by Unknown
Timmy glanced back inside. His grandfather was still on the couch, but there was no sign of his parents.
"I can't right now," he whispered. "Dad says I've gotta weed the garden. He's already up there doing it. If I don't help, he's gonna be mad."
"Go ahead," his grandfather said. "This sounds more important. I'll handle your father."
Timmy smiled. "Are you sure? I thought you said he was doing what he thought was best."
His grandfather waved his hand. "Sure I'm sure. Just because he thinks it's for the best doesn't necessarily mean it is. Hell, it' s the first day of summer vacation. Boys your age should be out playing and discovering.
You shouldn 't be working. There'll be enough of that when you're older. You boys don' t know it, but these are the happiest days of your lives. Enjoy them while you can." He paused, coughed, and flexed his fingers as if his left hand had gone to sleep. Shaking his head, he continued. His voice sounded weaker.
"And besides, your mom always says you should be outside anyway, instead of sitting in front of the television watching cartoons and playing Atari. Right?"
"Right!"
"Go on, now. You boys have fun. Later on, I'll whip your butts at Pitfall. I finally figured out how to get past those darn scorpions."
"Thanks, Grandpa!" Timmy started out the door, and then, on impulse, he did something he didn't do much anymore since turning twelve. He turned around, ran over to his grandfather, and gave him a sudden, fierce hug. His grandfather groaned in mock surprise and squeezed back with one arm. He was still flexing his free hand.
"I love you, Grandpa."
"I love you, too, kiddo."
He kissed Timmy's forehead, and Timmy caught a whiff of pipe smokeanother one of Grandpa's secrets, since the doctor and Timmy' s parents had forbidden him to smoke.
"Are you okay?" Timmy asked.
"Sure," he wheezed. "Just a little short of breath this morning. Might lie down and take a nap while you boys are gone. Run on now, before your mom and dad come back inside. And make sure your dad don 't see you leaving."
He ruffled his grandson's hair, which was cut just like Kevin Bacon's in Footloose, which Timmy and his family had seen just a few months before.
"Looks like a porcupine died on top of your head." Page 11
"At least my hair is still brown instead of silver."
"Wait till you're my age." His grandfather flexed his hand again. He made a face like he had indigestion.
"You sure you're okay, Grandpa?"
"Positive. Now go on. Get out of here."
"Love you," Timmy called again over his shoulder.
"Love you, too."
Timmy followed Doug outside into the front yard. Timmy' s own BMX Mongoose was parked next to the sidewalk, its kickstand sinking into the grass. The boys hopped on their bikes and sped down the driveway.
"Did anybody else see it?" Timmy asked.
Doug shook his head. "My mom's still passed out."
"Why are you so out of breath?"
"Catcher was waiting for me when I went by. He came flying out of the driveway and almost bit my ankle."
Catcher, the bane of their existence (along with the occasional hazing from the neighborhood bullies Ronny, Jason and Steve), was a black Doberman pinscher that belonged to the Sawyer family. The Sawyers owned a dairy farm along the road between Doug 's house and Timmy's. Bowman' s Woods bordered the other side of the road. The boys had to pass through Catcher 's territory any time they went to Doug' s house or vice versa. The dog was usually near the farmhouse, but when they rode their bikes by, no matter how quietly, some sixth sense alerted him to their presence. If he was untied which was oftenhe' d charge down the driveway, barking and growling. Each of the boys had ripped sneakers and torn socks as a result, and Barry had a scar on his calf from when the dog had latched onto him almost two years ago. It was one of the few scars on Barry of which the other boys could actually identify the source.
"I hate that dog," Timmy mumbled as they reached the end of the driveway.
"Yeah. One of these days we'll teach him a lesson." Timmy nodded. Over the last few weeks, he'd been formulating a plan to do just that, but he hadn't yet told the other boys about it.
The Graco home, a onestory, threebedroom rancher with two acres of land, was built on the side of a hill. The garden was at the rear of the property, near the top of the hill, bordering Barry 's parent's home and Bill and Karen Wahl's housean elderly couple with no children left at home. Normally, Timmy and Doug would have just gone through the backyard and up the hill to Barry 's. But with Timmy's dad in the garden, pulling weeds that Timmy was supposed to pull, they followed his grandfather's advice and took the long way around.
Pedaling out into the road, they turned right onto Anson Road, a narrow twolane stretch of blacktop that cut through the countryside, giving drivers a back road shortcut from Route 516 to Route 116. They followed that to the edge of the Graco ' s property, past the acre lot his father had turned into a hillside pasture, complete with a small, twostall barn for their one cow and two sheep. To the left was Laughman Road, which led to Doug 's houseif you made it past Catcherand on their right was a narrow strip of woods. "Our woods," the boys called it, though technically, it belonged to the church. Passing these, they turned right again onto Golgotha Church Road, an even narrower road that went straight uphill. On their left stretched the cemetery. The bottom of the hill was filled with old graves and crumbling crypts from the 1800s. The upper portion of the hill and beyond was covered with newer, more durable monuments. On their right lay the woods and Timmy 's parents' property. The trees kept them hidden from Randy Graco's sight.
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This was their playgroundthe woods, the cemetery, the Dugout. Occasionally, they made an excursion to the town dump to find treasures or shoot at the rats with their BB
guns, or went over into Bowman ' s Woods to catch minnows and crayfish in the creek and shoot water snakes, and once a week they rode their bikes into Spring Grove to buy comic books at Mr. Messinger ' s newsstand (they left their BB guns at home, then), but for the most part, they were content to not stray from the cemetery and surrounding forest. Over the years, this area had served as everything from the Death Star to a pirate ship to Amazonian jungles complete with imaginary dinosaursto the battlefields of World War Two.
This was their world, and they ruled it; three kings who would never grow old, but remain twelve forever. Summer was just beginning, and the days were long and endless, and their cares and fears seemed like small things when cast against the backdrop of the deep blue sky overhead.
Doug wiped the sweat from his eyes. "You know the Frogger machine down at the Laundromat?"
"Yeah."
"I got the high score yesterday. But then Ronny Nace unplugged it and erased everything."
"Ronny's a dick."
"Yeah. He was pissed because I played that new Toto song on the jukebox." They hopped off their bikes and walked them to the top of the hill. Timmy could have pedaled it, but Doug was obviously tired.
Their noses crinkled as they passed by a dead groundhog, its midsection ruptured by a car tire, its flyinfested innards exposed to the sunlight and open air. Maggots squirmed through rotten meat. Though it was a disgusting sight, neither one of them could help but study it closely.
"God," Doug panted. "That stinks."
They hurried past the road kill.
"You know what's weird?" Timmy fanned the air with his hand. "That's the only one we've seen in a week. Usually, there's two or three per daypossums, skunks, groundhogs, squirrels, cats, snakes. Now, there aren 't any at all, other than that fresh one."
"Maybe the state is cleaning them up. Sending a road crew around or something."
"Yeah, maybe."
And though the boys wouldn't notice, the dead groundhog they' d just passed by would be missing the next day as well. Rotted and putrescent, it was food for something. Fodder.
"Glad my grandpa let us sneak out
," Timmy said.
"Your grandpa is so cool," Doug said. "I wish mine was like that."
"Isn't he?"
Doug made a sour face. "No. When we go to visit him, all he does is preach to us about the Bible and fart a lot. My dad used to say that' s because he was full of hot air." Timmy laughed obligingly.
Doug talked about his father all the time, and it made Timmy sad. Doug seemed to believe that his dad was coming back for him, any day now, and that they'd go live in California together. According to Doug, his father called or wrote to him every week, told him stories about Hollywood, how he ' d gotten a job as a stunt man, the movies he'd worked on, the famous actors he'd met, the things he' d seen; but none of it was true. Last fall, Barry and Timmy had discovered that their friend was lying. His mother had let it slip when she was drunk. Taunted Doug with it. There were no letters or long distance phone calls. They hadn't heard from Doug 's father since he' d left town. Too embarrassed for their friend, Timmy and Barry never brought it up, allowing the charade to continue. No Page 13
sense confronting him with the truth. If it made Doug feel better to believe that his father had found a career as a stunt man and that he would one day return, then that was good enough for them.
Timmy was about to ask Doug if he'd gotten any new letters when something in the cemetery caught his attention. Near one of the cracked, mossy crypts, two of the older tombstones had sunken into the earth. Only their lichencovered tops were sticking out. The ground around them was also depressed, as if a giant groundhog had burrowed under the grass.
Weird, he thought. Had they been like that yesterday? He didn't think so.
"I don't know," Doug whispered. "Sometimes I think about what it would be like if my grandpa died, and when I do, I don't feel sad."
"What do you feel?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. I don't feel anything. Is that weird?"
"Yeah, but that's okay, 'cause everybody knows you're weird anyway." Scowling, Doug punched Timmy in the arm. Timmy laughed.
As the road leveled out, they hopped back onto their bikes. The Golgotha Lutheran Church sat to their left, and Barry's house was on the righta redbrick, onestory home with a white garage off to one side and a rusted swing set in the backyard, facing Timmy ' s house on the hill below. The church parking lot served as its driveway. Barry 's father, Clark Smeltzer, was the church caretaker and groundskeeper for the cemetery.
"Besides," Timmy continued, his laughter drying up, "at least your grandpa's not as bad as…"
He didn't finish, and instead, just nodded his head in the direction of Barry's house.
"Yeah," Doug agreed. "Nobody's as bad as that." They wheeled into the parking lot and dismounted, propping their bikes against the side of the Smeltzer' s white garage. Doug still clutched the plastic tube. They approached the house, making sure to avoid the side of the garage closest to Timmy 's house, lest his father, still working in the garden, looked up over the hill and saw them. As he knocked on the door, Timmy wondered who would greet them this morningtheir friend, his mother, or the monster that lived with them. It opened, and Barry' s mother, Rhonda, smiled at them through the screen door. The boys cringed as they always did when she smiled. One of her front teeth had been missing for the past year. They heard the soft sounds of a Barbara Mandrel song coming from the radio in the kitchen.
"Hi, Mrs. Smeltzer."
"Good morning, b"
The radio shut off.
"Who is it?" Clark Smeltzer barked from behind her. Rhonda' s smile instantly crumbled, her happiness melting as quickly as a popsicle on a summer sidewalk. Timmy noticed something odd; diamond earrings sparkled on her ears. The Smeltzers didn 't have a lot of money, and Timmy had never seen her wear something like that.
She scrambled out of the way and Barry' s father replaced her in the doorway. He glowered at them, obviously suffering from a hangover. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was something dried and crusty in his mustache and beard. He wore yellowstained boxer shorts and an olive work shirt, unbuttoned. Black lint poked out of his swollen belly button. Despite his slovenly appearance, a gold watch adorned his wrist, replacing the Timex he usually wore.
Timmy frowned, backing away a few steps. Mr. Smeltzer stank of sour sweat, booze, and despair. Timmy wondered if he was still drunk.
"What the hell do you two want? Ain't you got jobs this summer?" Page 14
Timmy shook his head, his spirits sinking. Clark Smeltzer's slurred speech answered his question.
"No, sir. We were just looking for Barry."
"You woke me up. Didn't go to bed but an hour ago."
"We're sorry," Timmy apologized. "We didn't know."
"Banging on the door this early in the morning. The hell's wrong with you? Ain't you got nothing better to do?"
"We just wanted to show Barry something," Doug explained, holding up the black tube. Clark Smeltzer eyed it and frowned. "What's that? Poster?"
"A map," Doug said. "I made it."
"Should be playing baseball or football, instead of drawing. That's queer shit. You a fag? Ain't no wonder your old man took off."
There was a shocked gasp of dismay behind him. "Clark! Don't say such things to that boy."
"Get the fuck back in the kitchen, Rhonda, if you know what's good for you!" Timmy started to turn away. Doug looked like he was ready to cry. His bottom lip quivered, and his ears and cheeks had turned scarlet. The color made his freckles seem more numerous than ever.
"Where the fuck you going?"
"Sorry we woke you up, Mr. Smeltzer," Timmy apologized again. "Can you tell Barry we stopped by?"
"He ain't here. He's over in the cemetery, working. Same way you boys should. Kids today are lazy. Don't know how good you got it. Ought to get a damn job." Timmy froze. "If we're so lazy, how come Barry's out doing your job, while you're sleeping off last night's bottle?" The words left Timmy' s mouth before he could stop them. Clark Smeltzer stared at him in angry surprise. His eyebrows narrowed. Both Doug and Barry's mother groaned.
"You know what your problem is, Graco? You're a fucking smartass. Got a real attitude problem."
Timmy didn't respond.
"I've got a good mind to tan your hide."
Mr. Smeltzer shoved the screen door open and stepped out onto the porch, towering over the boys. His hand curled into a fist. Doug retreated into the yard. Timmy held his ground.
"Go ahead," Timmy challenged. "You lay one hand on me and I promise you'll regret it." Barry's dad charged. Timmy stood his ground.
"Clark!"
Barry's mother rushed outside and grabbed her husband' s arm, wrestling him away from the boys. He shook her off and grinned humorlessly.
His flashing gray teeth reminded Timmy of a shark's.
"Bet your father will want to hear about this, Graco. He won't be too goddamned happy when I tell him how his son is smarting off to adults."
"Go ahead and tell him. He's right down over the hill, working in the garden. In fact, I'll go with you."
Timmy knew that his father despised Clark Smeltzer as an abusive, bullying drunk, but furthermore, Clark Smeltzer knew it, too. Timmy wasn't worried.
"Come on, Doug." He turned his back on Barry's parents.
"You get out of here," Mr. Smeltzer hollered. "And don't go bothering Barry, either. He's got work to do!"
The boys ignored him.
"And stay out of that cemetery. You hear me? I don't want to see you playing there no more."
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Doug stopped. "But we always play there, Mr. Smeltzer."
"Not no more you don't. Stay clear of it. I've told Barry the same thing. He's not to be there except for when he' s helping me, and never after sundown. Those are the new rules. Gonna put up signs this week saying so."
"You don't own the cemetery," Timmy said. "You're just the caretaker."
"Don't matter. You mind me, boy. I catch you there and it'll be your ass. That's a promise."
Without glancing back or responding,
the boys hopped on their bikes and pedaled away, still careful to stay out of Randy Graco' s line of sight. Timmy wondered if his father had heard Mr. Smeltzer 's outburst, and then decided that he didn't care.
"Jesus," Doug panted as they reached the end of the parking lot. "You're crazy, Timmy. You know that?"
"Why?"
"Mouthing off the way you did? Being a smartass? I thought he was gonna lay you out cold, man. One of these days you' re going to get smart with the wrong person."
"You sound like my mom."
"I'm just saying, is all."
"It's bullshit, and I'm not going to take it. He's not gonna push me around the way he does Barry."
Doug stopped pedaling and slammed on his brakes. His back tire skidded on the pavement.
Balancing the plastic tube, he cleaned his glasses on his shirt.
"You okay?" Timmy asked.
"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, what he said about your old man…"
Doug shrugged. "Oh, I don't care about that. I mean, it's not true. You know? My dad loves me. When he comes back from California, everyone will see."
"Yeah."
Timmy glanced back at the house. Barry's parents had gone back inside. He wondered what price Barry's mother would pay behind that closed door, perhaps right now, for stopping her husband from hitting him. Then he wondered why she didn 't do the same when he hit Barry. If she'd stuck up for her son' s friends, couldn 't she stick up for her own son as well?
Doug put his glasses back on and smiled. It looked false. Strained. They coasted into the road. Timmy's handlebars were sweaty. So was Doug' s shirt, especially around his armpits.
"What are you thinking about, Timmy?"
"Did you notice that both of Barry's parents had new jewelry on? It looked really expensive."
Doug shook his head. "No, I didn't see it. But big deal. As bad as he treats Barry and his mother sometimes, we should be happy he' s spending money on them at all."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't know. Just seemed weird. He never does stuff like that. Barry has to bum money from us for lunch at school sometimes."
"Maybe Mr. Smeltzer got a raise."
Timmy shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."