Swing State

by Michael T. Fournier

  For me, getting out is going someplace new.

  If Ross goes pro, he’s set. If he doesn’t, he’ll still have a degree. The only way I can go to college will be by having enough money. If you have it, you can get out, but you don’t need to.

  * * *

  I hit the parking lot after work.

  I found a knife. It was in this jacked-up pickup covered with mud. I could’ve gotten a shotgun out of there if I wanted it.

  The knife rules. It folds. Huge blade. The handles are covered with red jewels, and there’s a little picture of an old car in the middle of the handle. I can carry it no problem.

  No phones or iPads or anything like that. Just some wallets. No credit cards after what Ding told me. Just cash. About fifty bucks.

  I might do just cash from now on, unless there’s something too good to pass up, like an iPad. But that’ll never happen again.

  * * *

  It was getting dark but I had a feeling, so I went up to the quarry and everyone was there.

  I snuck up there and tried to sound like a cop when I heard everybody. I said all right, you kids, you’re all under arrest. Everyone looked like they were going to shit themselves. I started laughing and they called me an asshole. Pretty funny.

  Steve was like hey, working girl, how’s the Burger Hut treating you? I said okay. Earl wanted to know if the old perv had grabbed my tits. I said not yet and everyone thought that was funny. Even Mary. I guess I was hoping she’d be up there by herself. I mean, I knew she wouldn’t be, because it was almost dark, but you know.

  I told them I hadn’t seen him since the first day, when he interviewed me. I had one training shift left, and it was Judy’s day off so I’d work with him then. Kelly said oh, Judy. I guess she used to work there. He was always trying to cop a feel off her. Her tits are way bigger than mine.

  I asked her why he always did that and she said because he’s a fucking perv and everyone laughed. I was like no, did you get more shifts or something?

  She said what, are you gonna let him grab your tits? Everyone kinda looked at me. So I pulled the knife out and said he can grab this. They all started laughing again. Mary said did you always have that? and I was like you know.

  Steve said it’s too bad you have to miss the game this weekend. I said yeah, I know. I’m doing my last training shift, then my first real one. Earl told me I’d be making the big bucks. Steve said nah, you’ll quit by the end of the week. I was like whatever. He said no, seriously. We’ll see you for the game next Friday.

  Everyone passed a flask so I took some pulls. Then Steve lit a joint and passed that, too, so I hit it. We didn’t really talk about anything. I mean, we talked the whole time, but for me it was like I was listening to myself talk without hearing what I was saying. School and stuff. I went and sat next to Mary. It was getting pretty dark but I could feel her looking at me. It was a little weird, I think because we were there with people.

  By the time the flask was empty it was dark. We all started walking home. It was hard because there was no moon and hardly any light so we had to look up and find the hole in the tree line and follow that. Mary said hey and I took her hand. She was cool with that but when I tried to kiss her she said no, someone might see. I was like it’s dark. She said when are you working next week? and I said I wasn’t sure because the schedule hasn’t been made yet. She said let me know and squeezed my hand.

  * * *

  When I got home I didn’t hear anyone around. I went to the fridge and Ross came in and said you little bitch. I was like what? He said you know what. I said no and he hit me across the face. Not that hard—his hand was open. He said I can smell it on you. You’re pinching off my stash. I was like no, I was at the quarry.

  He said with who? and I told him Steve and Earl and Kelly and Mary and Arnold. He kinda grunted and was like bullshit, you pinched.

  I was like do you have any whiskey? I knew he didn’t have any, since the last time I was in his room, at least. He said no. So I blew in his face.

  I said there. You believe me now?

  He said you pinched. I was like I didn’t. I smoked Steve’s shit. Seriously.

  He said sorry I hit you.

  I said you’re an asshole.

  Then he asked me how long I’ve been smoking. I told him since I started hanging out with those guys. He said Steve is a dealer. I said yeah, I figured. He asked if I ever bought and I said no, I just smoke what they pass.

  He looked at me for a minute and was like what about Ding?

  I said what about him? He goes you ever buy from him? I said no. I never buy. Ross goes what about those fireworks? I said how’d you know about that? He kinda smiled. He was like come on, Dixon, everyone knows you’re into blowing stuff up.

  I was kinda surprised by that.

  I told Ross I got the fireworks from Ding. He said what do you do to get them? I said I give him shit from cars. He looked surprised. I said I find stuff in cars and trade it for fireworks. Or used to. Now I’m saving money.

  Then he goes if you’re not pinching my stash it’s either Mom or Don. I was like you smoke a lot. He said no, seriously. I said get a new hiding place and he said I move it all the time but it keeps getting smaller. I thought it was you.

  I told him it wasn’t.

  I said Mom works too much for that.

  He said it must be Don.

  He’s probably stressed about going back. But pinching sucks.

  Hopefully he smokes so much he can’t hit me any more.

  I asked Ross what he was gonna do. He said what can I do? Keep trying to hide it. Maybe get a lock for my door. Or a safe. But then if I do that Mom will ask what I have to hide. I said say it’s to keep me out. He said it won’t matter.

  So now I’m worried about my stashes. About this.

  I’m going to put the tape in a different place than the recorder.

  And I shouldn’t bring anything home. Just cash. And I’ll hide it in a bunch of places.

  21.

  ZACHARIAH WALKED TOWARD THE BATHROOM, JAR of cold cream in his hand. His dad yelled down the hall.

  “Let’s go!”

  “I want to take my paint off,” he yelled back. He regretted doing so immediately. Stupid. Talking back to his dad.

  “Get your ass out here!”

  Zachariah ran down the hall. He knew his dad’s moods started with the same tone of voice he’d heard while entering the bathroom. They didn’t always end with the sock. Usually. But not always.

  I don’t want Dad to beat me up.

  Then: I just used my powers. They came out, seemingly, of their own accord—he didn’t mean to use them. They were like a reflex. A sneeze.

  There must’ve been times he forgot to use them because he was scared. Or because he used them incorrectly: Oh, no, she’s gonna beat me up! He needed to train himself to use them at the right times, to keep himself safe. Maybe he could practice by kicking a soccer ball against the wall, toward his nuts—the Use Powers Challenge.

  “We’re going downtown before everyone else does,” Paul said from the sink, voice steady. Zachariah knew he was putting meat under the running faucet to thaw while they were gone. “Got that?”

  “Yessir,” Zachariah said. He tried not to grin.

  “You can take your paint off later.”

  “Okay,” Zachariah said, “I will.”

  “Put on a shirt, if you want.”

  Zachariah put on a shirt and jacket.

  Above all else, Paul Tietz loved Armbrister blowouts. When the scrubs hit the field, his fandom reached dizzying heights: he knew the names of the second- and third-stringers and over-cheered their routine plays and hits. His enthusiasm was inevitably contagious: given a name, the rest of the crowd had something to latch onto.

  The third to last game of the season, a rare Saturday afternoon occasion, was such a blowout: Haughton’s small pool of students assured their team also-ran status every year, more so than Enoch, whose team Armbrister had beaten sound
ly on the road the week before. Fahey connected for touchdowns with four different receivers in the first quarter alone, rendering the second half moot.

  Replacements took the field as the marching band resumed its post at the foot of the bleachers. Zachariah shivered, looking for Dixon Dove. He hadn’t seen her at the Enoch game the week before—did she go to away games? He thought she’d be leading cheers now that Armbrister was back at home, but she was, mercifully, nowhere to be found. Neither was her brother. Zachariah looked for him all game, anticipating Dixon Dove to appear after Ross made plays, but he wasn’t on the field.

  Paul Tietz’s celebratory mood extended to grilling. Zachariah welcomed the opportunity not to cook for an evening, much as he loved it. “I’ll drop you off at L’il Bee while I go across the street,” his dad said.

  Go across the street was Paul’s euphemism for buy a case of beer. Zachariah was grateful his father hadn’t brought his flask to the game that day—if he had, Zachariah’s earlier protest about the body paint might’ve yielded a fresh beating. But Paul had come home from his mill shift the night before and drank the beer remaining in the fridge. He was snoring in front of the TV set by eight, which Zachariah knew meant he’d be hungover and wouldn’t start drinking until midafternoon Saturday, postgame.

  They got in the car and drove to the L’il Bee. Traffic was negligible.

  Paul pulled into the L’il Bee parking lot.

  “Do you know what kind of barbecue sauce?”

  “Slow Bull,” Zachariah said.

  “Good.” Paul fished around in his pocket. “Here’s ten bucks. That should do it. Buy yourself something. I want some change back, though.”

  “Okay,” Zachariah said. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad had told him to buy something for himself. Before his weight gain, probably. The football team needed more blowout wins.

  “I’ll be right back,” Paul said as Zachariah closed the car door. His dad pulled out of the parking lot.

  A buzzer announced Zachariah’s arrival as he pushed open the L’il Bee’s door. He recognized the guy behind the counter, who looked up briefly from whatever he was writing in and smiled.

  The only two things Zachariah ever shopped for at L’il Bee were barbecue sauce and hamburger rolls. He was happy to find the sauce shelf well-stocked—a different brand, or, worse, none at all, might push his dad away from remembering blowouts past and into a bad mood.

  Find Slow Bull Challenge complete, he stood surveying the candy racks before selecting a bag of spicy gumdrops.

  The guy behind the counter had been working on a book of word searches, Zachariah saw as he waited to pay.

  “No rolls today?”

  “No sir,” Zachariah said, placing the sauce and the candy on the counter. “Just this stuff.”

  “A blowout, I hear.”

  Sometimes the guy asked Zachariah how school was going or talked about the weather—they never talked about football. How did he know Zachariah had been to the game?

  He chuckled as he pushed register buttons. “Team colors,” he said.

  Duh. Of course.

  “You looked confused,” the guy said. “Six and a quarter.”

  Zachariah handed him the ten.

  “Need a bag?”

  “No thank you,” Zachariah said as the guy handed back change.

  “See you next time,” the guy said.

  Zachariah said bye and exited the L’il Bee, the door announcing his departure.

  The smell of car exhaust and cigarette smoke was strong outside.

  He’d gone in and looked around all painted up. Because he’d been thinking about his powers he’d forgot about his colors.

  Zachariah opened his bag of gumdrops and selected a green one. It had been a while since he’d eaten candy. But the smoke and car exhaust were so strong he almost couldn’t eat.

  He’d seen a red gumdrop underneath the green one. Red was his favorite.

  It might be a few minutes. Sometimes his dad saw friends at the liquor store. Especially on game days. Zachariah remembered sitting in the car once for close to half an hour, hoping no one would see him, painted, while his dad stood inside talking about the state championship.

  “TIETZ.”

  Zachariah knew the voice.

  His mind went loose with fright.

  Dixon Dove emerged from around the corner. The stink of cigarettes enveloped her, though Zachariah could not smell the explosive aroma that usually accompanied her appearance.

  “School colors,” she said, smirking.

  Zachariah said nothing. He felt himself trembling.

  “You go to all the games, Tietz?” She put a hand on one of his boobs. He recognized alcohol under the cigarette smell. Both were on her breath. He could feel it on his face when she talked. There were other smells around her, too, that he didn’t recognize—girl smells, maybe, though he didn’t remember them from his mom. Maybe they were teenage girl smells.

  Her eyes had a look she recognized from his dad drinking. But there was something else in there, too.

  He nodded. Where was his dad? Why couldn’t he pull into the parking lot?

  “Like them?” With her free hand—the one not on his boob—she placed a hand on one of hers. Zachariah felt his eyes widen. His fingers pressed tight against the cool surface of the sauce bottleneck. He felt himself getting hard.

  He nodded.

  “Why?”

  What could he say?

  “Gumdrops?”

  As she laughed her hand came off Zachariah’s boob. “Not candy. My tits.”

  He had no idea what to say.

  “Yes.”

  “Ever seen any before?”

  He couldn’t lie. She’d know.

  “No.”

  “Can I have a gumdrop?”

  He held the bag out, trembling. She removed the hand from her boob and took it.

  “Thanks, Tietz.”

  She shook the bag over her open mouth. A few of the gumdrops made it inside. Most fell to the ground.

  “I don’t know if you know this,” she said, returning the hand with the bag to her breast, “but my mom is really sick.”

  He felt himself begin to tremble harder.

  “I was wondering if you could help her out.”

  Zachariah didn’t understand. Help her out?

  I don’t want her to hurt me, he thought.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She needs money,” Dixon Dove said.

  She removed the hand and the bag from her boob and shook the remaining gumdrops into the hand that had been on him. She jammed them all in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Zachariah watched her, fascinated. She smiled and returned a hand to her boob.

  She put the other hand on him. Down there.

  He couldn’t look away from her eyes. She smiled and chewed. When her mouth was empty, she said, “You want to help, don’t you, Tietz?”

  He stuck his free hand into his pants pocket and began fumbling for his change, all the while feeling her hand resting still on his boner.

  “Here,” he said, finally extracting the bills from his pants.

  “Thanks very much,” she said, taking the hand from her breast to retrieve the money. “My mom appreciates it.”

  She stood, still grinning.

  He wanted her to stay there. With her hand on him.

  He needed to say something to her. So she would stay.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “Get what, Tietz?”

  “Those fireworks.”

  “Fireworks?”

  “At the Pines.”

  “What do you know about fireworks at the Pines?”

  “I saw you there,” he said. “The other day.”

  She took her hand from him. “You were spying on me?”

  “No, I just . . .”

  “You were spying on me!” She put both hands on his breasts and heaved. He went pinwheeling backward into the wall of the L’il Bee. He felt the barbecue
sauce fly up out of his hand. As he gasped for breath the bottle landed with a dull thunk.

  Dixon Dove half-dragged, half-pushed him around the corner of the store. She kicked him in the butt. He went sprawling, stomach first, into the dirt.

  “You know who spies on people? Pervs spy on people!”

  He felt himself trembling anew. Why had he said that? He should’ve known she’d get mad.

  He wished he had done something. Or could do something. Hit her. Kick her. Anything. He knew he wasn’t supposed to hit girls. But everyone in school made fun of him already. His life would be better if she wasn’t in it. And the other kids might leave him alone, at least for a little while.

  His trembling grew stronger.

  I just want this to be over.

  “Get up, perv,” she said, pulling the back of his jeans. He put his hands on the ground, pushup style, and lifted his body. He felt a rock dig into his knee.

  “Fucking Tietz,” she said, facing him. “Three dollars. Spending all your money on candy.”

  “I haven’t had candy in months,” he said.

  “You’re standing around eating gumdrops. Thanks for those, by the way,” she said. “And thanks for the barbecue sauce.”

  He felt a fresh wave of panic hit and started speaking before he realized he was doing so. Again. “No. You can’t. I got that for my dad. He’ll be mad if I don’t have a bottle.”

  She grabbed and twisted one of his tietz. He howled and tried to push her away. But her grip was too tight.

  Then the other one.

  He felt himself losing control.

  No, he thought. I can’t cry in front of Dixon Dove.

  But his breath came in stuttered gasps. He felt tears, thick with face paint, run down his cheeks.

  He heard her footsteps walking away as he blubbered, eyes stinging. Maybe she’s done, he thought. I hope so. I hope she’s done.

  Had he just used his power? He thought he had—he remembered thinking he wanted things to be over.

  Everything would be okay.

  He got up.

  He was still hard.

  But the footsteps came back toward him.

  Everything would not be okay.