“Gary!”
He didn’t slow, just kept running. There was no destination in mind, just away from the Rusty Dungeon.
“Gary! Hey, Gary, wait up!” Clay’s voice.
Gary turned his head but never slowed. “Not now, Clay.”
But the little shit was quick, caught up to Gary, then jogged beside him with a stupid grin widening his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be working? Are you gonna play in the tournament today?”
“I quit that stupid job,” Gary said as he turned a corner and leaned on the brick wall to catch his breath. “The Rusty Dungeon can…eat shit. And Shipley…can kiss…my ass.”
Clay shoved his glasses back up his nose, squinted. “But what about—”
“Just shut up, Clay, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, sorry.”
Gary plopped down on the sidewalk and wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. The cotton was soaked with an old gym sock flavor. Clay sat Indian-style beside him.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Well, I was going to the Rusty—”
“Just…nevermind. God.”
“You hungry?”
Gary glanced up at the ten bucks waving from Clay’s hand. “I guess so.”
“I begged my dad so much, he finally gave in and gave me ten bucks for a new Mystical pack. But we can get some burgers if you want instead.”
Gary snatched the bill away. “Let’s go.”
As they dawdled toward Sandy’s Burger House, Gary fumed. Clay chattered away like a gossiping school girl, but it was just background noise. All Gary could hear was the pounding of his pulse, all he could see was Sonny’s silver grin from behind the counter. The dot in the middle of his chest still stung from Mr. Shipley’s finger.
Fucking assholes, all of them.
He clenched his teeth and squeezed his thumbs in his fists.
“…gonna get?”
“What?” They stood in line at Sandy’s and it was more the smell of sizzling meat and salty fries that snapped Gary out of his trance than Clay’s voice.
“What are you gonna get?”
Gary stepped up to the cashier and ordered a double cheeseburger, large fries, and an extra large soda. That left Clay with a whole two fifty for his self.
“Just a plain hamburger,” he said, shuffling his feet and squinting.
Gary didn’t say a word as he scarfed down his food like a high-powered vacuum. A meaty belch gurgled from his throat and he wiped his greasy hands off on his shirt.
“Since you don’t have to work today,” Clay said as he peeled a soggy piece of lettuce from the yellow burger wrapper and popped it into his mouth, “you think we can play Mystical? Just me and you?”
Gary thought about his deck, divvied up among the Rusty Dungeon groupies. A shudder ran through his body and he sat up straighter. “No, I think I’m done with that game.”
“Done? But, but you can’t be done. You’re the champion.”
“Yeah, well, I’m retired.”
Clay crumbled his burger wrapper into a ball and squeezed it like a stress reliever. “Well maybe I can come to your place and you can show me your World of Fantasy character you’ve been talking about. Or maybe I can finally get a sneak peek at your comic?”
“Nah, I don’t really feel like it, Clay.”
“Yeah…okay.”
Leaving his trash on the tabletop, Gary stood and trudged toward the swinging glass door. “See you later.”
Clay nodded, tossed the paper ball onto the table. A quivering smile slid onto his face and he waved goodbye as Gary shoved back outside and headed home.
***
The second he walked into the apartment, a loud pop like a gunshot nearly made him piss himself. He held his hand to his chest and his heart slammed itself against his ribcage.
Chester stood in the living room with a green bottle of champagne in his hands and a smoldering cigarette in his mouth. A stream of foam shot from the top of the bottle and splashed to the floor.
Sheila squealed with laughter as she wrapped her lips around the bottle and sucked the frothy liquid, then plucked the cigarette from Chester’s mouth and slammed her lips against his. They separated with a pop as loud as the champagne cork, and she locked eyes with Gary as he tried sneaking around the corner.
“Honey. Come over here for a second, have some champagne with us.” She nudged Chester in the stomach with her elbow.
He sighed, rolled his eyes. “Come on over here. A little glass won’t hurt you.”
“Don’t feel like it.” And he continued down the hall toward his bedroom.
“Now wait just a goddamn minute.”
“Chester—”
“No, fuck that. Little motherfucker doesn’t have to be rude.”
Gary heard all of this behind him as he wrapped his hand around the doorknob to his bedroom. “Eat shit, Chester.”
The plan was to piss the man off, then escape into his room behind the safety of his locked door, but the hamburger grease on his hand prevented him from gripping it quick enough. His hand slid around the knob instead of turning it, and the next thing he knew, Chester was on him, squeezing him in a headlock.
“What was that, pussy? Huh?” The muscled noose tightened.
Through the blurry haze of his vision, Gary saw Sheila tugging on Chester’s arm. No air could get past the constricting muscle and Gary’s head felt ready to explode. His mouth opened and closed, opened and closed.
“That’s enough!” Sheila tugged hard enough for a tiny burst of oxygen to slide down Gary’s throat, and he soaked it up, held onto it. But Chester’s free hand whipped out and shoved her dead-center in the chest, and she stumbled backward, hit the wall and tumbled to the floor with picture frames raining down on her.
“See what you made me do?”
Sweat drenched Gary’s head now, dripped down his face and slicked Chester’s arm. With a quick hard tug, he slipped free. Chester reached for him again, but Gary threw his door open, spun himself into his room, and slammed it shut. He barely turned the locks in time before a blizzard of fists nearly shook the door off its hinges.
“Get your fat ass out here, motherfucker!”
Hot tears washed his face as he gasped and rubbed his neck.
I hope you fucking die, you son of a bitch!
He didn’t dare say it out loud in fear that the words would give Chester the needed push to successfully break the door down. The Superman tin was pulled from under his bed and his pudgy fist wrapped around a Milky Way. As he chewed he found himself back at his computer chair where power coursed through him and out of his fingertips. Where nobody could overpower him.
With the slamming of knuckles on wood for background music, he launched World of Fantasy, where he would take out his frustrations on the unsuspecting online gamers.
Because in this world, he was king. He was a god.
***
Gary heard his mother knocking at his door, calling his name, but he just turned the volume up on his computer speakers.
“Gary, let me in.”
His left hand worked the keyboard, his right slid the mouse around. King Kronos slashed his enemies with his Sword of Holy Tears. The other players in the massive multi-player online RPG were no match, which of course, they never were. Gary spent more time suping up King Kronos than he ever did with his Mystical deck. His character was at max level, had all the best armor, and the Sword of Holy Tears cut other characters down with ease. And he even made the character look decently close to his drawings, which only made him want to play the game more. He imagined it was a video game version of his comic book, which he told himself could be in his future, along with action figures and feature films.
A heavy knock. “Come on. Quit being a baby and let me in.”
“Just leave me alone.” He cast a fire spell and torched a group of dwarves. “I’m busy.”
“Please, Gary. Chester went to the store to
get more beer. It’s just me, honey.”
“Just…hold on a second.” King Kronos ran to his castle where he could store all the gold he’d earned and save the game. Gary typed in a quick message to the other players just before signing off.
King Kronos: Bow down to your master!!!
He dashed across the room, slid the locks back, opened the door.
He squinted and flinched a bit as he looked over Sheila’s shoulder, expected to see Chester there with a face full of blistering rage.
“I told you, he went to the store.” Her breath rushed over Gary’s face.
“Jesus, Sheila. Your breath reeks.” He pinched his nose. “Can you maybe skip one night of drinking?”
She slapped his arm. “I hate it when you call me by my name. And are you seriously going to talk to me about stink? Your room smells like dirty socks and bad meat.”
Gary couldn’t help but laugh. She smiled, wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“I wish you wouldn’t fight with Chester, honey. He’s—”
“If you’re about to say he’s a good man, then bite your tongue,” Gary said. “He’s an asshole, and you should move on.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not doing this. You can’t keep me from being happy. Your dad—”
“He what, broke your heart?” Gary stomped away from her, plopped down on his bed. “How do you think I feel?”
“You’re a grown man, Gary! Jesus Christ. I can’t baby you any more, you hear me?” She collapsed to the floor, sat cross-legged, massaged her temples.
“What…what are you saying?”
“I think you know what I’m saying,” she said. “I need you to move out, honey. It’s time for you to grow up and for me to have my own life.”
Gary chuckled. “You’re just drunk. Don’t say something you’ll—”
“I might be tipsy, but I’m thinking clear. This isn’t working anymore. You don’t work, you don’t clean up.” She waved her hands in a circle around her. “Just look at your room. It’s fucking disgusting.”
Gary jumped back to his feet. “I do work.”
“What, three days a week? And you spend all your money on…crap.”
He sat on the ground beside her, his knees popping as he knelt. As he grew closer, he saw her hold her breath. “Please don’t do this. I’ll…I’ll give you money. I’ll work more hours, stop buying games and comics, okay?”
She shook her head. “It’s too late for that, Gary. Chester and I want our own lives, our own place.”
“I’m your son, goddamnit. He’s nothing, just some fucking drunkard asshole. You’d pick him over me?” Gary refused to let the tears welling in his eyes to fall. He wanted to look strong, angry.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” she said, jabbed a finger at him. Then her face softened. “Chester…he…he proposed to me. That’s why we were celebrating, honey.”
Gary scooted away from her, furrowed his brow. The tears won the battle, dripped along his acne-scarred cheeks. “What did you say?”
She displayed her hand, fingers pointed to the floor. The tiny diamond sparkled as she beamed and fluttered her eyelashes.
“That’s a cheap piece of shit, just like Chester.” He struggled to his feet, wiped his face with his forearm.
“Hey, watch it. That’s my future… What are you doing?”
“I’m packing, just like you wanted.” He had his backpack open on his bed, stuffed clothing, comics, and candy into it, then carefully placed Kronos the Destoryer and his drawing pencils on top. His chest tightened and his stomach swirled— he couldn’t look at her.
“Gary, I didn’t mean right now. Stop—”
“Why put it off, right?” His voice cracked and he sniffled. “I don’t want to interfere with your celebration.”
He stood there, silent, unmoving, and waited for her to respond. Waited for her to hug him, tell him she was wrong, that he could stay. But she didn’t. She looked from his face to the floor, then turned and walked out of the room.
***
As Gary stomped down the concrete steps, Chester came strolling up the walkway, a case of Natural Light in his hands. The son of a bitch smiled when he locked eyes with Gary.
“So your mom told you the good news, huh?” He chuckled. “Sayonara, shithead.”
It felt like smoke shot from Gary’s ears as Chester laughed, and he tried to take the stairs faster, get the hell out of there. His world had been turned upside down, as if he’d fallen asleep and woke up in the Twilight Zone or something. But as his unathletic legs shuffled past each other, his right foot got caught behind his left ankle, and he stumbled down the last three steps. The Superman tin lunch pail in his backpack jabbed him in the spine, knocked the air from him.
“Uh oh. Baby fall down?” More laughter. “Mama not gonna kiss your boo boos no more, is she?”
“Fuck you!” Snot and saliva coated his words, took away from their effect.
“Ew, you a big boy now.” Chester stepped over him, walked up the first couple of steps, turned back. “Can’t say I’m gonna miss you. You come crying back, I’ll fucking kill you. Understand me?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and walked up the steps, beer bottles tinkling against each other.
Gary struggled to his knees, took a few deep breaths, reached up and grabbed the handrail and pulled himself to his feet. His left knee was scraped free of a few layers of skin—blood dripped down his leg, soaked into his sock. He wiped it, studied the red on his hand.
Chester whistled some happy tune, oblivious of Gary’s existence. Halfway up the stairs now.
Son of a bitch. You ruined my life.
A surge of power and bravery filled Gary up like a hot air balloon, and he bounded up the steps, two at a time, caught up to his stepfather-to-be, grabbed the back pocket of his jeans, and yanked.
“What the f—”
Gary stepped aside, watched as Chester fell backward, hard, the case of beer slamming on his chest and exploding. He rolled over once, tumbled head over heels, then landed on top of the beer, made a sound like a backed-up garbage disposal.
Gary paused for a moment, contemplated running back to his room and locking himself in, a tactic he had used against Chester more times than he could count.
But Chester only rolled to his side, moaned, kicked his legs some.
Hope your fucking neck is broken.
Gary crept down the steps, side-stepped around Chester. That close, he could hear the man struggling to breathe. He wanted to say something, come up with some witty remark that Chester would never forget, but he could only stare as he took blind backward steps away from him.
“…fucking…kill you…”
Gary opened his mouth, closed it. He didn’t want to chance it, say something to trigger Chester’s adrenal gland, so he spun on his heels to run away.
Right into someone. A soft, sweet-smelling someone.
“Watch it, asshole.” She carried a paper grocery bag. “Hey, aren’t you…?”
Jaw dropped, face flushed. “I…you…”
“Yeah, you’re that fucking freak from across the hall.” She moved the groceries to one arm, pointed with her free hand. “You like peeking in on women, sicko? I should call the cops, you know that?”
“No… I…” Gary ran his forearm across his face, shook his head. His brain went dead, refused to tell his mouth what to say.
“You’re…so fucking…dead.” Chester’s voice. Stronger, meaner.
Gary checked over his shoulder, saw Chester climbing to his feet, turned back toward the neighbor girl who had her cell phone out.
The only thing he could think to do was run. He tucked his head and got the hell out of there, the pounding of his heart dwarfing the sound of their yelling as he took off through the parking lot. The people coming and going shot him a few suspicious glances. Turning the corner, he went straight for the woods.
His special place, his hideout.
As far as he could tell, nobody else knew
about it. It was a place he could be alone with his thoughts, surrounded by trees, smothered in peace.
His sides screamed, his lungs begged for mercy. But he didn’t listen, pushed himself, willed his legs to keep pumping. He wouldn’t feel safe until he was in the woods, in his little secret clearing.
—3—
The woods felt colder than the apartment complex courtyard did. Gary only brought one other t-shirt, no jacket, and was wearing cargo shorts. Dead leaves and pine needles crunched under his shoes, and he weaved his way through the trees.
He remembered when he found the place—was only thirteen then—adventuring through the treacherous forest, on the search for exotic bugs he could throw into his plastic prison. He liked to shake the cage up, get the bugs excited, watch them tear each other apart. The bugs were even given cool names. Scorch the Scorpion was the champion until he finally died, taken out by Psycho Centipede.
It was that day he stumbled upon the spot, and he could tell in his gut it was a special place. A feeling swirled within him, like the anticipation on Christmas morning, and he didn’t know why. He always imagined it had something to do with the huge rowan tree protruding from the earth right in the center of the clearing. Something about it seemed powerful, ancient. This place made him smile, and he kept returning, used it to clear his head, read comics, practice his gaming strategies, draw monsters and super heroes. Once Chester came into the picture, he found himself escaping to his happy place more often than not.
When he finally made it, he shuffled to the tree, shrugged the backpack off, tossed it to the grass. With the night air poking him with icy needles, the bark of the tree felt warm, inviting. He melted into it as he leaned against it.
Chester’s face popped into his head: the smug smile, the rumble of his laughter. “Eat shit and die.” The words blew from his lips, echoed into the night. The trees swayed with the wind, the crickets played their music.
Then he thought about Chester’s crumbled body, covered in spilled beer and broken brown glass. Damn, it felt good to see that and know he himself had caused it. If it were up to Gary, Chester would have cracked his skull open, leaked gray yolk onto the pavement.
Fat Off Sex and Violence Page 3