RECYCLED MEMORY

by Richardson, SH

  “How you feeling, Nan? You need anything?” I took a seat next to her and reached for her ice-cold hand and held it in mine.

  “No, darling boy, I have everything I need right here.” She patted my hand as only she could. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the dance? You should never keep a young lady waiting,” she teased with a huge smile on her face.

  “Good try, Nan, but I don’t have a date for the dance. I’ll probably just hang out with the boys for a while, then head back over to the junkyard to see what Buck’s up to.”

  “Pfft. A handsome boy like yourself and no date? It sure is a sad day when the girls of Remington Township don’t know a good catch when they see one.”

  “You’re biased, Nan. Besides, their loss, right?”

  I stood up and flexed my muscles to make her laugh. It was something we both needed. She sobered quickly and tried to turn her face away from me, but it was too late. I noticed she had tears in her eyes, and not from laughter but something else entirely.

  “I made the right decision sending you to Buck Calhoun,” she shared brokenly.

  “Grandmother…” I never called her by that name. A playful grit to my tone as a warning to her not to get sappy on me. Something she did a lot lately.

  “My Rachel would have been so proud of how far you’ve grown, sweet boy.” She touched my cheek and breathed deeply to gain control of her emotions. “Don’t mind me, Marcus. I’m just a proud grandma. Now, hurry along and get yourself ready for the dance. Can’t keep the girls waiting.” She shooed me off with a weak smile.

  Two hours later, we were standing around Buck’s house shooting the shit, waiting to leave. Range was dressed to the nines in his black tuxedo, long hair flowing like one of those dime store romance book models. Sebastian and Max were just as sharply dressed, wearing their own versions of high school chic on a budget, compared to my getup. I looked like the neighborhood hoodlum; leather jacket, black boots, black jeans and T-shirt. I wasn’t out to impress anyone. Neat and clean was enough in my book.

  “OOH-wee, you good looking.” Buck entered the room with a cheeky grin. “And you smell good, too.” He made a show of sniffing the air. “What’s that? Eau de dumb asses?”

  Each one of us responded differently. “Fuck off,” “Eat shit,” and “What-ever, old man” echoed around the room as we popped our collars and showed off our fine threads. Buck was a hard-ass, but even he couldn’t hide the look of pride in his eyes as he took us all in one by one. Moments like these were rare, like spotting a white elephant in the jungle, once in a lifetime. Buck kept his emotions in check better than anyone around. It wasn’t that he didn’t love us; we felt it without being told the words. “Save the pussy talk for when you’re fingering the little girls at school, boys,” he liked to say. Life wasn’t all hearts and candy sprinkled with fairy dust. It was hard and fucked up if you weren’t prepared to face it. Buck carried those reminders in his soul, scars of pain from losing his son. He’d all but given up on the prospect of a second chance until we boys came along. He was stuck with us now. No way were we letting him go without a fight.

  Buck reached inside the pockets of his well-worn jeans and fished out four sets of keys. He chucked a pair to each of us while we looked on with surprise. This behavior was so unlike Buck Calhoun; he never “gave” away anything unless you earned it for yourself. One by one, he barked out orders before we had the chance to catch each set of keys flying through the air.

  “Range, you take the black F-150 parked out back in bay one. Tank is full, and papers are in the glove box in case the pigs try and pull you over. Sebastian, you get the red Corvette in bay two. Keep it under the limit until you get used to the gas pedal. Both hands on the wheel at all times, fly boy. Max, the Benz parked out front is yours for the night. Don’t fuck up the back seats before you have a chance to return it. Don’t want no jizz ruining the upholstery.”

  I stood there like an idiot while my brothers all cheered and high-fived their good fortune before I got up the nerve to look at the set of keys I held in my hand. My breath caught in my lungs, and I fought back a sudden wave of sadness when I realized what I was holding. I’d never hear the end of it if the guys saw me bitched up; they could never understand. The shiny gold piece of metal with the unmistakable emblem stamped on the front was the stuff dreams were made of. My dream and that of my father. The Pussy Magnet was Buck’s pride and joy, his baby, and he was trusting it to me for the night. I closed my hand around the cold metal and willed my heart to slow down, for the tears to dry up, and the ache in my chest to subside. Buck watched in humbled silence, allowing me the time I needed to accept his instructions before we were allowed to leave. Once he was certain I’d finally gotten enough control of myself to listen, he gave me my marching orders like he did with the rest of the guys.

  “Take her slow on the turns, Marcus. She’s old, but she’s still got some kick to her.”

  All I could do was nod my head in understanding, his words lost in my jumbled brain. Buck took care of that nonsense real fast.

  “Scratch that bitch just one hair, and I’ll rip your tiny balls off and feed them to the gulls in the yard. You feel me?” I believed every word.

  “I feel you, Buck. No scratches. Got it.” I gave him a mock solute.

  “Hmm.” Buck was done talking… NOT. “Oh, and boys, remember. One night of fun can lead to a lifetime of herpes. DON’T FORGET THE RUBBERS!”

  Classy, Buck. Real fuckin’ classy.

  SIXTEEN

  Maribel

  THE JUNIOR DANCE WAS in full swing by the time they arrived. Not that I was watching the door or anything; the collective swooning from my fellow classmates was enough to give it away. Marcus, along with his buddies, had been the talk in every girls’ bathroom for the last few weeks. Scheme after scheme, each one dumber than the next, was made to try and get their attention. One female student went as far as to plan a fucking kidnapping to get a piece of one of their dicks for the night. I made a mental note to send that simple bitch a cake with a file in it when she got locked up for her stupidity. I didn’t blame them for thinking ahead—prior preparation and all that—but have a little dignity, why don’t you. Sure, they were hot—no, scratch that. They were the peanut butter and jelly of teenage testosterone. Oh, I’d heard the rumors; it was hard not to. Plus, it was written on the bathroom stalls. Tall tales of disgusting sexual dalliances that would make the average street walker blush. Apparently, once you had one of the boys, you were obligated to share that shit with a friend. And so on, and so on…

  I sometimes wondered if things might have turned out differently between Marcus and me if I hadn’t acted so childishly. Perhaps I’d overreacted to his cold and flippant comment after he gave me my first kiss. At the time, I’d been hurt, angry, and a whole list of other unflattering shit that I never dared to admit. Mrs. Klein had been right. I’d been too young and socially inferior to deal with kids who were older and more experienced at life. I’d decided it was high time I did something about that, so I joined the National Honor Society after school. Its volunteer work within the community helped me overcome many of the social anxieties I felt as an awkward teen. My involvement in the group was just what I needed to help me move past the debacle of trying to force Marcus into a friendship he didn’t want.For two years, he tried to make it up to me while systematically banging every chick in sight, if the rumors were true. I’d run into him every other day at my playhouse, but it was never the same. I no longer wanted to share my special place with Marcus; he didn’t deserve its beauty, so when he arrived, I would leave. No fanfare, no intimate friendly exchange in greeting, and definitely no more hand holding. I stopped following him around, showing up uninvited, or making sure he stayed safe in that junkyard by having his back. The pain I’d felt when he’d broken my heart was a constant reminder never to put my trust in Marcus Mecken again.

  So, there I was, enjoying a night out with a handsome boy who had the balls big enough to ask me o
ut on a date. Flashbacks from the last time I’d thought someone was really interested only to find out it was one big joke prevented me from immediately saying yes. To my surprise, my intended admirer never gave up and continued to pursue me until I happily agreed. Jack Wilson was our class president and future Harvard Ivy Leaguer looking to major in political science. His father was a state senator, and politics ran in his blood; his words, not mine. He was extremely good looking in a clean-cut boy-next-door sort of way. Unfortunately for Jack, my eyes were glued to the leather-clad tough guy cracking his knuckles and walking briskly in our direction. I’d seen that look in Marcus’s eyes before, and the end result had not been a good one. He was pissed about something as always. I just didn’t have it in me to care what that was.

  “Yo, what’s good, Mecken? Dig the outfit, dude.”

  Jack threw his arm around my shoulder and held out his other hand in a fist toward Marcus for a bump. He waited with a friendly smile for him to return his gesture.

  He didn’t.

  “Pocket,” he growled. I hadn’t heard that silly nickname in years. I missed it. “What the fuck you doing here with this tool?” He flicked his chin toward Jack but never broke eye contact with the object of his ire. Me.

  Marcus towered over me like a dark wraith hell-bent on ruining my one chance at having a fun evening. I could smell the polished leather as it seeped from the shiny black jacket he wore and the subtle hint of cologne as it permeated my nostrils. His proximity to my body did strange things to my senses, which caused me to sway on my feet before I righted myself. Get your shit together, Maribel. He still saw me as a child, something I hadn’t been for a very long time. He used that ridiculous pet name he’d concocted for me years before that I hated with a passion. He saw Jack as one of those so-called boys who only wanted to take advantage of me instead of someone who was truly into me. He had some fucking nerve acting like the big brother I didn’t need. If he thought for one minute I would allow him to ruin my date, he had another thing coming.

  “What’s your deal, Mecken? Go find your own girl for the night. This one’s taken.”

  Oh, Jack. As much as I like you, I don’t think that was the best way to go.

  “Wilson,” Marcus gritted without so much as turning his head. “There comes a time in a man’s life when he’s gotta make a decision. Do I step away and live to breathe another day, or do I check the weight of my cock and decide to make a move? Now is one of those times, Wilson. What’s it gonna be?”

  “I’ll… just… go grab us some punch, Maribel.” Way to put up a fight, Jack.

  “Yeah, good choice, motherfucker.”

  Jack removed his arm from around my shoulders and skirted off like a scared little rabbit. I stood quietly and watched as Marcus smirked at Jack’s retreating form and uttered “Pussy” under his breath. His cavalier attitude, when he was clearly the bully in that scenario, made my pulse skyrocket. It was that same standoffish approach to our relationship that had estranged him to me years before. He’d obviously gone from being a regular old tough guy to an absolute badass in a span of two years, neither of which endeared him to me in that moment. He had no right to interfere in my life when he all but pushed me out of his as soon as he got the chance.

  “Who. The. Fuck.”—my voice dropped an octave—“Do you think you are coming in here treating people that way? You had no right to question who or why I chose to attend the dance with someone like Jack.”

  “I can when the dude you pick is a fucking douche. Really, Pocket, Wilson? That guy’s the biggest asshole in the whole school. Everybody knows that.”

  “It wasn’t your choice to make, Marcus. I’m not a little child anymore. Get that through your thick fucking head. It’s none of your goddamned business.”

  I stood toe to toe with the beast himself, and there was no way I was backing down now. He’d stepped way over the line; it was time he learned I wasn’t one of his groupies he could flash a smile at and force me to my knees.

  “Not my business?” he growled in my face. His minty breath fanned across my cheeks. “Not my fucking business? The fuck it ain’t, little girl. You’ve always been my business.”

  “What? Marcus, that’s crazy. You—” I tried to interrupt.

  “You don’t think I kept tabs, baby? What? Because you stopped talking to me you thought I just gave up, that I wasn’t looking out for you? I’ve always been there, Pocket. You just never bothered to see me.”

  Why was he saying all of this, and at a school dance no less? He’d had every opportunity to tell me that shit when he saw me at the playhouse. Why now? Was it because someone else was paying attention to me, treated me like an adult finally? Or was it that he felt sorry for me, the charity case who couldn’t measure up? Either way, I was sick of his macho bullshit. If he wanted to discuss his “feelings” like grown adults, we could do that at a later time, preferably when I wasn’t on a date. Tonight was about me, not him.

  “Look, Marcus, we can talk about this another time when things aren’t so… busy. I need to go find Jack and get back to our date, so if you don’t mind…”

  I tried to get away, but Marcus was faster. He held me steady with a firm hand on the back of my neck and a look in his eyes that screamed to struggle against him was useless. It was all too much, the closeness, the touching, the old feelings of hope and excitement. The remnants of a young girl’s feelings were overshadowed by the desire felt by a self-aware young woman. I’d changed. The question now was whether or not Marcus had as well.

  “What do you want from me, Marcus? You made it real clear two years ago that I was nothing more than a desperate little girl who couldn’t look out for herself. As you can see, I’m doing just fine without you, so let’s just keep it that way.”

  “Is that really what you want, Maribel? For me to just walk away and never speak to you again? Just say the words, baby, and I’m a fucking ghost. You feel me?” He pulled me closer. “But you and I both know that’s not what you really want, now, don’t we?”

  Bastard knew how to turn on the charm, that’s for sure. No wonder the girls found him hard to resist. He was also right in his assessment. I couldn’t let him go, not when I had grown so much as a person. Marcus had reached out to me, not the other way around. I couldn’t allow my childish ideals to keep me from at least trying to re-establish some semblance of a relationship with him. I no longer had stars in my eyes or a false sense of what it meant when a boy asked to kiss you. Growing up meant making decisions that were beneficial to everyone involved. What would it hurt to give him another chance?

  “Fine, we can be friends again, but—”

  “Good girl. Now, let’s go.”

  He didn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. Marcus grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the exit without another word. I dug in the heels of my overpriced pumps and pulled back just enough to slow him down without falling on my face.

  “Go? Go where? And what about Jack?” I screeched.

  “Jack can find his own girl.” He smiled back at me over his shoulder. “This one’s taken.”

  “Um...Marcus? I don’t think…” What the hell am I doing?

  “Besides, do you want to live forever?”

  SEVENTEEN

  Marcus

  FREEDOM.

  The one thing we could all agree on was the fact that Buck liked to exaggerate. One dollar became ten, six inches turned into twelve, one woman was always two or three by the end of whatever bullshit sex story he felt like sharing that day. As Maribel and I rode through the winding roads of the Virginia country side, there was one thing that wasn’t an overblown account of his exploits. Buck’s tales of riding free with his brothers in tow, no real destination to speak of, with the sun shining on their faces were the stories that always piqued my interest. I often wondered what it was like to experience true freedom, your mind clear of worries, your body relaxed and focused, your spirit soaring like the wind that blew against your face each time you hit the th
rottle. Tonight, I no longer had to use my imagination. Tonight, I was truly free.

  My original plan was to show up at the dance, grab one of those silly-ass cheerleaders, and have her blow me in the back of the school under the bleachers. That all went to shit the minute I caught sight of Maribel standing with that piece of shit Jack Wilson. Her beauty took my breath away, fresh and clean. One look, and I was hooked. Jack had her full attention. The lovely smile on her face as he spoke to her intimately caused an expected burning sensation in my gut that made me want to rip the nose off his face and shove it up his ass. Instead, I settled for doing what I should have done a long time ago and staked my claim. Her beauty was made for me, her smile, her thoughts and dreams were all mine, and I was asshole enough to take it if I had to.

  But I knew I wouldn’t need to go that far.

  She’d always been mine, from the minute she’d grabbed my hand and followed me home.

  She was mine.

  Maribel wasn’t a pushover by any sense of the word. She was a fighter who even in her youth had showed signs that she wasn’t just going to lie down and eat shit. The girl was wicked smart, too smart for her own good sometimes, but she also knew what she wanted. I’d fucked up two years ago. I’d be the first to admit what I did was wrong. What could I say? Boys did stupid shit. We were no longer children. Feeling her pressed against my back with her tiny hands wrapped around my waist as we sped through the winding road felt surreal. She fit so perfectly I never wanted to stop riding until we reached the ends of the earth. A soft tap against my belly warned me that Maribel wasn’t so keen on the idea and wanted me to pull over.

  I found a lookout a few feet away, a clearing that faced the town from above, and did what she asked. I parked the bike off to the side and hoisted her up from the seat to protect her delicate dress from getting dirty from oil stains. I caught the bewildered look in her eyes as I held her steady on her feet for a few moments. Her legs probably felt like Jell-O from the vibrations coming from the bike’s engine. She needed time to adjust to standing on solid ground. My leather jacket was wrapped securely around her; it swallowed her tiny frame like a bed sheet. As long as it kept her warm, that’s all that mattered. We stood facing each other with a whirlwind of questions floating between us, neither one of us willing to break the silence.