Paul looked up.
“You mean you don’t believe in what we are doing anymore?’
I took a deep breath.
“No. I guess I don’t. I thought if we could go to another town maybe we could get a do over for Toby and he might be happier, but this whole thing is not working Paul. And then I come home and our son is laying in the basement stoned out of his mind listening to Led Zeppelin.”
He leaned back in his chair and pulled on his goatee.
“Didn’t you ever do that in high school?”
“NO!” I shook my head. “And you leasing this car so he can go this date with some girl you have hired like a prostitute.”
His mouth flattened.
“She is not a prostitute. She is the popular girl of the school. I want Toby to have at least one date under his belt before they go to the dance. You know, get to know each other.”
I looked Paul in the eye then.
“She is scary, Paul. I have been coaching her on the cheerleading squad and she is ruthless and wild.”
He puckered her lips like a professor and frowned.
“Paul, I can’t even tell people what we are doing here. They would think I have lost my mind. They probably wouldn’t even believe me, I mean, we are basically hiring a school so our son can catch a touchdown pass in a football game, right?”
Paul nodded slowly.
“Yeah. Basically.”
I stood up then and looked out at the empty hammer warehouse. I am not even sure why we rented the space, but Paul always thinks big.
“We have lost our minds Paul. Our son is autistic. We can’t change that. I know. I have struggled with him every day of his life to keep him in school. His life will be different. There is nothing we can do about that. He will not have what other kids have. We have to face the facts and quit trying to throw money at something that will never change. Having him get stoned and listen to Led Zepplin is not going to change anything.
“He’s been in silence long enough. It was time for him to find out about music,” Paul says calmly.
“You mean getting stoned.”
“By the time I was his age I had become an audiophile and taken over the basement. It is part of him getting back his teenage rebellion years.”
“Is that so? And, I guess buying him a new stereo is part of the plan, too. How much did you blow on that, Paul?”
“It doesn’t matter. My son needs to experience music, life, romance … I’ll spend what it takes.”
“Did you give him those old rock posters?”
“Yes.”
“Those guys are fucking ancient.”
“Not to him.”
“Couldn’t you at least given him some Tears for Fears or The Cure?”
“He needs to understand the classics first.”
“You know,” Paul began in a low voice, “When Toby was in fourth or fifth grade I went into his bedroom to tuck him in. I remember I hugged him and he felt big. Like a small man.” He paused. “And it felt awkward and strange. And I remember thinking then I was losing him. That we couldn’t really hug anymore. And soon after that we never hugged again.”
Paul rolled his wedding band around on his finger.
“And that was my fault. I should have kept hugging him, but I didn’t. That was eight years ago and I just couldn’t handle him growing up, and then the autism thing, I don’t know, I just pushed away.” Paul breathed heavy and leaned forward. “So I am not going to lose him again Julie. I am not going to push him away because it is too hard this time.”
“This isn’t about you trying to be a good father, Paul,” I said dully.
He stood and faced me.
“No. It’s not. But I don’t accept that our son is not going to have what other kids have. If our son can have one memory of success to go against the shit sandwich of his life, then I will spend every fucking penny I have to get it.”
“It’s not all yours to spend Paul.”
“Watch me.”
And then he walked out and over to Amber’s office.
LONG LIVE ROCK
TOBY
DAD BOUGHT ME SOME Klipsch Studio Monitors. They are long and tall and skinny and can reproduce the full frequency range of 20 Hz to 120 Mhz. He has paired them with a Denon receiver that has 120 Watts per channel RMS. He also supplied me with Bluetooth adaptor from my phone and gave me a CD of Lez Zeppelin’s greatest hits. I have purchased Rock Posters of Led Zeppelin, The Who, The Beatles, The Stones, Kanye West, and Cold Play. This covers the pantheon of rock history I feel, and shows the evolvement of contemporary Internet-driven soloists like Justin Bieber.
I have spent the first day in my room playing Stairway to Heaven. I have played it fifty times over a span of seven hours. The song runs twelve minutes. Dad says to only go slightly over the half way position of the receiver and this is where I have set the volume. I notice the windows vibrate and several pictures have fallen off the wall. I used tacks for my rock posters and Dad gave me some incense to burn while listening. It smells like pine trees and I enjoy watching the smoke wick up while Robert Plant sings. I lay on my bed and shut my eyes and float away on the music. I would like to speak to Randy about getting some more illegal marijuana.
CRAZY, NOT DUMB
MACY
IT ALL STARTED WHEN that white Mustang convertible pulled up outside of our apartment. “They must be rich,” Mom says pulling on her Marlboro. She is staring out the window with the wadded up dollars from waitressing at The Sycamore Diner. The light is pretty harsh and she looks old. Mom used to be really hot. I mean hotter than I am right now, but she got old fast after dad left on his Harley with some bimbo and we moved into this crappy apartment over the VCR store and Mom started waitressing.
It was like she turned old overnight.
“That is an expensive car. Paul has aged well.”
“Yeah,” I say glancing in the mirror and confirming that I look totally hot.
“And Paul Clampet wants you to have sex with his kid for five grand?”
I looked at her.
“Yeah, he said five grand.”
Mom keeps smoking with the curtain pushed over.
“Take him for all he’s worth,” she says.
I run out to the car and Mr. Clampet is behind the wheel with his son in the back. He looks weird as ever.
“I thought you could drop me off,” Mr. Clampet says, starting to drive. “And then you can take the wheel. Toby is very close to getting his license,” he explains, driving toward the other side of town. “But I think you can handle this baby. Toby and I went driving today and he did very well with the car. Didn’t you son?”
Toby is sitting up in the back like a zombie.
“Yes.”
Anyway that’s how it started. Right after we drop off Mr. Clampet I drive downtown and see Randy and some of the other football players. They are hanging around the Dairy Queen. I wheel into the lot and Randy walks up in his letter jacket.
“Where did you get these fucking wheels?”
“My father leased this car for our date,” Toby says
Randy and the other guys all laugh. They have a six-pack and are already drinking.
“Well let’s go for a ride,” Randy says, and just like that Chet, Randy, and Dean all jump in the back.
“Hey is he retarded,” Chet asks from the back seat, lighting up a joint.
“I am autistic,” Toby says, frowning.
“What the fuck is that?’
“Means he’s stupid, stupid,” Dean says loudly while they all high five.
“Not necessarily,” Toby says staring straight ahead. “It means my thinking can be one dimensional.”
“Yeah whatever,” Chet shouts throwing an empty beer from the car.
“You guys are going to get me pulled over,” I say.
“Don’t sweat it baby,” Randy says, and I can tell he is already stoned to the bone. “Hey crazy man. You want some of this?”
“Thank you,” th
e Toby kid says, taking the blunt. He takes a big hit and then coughs like crazy. The guys laugh their ass off in the back.
“Where do you guys want to go?” I ask.
“Where are you guys going on your date?” Randy snarls, staring at me in the rearview mirror.
“None of your business.”
This is not good. I told Randy nothing will happen. Which is a lie, but I mean a lot can happen between now and going to Hollywood.
“Mr. Moneybags paying you good for all this?”
“None of your business,” I say into the mirror.
“We are going to have a malt and then go park in the cornfields,” the kid Toby says.
“Whoa, going to get lucky huh retardo man,” Chet says leaning forward.
Toby shakes his head.
“I don’t think so. No I don’t think I will be lucky.”
They all start laughing.
“Why don’t you let me drive?” Toby asks.
I look over at him. “I don’t think that is such a good idea.”
“Hey let Mr. Retardo drive his car,” Dean blares.
“Shut up you guys he doesn’t have a license yet.”
“I can drive in the presence of someone who has a license,” he says.
“Yeah let Lurch drive. That’s what coach calls him—Lurch.”
I really want a cigarette because this whole thing is getting weird. I mean it started going weird when I met his dad at the DQ.
“C’mon Macy,” Randy says, but I can tell they just want to fuck with him.
“Whatever,” I say pulling over.
Toby gets out and then gets in the driver’s seat. We are facing this country road and the guys are throwing beers into the street and lighting up another blunt.
“C’mon Mr. Retard, give it the gas!”
“My name is not Mr. Retard,” he says. “It’s Toby.”
And then he puts the car in drive and floors it. The wheels break loose and we take off. I put on my seatbelt while the guys are shouting in the back.
“Look at Mr. Crazy Fuck drive!”
He is staring straight ahead with both hands on the wheel.
“I have done a lot of reading about the Cobra Jet 2014 Mustang,” he says. “And it has a 455 cubic centimeter engine, which is turbo changed and has quite a bit of displacement for the weight of the car which is only about bout three thousand pounds.”’
“YEAH BABY!” Dean shouts as we hit eighty.
“Maybe you should slow down,” I say because we are going like ninety and a sharp turn in the road is coming up.
“Hey Mario Andretti, you better lighten up,” Chet sings out.
“Yeah Retardo, take it down a notch,” Dean laughs.
Toby shakes his head.
“No need. This has racing suspension, which allows it to hug the road and take turns at higher than usual suspension.”
I slump down because we are going over ninety and the guys are freaking out.
“Hey Retardo … slow the fuck down!”
“Hey slow the fucking car down!”
Toby shakes his head and that Cobra Jet is now going over a hundred, and Chet, Dean, and Randy are all like screaming in these high voices.
“Macy tell this crazy fuck to stop!”
“He’s going to fucking kill us!”
“You fucking retard!”$
They scream as he takes the turn and I figure that’s my life and I just slump down for the crash. The guys in the back scream like girls.
I am like slumped way down ready to die because that engine is screaming and the guys in the back are nearly crying. And then Toby takes the turn and the rear wheels break loose and this Toby guy looks like it’s nothing as he skids around the turn and the car goes up the side of a hill and we are like sideways and Toby is still steering like he planned it, and the guys in the back are crying now I mean really crying and I figure that’s it when he drives that Cobra Jet back onto the highway and I lean over and grab his arm and scream.
“Toby. Toby! Please stop the car!”
And then he jams on the brakes and pulls over and all you can hear is this whimpering in the back with the blue smoke from the brakes floating up. I turn around and Chet and Dean are sweating and crying and Randy is white.
“You guys get the fuck out,” I scream and they jump out and glare at Toby.
“YOU’RE FUCKING CRAZY,” Chet screams.
Dean is shaking his head and that’s when I see he’s pissed himself. His pants from his crotch down are dark.
“You crazy, crazy fuck.”
Randy is staring at him like he wants to kill him.
“You are fucking nuts,” he says shaking his head.
Toby looks at the three guys and frowns.
“I am not retarded and I am not nuts. I am autistic.”
And then he burns rubber out of there and leaves those three guys in the middle of nowhere. That’s how our date started.
We went to the Sycamore Diner after we left those babies out on the road. I mean, talk about an adrenalin rush. He is sort of weird looking but if you look at him from the side he kind of looks like a weird Johnny Depp. And the way he scared the shit out of Randy and his friends. I don’t know, it just seemed kind of sexy.
“You are one crazy dude Toby,” I told him watching him eat his burger.
“No.” He replied. “I am autistic. Not crazy. That would imply mental illness, which I do not have.”
“Well you sure scared the crap out of those guys.”
He dabbed his fries into the ketchup.
“That’s because they didn’t understand the performance characteristics of the Cobra Jet Mustang. It is basically a race car and is designed for high performance.”
And right then I was sort of into him. I mean the weird way he talks and the way nothing rattles him. He just seemed like the coolest guy around. And then I remember Mr. Clampet telling me about this cornfield where we could go after the diner. I mean I thought it was pretty weird telling me where to go if I wanted to find some place to make out. But I knew there were a couple beers in the back from Randy and I saw a half a joint on the floor.
And right then I wanted to do him.
“Toby. Would you like to go to a cornfield and drink a beer or get high?”
“Yes. Dad says he used to go parking in the cornfields. He said it was a good place to take a girl and that is where he and Mom used to go.”
We drove out there and down into this cornfield and Toby turns the car around. I could see the corn waving under the full moon and feel the breeze coming across the field. I light the joint and open the beer. I then put my hand on his leg. I see a bulge forming. Toby was lying back in the seat with his face toward the moon. He looked like a movie star with his long curly hair and I mean he seemed really sexy in that moment. Nobody I know would go one hundred miles an hour on a turn like that and keep his cool. He made Randy and his friends look like such pussies.
“Thank you,” he said taking the beer and I watched him drink the whole thing.
It was like if no one told him to stop he wouldn’t. He finished the beer and handed me back the can. I didn’t care by then. I was buzzed and horny and his dad was going to pay me to get it on.
“You’re sexy,” I whispered into his ear, sliding over in the balls out Cobra Jet.
“No. Autistic,” he said.
“You’re funny,” I said licking his ear and moving my hand up his thigh.
His cock felt pretty hard and big. So I was getting really hot and figured I would give him a blowjob right there. That would light him up and probably be enough to get paid. Besides, I was into it. So I undid his belt and whispered into his ear.
“Why don’t you take off your pants.”
“Alright.”
And he unbuckles his belt and like he is sitting there in his underwear with his arms crossed and I see these two eyes staring at me. I mean like I’m used to guys having black underwear, but I had never seen underwear like this.
So I’m staring at it in the moonlight and right then I know what this thing is that’s staring back at me.
“SpongeBob,” I say out loud.
Toby nods with this arms still crossed and his boner pushing up on SpongeBob’s head.
“Yes. That is my favorite show,” he says.
I don’t know, but right then I just start to crack up because I’m just about to suck on his cock and now I’m staring at SpongeBob with that goofy mouth and his nose. Anyway, I pull SpongeBob down and start to go to work.
“Somebody is driving toward us,” he says.
And I lift my head up and look over the dashboard and see the outline of the lights on the roof and it looks like a dark creature cursing toward us. The world explodes in lights and I can’t see a thing and this voice crackles over a loudspeaker.
“PLEASE STEP OUT OF THE CAR!”
BUSTED
OFFICER FLOYD TWAIN
A LOT OF THE kids go parking out in the cornfields. Hey. I was a kid once. It’s a great place to make out and do other things and today most of these kids are doing other things. Anyway I was just out on Madoff Road, which is on the far side of town, when I see something glittering down one of these roads going into the middle of the cornfield. When you think about it if you are looking for a place where you can score a cornfield is pretty perfect. The only way you get caught is if you are dumb enough to park in the middle of the turnaround. Somebody like me just drives by and with the moon out it is like day.
So I killed the lights and turned into the road and started driving. A lot like a shark coming up on a couple of swimmers who have no idea what is about to hit them.
I surprised the shit out of them. I knew Macy. Everybody knows Macy and her mom in town. She’s been dating my son for a while. Georgia, her mom, used to be one hot piece of ass until she married that asshole Dwayne who always treated her like shit and then left her to work in the diner. But Macy is smoking hot. So I was pretty surprised when her head popped up and this gangly dude gets out of the car.
“STAND AWAY FROM THE CAR,” I say playing it by the book.
And that’s when this guy steps out and he has his pants down to his ankles and I see this little guy right where his dick is. I mean I just stare for a minute and then I realize it is SpongeBob. You know that goofy cartoon kid. I have to say it is pretty funny with this guy is standing there with his arms crossed staring into the lights like some kind of escapee from the nut house. I had to cover the mic then because I just started cracking up. Anyway I get it together and get out of the squad. Macy is standing there in tight jeans with that big mane of hair and I nod to her.
My Best Year Page 6