but both men had promised that my car would survive unscathed.

  The journey back was quicker, mainly because I let Jordan give me directions. He’d been delighted with my color s
election and promised that he’d paint something memorable to cover up the ugly red mess.

  Back at his house, he got to work straight away. He still hadn’t commented on the wording he was painting over, although I kind of felt like he might be waiting for me to speak first. Unusually for me, I wasn’t keen to start that conversation right then and there.

  “Um, Jordan, I really need to use the bathroom. I’ve got my legs crossed, my eyes crossed and if I had a tail, that would have a knot in it, too.”

  “Sure, no problem. There’s a key under the mat.”

  “That’s not very secure!” I complained.

  He shrugged. “They’ve always done it that way. Came in handy when we were kids.”

  “What, sneaking girls into your room?”

  He smiled.

  “Nope. Never had a girl in my bedroom.”

  “What? Not even a friend who was a girl?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He sat back on his heels, thinking about his answer.

  “Well, I guess it’s because I went from thinkin’ girls were lame, to playin’ spin the bottle over night. Momma read us the riot act, and me and Mikey were both forbidden to have girls in the house—ever.”

  “Oh, figures: two teenage boys. They were probably worried about becoming grandparents before their time. They did know that banning girls from the house wouldn’t necessarily guard against that?”

  He smiled wickedly. “I don’t think they wanted to know, which was just as well as far as me and Mikey were concerned.”

  “Hmm, there’s a story there, Jordan Kane, and I intend to find out what it is. But first I need to pee!”

  After I’d finished in the bathroom, I couldn’t help taking a peek into the other rooms. There were three bedrooms upstairs. One was obviously his parents’ room so I didn’t go in there; the next I assumed was Jordan’s.

  The bed was made and there were posters of various football teams tacked to the walls. It was messy, with several pairs of jeans and a couple of plaid shirts heaped up on the single chair. Paperbacks were stuffed into the narrow bookshelf, and when I looked closer I was surprised to see that most were high school textbooks.

  I jumped when I heard Jordan’s voice behind me.

  “What are you doin’ in here?”

  “I couldn’t help wanting to violate the ‘no girls in your bedroom’ rule,” I said, smiling at him.

  He frowned. “This is Mikey’s room.”

  “Oh!” Color flooded my cheeks. “I’m so sorry! I just assumed…”

  I looked around again, this time seeing the signs that I’d missed before: the layer of dust over everything, the slightly dated feel of the posters and pictures.

  A cold tremor passed through me. This room was a shrine. Nothing had been touched. Now that I looked closely, I could see that even the sheets on the bed were covered with a film of dust. It was unbearably sad—but also a little creepy.

  “You still want to see my room?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.

  “You don’t have to. I was just curious.”

  He jerked his head toward the next door, and pushed it open.

  This room couldn’t have been more different. In fact, if I were looking for comparisons, I’d say it looked like a cell. There were no pictures on the walls, and the bookshelf held just two books: a tattered paperback that looked like it might have come from a yard sale, and the Holy Bible.

  There were no personal possessions at all.

  I looked around, searching for something, but there was nothing. I stared at him, confused, wanting to ask, but dreading his answer.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Ask me.”

  “What happened to all your stuff?”

  “They burned it.”

  He turned and left me gaping into the empty room.

  I felt horrible that I’d invaded his privacy in that way, even though he had nothing to hide. Well, he had nothing at all, which was sadder.

  An overwhelming feeling of grief pressed on my body as I followed Jordan down the stairs. What would it do to a person, living day in and day out surrounded by nothing but memories and hatred? In so many ways, his home life resembled a prison, and I began to understand the extent of the problems he faced, as well as the reasons for the walls he’d erected around himself.

  But perhaps this was worse? In prison, you don’t expect anyone to give a shit about you. But shouldn’t he have had an expectation that he would be loved by his parents no matter what? Isn’t a parent’s love unconditional? I guess not.

  I wondered again what Jordan had done to suffer such hatred from them. I really hoped he’d tell me.

  I tiptoed down the stairs, almost afraid to breathe in that haunted house, and sat on the porch, watching him silently work to replace the slashed tires on his truck. I offered to help but he refused, saying it would go quicker if I just stayed sitting.

  “Where do you think you’ll go—I mean, when your parole is finished?”

  He fidgeted with the tire iron.

  “It’s all right, you don’t have to tell me,” I reassured him. “We can talk about something else if you like.”

  “No, it’s fine. I like talkin’ about it with you. It’s just a little strange for me. I feel like you’re a dream and I’ll wake up and find that my life really is totally shit after all.”

  My heart ached to hear him sound so unhappy.

  “Jordan, you’ve got a few months left then you can leave this place and never look back.”

  He sighed and closed his eyes.

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Sure it is. You say, ‘to hell with this small town’. And then you get in your truck and drive away.”

  “Maybe for you it’s easy…”

  “No, if it’s what you want—you just leave.”

  “I don’t own anything, Torrey. Not even this broken down old truck. It … it belonged to Mikey, and there’s no way my old man would let me have it. It just about kills him that I drive it—well, when folks aren’t slashin’ the tires. I’d have to walk outta here and beg for food like some hobo.”

  “But at least you’d be free.”

  “Free to starve? Anyway, I’m not so sure about being free. My real prison is in here,” and he tapped a long finger against his head. “‘Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds.’ Franklin D. Roosevelt. Guy knew what he was talkin’ about.”

  I was impressed. “How do you know this stuff? I was a History major and I don’t know half the things you do.”

  “University of life,” he said, offering a small smile. “I had eight years to do nothin’ but read. Read every book in the damn library—twice.”

  “See! I knew you were smart!”

  Jordan looked sad. “Mikey was the clever one. He had a full scholarship to go to UT at Austin. I was just his dumb little brother, draggin’ my sorry ass in the mud and ruinin’ the family name. Everyone said I’d amount to nothin’—guess they were right.”

  “You’re not nothing,” I said, sharply. “Say that again and I’ll really hurt you.”

  I saw a small, painful smile twitch at his lips.

  “Did you have any friends come see you in prison?”

  He shook his head.

  “Nah, no one wanted to know.”

  “And since you got out?”

  “Nope. Cain’t say as I blame them. I don’t think I’d even recognize any of them now. Besides, Mikey was my best friend…”

  “And you didn’t make friends in … in prison?”

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe one guy in juvie, but no, not really. Some cons did—someone to watch their back, ya know. I preferred keepin’ to myself.”

  “It must have been lonely.”

  “Yes and no. Do you know anything about Japan?”

  “Whoa! Random, much?”

  “I read a book about Japan once. It’s one of the most populated countries on the planet; all those millions
of people crowded onto four small islands. So they all have to live in each other’s pockets, ya know? And they have those slidin’ doors made from paper to divide the rooms up. There’s not much privacy. So they get alone time by being inside their heads. That was what it was like for me.”

  Yeah, I understand that.

  He turned back to focus on the truck, and we lapsed into almost comfortable silence.

  By the time he finished it was late afternoon, and my stomach was rumbling, demanding food.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I announced.

  “Another one?” he said, without looking up.

  I smiled at his tone. I liked it when he sassed me back.

  “Some people have more than one a year,” I replied. “I’m a rare breed that sometimes has ideas frequently.”

  “Do tell. Let’s hear this famous idea of yours.”

  “We’ll go back to my place. I’ll pack us up a picnic and we can take your big ole truck and find somewhere off-road to chill out by the shore.”

  “Chill out?”

  “You remember chilling out? They invented it in the sixties.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “I should really do some work on your momma’s backyard.”

  “Ach, leave that! It’ll still be there tomorrow. Let’s go for a swim.”

  He smiled. “You know, that sounds great!”

  “I knew you’d like my idea. I have lots of good ones.”

  He held up his hands. “Not gonna disagree with you. I wouldn’t dare!”

  Before I left, I insisted that he splash some paint over the word ‘murderer’. It was an ugly scar and I didn’t want to have to see it again.

  “Okay, pick me up in about 20 minutes!”

  I raced home and threw together a picnic: cold chicken, some leftover salad, and an apple pie that I’d made the night before. Then I added a couple of sodas and a bottle of water—good enough.

  I dashed up to pull my bikini out of the closet, and stuffed it into my purse. No skinny dipping today—not that I would have minded, but I didn’t think it would be fair to Jordan.

  I was just about ready when I heard his truck pull up.