In the hallway I dodged beer bottles and dirty clothes and headed into my room. I shut my bedroom door, climbed into bed, and clamped my eyes shut, drowning out the sounds of Chuck and Bambi screaming at one another down the hallway.
“Tell me what you’re up to!” Bambi shrieked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Chuck yelled.
“You know what I mean. Why are you so interested in Natasha? You some kind of pervert—you like little girls?”
What brought this argument on? I crept out of bed and lifted a poster to peer through a hole in the door. Chuck stood nose to nose with Bambi. He looked like he wanted to slap her, but instead he turned his back on her, whipped open the front door, and slammed it shut behind him. Moments later, his motorcycle roared to life. Bambi started to cry, her face contorted into a mess of wrinkles and running mascara. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and raced outside after him.
Bambi’s shrieks pierced the night, she was crying and begging Chuck to stay. I peered out the window, every light in the trailer court snapped on at the sound of the commotion. Outside, Chuck’s bike rumbled then sputtered and died. He tried again, cussing as the engine cut out. He’d been having trouble with it all week. Chuck started the bike again, revving the motor high to keep it running. My heart sank as the sound of the bike faded, disappearing into the night.
He wouldn’t be back. Only a fool would return to this nuthouse. Everyone had a breaking point and he had finally reached his. I couldn’t blame him. Why did Bambi have to ruin it all? Why couldn’t she just keep her big, stupid mouth shut? I don’t know why I'd expected anything more from her. Her internal compass only pointed to self-destruction and she’d destroyed every single relationship she’d ever had. It was like she couldn’t allow herself to experience anything positive, she couldn’t allow herself to be happy. It was like some strange deep-seeded hatred of herself and everyone around her.
I went into the kitchen, just as Bambi stumbled back inside, slamming the door shut with her foot. Her eyes were wide and wild, her hair stuck to her face. “I hope he never comes back!” She staggered sideways, ripped open the refrigerator, and grabbed a beer. Her polyester nightgown was all twisted around; sweat marks stained the lace on the front like a bib. She downed the beer, reached under the sink, and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels. She tossed a couple ice cubes in a cup and poured herself a glass.
Her gaze slid to mine. “You know, Missy, I’m pretty good with a gun.” She lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Anyone that comes creeping around my man is gonna get shot. Understand?”
A nervous flutter prickled inside my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turned and headed back to my room. I thought of the story she told me about her mother killing her brother, then blowing her brains out. She really was crazy. Capable of anything and I knew she had a collection of firearms. Maybe she'd learned how to use them from her psycho mother. Not long ago, she shot the neighbor’s dog for peeing on her ceramic dwarves and plastic lawn ornaments.
I hated living with her, hated her stupid threats. I wanted to get back at her somehow, but I wouldn’t have to. I couldn’t do any worse than what she’d already done to herself. She lost the only thing that was important to her. She had lost Chuck.
Angus MacBain and the Island of Sleeping Kings Page 22