by Chris Rush
It was my chance to tell him about Kurt—about Roy and Bill, heroin, and the Fourth of July. But I was ashamed of all that had happened.
He picked up a bag of pills and laughed. “And now God is using me to sell sacrament. We all do our part in His plan.” His voice trailed off. We were quiet for a few moments. He reached over and touched my face.
I flinched.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
He lit a joint. “So, Chris, you came to Tucson, just like I told you. Was I right or not? Is this not Paradise?”
“Yes,” I said, wanting to say something smart. “The light here is very white … very pure.”
“If you want,” he said, “you can hang out with me while I pack some stuff. Big shipment going out, some of it with your sister. She’s important to us, you know. America needs hope right now, with this fucking war—and that’s what I’m doing, man, I’m selling hope. And what about you? You interested in hope?”
Hope? I wasn’t sure. “I’m at this cool new school now—I’m doing a lot of art.” Somehow, I couldn’t lie. “Actually, it’s hard to figure out what matters.”
He nodded, staring at me.
“I don’t know, I just thought if I could bring back—I don’t know, not too much, but just…” I fumbled for the words. “Maybe a little weed.”
“Of course,” Valentine said. “We’ll take care of you. I’ll talk to my partner Lu.”
I wanted to say more, ask important questions, but Valentine was distracted.
“Why don’t you go see the girls? Jo’s making cookies.”
* * *
“I’M SO GLAD you know what I’m doing,” Donna said as we were driving home. “It’s nice to have someone who I can tell, who understands. Because this is such a great opportunity.” She was gushing. “I fly product all over the country. It’s really easy and everyone is so nice to me. I’m not even nervous anymore. Vinnie and I always pray before I leave. In fact, do you want to pray right now?”
“Sure,” I said.
Donna talked to Jesus like He was in the car. For her, Jesus had become a fact of life, like a Coke or a sandwich.
I prayed with Donna, word for word.
In the trunk of our car, in a blue Samsonite suitcase, was a hundred thousand hits of LSD. Donna would travel alone to the East Coast to deliver it. “A few days away,” she said. “And then I fly home with the cash.”
“When are you leaving?” I asked.
Maybe she heard the anxiety in my voice. “You’ll have a good time with Vinnie. And he’ll introduce you to Lu and Jingle.” She smiled. “Valentine said you’re doing a little business. That’s great! I’m really proud of you, Chris.”
“I’m proud of you, too,” I said. “You’re brave.”
“So are you.”
She kept her hand on my arm, driving with the other—a professional now, her long hair swimming in the wind.
* * *
ON RIVER ROAD, Vinnie pointed to a rock so far away it was just a blue blur. “Valentine’s partner lives out there, on the mountain. Lu’s pretty cool. His real name’s Luigi. He’s a Sicilian, like me.”
“Valentine said Lu would get me whatever pot I needed.”
“Hey, you’re family—you’re covered. But I should warn you about one thing before we get out there.” Vinnie slowed down the car. “Lu’s sort of deformed.”
I nodded, trying to be businesslike. “That’s cool.”
Soon we were on a dirt driveway, approaching a wooden house on a black cliff. I saw a bent figure, four feet high, with long, black hair—a man. As we got closer, I could see the shriveled legs and steel crutches.
The man waved and shouted, his voice pure New York. “Hey, guys!”
As soon as I was out of the car, Lu grabbed my hand. “Chris, brother, so nice to meet you. Vinnie, man, come on inside.”
In the kitchen, a woman in an apron and cowboy boots held a huge carrot.
“This is my wife, Jingle. Honey, this is Donna’s little brother, Christopher.”
She kissed me, once on each cheek. “Christ-opher,” she said—just like Pauly used to say—except Jingle didn’t seem to be making fun of me. She asked me if I liked carrot juice.
“I don’t know.”
She turned on a machine, loud as a lawn mower, and liquefied various roots. Jingle was tall and blonde—gorgeous, maybe twenty-five.
She’s married to Lu? The math was far-fetched.
As I sipped my carrot juice (dirty and sweet), I noticed the saguaros out the window, leaning like monsters trying to get in. Though beautiful, the desert was still a little scary to me. As the adults chatted, I studied the landscape. Above the house were craggy slopes and various types of alien vegetation.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Jingle said. “Why don’t you go outside, take it in?”
“Go ahead, run up the mountain!” Lu cried, smacking my butt with his crutch.
Everyone was smiling at me—“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll check it out.”
Even at seven in the evening, the heat was still fierce. Pulling myself up burning black boulders, I was alone for the first time since my accident. Everything seemed strange, especially my own body, climbing up a mountain.
Then I heard it, shaking like a husk of seeds. Inches from my leg, a fat yellow snake, mouth open, was ready to strike. It lunged, fangs flying at me, and I tumbled down the rock, screaming.
I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay—the words raced through my head. I was trembling, ready to run back, but then I remembered my sister, telling me I was brave. I made myself hike to the top, from where I could see the whole valley. There were huge thunderheads, drifting like jellyfish across the sky, turning from pink to violet as the sun disappeared. I prayed: Thank you, God. Thank you for not killing me.
I wasn’t thinking of the snake, but of the men in the truck. Some things were coming back to me. I’d remembered the gun pointed at my head. Like the one my father had in the drawer beside his bed.
By the time I got back, it was nearly dark. The house was quiet. The adults sat at the table, bleary-eyed, holding hands. Candles burning, the smell of hashish. As I joined the circle, Jingle sang a delirious hymn in a shockingly beautiful voice.
“Grazie, mia amore,” said Lu—after which he thanked the Holy Spirit for our dinner. Everyone mumbled Amen, and we ate our enchiladas.
Later, after dinner, I asked Vinnie what I should say to Lu about getting some product. Vinnie said, “It’s taken care of. We’ll pick it up before you leave town.”
On the ride home, Vinnie explained that Lu’s place was a stash house. “Tons of pot goes through there. Lu and Val supply Boston, Philly, and New York. They’ve got stash houses back there, too.”
I asked why Lu’s legs were so small.
“Polio,” said Vinnie. “The man’s a saint.”
* * *
THREE DAYS LATER, when Donna walked in the house, I ran to her. “You made it!”
“Of course. I told you, it’s really easy.”
That night, to celebrate, she invited a guest to dinner—a Neanderthal named Flow Bear, an old friend from college, who now did a little business with Donna on the side.
“Chris, Flow Bear is a nudist. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
“Not at all.”
Flow Bear lay naked in the yard, on a towel. He remained unclothed during dinner and dessert, while I tried to find a polite way to stare at his dick.
The next day, when Donna told me that Flow Bear would drive me back to New Jersey, I didn’t understand. I’d almost forgotten that this was just a vacation—that I’d have to go home, go to high school.
“Didn’t Mom say I was supposed to fly home?”
“Chris, your hair’s way too long to fly with pot. Just call Mom and tell her you’re coming back with a friend of mine.”
When I called Mom and explained the new plan—that I was driving home with Flow Bear, she said, “Honey, I believe Flauber
t is dead.”
“No, Mom, it’s a different one. It’s Flow Bear. He’s a friend of Donna’s. From college,” I emphasized.
“I wish your sister would go back to school,” Mother said. “What’s happened to my children?”
“So I can drive with him?”
“Fine,” Mom said.
She didn’t ask me how I was feeling after the accident. Maybe she had amnesia, too.
* * *
THERE WAS ONLY one thing left to do.
In a supermarket parking lot, we met Lu. Vinnie removed a suitcase from the trunk of Lu’s VW bug and threw it in his own. I handed Lu an envelope of cash, a bit over five hundred dollars—what was left of my theft from Dad. It wasn’t quite enough for the product, but Lu said, “Pay me later. Your sister will be back east soon. You can send it with her.”
Donna looked at me sadly. “Or you’ll come back to visit.”
* * *
FLOW BEAR’S ’48 Chevy was a shining blue ship, big as a bedroom. With thirty-two pounds of pot stashed under the backseat, the car was further equipped with beer, bread, and peanut butter.
The trip was a wander; Flow Bear was in no rush. Driving the back roads, we listened to the hick radio stations. The music sounded hollow and tinny, like it had been broadcast in 1920 and bounced back from outer space.
In Oklahoma, we stopped for the night on a bluff above a lake. I crashed early, dragging my bedding to a big flat rock. The moon was high overhead, the earth colorless, the lake a sheet of dull metal. The air was still and warm. Lying naked on my blankets, I couldn’t sleep.
Much later, I heard the car door open. Flow Bear emerged nude and began to walk in my direction. Closing my eyes, I pretended to be asleep. His footsteps on the gravel moved closer and closer. He stopped to pee. Then he walked over, stood right next to me. Eyes pressed shut, I tried not to move a muscle. I could feel him staring at my body. My heart was pounding with a mixture of fear and desire. After a while, he walked off, and I listened, footstep by footstep, until I heard the car door close.
I remember thinking, Why would he want to look at me? Can’t he see the scars?
* * *
FARTHER EAST, the weather thickened. Hot and humid; the only relief was the air rushing in the windows. Flow Bear stripped raw for the ride. Truckers honked at his nuts. Shy and sweaty, I kept my clothes on, drowsed on the backseat.
Flow Bear’s driving was a bit broad, and somewhere in Missouri sirens went off. “We are creatures of calm,” Flow Bear said, as he glided to the side of the road. “Nothing to worry about.”
Still buck-naked, Flow Bear unfolded the Rand McNally to cover himself.
The sheriff requested license and registration.
Flow Bear asked, “Officer, was I driving too slowly?”
He answered, “Son, you are driving a very fine automobile. Is this a 1948 Chevy?”
“Yes, sir—’48 Streamliner Coupe.”
“Well, I just needed to get a better look. My daddy drove one in cherry red. The blue ain’t too bad, though. I see you have the wheel skirts. Very classy.”
“Yes, sir—got the rear wipers, map light, and original tissue dispenser.”
“Well, she sure is pretty. The boy in the backseat, is he a minor?”
“Yes, sir, he is. His mama asked me to take him home.”
“Boy, are you all right driving around with this nude man?”
“Yes, sir. I am.” Under my butt, the smell of Mexican pot was unmistakable. I knew that I was headed to prison.
The sheriff handed Flow Bear back his papers. “May I suggest that you boys exit the state of Missouri at the maximum legal speed limit? For your own safety. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Officer, perfectly.”
“And take care of this beautiful car, will ya?” The sheriff patted the blue bonnet. “You boys have a good afternoon.”
Two days later, Flow Bear and I were sneaking behind my parents’ house, stashing bricks of pot in the pool house. I gave him a kilo to thank him for the ride. He reminded me he only lived an hour away. “I’ll see you again.” He shook my hand and left.
I ran inside, screaming, “I’m home—I’m home!”
But the house was empty.
13.
The Bermuda Triangle
I CALLED MY SISTER KATHY. “Where is everyone?”
“Bermuda. They’ll be back on Tuesday.”
“Bermuda?” I could hear my voice going up an octave.
“Yeah, on a cruise.”
There was no note—and not much in the fridge. Though I hadn’t told Mom the exact day of my arrival, she knew I’d be home that week. I sat in the kitchen, eating Kraft Singles, thinking: I have six days alone in the house. The idea was half-exciting. Thinking of Flow Bear, I swam nude in the pool.
Later, obsessing about my thirty-two pounds of pot, I moved it from the pool house to my closet, and sealed it in a large cardboard box labeled ART SUPPLIES. Of course, I often unsealed the box, sampling my supplies.
Soon, I was bored. I made coffee and read The New York Times.
ASTRONAUTS END 12-DAY MOON TRIP
I scanned the gallery listings. Yoko Ono was having a one-woman show. Maybe I could get Mom to take me, some weekend when I was home from Star Farms.
I went into my parents’ bedroom and looked at myself in the big mirror. The wounds on my face had become red splotches, my right eyebrow now interrupted by a jagged scar. I marveled at my ugliness. I took off all my clothes to survey the damage. It was pretty bad. My knees and elbows were still raw, my ass and back marked with scrapes.
To hide my sins, I put on my mother’s chinchilla, the satin lining cool against my skin. I fell asleep on my parents’ bed, then woke from a nightmare, startled, not knowing where I was or why I was naked in a fur coat.
The next night, I dropped some acid from Valentine, trying to synchronize my peak with the moment of moonrise. It seemed scientific—like I was part of some great experiment. The experiment was hope.
* * *
A DAY LATER, I’m in the kitchen, tripping out again, marveling at how the molecules of the air have become visible. I reach up my hand to catch one when my father walks in. He thinks I’m waving to him.
“Hello to you, too,” he says. “So you’re home?”
Am I?
It takes me a moment to find my voice. “I thought you were in Bermuda.”
He scowls. “No. Your mother and brothers.”
Dad’s eyes are like mine; they have trouble focusing. I wonder if he’s high, too. He sits for a moment in the chair beside me. “I hear you almost got yourself killed out there?”
The molecules of air become planets.
When I don’t reply, Dad says he’s going to bed. He gets up and limps out of the kitchen. As he passes me, I can smell perfume.
Stray molecules enter my nose, and my brain computes:
Not my mother’s perfume.
* * *
ON TUESDAY, as scheduled, my mother and brothers returned.
“We just needed to get away,” my mother said brightly. “I see you got back safely. You’ve been here with your father all week?”
I nodded, deciding not to tell her that he’d only just showed up.
My brothers stared at my wrecked face.
“Cool,” said Michael.
Steven smiled at me sadly.
Little Danny said, “Eww.”
Mom opened the freezer and stared inside. “I’m tired, boys. Okay if we just have hamburgers?”
I said, “Oh, I’m a vegetarian now.”
“Since when?”
“Since Donna and Vinnie became vegetarian.”
“Well, I think we need to talk to Dr. Footer about this. I’ll make an appointment.”
“Mom, I’m fine.”
Dr. Footer was our pediatrician. He was also the county coroner. By day he ministered to children, by night he ripped the lungs out of corpses.
* * *
AFTER THREE DAYS
of my limping around the house in bib overalls, Mom said to me, “Let’s go out and get you some new clothes.”
I told her I liked my wardrobe. “Besides,” I said. “There’s no dress code at Star Farms. No one cares.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head and frowned.
“What?”
“Honey, I thought I told you. You’re not going back to Star Farms.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it was your idea. Don’t you remember all those hysterical phone calls? ‘Mommy, I hate boarding school. Mommy, I want to come home.’ Well, now you’re home. I enrolled you in public school.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I just did.”
A wave of confusion broke over me. It wasn’t just the horror of a new school. I had thirty-two pounds of pot to unload—and Star Farms was my only market. I’d told Valentine and Lu I’d pay them the rest of the money by the end of September.
“What’s the matter, honey? You’re perspiring.”
* * *
AT NIGHT, I kept going back to Albuquerque.
A white truck, a mustached man pointing a gun at me …
It wasn’t just me, though. The whole house was having a nightmare.
Dad was drunk, drunk every day, more drunk than sober. Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed how wasted he was but for my mother—who always noticed, and who always made a scene. She was very disappointed in my father.
“It’s a small town, Charlie. People are talking!”
“As far as I can see, Norma, you’re the only person who won’t shut up.”
Mom sniffed and circled my father every time he came in. Her favorite time to demand that he stop drinking was when he was shit-faced—a strategy even I recognized as hopeless. Their arguments moved across the house like storms, from porch to kitchen to bedroom.
My brothers and I ran outside, hid in the trees like monkeys.