Burning Sky

by R. S. Scott

“No,” I found a fixated point on the wall to hold my gaze.

  “What do you think is going on out there?”

  “A ceremony, or something like it.”

  She sat beside me and stroked my hair. “You were always the smarter one, why do you hang out with that idiot?”

  I stared at the wall rigidly. “He’s my friend.”

  “But he’s always making fun of you, bossing you around and beating you,” she said. “He’s never nice to you.” Her touch moved to my cheek.

  “We’re cousins, too. His aunt and my dad are cousins,” I defended.

  “That’s too bad. How’s your head? For someone new to drinking, you drank a lot.”

  “It hurts a lot. I’m dizzy, and my shoulder hurts, too. My arm.” I pawed at my right shoulder.

  “Steve, look at me, look at me please.” I turned to the naked woman beside me. The smell of cheap perfume entered my nostrils. She smiled. “Have you ever seen a naked woman before?”

  “No,” I returned my gaze to the fixated point on the wall.

  “I’m glad I’m your first. Give me your hand. Come on, give it to me.” She slowly took my hand, kissed my palm and put it against her cheek. “You like that?”

  I sat fidgeting. She moved my hand away from her cheek and onto her left breast. I pulled back my hand, inflexibly glaring at the wall. She leaned in and kissed my ear, her lips caressed delicately. I leaned away from her hot breath.

  “Shyboy,” she said and knelt in front of me between my knees and glided her palms on my legs. “You’re so nice. I need to tell you that.”

  I sat glaring at the wall, gripping the blanket I sat on. A slow panic started to fluster my stomach.

  “So you haven’t had sex yet? Virgin?” I sat in silence as she breathed upon my neck and slowly kissed my left ear. I tilted away.

  She stroked my hair over my ear. “You know where to find me, no one needs to know, and no one needs to hear about it, just you and me, OK?”

  “OK,” I said.

  “Our secret thing,” she whispered.

  “OK,” I said.

  “Hey, I’m over here,” she said and ran her fingers down my cheek. I glared at the devil before me. “You going to be alright with what’s going on next door?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I lied.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I guess so,” I lied again.

  “You just stay in here and listen to your music.”

  We sat in silence for an eternity as the haunting chants continued.

  “Here, I’ll help you,” she said and pulled out my cassette player and put the headphones on my ears. “Here, lay down.”

  Iron Maiden filled my ears as I laid down watching a naked woman adjust my blanket and take off my shoes. She talked as her lips moved in a seductive fashion. She blew me a kiss and closed the door behind her.

  I pulled off the headphones and listened. There was more chanting, panting, laughing, and then moaning. A low, deep moaning. I put my headphones back on and watched the lazy lamp bring its lowly glow.

  CHAPTER 3

  I awoke in a strange room. Beside me Tracy lay exposing her upper half. “Um, where is Tony? Where…are my clothes?” My head throbbed. I felt filthy. A strange smell tainted my nostrils as I glanced about wondering where I am, embarrassed at being seen without proper clothing.

  “Good morning, Shyboy. The AC doesn’t work well,” she said as she lay on her back tracing my arm with her hand. “Your clothes are over there,” she yawned.

  I stumbled over and pulled on my shirt.

  “Tony, where is he? My head…” I fumbled with my pants and shoes. “My head.”

  “That’s called a hangover, how’s it feel?” she smiled widely.

  “I don’t like it,” I said and threw my music into my backpack, which was now void of the medicine bag. “I need to go. Where is my Van Halen tape? Never mind, you can have it.”

  “We were listening to it last night, good stuff,” she gently pulled on my shirt. “Hey, come sit for a minute.”

  “Let go please.”

  I wandered into the living room. Daryl was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. The smell of bacon filled my nostrils.

  “Steve Roan Keller! Come eat!”

  I walked into the kitchen area. “Why are you calling me by my full name? Where’s Tony? We need to get back to Seba soon.” I winced at the bright open windows. “Shit!”

  “Damn, Son. How’s your head? How you managed to drink all that is beyond your math skills. Sit, young Keller. Eat.”

  I sat with a plate of eggs, bacon, and potatoes before me. Empty beer cans littered the floor.

  “Steve Roan Keller, your full name it is,” Daryl patted my shoulder.

  “It is,” I replied.

  My head felt heavy, as did my entire body. The heaviness seemed to weigh down on my soul with an internal push I’ve felt before. The living room was a mess as if a drunken lion fought a drunken guerilla and neither was the victor.

  “Where’s Tony? We need to head back to Seba.”

  “He went to the store with Wade. Eat up, Young Keller.”

  Tracy emerged somewhat dressed, walked past me then to the rear bedrooms. I ate frantically, gulping my juice and water in desperate fashion.

  “I think she likes you.” Said Daryl smiling.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like her.” I gulped more orange juice.

  “I think you will. Give it time.”

  I momentarily stopped eating and glared at Daryl as if a cactus had suddenly spawned on his forehead.

  “It’s not like that, Keller, let me explain. I care for my kid like every father should, and she likes you. So I’m extending you some courtesy. I also have met your father, and I respect him very much. You are his son, and if he raised you right, you’ll do well on my side of the family, that’s all.”

  “I am not going to call you my father,” I said.

  He grinned and glared at the littered floor. “What’s the matter? You don’t like girls?”

  “Um, guys my age like girls. They get tall and their voices change with that puberty crap. I’m just not there yet,” I said.

  “Yet,” Daryl said.

  “Yes,” I said and finished the last bite of my breakfast as Tony and Wade emerged through the kitchen door.

  “Steve! That shit was hardcore man, damn!” Wade patted my shoulder as he walked past. Tony sat at the table and reached for bits of bacon on my plate.

  “You ready to head back to Seba?” I inquired of Tony as he sat smiling. Tony glanced at Daryl as both then glared at me. “Tony, we have to go, I want to go.”

  “We will. Don’t worry about it. It’s morning still, and we might be able to get a ride with one of our cousins.” Tony continued to pick food off my plate. “We always have some relatives coming to Winslow.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “See, my main man Steve here!” Tony said and got up and walked into the living room.

  I raised my voice. “Tony! I’m leaving soon. If you want to stay that’s on you!” My voice echoed within the dining room walls as I sat concentrating on each word I had to utter. This hangover was a massive hindrance.

  “Whoa! Steve! Why you mad bro? It’s not like we killed somebody,” Tony chuckled.

  “Did we? Or did you?” I peered past the dullness of headache pain and at Tony.

  “Hey, Steve! Not cool, why you being like that?” Tony’s tone was a bit more serious.

  “I don’t like being here, nor do I trust this conjurer here beside you,” I glared at Daryl.

  “Whoa! Perhaps we started out on the wrong foot here with the lame breakfast. The bacon was overcooked. I’m sorry. Let’s all calm down a bit and figure this out. If you want to go back to the Rez today, we’ll figure this out. We’ll make it happen. OK, Keller?” Daryl backed away from me. “Orange juice?” He offered me a pitcher.

  “You know, don’t you Daryl? You blaspheming moron,” I said.

  “Keller,�
�� Daryl backed away.

  “Count them tonight then. How many days do you have left? How long until you roll into a sheep wool ball? How many days left in the wake?”

  “A wake? Who died?” Tony looked confused.

  “Someone did,” I said, with Daryl eyeing me. “Just days ago.”

  Daryl breathed a sigh of anxiety. “I’ll drive you back if you can’t find anybody, OK?”

  I glared at Daryl. Tony walked out of the room exasperated.

  “Steve, you’ll be fine, I promise. Or you can stay here and make me some grandkids with Tracy. I’ve been waiting to see if she could find a respectable hoodlum like yourself,” Daryl said.

  I glared at the floor, at the corner table leg was a smeared streak of dried blood.

  “Steve, you alright?”

  “I’m leaving in ten minutes, and I’m leaving Winslow soon after. I don’t like what’s going on here,” I said.

  “OK, Son. OK, just a moment.” Daryl called out to Tony.

  Tony waltzed into the living room. “You’re leaving? Right now? Where? You going to walk all the way back to Seba? That’s a long way you little shit! What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with you? Why you so pissed at what I’ve decided?” I raised my voice with Tony inches from me. I could smell wickedness on his breath.

  “Tony, we’ll go by IHS then the laundry center, we’ll find somebody going to Seba.” Daryl strangely seemed compassionate as he pulled on Tony’s arm, pulling him away. “Be cool.”

  “Steve, what the fuck man! You just can’t leave like that!” Tony inched toward me.

  “Hey! He wants to go, respect it!” Daryl yanked on Tony’s arm, “Respect it.”

  “He’s being a little shit, a weak little shit!” Tony motioned toward me.

  “It’s his decision to go, not yours, Boy!” Daryl gave Tony a firm shove.

  Tony turns to me, “Steve, we’ll hang out here then head out this afternoon. How’s that?”

  “He said ten minutes. That leaves you six to get your shit and be outside!” Daryl seemed irritated as he walked off, leaving me in the kitchen with an angry Tony.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Steve? Why are you doing this to me? I told them we’d be here for another night.” Tony glared down at me.

  “You can stay, I’m leaving.” I got up from the kitchen chair and reached for my backpack. Tony kicked it away. I walked to my backpack and shouldered it. “I don’t like what’s going on here, I don’t like it, and I’m leaving,” I said.

  “One more night, come on Steve,” Tony lowered his voice, “Just one more.”

  “No,” I said, with conviction.

  “Is it about the beer? Because I can get us more.”

  “Screw your stupid beer. It tastes like crap. Drops of rain my ass, my head still hurts!” I winced at the brightness from the window.

  “Tracy? Do you like her? I can work something out if you like, she’s nice and warm, really slick, too.” Tony patted my shoulder, “Come on, what’s it going to take?”

  “No,” I said and glared at Tony. “I want to leave.”

  We stood alone in silence as I visually inspected more blood on the floor trailing away from the fireplace. Strong magic had been done here.

  “What was that stuff Tracy was making you drink?” I asked Tony.

  “Beer, we drank lots of beer.”

  Tracy stood in the hall listening as she moved away from my gaze.

  “No, after that, with the drumming and songs and stuff,” I noted more blood smears on the backdoor.

  “Nothing. We drank lots of beer and passed out. It was good huh?”

  “No Tony, it wasn’t,” I said feeling the weight of a massive hangover.

  “Keller boys! Your aunt is doing laundry at the laundromat. I’ll drive you there. Let’s go,” Daryl said as he entered the kitchen area.

  Tracy emerged from the rear hallway. “Are you guys leaving?”

  “Yes, thanks for a pleasant evening,” I smiled and walked toward the door.

  “Shyboy, don’t be a stranger,” she said and waved. I waved back as Tony and I walked out of the house. I refused the offer for a ride and started my walk.

  Tony diplomatically consoled Daryl, then caught up with me. “Steve!”

  I ignored him.

  “Steve! You little shit!” Tony echoed behind me.

  I stopped and turned. “What?” I dropped my backpack onto the pavement.

  “Why are you doing this? Daryl is a very important guy. You just can’t walk out like that then tell him no when he offers to help.”

  I looked down at his wrists.

  “How are your wrists? Do they hurt?” I noted Daryl and Tracy watching us argue, hiding behind a row of cacti.

  “A little bit, I guess.” Tony rubbed his wrists.

  “How did the weed taste?” I asked.

  “Weed?”

  “Yeah, weed. That was weed Tracy gave you to drink wasn’t it?” I pressed.

  “No, we drank beer, what are you on about?” We started walking again away from our audience.

  “Tony, the chant about the Holy Twins defeating the giant, do you remember that?” I asked.

  “No, I remember you drinking a lot of beer. And you were talking about the Dilcon dance where you played the wrong version of Depeche Mode, the one that goes, Rain! … Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain!”

  “It’s pain, not rain. That was ‘Strange Love.’ It’s a cool song. The twins, you remember that?” I asked, leading Tony away from prying ears “The Holy Twins.”

  “No, but what about them?”

  “Why does a white guy like Daryl know so much about the story?” I hustled along on Oak Street toward the Winslow graveyard. The Indian Hospital was visible in the distance past the graveyard. I stopped and looked behind us. “Some say he is a shifter. They’re afraid of him. Then he’s your friend? My father doesn’t trust him. He stole a horse from us years ago. Some say he ate it.”

  “He’s a white guy! Why are you so into his nationality? Are you racist or something? You don’t like white people?” Tony inquired.

  “No, I’m not racist, you stupid moron!” I retorted.

  “He’s just a redneck. Who cares what race he is.”

  “His wife was Margie,” I said.

  “Who the fuck is Margie?”

  “Our distant aunt, her funeral was last year,” I said and made a hand gesture to signify its importance. “She was family.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” I said. “Tony, you don’t know shit.”

  We started walking again.

  “So, who believes in those stories about Daryl, anyway?” The goblin wondered aloud.

  I stopped and turned to Tony. “That stuff Tracy was making you drink last night. What’d it taste like? A bit salty? How did she taste? A bit salty as well?”

  He hit me, fist tightly held with extreme care. I awoke on the pavement with my right jaw on fire. I got up and stood upright, leaving my backpack on the ground.

  “Fuck you! You little shit!”

  As he finished his last word, I nailed his right jaw with a hard, straight right. I had planted my feet properly to deliver such a blow. He fell and met the ground, avoiding any attempt to soften the hard drop.

  I rubbed my cheek. “If you hit me again, I will be ready, and I will slice you open.”

  “Fucking Keller!” Tony got up and swung at me. I blocked with my left hand and used his forward momentum to send him into the dirt yet again.

  “You touch me again,” I pulled out my butterfly knife from my backpack and unfolded it, “This goes right past your armor of cheap threats and cheap beer, straight into your blackening heart.” I folded the knife and placed it into my pocket. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  “Fucking Keller, what’s wrong with you?” Tony said as he regained his footing and yet again charged my position.

  I deflected his swing and used his other arm to bring him to the grou
nd. I pinned him to the ground face down.

  “Get off me!” Tony yelled.

  “It appears I’m not a ‘little shit,’ now doesn’t it?” I spat.

  “Fuck you!” Tony slurred.

  I used my forearm to force his face into the pavement. I got off of Tony, not before hitting him twice in the right kidney area. He screamed in pain. “That’s for calling me a little shit!” I lifted his head with his hair and forced it into the pavement. The organic thud was a scary noise.

  “Fuck you, Keller!”

  I moved into a pretend swift kick to his mid-section, he rolled into a ball protecting his groin area. “Remember this moment. I am not a little shit!”

  I walked to the laundromat with Tony trailing behind me about fifty feet, wearing a defeated mask, and clutching his swollen right side.

  Father was upset. Mother was furious. But in their strange ways, they understood the fallacy of youthful exuberance. Father just smiled as Mother voiced much disappointment over the beer and the party.

  While away from Mother, Father expressed his cautions of wild women, and gave a stern warning about a man’s glaring weaknesses regarding the fairer species. The fast women, women who operated on an entirely different plane than the ordinary man, women whose motives and ambitions are far beyond the mere understanding of a naïve boy’s view of simplistic meanderings. Fast women who understood the underlying weak link a simple man has. I thanked Father as I had encountered one as he described.

  “Be smart, think with your head, not your heart. Your heart will lie to you,” Father assured. “Seek truth in all things. Make decisions that will affect the future, not the present.”

  “Yes, Father,” I stuttered. “Her name is Tracy, Daryl Monroe’s daughter. I think things happened. I’m scared inside I think. I’ve never had beer before, it wasn’t good.”

  Father laughed aloud. “Son, get your chores done, don’t forget to feed the horses. And do not think too much of what might have happened. It’s called growing up. Obsessing over it will shorten your days on this earth.”

  “Yes, Father,” I returned.

  When I closed my eyes, I could still see a naked Tracy with smooth, pale skin smiling beautifully, her breasts warm and inviting. With her blond hair flowing in the gentle breeze, I found myself drawn to her the more I dwelled upon it. She had indeed left a strong impression.