I turned and looked at her.
“Did you like high school?”
“No. It sucked. Nobody knew who I was.”
She then crossed the bucket seat and was very close.
“What did you used to do with girls when you brought them out here in high school?”
“Drink beers,” I replied, feeling warm.
“Then?”
“Then … we’d make out,” I murmured, feeling her breath, my heart, the warm wind of October.
“Like this,” she whispered.
FEVER
TOBY
IN THE MOVIE SATURDAY Night Fever the John Travolta character overcomes all his problems by dancing. He has problems at home, which are financial, family, and romantic. He has two girls that he cannot decide between. And his dancing provides him the answer. I have watched a video of this movie several times in the basement. I retrieved it from the laundry basket of VHS tapes Dad has that is filled with movies from the 70s, 80s, and 90s. Dad has one VCR that works and there is a small television. It too is old technology
But one thing I have learned from Saturday Night Fever is that problems that are presented can be overcome by an art form when no other solution can be found. John Travolta finds himself through his dancing. He has very impressive routines that I have studied closely. Also, he has a white suit, which seems integral to being able to dance under the disco ball and solves his romantic, financial, and filial problems. He also seems to be a very proficient kisser.
The types of women that John Travolta must decide between fall into two broad categories. The first one I would term the Nice Girl. She seems like the wholesome type I have seen in other movies. The other girl seems to have something to do with another very old movie in Dad’s collection called Shaft. This is a movie about an African-American detective in the ‘70s who is surrounded by women of the second type. John Shaft seems to have lots of women who are attracted to him whom I would term prostitutes.
John Shaft does not solve his problems through dancing. He solves his problems with a gun and physical violence. He uses karate chops and boxing to render many of his assailants unconscious. There seems to be a moral ethical dilemma at the center of the movie where John Shaft must confront corruption in the police force. This causes him many scenes of distress and it seems there are many people out to get him. He does not wear a white suit, but prefers a turtleneck and a sport coat and a long leather coat for inclement weather. I have no experience in karate and do not have the time to get lessons before the dance.
I must confess to another motivation for watching the Shaft movie, and that is Randy. He approached me during our football practice when the coach was over assisting my English teacher, Miss Fielding. He used his shoulder pads and knocked me to the ground then grabbed my jersey and pulled me up with our facemasks hitting together.
“I should kick your ass for leaving me out on that road and taking off with my girl!”
“You decided to exit the vehicle after becoming frightened over my method of driving,” I pointed out. “And Macy is not your girl to my knowledge or she would not have been on a date with me.”
He stared at me and his face turned very red.
“Look Retardo, I don’t care how much money your dad has. You stay the fuck away from Macy or I am going to kick your ass all the way back to Chicago!”
“We are from a suburb of Chicago and my name is Toby, not Retardo, which is a term that is not politically correct anymore as it is demeaning to people with disabilities. And my father doesn’t have a lot of money. In fact I heard my mother say we are broke.”
He then slammed me to the ground and the air went out of my lungs.
“If you go near Macy you are dead.”
“We are going to the Homecoming dance,” I replied
He then kicked me in the side.
“Do it and I’ll kill you.”
He walked away and I realized then my life was in danger, and I started watching the Shaft movie to see how he beat up the many assailants who attacked him. I noticed he used a combination of boxing, karate, and a gun. I don’t have a gun, but I thought a plastic one might act as a deterrent as well. But I don’t think I will use his attire for the dance as while I find it appealing I am not sure it is appropriate. Rather I have decided on Saturday Night Fever clothing and to that end I have bought a white suit on eBay that has been validated as being an authentic suit of clothing from the disco era when John Travolta had his breakthrough movie and catapulted to fame. I expect it to arrive any day and I also purchased white patent leather shoes to complete the ensemble.
There is an old floor to ceiling cracked mirror that I have set up against the basement wall that Dad continues to call a fruit cellar, which harkens back to the 19th century when goods on farms were bottled and canned and stored in cellars for the winter. I moved the mirror to a more central location behind the television and I have picked the scene where John Travolta solves all his problems with his final dance. He especially solves his romantic dilemma of being promised to two women simultaneously. I find myself in a similar situation because I have promised to attend the Homecoming dance with Macy and Amy. Amy is a girl who approached me in the hall by saying, “What up autistic boy?”
She had tattoos on her forearms and right ankle and piercings through her eyebrow, nose, and one stud in her lip.
“Do those hurt?” I asked her after I cleared up that my name was not autistic boy.
“Nah … I heard you left those assholes with some balls Cobra Jet Mustang.”
“Yes. I gave them a ride,” I answered.
“Left them way out in the fucking middle of nowhere is the way I heard it.”
Amy is very small, maybe under five feet, with chestnut eyes and dark streaked hair that is a combination of green, yellow, and brown. She has a very red mouth and clean white teeth and an expression not unlike the wholesome girl in Saturday Night Fever. While her dress is aberrational she gives off an aura of honesty.
“And I heard you and that Macy got busted by the cops for smoking pot and drinking beer and screwing out on Madoff Road.”
“It was illegal marijuana and one can of underage beer. No intercourse occurred,” I assured her.
She then laughed with a wide-mouthed expression.
“You kill me. Hey, are you going to this crazy-ass Homecoming dance?”
And here is where I studied the John Travolta character closely because he had promised himself to two women as well. And I looked for his motivation and the best I could deduce is that John Travolta liked both women equally. I am not saying this is why I lied to Amy and said I didn’t have a date to the Homecoming dance, when in fact I had promised to go with Macy. Frankly, I forgot.
“No I don’t have a date.’’
“Cool. You are going with me autistic boy,” she said.
I liked the sound of that even though she had already forgotten my name.
“And you are going to give me a ride in that balls car of yours.”
“I cannot,” I told her. “I don’t have a license but a learner’s permit and can only drive with a licensed driver.”
“I have a license,” she said raising her eyebrows.
“Then I don’t think it will be an issue.”
At that point the bell rung and she punched me in the arm.
“You are a pretty popular guy autistic boy.”
“Toby,” I corrected her.
She walked down the hall and it was later that I realized I was being confronted with John Travolta’s dilemma. I was going to ask Dad about it but he has been sleeping at his office since he and Mom had a fight. Separation usually precedes divorce, and it would seem this is a separation. Mom has cried many nights in her bedroom. I have decided that my problems can be solved by performing John Travolta’s routine in the final scene of the movie. I have the mirror lined up with the television on the cement floor. I have the VCR cued up to the dance and I am staring in the mirror. While I don’t overtly look like John Trav
olta, I can slick my hair back with pomade and with my white suit and white shoes I should have the necessary transformation to perform my routine.
The song Staying Alive is core to the routine and I begin by pointing to the low fruit cellar ceiling with my finger and jabbing it continuously upward. Also there seems to be many pelvic thrusts involved in John Travolta’s moves, which I am working on. The mirror helps immensely and I cannot wait to get my suit and I have begun checking the mail daily. I also found a long black leather coat of the John Shaft variety and ordered that also from eBay and convinced Mom to purchase me several turtlenecks. I also procured an Afro-American wig on eBay and downloaded the soundtrack for Saturday Night Fever from iTunes, which of course was performed by Disco Super Group The Bee Gees. I also downloaded Isaac Hayes groundbreaking soundtrack for Shaft.
Just in case.
BAD COP
RANDY
I DON’T MIND WORKING at McDonald’s usually, but we just had a rush and then I saw a squad car creep around the side of the building. Everyone says my dad and I look alike but I don’t get that. He’s bald for one thing and has these close-set dark eyes that narrow in right before he hits you or starts yelling. He left Mom about ten years ago and quit paying support five years ago. Being a cop has made him even more of an asshole.
“Goofing off?” he asks.
“Yeah Dad. I’m goofing off,” I muttered.
He stared at me like I had just stolen his best hunting rifle or something.
“So, I busted some retard with Macy a couple of nights ago out on Madoff Road. “
“Yeah I know. So what.”
He puckered his lips with his name bar catching the light from the sign.
“So I hear you are this retard’s bitch now. That you are throwing him some touchdown in the Homecoming game and you drove him in the parade like he was your pimp and then he left your ass with that girlfriend of yours in the middle of nowhere.”
I stared at the screen that was flashing like crazy and turned my headset down.
“We hitched back it wasn’t a big deal,” I muttered.
My dad frowned and nodded.
“Oh you hitched back. So some jigaboo could pick you up from Chicago and fuck you in the ass.”
I rolled my eyes. We never talked and when Sycamore had a football team he came to about half the games. I heard from other kids what an asshole he was busting kids for pot and beer and keeping it for himself.
“Yeah that just what I wanted, Dad. God you’re an asshole.”
He grabbed my shirt and nearly pulled me out of the window.
“What did you say you little fuck?”
I stared at him. He was fully capable of pulling me all the way out of the window and throwing me down. He used to beat the hell out of Mom and had smacked me around until I could run from him. I stared at him.
“What do you care really, Dad? You never gave a shit about what happened to me before.”
He loosened his grip and I pulled back into the window.
“I just don’t like hearing that my son is bending over for some yuppie fuck from Chicago.”
I was pissed now but I made sure I stayed far inside the window.
“Don’t worry about it Dad. It never bothered you before.”
He tapped his steering wheel.
“Maybe you can talk shit to your mom, but I’ll come in there and kick your ass and throw you in the holding tank for a couple days.”
“You mean the same way you used to kick Mom’s ass.”
He looked in the mirror at the cars lined up behind me.
“How much did this Clampet offer you to let his son fuck your girlfriend?”
“Nobody is fucking my girlfriend, Dad,” I said dully, feeling like I wanted to jump out the window and punch him in the face.
He grinned.
“No, she was giving him a blowjob when I hit the lights. You better get your house in order son or some retard is going to make you look like more of a faggot than you already do.”
I felt my face growing really warm. The headset was blowing up in my ear. My dad rested his hand on the top of the steering wheel.
“I’m going to check into this guy, but I don’t want to hear that you are throwing his spastic son some touchdown pass in the Homecoming game or that he’s fucking your girlfriend. You understand. I gotta live in this town and I don’t need people thinking I raised a pussy for a son.”
I saluted him because he was in Iraq and it really pisses him off when I mock the military.
“Yes sir!”
He looked at me with his eyes small.
“Get your house in order,” he said leaving me with a bunch of pissed-off people.
LEAVE OR DIE
MACY
RANDY APPEARED AT THE apartment when Mom was at her shift at the diner.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, walking in wearing his letter jacket.
I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard you were giving this freakoid a blowjob out on Madoff Road!”
I flopped back down on the couch and took out my cigarettes. I was still in my pajamas with a white tank top and no bra. My hair was over one shoulder and I smoked, keeping an eye on Netflix’s where I had been watching Breaking Bad.
“So what? I give you blowjobs.”
“Because you’re my girlfriend!”
I looked at him.
“Yeah, you going to pay me five grand for a blow job?”
Randy started pacing in the apartment back and forth.
“You were just supposed to go out on a date with him—not screw the guy!”
I shrugged and shifted my legs and showed my smooth brown stomach. I could see Randy was getting distracted. I shrugged again.
“So I gave him some head. We could make enough to get out of here off of him and get to Hollywood. You throw him his touchdown and I’ll go to the Homecoming dance and we are done, and we get to leave this shithole town.”
Randy stopped then. “You aren’t going with him to the dance.”
“Fine I won’t go with him.”
“You mean it?”
“Sure,” I looked up innocently. “I was just doing it for the money so you and I could go get our dream.”
I then stretched out and pulled my shirt even lower. My boobs were almost out and Randy sat down on the edge of the couch. I was horny anyway and Mom wouldn’t be home for a couple hours. I gave him my sincere expression. Boys love it.
“But if you don’t want me to go out with him I won’t.”
He nodded and puckered his lips.
“Good.”
I reached inside his thigh and could feel how hard he was.
“Mom’s out until five,” I murmured.
He leaned back and I pulled him down by his letter jacket. When we finished he had that stupid dreamy look all boys get when you fuck them. Boys are so stupid. Of course I was going to the Homecoming dance with the retarded guy and then Mom and I were going to get out of here with the money. There was no way I was going to end up giving head to guys in their car after my shift at the diner. Fuck that. When you get out of high school, you either leave this town or you die here.
CLARITY
JULIE
PAUL CAME BACK SEVERAL times to get clothes and pick up his extra laptop. He had turned off the tracking on his phone so that was out. I’m not even sure what happened. When you get married you never see this day. It always happens to someone else. You hear of people getting divorced, someone picking up a cell phone and hitting redial and the other person answers and says something like Want to fuck? This happened to one of my friends when she noticed her husband going out to the garage to make calls.
With Paul and I it wasn’t infidelity. But really who was going to finally man up and say, yes we weren’t the greatest parents and we have a special needs kid and he probably wouldn’t go to college and he might never leave home. You think about these things when you have an auti
stic child and I realized that Paul couldn’t accept this. Somehow he was going to make Toby whole by giving him this year where all the bad things would be reversed and all forgiven.
But he was right about one thing. We were in too deep. All the actors had been hired. The game was being set up. I had dropped a lot of money with Homecoming.com who was doing all the heavy lifting for the dance and even decorating the gym. All we needed was the students to attend. Apparently, there had been no Homecoming dance for a few years. What a crappy high school had gone through my mind more than a few times.
But I have to admit something, and this is why I had the meeting with Paul. Toby was enjoying himself. He was rarely late and talked about school and his teachers and he glowed now. Some sort of fever now burned behind his brooding dark eyes. He had even started working on dance routines in the basement. If I have heard Staying Alive once I have heard it a hundred times. And strangely, that old movie Shaft from the seventies.
So I met Paul at the diner where that Georgia hung around making eyes at both of us. I got a good look at her. She had the faint air of a prostitute; the pushup bra and painted on jeans were just too much effort. We faced each other in the booth and Paul looked like he hadn’t slept for a long time
“I wanted to tell you that I am going to see this through, I began.”
“Okay.” he said. “Good.”
“I think Toby is looking forward to the dance and the game, and I think he might be enjoying himself.”
Paul nodded slowly and pulled back his hair that had gotten very long.
“I do too.”
I paused then.
“I know we are sunk in too deep to turn back now.”
“I don’t know if it is bad as all that.”
I breathed heavy.
“But I wanted to tell you that after this is all over Toby and I will be moving back to Chicago.”
Paul raised his eyebrows and lay back in his leather coat.
“You and Toby?”
“Yes. And there I will file for divorce. So you can lawyer-up whenever you want to and we will work out visitation, but by then he will be eighteen so it will really be up to him as to who he wants to be with.”
My Best Year Page 9