Little Chicago

by Adam Rapp

  Did you keep the sweatshirt on?

  No, I say.

  She says, Blacky, you have to keep it on or we lose power. I wore my QUACK OFF, MOTHERQUACKER! long-sleeved T-shirt for the Shuttle Run and Miss Kimsey refused to let me compete until I changed into my Student Handbook–approved gym shirt.

  So what did you do?

  I went back to my locker and put it on, she says. Over QUACK OFF, MOTHERQUACKER!

  Oh, I say.

  You should’ve seen Miss Kimsey’s face. The Student Handbook doesn’t say anything about not wearing clothes under gym clothes.

  Good thinking, I say.

  There are only so many things they can regulate, she says.

  She seems happy and smart.

  I feel dumb and slow.

  14

  I wait for Flahive behind the 7-Eleven at Five Corners. There’s a big green dumpster that smells like dirt and vomit. There are also lots of broken glass and a pile of flattened boxes tied with string.

  Aside from these items there’s not much behind the 7-Eleven at Five Corners.

  You get the feeling that an assortment of illegal activities happen back here.

  I imagine the Vicelords and the Latin Kings rumbling with murderous urban warfare.

  It’s windy but I am wearing my J.C. Penney’s jean jacket with twice the stitching and Mary Jane Paddington’s Koren Motors windbreaker and I’ve turned the collar up.

  On the other side of the big green dumpster there’s some woods. I have never seen these woods before. The trees are bare and blacker than trees are supposed to look.

  After a while I hear a motorcycle pull into the front of the 7-Eleven.

  When Flahive arrives he looks rushed and antsy. He’s carrying a small green gym bag that says PROVIDENCE PHYS ED.

  Hey, I say.

  Come on, he says without looking at me. I don’t got all day.

  His hair blows around his head like it’s trying to escape.

  He walks into the woods, so I follow.

  About fifty feet in he stops under a tree and looks over each shoulder.

  He unzips the gym bag and removes the gun. It’s black and nicked in several places. It seems small in his hand.

  Twenty-two revolver, he says, handing it to me. Shoot em up Wild West style.

  The gun is much bigger in my hand than it was in his. It’s so heavy I almost drop it.

  He shows me how to unlock the thing that holds the bullets and then he spins it.

  It sounds like a ten-speed bike.

  He clicks it shut.

  I don’t got no ammo, he says. Go see my boy Lloyd. He does business in the loading dock behind Costco. A red Camaro with smoked windows. Indiana plates. He sells untraceable twenty-twos for two bucks a pop. Make sure you tell him I sent you or he might go schizoid on you.

  Okay.

  I imagine what it means to go schizoid on someone. I see an axe and lots of heavy-metal head banging.

  So, how much you got? Flahive asks, wiping his nose with the back of the hand holding the gun. His nostrils are pink and raw-looking.

  From my pocket I dig out the ten-dollar bill I got for my Anna Beth Coles Kissing Lesson. I also dig out a quarter, six dimes, and several nickels. I put all of it in his other hand.

  He makes a fist with the money, then slowly opens his fingers and stares at it like it’s a bunch of rat teeth.

  That ain’t enough, he says sort of sad, putting the gun in the pocket of his army jacket.

  I say, But you said—

  It ain’t enough. I’m a businessman. We’re doin business here. I’m gonna need somethin else.

  Okay.

  He sort of looks over my shoulder a few times. Like there are people hiding in the woods.

  You know how to give a blowjob? he asks.

  What’s that? I say.

  You don’t know what a fucking blowjob is?

  Nuh-uh.

  I imagine blowing on Anne Meadows’ naked breasts. Her nipples are pink and puffy.

  Flahive says, Fuck, and starts going at his nose again.

  What about a handjob, he says, you know how to give a handjob?

  No, I say.

  Don’t you ever jerk off?

  I don’t know how, I say.

  Well, he says, this ain’t gonna work out then.

  He takes the gun out of his pocket, looks at it, and shakes his head.

  Then he starts to give me my money back.

  I’ll do it, I say.

  He looks at me and smiles. I’ve never seen Flahive smile before. One of his bottom teeth is chipped.

  He shows me how to move my hand on him.

  I think I see a dog running through the trees but it’s really a stray kite. I can’t imagine who would try to fly a kite in the woods.

  The trees smell like dirt and gum. The one Flahive is leaning back on looks like it has fingers instead of branches.

  After a minute, Flahive says, You know the Dixie Chicks?

  No, I say.

  What about Faith No More, you know any Faith No More?

  No, I say.

  He’s having a hard time talking. It’s like he’s dreaming.

  Well, what the fuck songs do you know? he asks.

  I say, I know “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” still moving my hand on him.

  Well, fuck it, he says. Sing that then.

  So I start to sing.

  Row, row, row your boat

  Gently, down the stream,

  Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

  Life is but a dream.

  Row, row, row your boat

  Gently, down the stream,

  Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

  Life is but a dream.

  After we’re finished he cleans himself and gives me the gun.

  Wish you knew some fuckin Dixie Chicks, he says, handing me the twenty-two.

  Before he leaves he makes me stay in the woods and count to a hundred.

  15

  At home Shay is packing a suitcase.

  Hey, I say.

  She says, Hey.

  Where’s Ma?

  Out.

  Do you know where?

  She was here and now she’s not.

  You didn’t talk to her?

  You know, Blacky, we don’t really talk anymore. We sorta got in a fight. Cheedle probably knows where the bitch is.

  I say, Where’s Cheedle?

  He was in the living room. But he was talkin about walkin to the library.

  Why are you packing? I ask.

  Cause I’m leavin.

  Are you going to Chicago?

  I’m gonna stay with Betty for a while.

  Oh, I say. Can you maybe leave her number?

  I could but it wouldn’t matter. The fucking phone’s about to get disconnected altogether.

  It’s funny how Shay’s not packing any clothes. Her suitcase is full of cigarettes and makeup and a bottle of Boone’s Farm wine and a hundred-dollar bill.

  Where’d you get the money? I ask.

  None of your business, she says.

  Why not?

  Cause it’s not, Creepo. I just got it, okay?

  Okay.

  Then she stops packing and tries to light a cigarette but she can’t cause her hands are shaking so bad.

  She throws the Kool in the suitcase and starts to cry.

  Without eyelashes her tears look wetter than they used to.

  I say, What?

  Her face gets stuck and she makes a sound like a clarinet.

  Then it comes out.

  She says, I let this guy fuck me in the back of Sub-Diggity.

  I say, What guy?

  Just some guy from Decatur. He kept following me and Betty around at the mall.

  She’s crying and she has to sit down.

  He was so fucking gross, she says. His hands …

  I imagine a pair of hands. I see these big meaty fingers with warts and sores.

  I sit next to Shay on her bed.


  Did he use a condom? I ask.

  Yeah, she says, he used a condom.

  I say, At least you were safe.

  We sit there and she cries and puts her head on my shoulder. Through the window the sky is gray like a fish. It seems like it’s been gray for so long you wonder if something got clogged up there.

  After a minute Shay takes her head back.

  Her hands got cuts all over them like she fought off a cat.

  I hug Shay and put my head in her armpit. She smells like the bottom of a popcorn box, so I tell her this.

  You smell like the bottom of a popcorn box, I say.

  Shay says, Don’t be such a dork.

  I say, I’m not a dork, I’m a skank.

  Then she laughs and gives me a titty twister. I squirm away with delight.

  Then Shay says, What’s that stuff on your jacket, Blacky?

  I look down. Flahive’s sperm is all over it.

  Is that splooge? she says.

  It’s paint, I say. We’re doing snow in Art.

  Oh, she says.

  I look at us in her mirror. She’s somewhere else. You can see it in her eyes. It’s like there’s this place where she goes that’s only for her. For some reason I imagine there’s a horse there. The one with the human leg from her poster. The horse with the human leg and green grass and apple trees.

  I try to use my brainwaves to make her eyes meet mine in the mirror but the muscles in my mind are not good for that kind of thing yet.

  I will learn it someday and then no one will be able to not look.

  I think how Shay is so pretty but acts like she doesn’t want to be.

  There’s this kid in the sixth grade who can throw a football farther than anyone. In Gym he can’t do anything else right, but he can throw a football with great distance and accuracy. He even throws it better than Steve Degerald and Evan Keefler. His name is Luke Swan and whenever Coach Corcoran tries to talk him into joining the football team he just shakes his head and walks away. I think it’s cause he’s more interested in fixing cars.

  Shay being pretty is like that. Only you have to replace cars with cigarettes and marijuana and other illegal substances.

  I say, How old was that man?

  Shay says, I don’t know. Prolly like fifty somethin. Why?

  Just curious.

  You got a thing for old men, don’t you, Blacky?

  No, I say.

  Shay says, How old is Al Johnson, anyway?

  I say, Fifty something.

  So we both got a thing for old men, Shay says, and laughs. It’s weird how she knows how to laugh without smiling.

  It’s the first time Shay has said anything about Al Johnson since I came back from St. Joseph’s.

  She says, You gotta stay away from perverts, Blacky, okay?

  I say, Okay.

  Whatever you do, don’t get in any vans.

  I won’t.

  And come straight home after school. You’re a pervert’s wet dream.

  I say, What’s that?

  She says, It just means you’re a cutie.

  I am?

  Totally. You get it from Dad. He was a babe. Just wait. By the time you get to high school you’ll have to buy a taser gun just to keep the girls off your back.

  I have no idea what a taser gun is. I imagine science fiction weaponry. Something silver that shoots meteor light.

  Shay adds, Someday you’re gonna be a hunk but right now you’re just a cutie.

  Shay finally meets me in the mirror and smiles. Her smile is sad and pretty at the same time. She has this tooth that’s sort of smaller than the others but it doesn’t hurt her looks.

  I say, Aren’t you gonna pack any clothes?

  I’m tired of my clothes, she says, and goes for that cigarette again. This time she lights it. When she exhales she doesn’t bother using the Airwick air freshener.

  What will you wear? I ask.

  I’ll borrow clothes from Betty. We’re the same size. She’s got bigger tits but we’re both a two.

  I say, Can I have your horse with the human leg poster?

  You can have whatever you want, she says. But if you sleep in my bed just don’t piss in it.

  I won’t, I say.

  Cause if I sneak home and have to crash here I don’t want it to be all groady.

  Shay puts a thing of non-drowsy antihistamine pills in the suitcase and closes it.

  I say, So what did you and Ma get in a fight about?

  She says, I came home and she was rooting through my shit again.

  What was she looking for? I ask.

  I don’t know, she says. But the bitch was all in my laundry and I was like What the fuck are you looking for and she said Don’t you dare talk to me like that young lady and then I spit at her and she tried to slap me so I kneed her in the stomach.

  I say, You kneed Ma in the stomach?

  Yeah, and then she fell down.

  Jesus, Shay.

  And then she got in the car and left.

  Shay smokes for a minute. Her face gets all desperate and twitchy.

  I say, Do you know where she went?

  She says, Prolly to that lady from Children’s Services’ house.

  I picture Ma at the Ham Lady’s house. They’re eating sandwiches and drinking Cokes. Dr. Darius is there, too, and he’s wearing his rubber gloves.

  I say, Where was Cheedle?

  He was down in the basement.

  Shay looks me over. Her makeup is smeared again. It makes her eyes look like they’re fading away.

  She says, Blacky, why are you still wearin my sweatshirt?

  I say, Cause.

  She says, Cause why?

  Cause I’m doing this thing, I say.

  She says, What thing?

  It’s just this thing. Me and this girl Mary Jane Paddington are doin it. They threw paint on our shirts and we decided we wouldn’t take em off.

  I open the windbreaker and my J.C. Penney’s jean jacket with twice the stitching and show her the paint.

  Shay says, Cool. Who’s Mary Jane Paddington?

  Just this girl.

  Just this girl, huh?

  Yes.

  Shay says, I detect a note of romance.

  I say nothing.

  Shay says, Is she your girlfriend?

  I say, Um. I don’t know. Maybe.

  Fuckin A, Blacky.

  I can feel my face blushing.

  Shay says, Who threw paint on you?

  These two brothers, I say.

  What two brothers?

  Greg and Andy Bauer. They’re twins.

  Shay says, Fuckin bullies. You should kick em in the balls.

  Just then a car horn honks.

  Shay says, That’s Betty. I gotta skate.

  She puts her long black coat on and stands with her suitcase. Her cigarette’s still burning in her mouth.

  I say, When are you coming home?

  Shay says, Maybe never.

  Then she fluffs my head.

  She looks at her hand and says, You gotta wash your hair, Blacky.

  I say, Okay.

  Promise me you’ll take showers and stuff.

  I promise her.

  Then the car honks again.

  Shay looks out the window and says, Fuckin weather’s goin crazy. They’re saying it’s gonna snow tonight. I wish Betty wasn’t such a shitty driver.

  Through Shay’s window I can see Betty’s car. It’s big and green and Betty’s in the front seat. She’s wearing a black ski hat and she looks like she’s freezing.

  I say, I love you, Shay.

  I know, Creepo, she says. I love you too.

  Then I walk away cause I don’t want to watch her leave.

  In my room I take out my box and arrange things so the hardhat fits. I have to turn it upside down and put the other stuff inside it.

  I count everything cause it seems like this is important.

  They do stuff like that in the army.

  The fron
t door closes and then Shay is gone.

  A second later I can hear Betty’s car pulling away.

  I’m convinced that there’s something wrong with it cause it sounds more like a truck than a car.

  I look out the window but I miss it.

  All I can see are a few skinny trees.

  16

  Later there is a knock on the front door.

  I open it and Mary Jane Paddington is standing next to the mailbox. She is holding a can of paint, a newspaper, and a wooden ruler.

  Hey, she says.

  She’s wearing a black plastic poncho.

  I say, Hey.

  Her head is dark and wet. Behind her the rain is sideways and the wind is blowing so hard the bald tree in Mrs. Bunton’s yard looks like a witch’s hand casting a spell.

  Can I come in? she asks.

  Um, I say, sure.

  She comes in and takes her shoes off. They’re the kind of shoes that they try to make look name-brand. She takes the poncho off, too. I hang it in the closet next to this corduroy coat Uncle Jack sent me that’s still way too big.

  I close the closet door and then we go and sit at the kitchen table.

  Mary Jane Paddington puts the paint and the newspaper and the wooden ruler under her chair and sits there with her hands clasped in her lap.

  Cheedle is at the stove stirring a can of Franco-American Beans and Franks in a pan.

  When he turns he says, And who might this be?

  I say, This is Mary Jane. Mary Jane, this is Cheedle.

  Mary Jane Paddington says, Hey.

  Cheedle says, Hello, and tears off a few Bounty paper towels with two-ply absorbency for her.

  They’re extremely absorbent, he says, offering the towels.

  She takes them and dabs at her hair and cleans her glasses.

  Underneath her chair I can see that her newspaper is the Joliet Herald News. On the front page there is a picture of the President. He is shaking somebody’s hand and he’s smiling so hard it’s like he’s hiding money.

  Cheedle goes back to stirring his beans and franks. His glasses are steamed and this makes him look like a scientist.

  Are you here for kissing lessons? Cheedle asks her.

  No, she says. Why?

  It’s just my brother is a fantastic kisser, Cheedle explains. He gives lessons.

  She’s just here, I tell Cheedle. Stir your beans.

  There’s an old food s tamp stuck to the top of the table. I start to pick at it with my thumb.

  Mary Jane Paddington catches me doing it and looks away.