Chris couldn’t find the words to respond. Warm tears flowed from his eyes and he couldn’t stop his bottom lip from trembling. She had never in his life spoken to him this way, or even looked at him the way she was looking at him now.
“That’s what the fuck I thought. Now get the fuck outta this car and go find your ol’ knucklehead friends and get outta my sight and outta my way. You understand me, boy?”
He nodded, wiped his face with this shirt sleeve. Mama flung her door open and slammed it behind her, rattling the metal and Chris’s bones. He watched her stomp away through the window, still unable to move, unwilling to leave the safety of the car until she was farther down the parking lot.
That is not my mama.
People flowed through the parking lot, and Chris noticed that the excitement was absent from their faces. They looked determined, all business, as if they were on their way to a final exam they hadn’t studied for. Nobody talked to one another, nobody even acknowledged anyone else.
Chris finally calmed himself down, convinced himself that Mama was just stressed, just anxious to win more money and get the family out of debt. That’s what he told himself, but he didn’t really believe it. The look in her eye let him know the truth, but he found it hard to swallow.
He hopped out of the car and immediately searched for Oscar, hoping to find his friend before Jay found him. When the arms wrapped around his stomach from behind, he screamed, wiggled free and spun on his heels with his hands up to defend himself.
Sasha smiled at him, bit her lip. “Hey, Chris. Missed you last night.”
“Hey…S-Sasha.” The girl looked rough tonight: hair unkempt and sticking out in places, no makeup, shirt stained with what looked like mustard and grease. She leaned in and kissed him, and Chris kissed back even though her breath smelled like old corndogs, and it was obvious she hadn’t brushed her teeth.
“Glad you came tonight,” she said. “Since your mama has so much money now, maybe you can buy me some food? I’m starving.”
“I need to find Oscar,” Chris said as he backed away. Sasha followed, winced and clutched her stomach. “He…uh…he needs me to help him with his grandma.”
“Okay. Meet me inside? By the concession stand?”
“Yep, I’ll see you…see you inside.” And he turned and walked away, his thighs burning from the exertion as he hurried his pace.
He was relieved to see Oscar standing by the entrance, the boy eyeing the flowing crowd, obviously as desperate to find Chris as Chris was to find him. When his gaze landed on Chris, he stood straighter, widened his eyes. “Thank God you’re here, fool.”
“I know. Seems like everybody in town done lost their minds.”
Oscar shook his head, ran his hand through his hair. “My grandma…she’s…I don’t know.”
“What is it?”
“It’s like she’s possessed or something…like in that one movie where the girl’s laying in bed? And she fucks herself with that cross?”
“Your grandma…she—”
“No, she didn’t…no. I’m just sayin’, she’s not herself. I’m scared, Chris. I don’t know if I can go back in there.” He nodded toward the entrance. “She’s already sitting up by the front, brought pictures of my grandpa…the open casket from his funeral…for good luck. Said he’s gonna help her win.”
Chris turned and watched the others squeeze into the entryway, and he noticed the random objects they were holding. One woman held what looked like a stuffed dog, another had a bronze urn; one man had a rifle. Every one of them hoping for good luck, looking for it anywhere they could.
“You see my mama come through here?”
“Yeah, I seen her. And everybody else did too. She’s catching mean mugs from all over, fool.”
Shit. “Well…I gotta go make sure she’s all right. You comin’?”
Oscar’s head drooped from his neck and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”
The bingo hall was eerily silent, the only sound the sliding of chair legs across the floor. Mr. Big sat on stage, legs crossed, fingers intertwined and in his lap; the man looked plumper, fuller, brighter. His gaze fell upon Chris and Oscar, and Chris turned his attention away before he had to see the man’s smile.
“Welcome, my friends!” The man’s voice boomed from the speakers.
Silence.
“I’m very pleased to have you all back. Are you ready for round one?”
Just then, the shutter on the concession stand rolled up, made a sound like a gunshot. Chris and Oscar both flinched, Oscar clutching at Chris’s shirt sleeve.
“Get your cards ready. And let the games begin! Good luck!”
Though Mr. Big’s ghastly voice oozed into Chris’s ears, he refused to turn and look at the man. He didn’t see his mama in the crowd, but since he heard no commotion, he figured she was safe…at least for now.
Jay was first in line at the concession stand, still shirtless, his jeans hanging half off his ass and showing the gray underwear beneath and a good portion of his crack. He smiled as he was handed a cheeseburger and a frito pie and strutted to the nearest table. His eyes spun toward Chris and Oscar, but he showed no sign of recognition, then picked up his burger and sloppily bit into it, smearing grease and melted cheese over his face. His cheeks bulged to the point of bursting as he chewed.
“Look at ’em. That shit seem normal to you?” Oscar said, nodding toward the other kids in line.
They all looked as bad as Jay, each of them looking dirty, unwashed. Their faces and hands looked sticky with old food, probably from last night, Chris thought. Their shirts were torn in places, stained. They looked desperate, impatiently bouncing from foot to foot, glaring at those with food in their hands as if they would pounce on them any second.
“Nah, that shit ain’t normal at all. I think you’re right,” Chris said as he watched Sasha deep throat a corndog, more greasy food clutched in her arm. She didn’t look like herself, not even a little bit. She wasn’t the pretty girl he’d been obsessing about since elementary, wasn’t the athletic beauty that every boy in school ogled over. She wasn’t the girl he’d held hands with, kissed the day before. She was…possessed, just like Oscar said. As she passed by Chris, she smiled, revealing her plaque-coated teeth and the partially chewed food in her mouth.
“Dnch nana sithme?” Bits of meaty paste fell from her mouth, slapped to the floor…and she knelt down and scooped it up, pressed it back past her teeth.
Chris gagged, covered his mouth.
She smiled again, leaned in as if to kiss him, but Chris moved away, walked across the room before she had a chance to try again. When he looked back at her, expecting to see some kind of reaction to his retreat, but she was already sitting and eating.
“This is fucked up, fool. Really fucked up.” Oscar had followed him and they stood alone and watched the people they once knew.
Mr. Big had been calling out numbers, his voice sharp, each letter and number combination burrowing into Chris’s flesh. He was about ready to go, ready to leave all this shit behind him. If Mama wants to be a part of this, that’s her problem, he thought. She can handle herself, just like she said.
But then a man jumped from his chair. “Bingo!”
And two others followed: an elderly woman and a girl that couldn’t have been older than eighteen.
The three of them stood in an ocean of their seated peers. All heads were turned their way, and the stares were so fiery, so hot, Chris expected the winners to burst into flame, melt down into piles of liquefied flesh.
The winners were too excited to care, and they hopped up and down and waved their cards. The man picked up something from the table, gave it a smooch; he held it by the hair, and Chris saw that it was a shrunken head, all brown and shriveled. The older woman was the owner of the stuffed dog, and she stroked it, rubbed it against
her face, while the girl held up a jar filled with some kind of amber-colored liquid; she kissed it, whispered something to it, and that’s when Chris saw the tiny pink figure inside, floating and bumping against the glass.
“Fuck you!” someone yelled from across the room.
“Fucking cheaters! They fucking cheated!”
“…kill you. Fucking kill you!”
Oscar had hold of Chris’s sleeve again. They watched as the man and the two women strolled past the angry mob as if all were well, handed their winning bingo cards to Mr. Big who in turn handed them each a fat envelope.
“Congratulations, my friends.” Mr. Big sat back in his seat, and Chris took a long look at him.
“Don’t Mr. Big look…different to you?” Chris said.
“Yeah, noticed it last night too. Like he’s gettin’ fatter, right?”
Mr. Big’s clothes bulged with mounds of flesh, and even his skin seemed brighter, almost as if he were sunburned. “He was the skinniest, whitest man I’d ever seen…what, two days ago?”
As the winners walked back toward their chairs, a few of the others stood up. A large man with tattoos covering both arms flung himself from his chair and tackled the winning man to the floor. Others joined in, stomping down hard and throwing fists. The man howled in pain, but clutched the money to his chest as if it were more important to protect his winnings than himself. As the others had their attention on the beating, the old woman and girl hurried to their seats and sat down, watched with the others as the man was throttled. Mr. Big smiled down on the violence like a proud parent watching his child take its first steps.
Chris wanted to help the man, but he didn’t move. He could only watch as the attackers savagely beat this man, smeared him across the floor. When it seemed their frustrations were satiated, they all returned to their seats, picked up their daubers and awaited the second round of bingo. Chris figured the man must be dead after the horrendous whooping he just received, but he stood, his envelope splattered with blood but still in one piece and clutched in his shaking hands. He shuffled back to his seat, barely able to stay on his feet, and sat down, fresh blood oozing from the cuts and gashes on his head and face.
“Holy shit, what the fuck is going on here?”
“Fuck, man, I hope my grandma don’t win. No way she’d survive some shit like that.”
Chris was just thinking the same thing. But would these people stoop so low as to beat an old woman? Or his mama? They seemed to ignore the other two winners, but what if Mama was the only one to claim bingo, like the last two nights? Would they gang up on her…kill her maybe? He thought about the bruises on Mama’s face and knew they would. These people weren’t themselves anymore…they belonged to Mr. Big now.
As the second round started, Chris checked back across the hall. The kids shoveled food into their maws, splattering condiments, grease and saliva all over the tables, the floor and themselves. Jay’s chest shone in the fluorescent lighting, his eyes closed as he chewed a mouthful. Sasha rolled her tongue over her lips, lapping up the leftover slop that coated her face.
“I 20!”
The wet sound of daubers blotching ink to paper filled the air, mixed with the kids’ chewing sounds.
“I gotta talk to my mama,” Chris said. “I gotta try and convince her to stop playin’ this game, no matter how mad she gets. We need to leave…now.”
Oscar shook his head. “I can’t talk to my grandma like that…I already tried and she hit me. I can’t interrupt her…”
“If she wins…if she calls out bingo, she’s dead. You get that?”
Oscar fumbled with his hands, bit his lip. “I can’t, fool. You go ahead, I’m gonna wait right here, aight?”
Chris was about to give his friend an earful, call him a pussy, but he saw how scared Oscar was, saw that the boy was trembling. He left Oscar behind and jogged toward Mama who sat toward the middle of the entire congregation.
“O 63!”
Chris didn’t mean to, but he glanced toward the stage. And Mr. Big was staring at him, the huge, red O 63 projected on the wall behind the man. He reached down, pulled out the next ball without ever taking his eyes off Chris.
“B 12!”
Mama daubed her cards, nostrils flaring, eyes dancing across the table in front of her. Chris tried to squeeze by some of the others to get to her, but he was shoved backward by a woman, her sunken face caked with makeup and a lit cigarette hanging from her chapped lip.
“You’re fuckin’ up my concentration, you little nigglet. Git the fuck outta the way!”
A few others spun their heads toward him and showed they agreed with the woman’s harsh words, but he ignored them.
“Mama!” He had his hands cupped over his mouth, and he called out again. “Mama, we need to go. We need to leave right now!”
“B 9!”
“Shut the fuck up!” a man beside his mama said as he stood and pointed a thick finger in Chris’s direction.
Mama looked up at the man, then over at Chris…and smirked, shook her head. Then she looked back down at her cards and started daubing.
The man kept his eyes on Chris as he bared his teeth, and Chris just walked away, his gaze on the back of Mama’s head. The man eventually sat back down and joined Mama in checking his cards.
“I thought that dude was gonna jump on you. That was close,” Oscar said when Chris trudged back to their corner.
There were still a few people looking in Chris’s direction, and he slowly backed away toward the door, dragging Oscar along with him by the shoulder.
“We need to get the fuck outta here.”
Oscar shook his head, looked back toward the players. “I…I can’t leave her. My grandma…I can’t just leave her.”
“She’s not herself! You said it yourself, man. Possessed, remember?”
“It don’t matter. She’s still my grandma, fool. I can’t leave her here.” Oscar moved back into the corner, shoved his hands into his pockets and watched as his grandma kissed the pictures of her husband’s corpse.
As much as Chris hated it, he knew Oscar was right. His mama needed help, and if he left her there, who knew what would happen to her? Especially when she already had a target on her head from winning so much. He was already by the exit, but he wandered back inside, stood next to Oscar. Neither of the boys spoke.
Mr. Big called out numbers for what seemed like a lifetime before another small group of people jumped up and claimed victory. Chris winced as he watched them claim their prize, waiting for the attack to begin. Though the stares were hard and insults and curses flew through the air like thrown rocks, everybody remained in their seats. Chris figured they were preparing themselves for the third and final round, the grand prize.
He thought about the look Mr. Big gave him, thought about what would happen to Mama if she won the grand prize three nights in a row. These people will tear her apart, he thought. They’ll murder her right here in front of me, show no remorse for it either, and then they’d probably turn on me afterward.
One of the second round winners was Jay’s aunt, and as she waddled back toward her seat, all smiles and jiggling fat, Jay’s mom spat at her, followed by a few others. But Jay’s aunt only wiped the spit away, too enthralled by her winnings to do anything about it.
Chris checked his watch, desperate for this night to end. They had been there for over two hours now, and he wondered if his dad was at home. He contemplated making a run toward the house, explaining everything to his dad, and trying to coax him back to the bingo hall in time to save his mama, but then Mr. Big cleared his throat, cracked his knuckles and grinned at the crowd.
“And now, my children, it is time for our grand prize of the night. The winner of the third and final round will take home…” He stood, paused for effect as the eyes of the players widened, mouths dropped, saliva oozed. “Ten thousand dollars!” M
r. Big tilted his head back, extended his arms like a preacher who was praising the lord above.
And the congregation went wild. People grabbed at their good luck charms, molested them, pressed their hands together and prayed. Chris stretched his neck to get a look at his mama, and those sitting around her stared her down, as if daring her to win again, and a sinking feeling nearly brought Chris to his knees.
If these people decided to attack her, there wasn’t anything he was going to be able to do about it, he knew that, yet he couldn’t leave her here. He found himself bowing his head and praying along with the others, only he prayed for his mother to lose, prayed that some other unlucky soul would scream bingo and get torn limb from limb. Anybody but his mama. He even found himself hoping it was Oscar’s grandma. She’s old, he thought. She’ll be dead soon anyway.
As the thought entered his mind, he furrowed his brow and shook his head. It was as if the thought forced itself into his mind, and then, like fingertips physically lifting his chin, he couldn’t help but raise his head and meet Mr. Big eye to eye.
“This shit’s gonna get bad, fool. Can you feel it too?”
The sound of Oscar’s voice made Chris jump, and he turned away from the nefarious man on stage. “Hell yeah. What can we do, man? We can’t just stand here and watch…”
“Yeah we can. What the fuck else can we do?”
Chris didn’t have an answer as Mr. Big took his seat again, the skin of his face pink and shiny like fried bologna. He leaned his mouth toward the microphone, nearly scraping his yellow teeth across it. “N 39!”
Chris’s eyes immediately found Mama, and he saw her arm working as she daubed her cards accordingly.
“Shit, man. I-I can’t just let this happen.”
Oscar grabbed his arm and pointed back toward the kids gorging themselves on concession food. “Look at that shit.”
As Mr. Big called out the next number, Chris turned toward the eaters. It was as if the kids had all dumped their food in the center of their tables, a steaming pile of meat and cheese and bread and sauce. Mountains of goopy, oozing junk food, and the kids had their hands at their sides or gripping the edge of their tables as they smashed their faces into it and took in mouthful after mouthful.
The Bingo Hall Page 6