Rule of the Bone

by Russell Banks

  I was being careful because I wasn’t sure if she’d want me back again after everything I’d put her through this year and once she knew I was okay she might get mad like before and slam the door on me again, although to tell the truth it was never really her who slammed the door last summer when I left home, it was Ken and in a sense it was me myself. My mom just kind of went along with the boys which sad to say is how she’s always dealt with her problems. Until now that is, with this new AA program she was into and which seemed to’ve gotten her to move out on Ken and all even if it was only to move in with Grandma. Still, this was a promising set of developments, I thought.

  I told her I’d already gone by the house and had seen Ken and knew about Willie getting whacked. Yes, she said, she was sorry about that, it was sad and all, he was a good cat. But it was an accident, you know, just one of those things that happen in life. She said Willie changed after I left and didn’t come home much anymore so she wasn’t all that surprised when she found him pancaked on the road a few houses down one morning when she went out to work.

  I didn’t want to hear about it. Yeah, well, lots of things’ve changed, I guess. Ken’s pretty messed up, it looks like. And the place is too, I said. You oughta see it. You’d be disgusted. By the way, Ken explained to me what happened, I told her. About you guys separating, I mean, and you staying at Grandma’s.

  He did, did he? Did he say separating?

  I don’t know. I guess I just thought it. But he’s really one messed-up dude, you know? I mean, the guy’s kind of sick, don’t you think? He’s like a pervert. You know what I’m saying?

  I was trying to figure out how to tell her for the first time about Ken, about what he’d done to me when I was a little kid. I wanted her to know about the ugliness that still connected me and him and how I hated it and was dying to get it out of my life but couldn’t as long as I had to deal with him as the price for being with her and keeping everything a secret. It meant that I couldn’t actually be with her, I couldn’t be with my own mom in a clean way until her husband, my stepfather was out of her life once and for all and there weren’t any more secrets, none and it didn’t matter about the drinking and the AA and all his promises to get straight because it was the secret of the past that he carried with him, my secret past, it was the ruined part of my life that he brought into the room with him like Dracula’s cape over his shoulders and a werewolf’s mask over his eyes so that whenever I saw him I was scared and felt ugly and dirty and weak. With Ken anywhere in the neighborhood I felt the exact opposite of how I felt when I saw my mom alone with just me and her for instance like now or when I was with I-Man or Rose or even ol’ Russ. With them I was the Bone whether they knew it or not but with my stepfather I was still little Chappie lying in the dark alone. Except when I had the gun.

  It’s the drinking that makes him sick, Chappie, she said. It’s the alcohol. He’s allergic to alcohol, that’s why he acts the way he does. You have to understand that.

  Bullshit, I said.

  Oh come on, Chappie, please, let’s not get into this. Let’s just leave Ken out of this, okay? It’s our reunion, okay? Don’t spoil things, honey. And I wish you wouldn’t swear.

  Yeah, well, are you gonna get a divorce from him? Are you? ‘Cause you oughta. I mean it. There’s things about Ken that even you don’t know. Stuff I heard. Stuff I know.

  I don’t need to hear whatever you heard.

  Yeah well you oughta kick him out of your house right away anyhow so we can move back in and clean it up. He’s completely fucked it up, sorry about swearing. But it’s your house, ain’t it? Didn’t my real father give it to you? Ken, he’s just the stepfather, you know. He doesn’t have any right to live in that house unless you say so. Besides you should see what a mess he’s made of the house, it’s really gross and disgusting.

  Chappie, please. I want you to keep out of my business. Ken and I are trying to work things out, and we will, if you’ll just stay out of it.

  Me? I said and my voice went all twinky and high like a bicycle bell. Me? You think I’m the problem? Ha! That’s a laugh.

  She looked over my head like she was enjoying the breeze.

  It’s Ken who’s the problem, not me, I said but it was useless I knew.

  That’s just not true, Chappie! she yelled. She was mad now and here it all came again, the same story as before. She said, As a matter of fact, young man, over the last year or so you have been very much a problem, wouldn’t you say, and otherwise I think maybe Ken and I would’ve gotten along better. I certainly wouldn’t have been so upset all year and he might not’ve turned to alcohol to deal with his problems and frustrations so much. Really, who knows how many things would’ve been different if you hadn’t gotten into drugs and stealing and all? If you’d’ve stayed in school for instance and had some decent friends and all, who knows how things would’ve been different? Only now you’re fine and you’re back, and that’s wonderful, Chappie. I know we’ll be able to work things out now, sweetie, all three of us.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  What do you mean? Don’t you want to work things out?

  Not if it’s the three of us, I told her. I mean, I want to be with you, I said. With you I can work things out. But not him. Not if he’s there.

  Where?

  Wherever you are.

  Well, excuse me, mister, but you can’t make that decision. It’s mine to make, if Ken and I are going to stay together. Mine and Ken’s, not yours. We’re still trying to work things out and I’m at Grandma’s only temporary. Until Ken decides to deal with his drinking problem, that’s all. And you certainly can’t live at Grandma’s with me, there’s barely room for me there. So if you want to live at home with me, and you’re welcome to, I want you to know that, then you’ll just have to let me and Ken work things out first. Which we will, and when we do you’ll have to put up with Ken, I’m afraid. And you’ll have to like it, too. And be nice to him for a change. Many things will have to change, Chappie, for the three of us to go back to living together like we used to, back before you started getting into trouble. And you, mister, are the one who has to do the most changing, she said. You and Ken too, Ken will have to make a few changes too, she said like she’d made a big compromise. Then she stood back from me and crossed her arms over her chest which always meant that she’d made up her mind, she’d staked out her territory and there’d be no more arguing with her now. Only defiance, only open in-your-face fuck-you-mom defiance.

  Nothing’s changed! I said. And it never will! Nothing! I guess I was shouting because she stepped back like she was scared of me. You’re just trying to set up the same old thing as before! I think I was crying by then. Look, Mom, please please please! Just try, please? Just try and see it my way. I was practically begging her but I knew she wouldn’t even try to see it my way and probably couldn’t anyhow, not without knowing my secret and there was no way I could tell it to her now. It was too late. So I kept on hollering and I made all these stupid demands instead, not because I thought or even hoped she’d meet the demands but because I was pissed at everything that was going down and frustrated because it was too late to change anything and also because I didn’t know how else to express myself.

  You know what, Mom? You wanna know what? I’ll tell you what. You should choose! Yeah, you should choose between me and Ken! I said. That’s right, choose which one of us you want. ‘Cause you can’t have both. That’s the one thing I can guarantee. So c’mon, Mom, choose one or the other. Ken or me. Let’s get serious.

  Stop this! she said. Stop it right now!

  Who d’ya want standing there beside you, Mom? Is it gonna be your stupid sicko drunk of a pervert of a husband, or the homeless boy who’s your own flesh-and-blood son? Red Rover, Red Rover, who’re you calling over, Mom? Is it me or is it Ken?

  I was remembering how when I was a little kid in the schoolyard we used to play Red Rover and the teachers thought it was cute and all but it was scary, two lines of kids holding
hands facing each other across a distance and the one in the middle says, Red Rover, Red Rover, let Chappie come over, and I’d get all excited like I’d been chosen for something special. I’d let go of the hand of the kid on either side of me and I’d step out there in like no-man’s-land between the two lines all alone and exposed and everyone looking at me and I’d wind up and start running straight at the line opposite as fast as I could. I’d slam against the linked hands of the kids who I only remember as being bigger than me because although I didn’t realize it then you only call come over to the littlest kids, the ones who are too small and weak to bust through the line. Otherwise if you break through you get to go safely back to your own line and now it’s your team’s turn to call for the littlest kid to come over and try to bust through and when he fails he gets captured. Back and forth you go until finally there’s only one kid left on the other side facing a huge long line of everyone else opposite him, and the last kid realizes that he can’t call anyone over anymore because he’s all by himself. It was usually the biggest strongest kid in the school-yard like a fifth or sixth grader who ended up standing there all alone and it was interesting because he was the loser. Anyhow I was never him. Instead I was always called over early in the game and got captured and even though I said like Oh no and all, I was secretly glad to be captured. I never wanted to be the big tough kid who ended up on the other side all by myself and unable to say Red Rover, Red Rover, let even the littlest kid in the school-yard, let Chappie come over.

  You—you’re—you’re just a terrible son! she sputtered and she started to cry but more from being mad than sad.

  Yeah, well, that should make it easy for you to choose, I said. So who’s it gonna be, Mom? The terrific husband or the terrible son?

  She wrung her hands and I knew I was totally screwing up our relationship forever probably but I couldn’t stop myself. Her face was dark red and had more lines in it than I’d ever seen before like she was aging right before my eyes and I truly wished that I didn’t have to force her to make this choice. But I felt like I myself didn’t have any choice and it was her husband, the man she had chosen to marry after my real father left, who had taken it away from me and had made it so that neither me nor my mom had any freedom to choose, and the one who had taken it away from us, Ken, he wasn’t even here.

  She said in a low voice, almost a whisper, Then go, Chappie. Go away.

  I’ll always remember that moment. I’ve played it back in my mind a hundred times at least since then. But not much of what came afterwards. I think I said okay. I was calm and picked up my backpack and I remember thinking about the niner inside and I remember noticing with relief that I hadn’t the slightest interest now in becoming a mass murderer.

  I’m gonna go by and see Grandma first, I said. Just to tell her like goodbye. I didn’t do it before, I said. Then I guess I’ll go back to Vermont, to the organic school.

  Whatever, she said. She looked definitely downcast, like her only son had died only of course he hadn’t, he was standing right there in front of her saying goodbye. But I think she kind of wanted me dead, that she actually had all along preferred me missing and presumed dead to being where and what I was now. In a sense by cutting out I was only giving her what she really wanted but didn’t dare ask for.

  What a good boy am I, thought I. See ya ’round, Mom, I said and left her sitting there in the chair behind the big green plant in the lobby of the clinic looking dreamy and sad and when I got to the door and turned she looked relieved too.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

  It was raining pretty hard when I left the clinic so by the time I got to Grandma’s at the Mayflower Arms Apartments down by the bridge I was soaked even though I jogged most of the way and must’ve looked like a kitten somebody tried to drown in a bag because when Grandma came to the door she didn’t recognize me at first and I had to tell her my name. It’s me, your grandson. The only one incidentally but never mind, she’s old and surprisingly self-centered for a person who doesn’t have long to live. Plus she’d probably decided right after the fire that I’d been burned up in it so I was like a ghost to her and nobody wants to recognize a ghost, even the ghost of their only grandson.

  She clapped her hand over her big bosom and said, Chappie? It’s really you? My God, I thought you’d been burned beyond recognition in that fire over the Video Den. You know they found the one body, she added and I said yeah I knew.

  She gave me the usual hugs and all, carefully holding her cigarette out to the side so’s not to burn me and keeping her head turned so I wouldn’t knock off these big clip-on earrings that she always wears day and night. She was real glad to see me though and liked holding my hands in her old soft ones once she’d put her cigarette in an ashtray and she enjoyed standing back and looking at me and smiling in a teary way and saying like how happy she was to know that it wasn’t me who was burned beyond recognition. I think that particular phrase pleased her because she used it a lot more than necessary especially if she was trying to make me feel lucky for not being dead which is what she told me, that I should feel lucky for not being burned beyond recognition in that terrible fire. Did I know about the fire, had I seen it? she asked like it’d been the highlight of her year.

  I like my grandmother and always have since I was a little kid but I never really know what she’s thinking. Part of it’s she doesn’t either. Also she plucks her eyebrows off and then draws in new ones with a pencil or a special crayon the way she’d want them to look in a fashion magazine which is up high on her forehead practically like she’s stuck in a state of cute permanent surprise so most of the time you actually can’t read her expression very well. It’s sort of a mask. Plus she has this habit of reversing how people are supposed to ask you about yourself so that it comes out she’s really telling you about herself only you aren’t supposed to know it and most people probably don’t. Even I didn’t until I got used to it. Like once on my thirteenth birthday my mom had a special family dinner and Grandma when she sat down at the table took my hand in hers and looked into my eyes and said, Did you ever think you’d be old enough to have a grandmother who’ll be seventy-five in September?

  I said, No kidding, Grandma. Happy birthday in advance then, in case I don’t make it to September, but then my mom started dissing me because she knew what I was doing even if Grandma didn’t. I was only kidding though and Grandma likes being kidded. She knows attention when she sees it.

  This day she said to me, I bet you never thought you’d see your old grandmother again, did you, Chappie?

  Yeah, it’s pretty amazing, I said. But I’ve been over in Vermont, I told her and added the bit about the organic school and the hippie family who were these wicked decent older people with kids and this huge farm they all lived on with some other kids like me who were like foster children and they grew all their own food and ran their own school in the barn and made all their own clothes and shoes even, I said showing her my sandals.

  Those are nice, the sandals. I once had a pair that they remind me of, she said. Made by Indians from Mexico or one of those places. I got them at an Indian souvenir place in Lake George. They didn’t last though. But yours look fine, she said. I see you got rid of that weird haircut and all the earrings and that ring in your nose and so on, she said.

  Yeah, I said. On account of the rules of the school and all. That’s the one drawback, I told her in case she thought I’d done it to please people like her. At the door when I took off my doo-rag on account of it was soaked she’d seen my hair and she just had to like nod with approval which’d made me instantly want to shave my head and grow back the old mohawk as fast as I could. That’s why afterwards I kind of exposed my arm a few times so she could see my crossed bones if she wanted to comment on something, but I guess she was distracted and didn’t see it or probably she just thought I’d had it all along and couldn’t get rid of it like the haircut and the rings so she’d rather not think abou
t it and didn’t. She was like that, she could think about anything she wanted whenever she wanted or she could decide not to think about it at all and then didn’t. Grandma always had her fingernails to paint, her eyebrows to pluck, her TV shows to watch, plus church and her AA meetings. She’s been in AA for half a century or at least since my mom was a kid and her husband, my mom’s dad who would’ve been my grandfather got killed in a car crash when he was drinking, an event Grandma refers to as her wake-up call and still talks about like it happened a year ago and was a blessing in disguise.

  At her weekly meetings in the basement of the Methodist Church Grandma is the one who makes the coffee and cleans up afterwards and gets to complain how they take her for granted. I knew she was the one who’d gotten my mom hooked into the AA, she’d been trying for years and it was probably an okay thing and the reason why my mom was living with her nowadays, and I figured once my mom was sure she’d be able to keep going to AA meetings on her own she’d move out of Grandma’s and back in with Ken.

  It couldn’t’ve been much fun living at Grandma’s anyhow. It was a crummy old building full of old people on social security and derelicts and drunks and her whole apartment was smaller than a standard-sized bedroom jammed with all kinds of furniture she couldn’t let go of. Plus I knew when it came to food, TV, housecleaning and so forth it was bound to be Grandma who ran the show, not Mom even if Mom was contributing money for rent and food and all Grandma had to live on was her social security check. Grandma was totally self-centered and strong but my mom who was equally self-centered was weak. I kind of preferred my grandmother’s version though because you could see it coming from last Tuesday and it didn’t make you feel sorry for her all the time. Even when I was so pissed at my mom I could hardly look at her like now I was still feeling sorry for her and guilty. Which is why I probably acted the way I did that day at Grandma’s.

  I flopped down on her couch and didn’t move when she started wringing her hands and complaining about how I was getting it all wet. She was like a bird whose nest’d been taken over by a bird of a different breed, fluttering and squawking around while I sat there and ignored her. I picked up the remote and started surfing the TV in a dazed way and put my feet on her coffee table which wasn’t cool I know but I was incredibly pissed off way down deep inside and scared too but I couldn’t say to myself or to anyone else what it was exactly that I was upset about. Except of course that it obviously was about my stepfather and my mother, and me not being able to live a regular life with them.