by Bryn Roar
“For such a little guy, he can sure cuss up a storm.” “Me brother?”
Tubby laughed. “No! Rusty Huggins.”
“Gnat? Huh, tell you the truth, hon, I hardly notice anymore. You know, he didn’t always talk like that, and he never cusses in front of his folks. If Betty Anne ever caught him talking like that she’d wash his mouth out with soap. Buddy boy isn’t always the best influence, I’m afraid. Rusty’s just trying to keep up with the ruff lad.”
“Speaking of the way someone talks,” said Tubby, “are you from Ireland originally? I love your accent.”
Josie laughed and kissed Tubby on the cheek, causing him to turn that awful shade of eggplant again. “Thank you, darlin, but no, I’ve never even been to the auld country, as they say. When I was a wee girl, I doted on me father to such an extent I finally took on all his mannerisms and speech—except dad never used profanity. Aye! Rusty’s not the only one whose been unduly influenced by our Buddy boy! Anyway, the years have takin’ a toll on me brogue. At times I catch meself saying ‘My Mom’, instead of ‘Me Mum’ ‘Shit, instead of shite.’ Like that, you know. Strangely enough had me father lived my accent probably would’ve vanished years ago. Kids talk like their peers, not their folks. But since he passed on, I’ve held onto the accent with all me heart. Losing it would be like…” Josie hitched a quiet sob, “losing the last wee bit of me dad.”
His eyes misty, Tubby said, “Gee.”
Josie looked at Tubby and slipped her hand in his. “Ralphie…I want to thank you.”
Tubby gulped. “For what?”
“For listening. I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I’m so glad Bud invited you along today.”
Tubby smiled and nodded his head. “Me too.”
Ahead the lighthouse cast a looming shadow, its beacon drawing Josie home. When she was a little girl, her daddy used to tell her that living beside a lighthouse meant she would always know the way home. “That’s me home on this side of the lighthouse.”
Tubby saw how small it was. “Um, Josie? Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“In a sleeping bag in me room. The boys also have sleeping bags in their rooms in case of the same thing. We do it all the time, Ralphie. Why, is something wrong?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Josie caught the laugh this time before it sneaked past her lips. “You can sleep on our sofa if you’d prefer.”
“That sounds like a better idea, Josie.”
“Okay, but I’ve got to warn you, my shy friend, me mum sometimes walks around the house in the buff.”
Tubby blushed again. His face felt like a barbershop pole: white one second, bright red the next. “Gee! I guess I better take the sleeping bag in your room then, huh?”
Josie giggled. “Unless you want to catch yourself an eyeful! Me mum has even bigger knockers than me! According to Buddy boy, they’re a sight to behold.”
Not knowing if Josie was kidding, Tubby tittered nervously. “Heh-heh! That’s okay. I’ll stay in your room.”
They tiptoed into the kitchen. Tubby kept expecting Mrs. O’Hara to any second stumble in on them without a stitch on, singing that rather apt “Chorus Line” number: Tits and Ass! at the top of her bellicose lungs.
Startled, he noticed the clock on the kitchen wall.
It was a creepy kind of clock, the seconds ticked off by the tail and slitted eyes of a smirking black cat. He’d seen its like before, of course, though never one so patently sinister. No sense of humor at all in this ebony timepiece.
Tubby felt a ridiculous urge to tear it from the wall.
Josie broke the spell by grabbing one of his sweaty hands and guiding him to her room. She closed the door behind them and turned on the overhead light. “I’m gonna check on me little brother. My bathroom’s over there,” she said, pointing at the opposite door. Please ignore the mess. Me maid’s a lazy twit. I’ll be right back, love.”
Tubby watched her leave. He wondered if Josie could hear how loud his heart was beating. He could literally see it thumping through his shirt. He checked out his surroundings as soon as her door clicked shut. Except for a pair of sky blue panties, thrown in one corner, which his eyes of course lingered on, it was hard to tell that a girl occupied the room at all. Nothing frilly about Josie O’Hara. Her bed was unmade; the plain white sheets tossed back in a hurry. A black concert T-shirt, torn at the collar, lay where Josie had dropped it on the bed. Billy Joel: The Stranger Tour. The concert dates below the famous album cover had long ago faded away. Josie’s open closet revealed very few clothes, and except for several pairs of cheap flip-flops only two pairs of shoes.
The room was effused with Josie’s signature strawberry scent, though try as he may, Tubby could find no perfumes on her dresser or otherwise. Probably keeps that girly stuff in her bathroom, he decided.
The only items on her dresser were several framed pictures of Bud and Rusty, and two other fellows, who Tubby assumed were Josie’s father and brother. In various poses and events. Both of whom had unruly red hair and all-over freckles. The same bright smile as Josie, though. The same gorgeous green eyes, too. There were no pictures of Josie’s mum. True to her word, a crumpled-up sleeping bag lay beside Josie’s bed. Tubby’s heart skipped a beat at the close proximity in which he’d be sleeping next to the goddess. Movie posters from various Stephen King movies lined her otherwise bare walls: Stand By Me. Misery. The Shawshank Redemption, and The Green Mile—leaving little doubt as to her favorite author’s identity.
Her bookshelf was just as crammed as the one back at the clubhouse. Josie did indeed have every King first edition, along with nearly every significant horror novel written in the past fifty years. Tottering heaps of Creepy, Eerie and Vampirella magazines sat atop the bulging bookshelf, one nudge away from a pulp fiction avalanche. On Josie’s bedside table a tall stack of well-read paperbacks held a place of honor, next to a gooseneck lamp and a wind-up alarm clock.
Her favorite novels, Tubby thought.
He bent his head sideways to read the titles: The Shining. Salem’s Lot. The Stand. Boy’s Life. Different Seasons. The Exorcist. Watership Down. Cujo. It. Swan Song, and Memoirs of an Invisible Man.
Tubby was flabbergasted. Except for the last two (I wonder if she’ll let me borrow that Invisible Man), it was identical to his own stack of books back home!
He made a mental note to bring that up should their conversation hit a dull snag. A small writing table faced the bedroom’s lone window, overlooking the sandy bluff behind the house. A cheap fold-up chair sat underneath the desk, a pillow its cushion. An old Olivetti typewriter occupied the table, along with two neat stacks of paper on either side of the typewriter. It was, Tubby noted, the only orderly section in her room. One stack held blank pages, weighted down by a hardback copy of Stephen King’s On Writing, while the other stack held finished copy from a story entitled: There’s Blood on the Moon Tonight…
In a time when most homes in America had at least one personal computer, that old typewriter said more about the O’Haras’ financial situation than all the cheap flip-flops and peeling paint chips put together.
Tubby could hear voices filtering through the wall. Josie talking to her brother, first scolding, then laughing.
He picked up the top sheet of copy from Josie’s desk, reading it with a great deal of interest, when the bedroom door creaked open. Josie came over and gently took the page from him. “It’s a rough first draft,” she said, turning it over on top of the other written pages. “Not ready for submission yet.”
“I’m sorry, Josie. I didn’t mean to snoop.”
“That’s all right, love,” she said, dismissing it with a shrug, like it didn’t bother her at all.
“Is your mom awake?”
“Nuh-uh, I just checked on her. She’s pretty much blotto. Been this way ever since me dad died.”
Tubby smiled sympathetically. “And your brother?”
“Och, he doesn’t drink all that much. He can handle his Juicy-Ju
ice pretty good.”
Tubby laughed aloud, and then clapped a hand over his mouth in horror.
Josie giggled. “Shite, Ralphie! We could go into Shayna’s room and wrestle on the bed right beside her and she wouldn’t know a thing.” Josie saw the look on Tubby’s face and smiled. If he was any cuter he’d be a Teddy Bear! “But we won’t do that…okay, dear?”
“Whew. Glad to hear it.”
“Now hurry up and use me john, will ya, ‘cause I plan on being in there awhile.”
Josie had to hide the grin on her face as Tubby exited her bathroom fully dressed, some five minutes later. She‘d heard him brush his teeth and use her toilet (with the water running, of course, to mask the pee-pee sounds—Rusty did the same thing), and despite the PJ’s she knew he had in his bag, he chose to wear his clothes to bed. Probably had horsies on his pajamas or something equally embarrassing. She was tempted to tease him, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She drew the line at his dirty sneakers. “At least take your darn shoes off, Ralphie.”
She took her turn, entering the bathroom with her sleep-shirt and a change of fresh undies in hand. She felt grungy from the long, sweaty day they’d spent in the Pines, and the dunk she’d taken (twice!) in the lake. A hot shower was most definitely in order. How those boys could fall asleep, filthy and smelly, she’d never know.
She shucked her dirty clothes and peeled off the still damp and tight bra, literally gasping at the blessed relief. She took the time to wash it out and lay it over a dry towel on the towel rack. Several minutes later, she stepped out of the shower and toweled off, feeling like she’d just shed five pounds of grit, grime, and grease.
As feared, Joel was upset she hadn’t called in, to let him know where she’d be for the night. She felt bad for her little brother. She ended up spending most of her time away from home—and by extension, Joel. Despite being a brat most of the time, Joel always covered for Josie. Bless his skeevy little heart. Not that Shayna would’ve really cared. She just liked to pretend she was on top of things. Josie knew she’d have to make it up to him. Maybe buy him a new Hot Wheels car. Yes. He’d like that.
She stepped into the clean panties and picked up her T-shirt, unconsciously seeking out her father’s long lost scent as she pulled it over her head. Sea salt, sunblock, and Old Spice. Hi, ya, Daddy. How ya doing?
Tubby had made himself as comfortable as possible on top of the Star Wars sleeping bag. He was reading one of the comic books he’d brought along when Josie stepped out of the bathroom in a fragrant cloud of steam. He did a wide-eyed double take. He’d heard her taking a shower, and had endeavored to keep his mind from imagining what was going on behind that shower curtain…
She was naked in there! You betcha! Soaping up her wet, glistening skin. Water sluicing down the sloped mounds of her soft, pink flesh—STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP THINKING THOSE BAD THOUGHTS, TUBBY TOLSON! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU???
Josie had taken a long time and Tubby wondered if that was a “Girl Thing” (his dad would have had a conniption if he used up that much water). He’d expected her to come out either fully dressed, like himself, or at least sporting some sensible pajamas. To his flustered consternation, Josie was wearing nothing but that oversized black T-shirt; the torn-neck-hole so well sprung it revealed the beginning of some serious cleavage. Josie’s scent was stronger than ever now, a tropical ambrosia that Tubby inhaled deep into his lungs. Her copper burnished hair was wet and combed straight back, revealing the girl’s one physical flaw. Her ears stuck out from her head like handles on a jug. Monkey ears, Tubby thought, sighing. Gee whiz, even her imperfections are cute!
Her shapely thighs disappeared under the frayed hem of the sleep shirt. Mere inches from what Tubby could only hope were her underpants. She certainly wasn’t wearing a bra. Josie’s breasts, much larger looking now without the bra squashing them, swayed freely underneath the cotton T-shirt. Stealing Tubby’s breath away.
Josie jumped into bed and Tubby caught a glimpse of her white panties, in stark contrast to her tanned thighs.
His breath caught again in his throat, and he had to flip over quickly on his stomach to hide the sudden tent pole in his pants. He let out a groan as his balls took the full brunt of his weight. The pain was enormous.
Concerned, Josie leaned over the side of her bed, her shirt bellowing open. “What’s the matter, tiger? You got a stomachache?”
“Nuh-uh, I’m fine.” Tubby looked up, blinking at all that soft skin perched above his eyes. He could see almost all of Josie’s bulging breasts as she leaned over the bed, her chin nestled cozily between them. A bridge of freckles traversed the curved, upper slopes, like dusty little rose petals linked together. The pink crescent of one aureole teased the tattered edge of her shirt, as if testing the waters. Astonished, Tubby watched the breast succumb to gravity and pop free of the worn and worried neck hole.
Josie seemed not at all perturbed. With a slight of hand that would’ve made any magician envious, she neatly tucked the errant boob away. Nonchalant and cheerful, she chattered on-and-on, oblivious to the pressures she was exerting on Ralph’s hormones. He strained against the pull of his greedy eyes. Lifting them up instead towards Josie’s freshly scrubbed face. He forced himself to focus on those limber red lips, softly flexing around each syllable and syntax. Seeing but not hearing Josie’s words. Her straight teeth, slick and white; her breath, so clean and minty, washing across his flushed face like a fresh winter breeze…
Any other time and such a vision would’ve more than sufficed. Not now. Like a record player stuck on the same groove, Tubby’s mind kept retreating to that lusty image of Josie’s inquisitive breast, popping out for a visit…
*******
Saturday, October 9th, 2,004
Bud awoke, confused and startled. A new dream, amidst all the old reruns, had jumpstarted his day. Something to do with Robby the Robot, their Tin Man, in the midst of a storm, clanking down the middle of Main Street with an ax held aloft in one mechanical claw, while fireflies danced all about him. Another piece to the puzzle—yet no more enlightening when added to all the others.
“Feels like I’m getting farther away from it,” Bud said, shaking his head awake. He made a mental note to log the vision into his dream journal the first chance he got.
He looked around the room and realized Josie and Tubby had split. Rusty was sawing some serious timber in front of the darkened TV. It was amazing how someone so small could snore so loud. Kid sounded like a bad muffler.
Tubby must have walked Josie home last night. Better call her to make sure she got home okay…
He threw off the blanket and hurried over to the door. The sun was up and Moon Island was coming to life on the street below. He heard Mr. Peteovich, the testy Polish owner of Peg Leg Pete’s, berating the mailman for all the damn circulars in his mailbox. Miss Beasly, who ran the Book Nook, and had a small apartment over her store, was opening early for her Saturday morning Coffee Klatch.
Bud’s mother had once belonged to the same book club.
Beasly was a spindly, fifty-year-old spinster who was forever flirting with Mr. Peteovich, a confirmed member of The Woman Hater’s Club.
“Good morning, Mr. Pete! How are you today?”
“Rrrrrrrrrr,” growled Mr. Pete in return.
Bud grinned. At least no one could accuse the old dude of leading Beasly on. With the rising of the sun, Bud felt a little more at ease, his fears a bit more unreasonable.
He was still going to make that call, though.
He walked back into the clubhouse to wake up Rusty and that’s when he saw the Aurora Model box on top of the steamer trunk. He grinned hugely as he sat on the trunk and reverently picked up the glow-in-the-dark kit. Shrink-wrap still covered the unopened Aurora Model. The original price sticker read a ludicrous 98 cents. A yellow Post It note, sticking beside Hyde’s bestial face, confirmed someone had left it there for Bud to find.