by Jarod Powell
“Have you been hiking?” Mrs. Masters observed the film of sweat under Jaime’s bangs.
Jaime noticed that she had a few too many teeth. When she smiled, their whiteness flickered light into Jaime’s face like a disco ball.
“Yes,” his mother said, patting his forehead like someone would an infant. “He got lost.” She gave the crowd of people a cutesy smile, and turned to Jaime. “Not used to the outdoors, are ya’ honey?” She paused to see if her friends were inquisitive enough to continue on that thought. As predicted, she followed with, “Jaime’s in from Nashville.” Mrs. Masters gave a polite “Ooh.” Jaime rolled his eyes, and his mother looked pleased.
“Well, welcome to our neck of the woods,” Mr. Masters sipped from his mug and slightly grinned. Jaime noticed a young man in the corner of the living room. He was a few years older than Jaime, no older than twenty-one. He exuded the plain wheat dullness that everyone else seemed to, only a little bit nervous or bored, Jaime couldn’t put his finger on it, and his presence seemed odd. He seemed out-of-place.
“That’s our son, Kevin,” Mr. Masters chimed in. “Say hello, Kevin.” Kevin waved.
After making pleasantries with the Masters, he went to the den to watch television and eat the store-bought pastries he had stolen from the table in the foyer. He had hoped that he would sit uninterrupted, but usually he hopes for too much. He heard a light knock on the door panel, and he turned to face Ms. Master’s congenial expression.
“Do you know where your mother might have gone?” She asked. “She kind of disappeared and—“
Ms. Masters turned around suddenly as Jaime’s mother touched her shoulder.
“Oh! There you are. Have you seen Kevin?” Ms. Masters looked perplexed and uncomfortable. Jaime’s intuition told him that she didn’t fully trust his mother, who was leaning a bit from several glasses of
wine and towering over Ms. Master’s perm. Jaime wondered if Ms. Masters was the invitee or a guest of the invitee.
“Kevin walked home. Didn’t he tell you?” Ms. Masters tried not to look at the vanilla-colored fingernails that Jaime’s mother flailed while speaking. Jaime agreed that they looked ridiculous.
As soon as that was settled, Jaime’s mother rushed Mr. and Ms. Masters out of the door. “You guys should visit more often!” she said, practically slamming the door on their heels. A few seconds later, a shirtless
Kevin walked by the den and reflexively made eye contact with Jaime.
He stopped, though Jaime could tell that he didn’t want to. “Whatcha’ watching?” Kevin asked, stammering. Jaime felt an intense cycling heat from his gut to his head and then back again.
Usually in these situations, his brain fried on an overdose of sweaty adrenaline like a crashing computer or a dry-jointed machine. But in this instance, for reasons unknown to him, he had a clear emotion— rage—and had a clear, smooth, streamlined fantasy of redemption.
Perhaps the prospect of living in the abyss known as Wyoming left him feeling like he had nothing to lose, and made him impervious to anxiety. His sudden internal animation surprised him, and pleased him. Realizing he should not waste this opportunity, he explored his options carefully. Should he kick Kevin’s ass? Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, Jerry Winkler might feel it.
Should he kill him? Kill her?
He was certainly mad enough to, and was enjoying this emotion immensely. In yet another involuntary flash of introspection, he wondered what it might feel like to thrust this sensation to climax, Kevin’s shattered face leaving a disgusting, satisfying mess on the marble.
He imagined Kevin begging Jaime to stop, his scruffy goatee and long hair matted with blood. He imagined his drunken mother’s snarl, her challenging him to do it, to pull the trigger, he doesn’t have the guts. He knew how outlandish these options were, as they would most likely solve nothing. Furthermore, they wouldn’t go how he imagined they would; nothing ever did.
After he decided how he would handle this situation, he gave Kevin a final, psychic signal to wipe that stupid smirk off of his face; a dire warning. Kevin didn’t heed to this signal.
Jaime’s blood boiled pure, and he looked away from Kevin, waiting for him to leave, hoping to savor this slow internal burn in peace.
When he didn’t leave, Jaime relaxed his vocal chords to warn this cretin one last time.
“If I ever see you again, I will tell your parents. You will wish you had never been born. I may hurt, possibly kill you, if you do not leave my sight right now. Do you get me?”
Kevin laughed nervously as if he hadn’t a clue what Jaime was referring to. Kevin had asked a simple question about television, hoping Jaime would allow them both to pretend it was a secret that he was
fucking his mother.
Jaime pointed his glare, with the intent of making Kevin scared for his life.
“Do you fucking get me, Kevin?” Jaime growled demonically. Kevin left slowly, trying to appear as collected as he could.