Pulling up Stakes and Other Piercing Stories

by David Lubar

I didn't mind letting Jordie drive my car. Anything for a pal. Even if it did seem like kind of a weird request. But before I could say yes, Jordie's older brother, Todd, stepped out on the porch and said, "Dad needs a hand shelving the parts that just came in."

  Jordie looked at me, then over at Todd, then back at me. He sighed and said, "Be careful driving home."

  "Always." I watched Carla get out of the back seat. Damn. I really wish she liked me. Not like a boyfriend, but like her boyfriend's friend. She and Jordie went inside with Todd. He's a cool guy. He went to Hollywood two or three years ago, and actually worked for a while as a stunt man. For real. He'd still be doing it, but he blew his knee out in a fight scene. So he's helping out with the family business while he works on this screenplay he's writing.

  I backed out of the driveway and headed home. Slow and careful. There are a lot of idiots on the road. That truck wasn't unusual. At least once or twice every trip, some jerk swerves too close to me. But I guess I'm just lucky. As always, I made it to my driveway in one piece.

  My folks were at work. Dad's an accountant. He twists numbers. Mom's a physical therapist. She twists joints. They both work real hard so that some day in the future they won't have to work real hard. Maybe you have to be an adult to make sense out of that strategy. I went up to my room and did my chores. Which means I refilled my Coke bottle for the next day. Petrogov vodka is a real bargain. I can get a four-liter bottle for less than my allowance, and that's plenty of cruise-juice to sail me through the week, and have some left over if I want to get a bit of a buzz on the weekend. There are a couple homeless guys in town who'll buy you booze for a buck or two. I've only been ripped off twice. That's because I'm a good judge of character. The ones who walk the highway, picking up cans and bottles for money — you can trust them. They're hard workers. The ones you have to watch out for are the guys who are so wasted they can't think about anything except their next drink.

  I went to the kitchen and topped the vodka off with enough Coke to make it all chuggable. Then I stashed the bottle in my back pack. I was going to do my school work, but I forgot my math book in my locker. So I played Nintendo for a while, practiced my guitar, then took a nap until my folks came home.

  It was Monday, which meant Mom picked up lasagna from the catering place in town. Dad lets me have half a glass of wine with dinner. The first time he did that, Mom gave him a look, but he said, "If he has a little now, it won't be a big deal when he's exposed to it at a party. Face it — kids are going to drink."

  "I guess a bit of wine is all right," Mom had said. She gave me the wise Mom look. "But this doesn't mean it's okay for you to drink when we're not around."

  I nodded, but didn't tell her she was about five years too late with that request. Back in seventh grade, I had this friend Rob. His dad was always passed out drunk in the living room. Which meant Rob could help himself to whatever was around. Rob was a pal, so he shared. The first time I drank whiskey, I puked in his kitchen sink. But even as I was spitting the sour taste out of my mouth, I wanted more.

  Once or twice a week, after school, we'd go to his house and get buzzed, then look through his dad's magazines. I think that's when my grades started to slip. It didn't last long. Rob had to move away after his dad got shot holding up a gas station. So the supply dried up for a while. But by the time I got to high school, booze was everywhere. I got drunk a bunch at first. But then I learned to control it.

  "Your father asked you a question."

  "What?" I looked up from my lasagna. "School's fine. I had a good day."

  Dad nodded. I'd guessed right. Not hard. That's pretty much his one and only dinner question. I like wine. It doesn't have a whole lot of alcohol, so you don't get a fast buzz unless you chug it, which wouldn't be good table manners, but it tastes pretty good.

  "You didn't eat much," Mom said when we were cleaning up.

  "I had a big lunch." I thought back, and couldn't actually remember whether I'd eaten anything at school. Lots of times, I'm not all that hungry. Which is good. Tons of kids are worried about their weight. I guess I'm lucky that way.

  Dad stuck his head in the kitchen. "Want to watch a movie?"

  "Can't," I said. "Got homework." I grabbed a glass of orange juice from the fridge and took it upstairs. Vitamin C is important. Especially when you mix it with vitamin V.

  ###

  Tuesday went pretty much like Monday until after school, when I headed for the parking lot. Jordie was staring at my car. I noticed my front bumper was dented on the passenger side. "Damn. Someone hit me in the lot."

  "That happened yesterday," Jordie said.

  "No way."

  He nodded. "When you swerved. You clipped a tree. Don't you remember?"

  "Sure. Can't you tell when I'm joking?" I checked out the fender. It was no big deal. Just a crumple. Even if it had been worse, it wasn't a problem. I could get Todd to swap it for a better one. They've got a dozen cars like mine in the yard, except those cars are wrecked, and mine's perfect. Not counting the bumper. And maybe a couple other dings. People were so freaking careless with other people's property. I got in the car, but Jordie and Carla stayed outside.

  "We're thinking of walking," Jordie said.

  "You kidding? It's like three or four miles."

  "Nah. It's a nice day," he said. "Besides, it's not that long if we cut through the woods." He gave me a look.

  Okay. I got it. I figured he and Carla were planning to enjoy nature. "Have fun. Don't fall into the gorge." I laughed. But it's not all that funny. Once or twice a year, someone goes off the road on Springbrook curve, just a quarter mile from Jordie's place, and ends up in the gorge. Or in the pond at the bottom of the gorge. I think the tow truck drivers know the way down there in the dark.

  As they started to walk away, I leaned out the window and called after them, "Want me to get tickets for the concert?"

  They stopped and looked at each other. "They're expensive," Jordie said.

  "Hey, anything for friends. I'll order them tonight. My treat."

  They spoke at the same time.

  "It's not necessary," Carla said.

  "That would be great," Jordie said.

  I stared at Carla. Finally, she said, "That's very thoughtful."

  "Awesome." I headed home.

  ###

  After dinner, I was feeling kind of tired, so I went up to my room and took a nap. When I woke up, I looked at blogs for a while. One of them was all about how great the DeepAndDark concert in Seattle was last week.

  Crap. The concert. I checked the clock. It was nine thirty. I already knew what I'd find when I went to the ticket site. Sold out. Damn. Maybe I could score some from a scalper or something. I hated to let Jordie down.

  But I couldn't lie to him. "No luck, dude," I told him the next morning. "The tickets sold out in a flash. I guess you have to be connected to get them."

  "Hey, no big deal," Jordie said. "Listen, Carla's got to go somewhere with her mom this afternoon. Why don't you come over after school?"

  "Sure." I realized we hadn't hung out — just the two of us — for a while. I even let Jordie drive. But we switched right before we got to his place, so his dad wouldn't see. That was kind of sneaky of him, but I understood.

  When we got up to his room, he said, "I'm sort of worried about you."

  "What?"

  "You seem kind of out of it, lately."

  "I just got stuff on my mind," I said. I walked over to his Playstation and grabbed a joystick. "Bet I can still kick your butt at Tekken."

  "Brad, I'm serious."

  "So am I. I can seriously kick your butt." I stared at him and waited.

  "Brad..."

  "Let's play."

  "Yeah. Whatever." He grabbed the other joystick. We played for a while, but then I sort of wanted to get home. I'd tried to get Jordie to sneak a drink from his dad's supply once or twice, but he wouldn't do it. He's not real strong in the bravery department.

  I wasn't sure why, but I
had a feeling he was pissed with me about something. But he'd get over it. Friday morning, I discovered he was over it big time.

  "Guess what I scored?" he asked.

  "Not a clue."

  "Three tickets to DeepAndDark."

  "For real?"

  "Yup. Todd got them for me from a friend."

  "So we're going?"

  "Yeah. The show's at eight. Come over tonight around seven."

  "For sure. Want a ride home?"

  "Nah. I have a ton of stuff to do. But I'll see you tonight."

  This was awesome. The rest of the day passed in a blur. I got to Jordie's about a half hour early. Carla was already there. I joined them up in his room.

  Carla gave me another of her funny looks. I didn't care. I was pumped for the show.

  "I got something special for the concert," Jordie said. He held up a bottle.

  "Brandy. That's pretty classy. I'm impressed." I had a bottle in my trunk, but just the usual stuff.

  He shrugged. "We're classy people."

  "I'm going to grab a snack," Carla said.

  "Hungry?" Jordie asked me. He put the bottle down on his desk.

  "Nah. I had dinner. You guys go ahead." I pointed at the Playstation. "I'll get some thumb exercise."

  "Come on down if you change your mind."

  "I will."

  I figured it would be ok with Jordie if I had a sip. There was plenty for the concert. It burned my throat, but in a good way. I had another sip to numb the burn. Then just one more tiny little drop, to push the numbness up to my brain.

  I could hear them in the kitchen downstairs.

  One more sip. There was plenty. Actually, I could drink a third of the bottle. That would be my share. I'd just enjoy it now, instead of later.

  Man, it felt warm in there. But good.

  Carla didn't drink much. She wouldn't need a whole third.

  This was nice stuff. The world spun a bit. I took a drink to steady things.

  Wow. Real nice. I was feeling no pain. Me and Jordie. Going to a concert. Awesome. And Carla. Hot Carla. I took a drink to wash away indecent thoughts.

  Damn. It was warm in there.

  Another little sip.

  Kinda dizzy.

  Small sip.

  Warm.

  Sip.

  ###

  Up. Side. Down.

  What...?

  I was hanging. Dangling. Something pressing my chest.

  Shoulder belt.

  My hand found the buckle.

  What?

  Click. I twisted, felt a door latch.

  Dark out. Where?

  Crawled. Tried to stand. Threw up.

  Sat down. My car — upside down. Smashed windshield.

  Jordie! I got to my feet. Looked in the car. Nothing. Stumbled to the water six feet away. Saw a shirt. Jordie's. Half on the bank. Floating. I stepped into the water. Felt around. Nothing.

  "Help!" I got back on land. Looked at the car.

  Oh Christ — a body. Legs and a torso, sticking out from under the roof.

  I rushed over. Saw. Puked again, my stomach kicking out acid, and then spewing emptiness. Her body was ripped open, nearly torn in half. Guts spilled. Carla.

  I staggered away, clawed up the wall of the gorge to the road. "Help!"

  "Sshhhhh!"

  I spun, fell.

  "Quiet, man."

  One of the homeless. In the shadows. Wool cap pulled low. Shaggy beard. One eye dead white. Gaps in his teeth. He limped toward me, his clothes smelling like rot, carrying a garbage bag full of empties. Please, let this be a nightmare.

  He leaned over and put a hand on my arm. "Saw you roll the car, kid. Tough luck." He pointed down into the gorge. "I ain't no fan of the cops. They catch you now, it's over. DWI. Homicide. All over. Jail for a long, long time. Unless you're smart."

  "What do I do?"

  He let got of my arm and turned his hand palm up. "Advice ain't free."

  I gave him all the money I had in my wallet. "Help me."

  "Get home. Sober up. It's your only chance. Wait until morning. Longer, if its still in your system."

  "But how can I explain...?

  "Trauma. You're in shock. You walked away from the accident in a daze. You don't remember anything."

  "My friends..."

  "Too late for them. They're dead."

  They're dead.

  Feeling dead, myself, I stumbled toward home, hiding whenever a car came down the road. The long walk was like another endless nightmare. As soon as I got to my room, I grabbed the vodka and unscrewed the cap. My hands shook so hard, the vodka splashed out of the opening. I'd lifted the bottle halfway to my lips when I froze.

  Sober up.

  I had to wait. Be sober when the cops came. I took a burning hot shower, trying to wash the vomit and horror from my body and mind. I went to bed, curled up, and wondered whether it was possible to will yourself to die.

  I keep hearing Carla's voice. Seeing Jordie's face. They were so happy together.

  Somehow, though I was sure I'd never sleep, I passed out.

  I woke late, and looked out the window. No cop car. My head throbbed. My mouth was so dry, I thought it would crack. I was dying for a drink. Just one. I picked up the bottle again. The smell made me throw up. Nothing came out but sorrow.

  I needed to report the accident. I reached for the phone a hundred times. I reached for the bottle a thousand times.

  Jordie. Carla.

  Evening came. I skipped dinner. Mom stuck her head in my room and asked where my car was. I lied. Told her I'd dropped it off for an oil change and they had to keep it until Monday. God, I wanted a drink. The bottle called to every cell in my body.

  Life would be so much better with one drink.

  But my life was over. I was as dead as Jordie and Carla. I deserved to rot jail. Or die.

  Where were the cops?

  Tomorrow, I'd turn myself in. I owed that much to Jordie.

  I couldn't sleep. I fell into numbness, wracked with tremors. The night passed as I imagined their bodies decomposing in the gorge.

  I was awakened by a knock on my bedroom door. I checked the clock. It was just after eleven. I guess I'd finally fallen asleep.

  The door opened. I sat up.

  They came in. Jordie. Carla. Ghosts. But not.

  My muscles went slack.

  Todd stepped into view behind them. "First day's the hardest," he said. He sat down on the bed next to me. "You doing okay?"

  I pointed to Jordie. "How? I killed you. Both of you."

  "Hollywood magic, my friend," Todd said. He pulled some money out of his shirt pocket and tossed it on the bed. "I guess I make a pretty convincing homeless guy."

  I stared down at the money I'd handed him last night, trying to piece everything together. "My car?"

  "Still at my place," Jordie said.

  "How? It was wrecked!"

  "Nope. Your Civic is right where you left it. We towed a wreck from the yard to the gorge.

  I looked at Carla. "But I saw..."

  "Cow guts," she said, making a face. "My uncle's a butcher."

  "You doing okay," Todd asked again.

  "Yeah. No." I looked for a third answer, somewhere in between, but all that came out was a weak, wordless cry. I grabbed Todd, my body shaking, all the pain, all the fear, spilling out like soda gushing from a shaken bottle. I couldn't stop the sobs that jerked my body.

  Other arms cradled me. "It's okay," Jordie said. "There's help. There's all sorts of help."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Hush," Carla whispered.

  I looked at her through blurred eyes. "You covered yourself with cow guts."

  She nodded.

  "For me."

  "You're Jordie's friend."

  "Am I?" I looked over at him

  He nodded, too. "But I think I might be your worst enemy for a while," he said. "From what I hear, it's going to be a bitch."

  "It can't be worse than Friday night,"
I said. I thought about the wrecked cars at Jordie's place, and the wrecked lives of the homeless men who hung out by the liquor store. What would people give for a second chance? Or a real friend? I didn't know. But I was going to find out.

  Claws and Effect

  She has a great personality.

  That's supposed to be what they say about a girl when she isn't real pretty or smart or anything. But that's nonsense. Phoebe has a great personality. And she's more than just pretty. She's stunning. Especially when she smiles. She's the first girl who's ever paid any attention to me.

  I'm amazed she likes me because, let's face it, I can't even pretend to have a great personality. I'm a total geekazoid. If I was in a movie, I'd be the guy in the group who doesn't get any lines. If it was a horror movie, I'd be the first to die. Maybe even during the opening titles. If it was a comedy, I'd be the one who accidentally drinks a whole bottle of laxative, or gets locked out of his house when he isn't wearing any clothes.

  But, somehow, Phoebe's my girl friend. And I'm not in a horror movie or a comedy — I'm in my junior year at Crescent High, which was pretty much the same thing until she came along and turned it into a romance. Me and her. Phoebe and Randy. It would all be perfect, except Phoebe lives with Johnny Depp.

  I learned that the hard way the first time I walked her home from school. We'd been hanging out together for a couple weeks, mostly in the school library, and then at lunch. That's where we'd met — right in the library — when we'd reached for the same book on coral reefs.

  "Go ahead," I'd said, stepping back from the shelf.

  "No, you take it," she'd said. "Do you have a report to do?"

  "Nope. I was just going to read it for fun." Oh god — I winced at the sound of that. The words marked me as a total geek. Who reads science books for fun? I could feel my face getting hot.

  "So was I." She smiled at me. I never thought braces could look so cute.

  I found out Phoebe was as passionate about oceanography as I was. And I discovered it's not hard to talk to a girl, even a stunning girl, if you both love the same thing.

  We'd met last Saturday at the mall for a movie. I guess that was our first real date. We held hands, and she rested her head against my shoulder. It was nice. Monday, she'd suggested that I should offer to walk her home. Which I did, since I can take a hint after I've been hit over the head with it three or four times.