Losing a Piece of Me

by K. B. Andrews

  “Yep. I can pick up the check on Monday. I was going to quit today anyway.”

  “So you have a job for me, right?”

  I nod my head at him and rub my forehead. “You know I do, man.”

  “Yes! Fuck this place; I’m quitting today too.” He starts to walk off but I call him back.

  “Stay where you’re at for now. Gather up some guys to bring with you. I want to run his ass into the ground.”

  He laughs with me. “You’re evil.” He points at me before walking away.

  Evil may be a harsh word to use. Pissed? Yes. Tired of busting my ass six days a week for shit pay? Yes. But evil? No, I’m not evil. I’m just passing on the shit he has been pawning off to everyone dumb enough to work for him.

  It pains me to admit that I rarely hold a job for any significant length of time. Hot-headedness runs in my family, and my capacity to deal with other people’s shit is minimal, so it’s only natural that I regularly butt heads with supervisors. An unfortunate consequence of this emotional characteristic is that I usually end up walking out of a job shortly after starting. Luckily, I have been able to adapt and learn many different avenues for making money. I’ve had every job under the sun, but construction is where my passion lies. I love being able to build something with my own hands, and I love the commitment and hard work it takes. Nothing else compares to watching something come to life before my eyes, to transform a jumbled pile of building materials into a fully functioning house.

  I can’t wait to get that check and start my own company. Today is the first day of my new future.

  Gone are the days of me being a piece of shit, bouncing from job to job. Don’t get me wrong, I work hard, have a nice place to live, and always have food on the table. But I also know how women are. If you can’t hold a job for long, you are automatically labeled as “afraid of commitment”, and women don’t want any of that shit. Not that I have ever actually been in a serious adult relationship.

  Which is something else that I’m determined to change. It’s time for me to settle down. It’s time to straighten it up. Not for her, but for myself. I’m tired of being the son of the town drunk. All bets are on me to follow in his footsteps, to spend my days and nights stumbling down the sidewalk toward whichever neon light is the closest, but fuck them. I will prove them wrong. I am more than that, and more than their bullshit expectations.

  The hands on the clock announce that it’s dinner time, so I make a guest appearance at my favorite diner on the way home to rustle up some food. I pull my truck to the curb and walk in, where I’m greeted by the sound of crashing pots and pans.

  I run around the counter and into the kitchen to find Earl picking himself up from the floor. I rush to his side. “Are you okay?”

  The skinny old man jerks his arm away from me before brushing off his pants. “Of course I’m okay. I fought in the war, you think a wet floor is going to take me out?” He adjusts his glasses, looking at me.

  A laugh escapes me. “You scared the shit out of me, Pops.” Earl has received the honorable title of ‘Pops’, since he is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real dad.

  “Go sit your ass down so I can make you some food. I bet you haven’t eaten in days.”

  “I do know how to feed myself, you know,” I say, sitting down at the counter. Pops’ head is visible through the opening in the wall, and I watch as he cooks my food, completely absorbed in the process. He may be seventy-something-years-old, but he still moves like he’s fifty.

  My eyes fall to the static-filled, black-and-white TV screen hanging in the corner of the room. Behind the static, I can see the remnants of what looks like a football game playing out. Whatever it is, it certainly isn’t worth straining my eyes to watch. Instead, I reach behind the counter and turn on the CB radio. Pops always leaves it on the frequency the local police use. We’ve spent many enjoyable evenings listening to this, laughing hysterically at the police harassing the neighborhood kids.

  Our sheriff is a bitter old man. I should know, he’s arrested me over fifty times – which, if I recall correctly, is the record. Well, there may be one other person who has a few more than me.

  I push her from my thoughts and listen as the line suddenly becomes clear, which has historically meant that something exciting is about to go down. “Pops, he’s got someone else,” I yell.

  Pops tosses his spatula aside and sticks his head through the opening to hear the radio. “Turn it up, would ya?”

  I reach over the counter and turn up the radio.

  “I got her again, boys. What’s that make, now… seventy-two times?” Barney Fife lets out a deep belly laugh. “I can finally retire.”

  My blood runs cold. I know who he has. What’s she doing in town? And seventy-two? Fuck, she still has a lot more than me and she hasn’t even lived here for the past six years.

  “What’s she done this time?” one of the deputies ask over the radio.

  He waits a minute before he answers. “Obstruction of justice.”

  That’s bullshit and everyone knows it.

  “Let her go, Tom.”

  “But…”

  “Tom, you and I both know that girl hasn’t been in town in years. There is no way she showed up here meaning to cause trouble. I know you need to get her one last time before you retire, but it ain’t happening today. Now, let her go.”

  Pops and I both stand stock-still. His eyes are watching me; I, however, am staring at that radio.

  “You know she’s just going to meet up with Murphy and I’ll be dragging them both in anyway. Just let me have this one.” I can picture him stomping his foot right now.

  “Turn her loose, Tom.”

  The line goes quiet. Pops turns back around to finish up my food, but I don’t move an inch.

  She’s here.

  Lex is back.

  My head is a mess as Pops comes around and places my plate in front of me. “You okay, son?”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  He lets out a short laugh. “Well, not with that attitude.”

  “It doesn’t matter with any attitude. She left me. I’ve called. I’ve searched for her for years. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.” I take a bite of my burger, which turns out to be severely burnt, so I spit it back out onto the plate. “You burnt it because you were listening to the radio, didn’t you?”

  “Give me that.” He reaches over and takes my burger. “That’s not burnt, it’s well done.” The man is too stubborn to admit he is wrong; he chomps through the blackened patty and starts chewing it. His facial expression is comical as he musters all his willpower to not spit it out.

  He chews on the hunk of charcoal for several minutes before he finally swallows and tosses the rest back down on my plate. “I’ll go make you another one.” He motions over his shoulder to the kitchen with his thumb.

  I finish eating the fresh burger that Pops made and toss a fifty down on the counter while he’s in the back. “I’ll be back by in a few days, Pops.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” he hollers back from the kitchen.

  I walk slowly to my truck and climb in behind the wheel, but don’t start the engine. I can’t seem to think of anything but Lex. It’s been six years since I have seen her. Hell, I haven’t even talked to her in six years. Truth be told, I don’t even know why she left to begin with. One day we were together and the next she was gone.

  I assumed she left early for college, but her parents wouldn’t tell me a thing. They hated me and blamed me for all the trouble she got into, but I never confessed that it was the other way around.

  Why is she back? I have to see her.

  After gathering my composure, I turn the key in the ignition and drive the mile to her parents’ house. I park across the street and gaze up at the big brick house. The yard and shrubs are perfectly manicured, and there are lights shining against the front brick. A perfect all-American house for a perfect all-American family. But I kn
ow different. Lex hated living there. In fact, I always blamed them for her leaving. She didn’t fit in with the rest of her family. They thought they were better than everyone else because they had more money than anyone in town. Lex was different, though.

  She didn’t look at me and see trouble, but her parents only saw me as something dangerous that could ruin their daughter. Lex just saw me. She always saw me for exactly what I was: the son of a drunk who just wanted to get out of this shit town. She was the same way. Both of us just wanted away from the lives we were forced to live.

  Lex and I met when we were both twelve. I was trying to rebel because my mom left. My dad had turned to drinking and hit me on more than one occasion. I talked back to my teachers, didn’t do homework, and got into the occasional fight. Lex saw me as someone who needed a friend or just someone that she could cause trouble with. Either way, I didn’t care. She was beautiful, with her long, dark hair and crystal blue eyes.

  I wanted her from the moment I caught her laughing while I got in trouble for talking back in class. I knew she didn’t see me as anything more, so I took what I could get: her friendship.

  We snuck out of our houses to be with one another. She was my first kiss. We both wanted to try it, but she said it had to be special.

  She wouldn’t let me kiss her just anywhere, so I told her to pick the place and I would make it happen. I never let her know that I wanted that kiss. I acted like it was more of a favor I was doing for her than anything.

  Of all the places she could have chosen, she picked the sheriff’s new police cruiser.

  His keys were left behind in the ignition while he went to grab some coffee and flirt with the waitress. As soon as his back was turned, we jumped inside and Lex fired it up.

  We parked by the lake and turned toward one another. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared into her eyes. I was nervous and clueless, but I could never let her know that. I was supposed to be a badass.

  I leaned across the center console and placed my lips against hers. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to make me realize that she was what I wanted.

  When I pulled away, she giggled and her cheeks turned pink. “Should we try it the other way now?”

  “The other way?” I asked, my voice shaking.

  “Yeah, you know, like with our tongues?”

  “Okay…” I was only a twelve-year-old kid. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew I wanted her.

  I leaned in again, as did she. Somehow in the process of that first real kiss, the shifter got bumped, which we unfortunately did not realize until we were already in the water. Needless to say, the cold lake water put a screeching halt to the feelings that kiss stirred inside of me.

  I shake my head to stop the memories. I need deep, dreamless sleep tonight, which I can only accomplish with alcohol. Without it, the dreams are sure to come and I don’t know if my heart can take anymore right now.

  I look back at the house one last time and shift into drive.

  Within minutes, I find myself pulling up to the local watering hole. I shut off the truck and walk in. The juke box is blaring while I take a seat at the bar.

  “Striker,” Matt greets me.

  “Hey, man. Can I get a beer?” I toss some money down and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging behind the bar. My white t-shirt is dirty from work, my beard is overgrown, and my dark hair is starting to curl around the edges of my hat.

  Fuck. Look at me. Even if I see Lex, there is no way she’s going to give me a second glance when I’m looking like this.

  I drink deeply from the bottle in front of me. The cold beer is refreshing and I drink it faster than I planned.

  Instead of sticking around, I grab my change off the bar and head toward the truck. I have no interest in sitting here, having conversations with the drunks who won’t remember a word of it in the morning. After watching my dad drink his life away, I’m not a fan of alcohol. But sometimes, all you need is a cold beer to put things into perspective. I got just what I needed, a reminder of why I’m not good enough for her.

  I want to crash, the emotions of knowing she’s back in town are weighing on me heavily, like something is sitting on my chest.

  I fire up the truck and drive home, where I fall onto the couch the moment I am inside. My eyelids drift closed before I can even process another thought.

  Chapter 3

  Barney Fife opens the door and allows me to step out. “You’re free to go.” He unlocks my cuffs and hands me my purse.

  I narrow my eyes on him. “Is this some kind of trick?”

  He places the cuffs back into their holder. “Does it look like a trick? Get going.” His tone is rough, and disappointment is visible across his face.

  I shrug it off and step around him to walk back to my car.

  “Don’t get any ideas while you’re in town. I’ll be watching you.”

  His taunting digs under my skin, and I turn around to face him. “I’m not a teenager anymore, you know? I think I can manage one weekend without giving you trouble.”

  He grunts. “I guess we will find out, won’t we?” he says, turning to step into his car.

  “I didn’t steal that cruiser either!” I shout back at him.

  “Yeah? I bet that wasn’t you who defaced our town sign either, huh?”

  He’s got me there - I was caught red handed, literally. The red spray paint I used stained my clothes and hands.

  He walks closer. “It’s almost like the goat farm incident.”

  I can’t help but laugh inwardly.

  Cumming is home to a small goat farm, the goats of which were, accidentally, released by Striker and me. The town had rogue goats wandering the streets for days, which wouldn’t be so bad if goats were the peaceful, loving creatures that they would lead you to believe. Taking full advantage of their newfound freedom, they kicked and/or bit everyone in town.

  “Or that time the confetti cannons at the football game got filled with ketchup and mustard.” He continues walking towards me, watching me with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you know how bad it burns when mustard gets in your eyes?” He leans in, waiting for an answer. “Of course you don’t. You knew it was going to happen and made sure to stand out of the way.”

  I point my finger at him. “I really didn’t do that one. That was all Striker. I mean, come on, do I look like I would do something that childish?”

  The only response I get is a lifted eyebrow.

  “Fine, I will stay out of trouble.” I hold up my hands, showing him my palms.

  Apparently this satisfies him; he finally turns around and walks back to his car.

  I get behind the wheel and continue with my journey.

  Hearing about that football game puts a smile on my face. I really didn’t have anything to do with it. It surprised me as much as the rest of the town. Striker had it all planned out. It was our anniversary and that was my gift. I laughed so hard I cried. That was the same night we snuck back onto the field and had our own fun on the fifty-yard-line.

  Striker rolls to his back. We’re both completely naked, laying on the grass with the dark sky above us. I roll to his side and trail my fingertips up his hard chest. His dark hair is a mess from the fun we just had and his lips are turned up into a smile.

  “Thank you for tonight. I really needed that.”

  He turns his head to look at me and his green eyes light up, even in the darkness. “Well it’s not as good as the gift you got me, but I thought you would enjoy watching everyone get sprayed.”

  “It was better than what I got you,” I say, thinking back on the food fight I started in the cafeteria the day before.

  His eyes suddenly become crystal clear, “I love you, Lex.”

  I shake the thoughts from my head just as my parents’ house comes into view down the road. My run-in with Barney cost me some time – it is already 6:00 P.M. – but I still have an hour before dinner.

  I step out of the car and lean again
st the door, lighting another cigarette while I survey my family’s immaculate property. The whole thing looks staged, everything from the perfectly planted flowers, to the giant fountain in the front yard, and the circle drive that surrounds it. I feel like the smudge on a freshly cleaned mirror. The one that always seems to be right in the center, distorting your face when you look in it. Just another reminder that I don’t belong here.

  As the cigarette slowly burns down to my fingers, I am engaged in a mental battle to build up the courage to go in. My feet have not crossed that doorstep in six years; yet, my instincts tell me that when I step inside, everything will be the exact same. I would even bet money that the same pristine, white-and-cream-colored rug still runs down the center of the hallway.

  One last drag more or less cashes the cigarette, and I flick the butt into the potted plants lining the porch steps. I pull my bag from the trunk and apprehensively make my way to the front door.

  Anxiety and dread shadow every step I take, further emphasized by a strange, nervous pain in my stomach. It’s as if I’m a teenager again. I have always felt the exact same way every time I walked up these steps.

  I push the glowing doorbell button and listen as it chimes throughout the house. My heart pounds and my body feels heavy, like I’ve suddenly been handed a sandbag. I can’t walk forward or run back. I’m frozen in fear.

  How is this weekend going to go? Are they going to punish me for leaving and not coming back until now? Are they going to make me feel ignored and uncomfortable? Will they be inviting and welcome me with open arms?

  My mother opens the door, smiling, but the smile drops from her face when she realizes it’s me. “Well, come in.” She turns away, leaving me standing on the porch.

  I take a deep breath and push myself forward, walking in and closing the door behind me. I don’t follow after my mother; instead, I stand in the foyer and look around the room.

  It’s exactly as I imagined, everything is exactly where I remember it being. The posed family picture hangs over the fireplace in the living room. Any visitor looking at it might think that we are the perfect family, but I remember the day it was taken. I was thirteen then, and had a huge fit that morning because my mother made me wear a dress. She threatened to take all my clothes and burn them in front of me if I didn’t smile for that picture.