Bear, Otter, & the Kid 01 - Bear, Otter, & the Kid (MM)

by TJ Klune

  “Don’t feel too bad,” I say. “The Kid thinks you’re cool, but ‘Otter rocks!’” My voice rises to the octave of the Kid.

  “Story of my life,” he mutters.

  “So, why is he here?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but Creed doesn’t hear me.

  I follow him into the kitchen, where I hear Otter thumping back down the stairs and Ty already babbling away at him. I see them pass by the aquarium near the bottom of the stairs, and I notice Ty already resting on Otter’s back, his arms thrown companionably around his neck as he giggles into his ear. Otter has the same lopsided grin on his face that he always has. I remember when he used to be able to carry me like that. He’s a bit shorter than Creed but more muscular than he is. Everything else, from the closely cropped blond hair to the green eyes is the same. Of course he’s older than Creed and I, twenty-nine years old to our just-turned twenty-one. He hasn’t really changed much over the years. I find myself uncharacteristically fascinated by the veins that bulge out on his massive arms, the way his back looks like it goes on for miles under the shirt he wears. His gigantic hands, the crinkles around his eyes that form when he smiles. There’s something there, in the back of my mind, but I can’t look at it now and berate myself quietly for noticing these things about him. About myself. What the hell do I care?

  Otter sets down the Kid on the countertop in the kitchen, still giving Ty his full attention. Ty’s telling him some story involving the evils of ham production and looks down for a moment. That’s when Otter glances up over Ty’s head just for an instant and searches for me. His eyes find mine, and Otter grins the Otter grin before quickly diverting his attention back to the Kid. He knows as well as anybody that when Ty is talking to you about something as important as ham processing, you pay attention like it’s the last thing you’ll ever hear. I try not to notice how my step stutters when he looks away.

  I walk into the kitchen. Creed grabs beer out of the fridge and offers one to me, which I take. He throws one to Otter who catches it deftly with one hand while never tearing his eyes away from Ty. Ty pauses in a sentence, and then Creed interjects, “Kid, you want a beer?”

  Ty’s eyes widen and then narrow suspiciously. “What if I say yes?”

  Creed shrugs. “Then I’d tell you you’d have to ask Papa Bear.”

  The Kid glances sideways at me then goes back to Creed. “Bear and I already talked about it, and he thinks I’m old enough.”

  I snort. “Like hell we did! You little liar.”

  The Kid looks back at Otter, who is struggling to keep a straight face. “You believe me, right, Otter?” he asks, making his voice sound as if he were some poor orphan boy asking for a meal. Otter can’t contain it and bursts out laughing, a loud bellowing sound that echoes throughout the tiled kitchen. Ty crosses his arms and scowls.

  Otter sobers up for a moment, looking down at the little boy in front of him. “How about this,” he says. Ty instantly perks to attention. “How about I give you a sip of my beer and just a sip, and then I go get you some soy ice cream?”

  Soy ice cream? I should have thought of that.

  Ty looks at Otter for a moment to make sure he’s not joking and then looks at me, eyes pleading. I pretend to mull it over for a moment while Otter, Creed, and the Kid begin making pitiful noises, begging, just begging. I throw my hands up in the air, and Ty knows he’s got me beat.

  Otter picks up his beer bottle and hands it over to Ty, saying, “You can sip until I count to three, and then you’re done, okay?” Ty nods and lifts the bottle to his lips. “One… two… three, and you’re done.” He takes the bottle away from Ty, who sits there a moment before letting out a great burp. We all laugh, and Otter gives a high-five to the Kid, who is grinning, knowing he’s one of the boys.

  Otter picks Ty easily off the counter and sets him on the ground, asking him first in his gruffest voice if he is too drunk to walk and did he know that was against the law? Ty says he knows it was against the law, but he was peer-pressured into it, just like Creed pressured me to drink the first time.

  Creed rolls his eyes and leans over and whispers to me, “So, that’s what you told him? Damn liar.”

  “What can I say?” I whisper back. “I was young and impressionable, and you coerced me.” Creed snorts on his beer, spilling it onto the ground. He searches around for a towel while cursing my name. While smirking at Creed, I feel a strong arm drop onto my shoulder. I look over and see Otter standing next to me, crooked grin and all. His teeth are big and white.

  “Hi, Bear,” Otter says. There’s determination in his eyes.

  “Hi, Otter,” I say, looking back at him, fighting against the urge to throw his arm off of me.

  For a moment he looks like he’s about to speak but something must cross his mind, changing it, and he takes it back. He gives me a one-armed hug and then steps back to stand in front of me, looking down at the beer in his hand. I wonder what just happened and what he was going to say. I wonder a lot of things, but it’s all batted down by the sound of rain on the roof. I look down at Creed, but his attention is still focused on the spilled beer, so he didn’t see anything. Not that there would have been anything to see. I look back up to Otter and am trying to make out the mess that is my mind when he says, “So, what’s the word, Papa Bear?”

  I shrug. “Same, I guess. What’s new with you? I haven’t seen you since what, the Christmas before last?” I say this last bit coldly, as we both know damn well when the last time I saw him was.

  He’s about to speak again, but this time is interrupted by Creed. “Yeah, what’s up, Otter? Not that I mind at all, but how come you’re here? What, San Diego getting to be too much for you?”

  Otter shrugs, and I don’t think he’s going to answer when he says, “Felt like I needed a change of scenery for a while.” He takes another sip of his beer and doesn’t speak further, and it drives me fucking crazy.

  He’d graduated from the University of Oregon in Eugene and had stayed in Seafare for a while. After my mom left, some shit went down, and then Otter was gone too. I have only seen him once in the last three years. I know he works for some kind of photography agency down there where his work is apparently hot shit. The house I’m in right now is full of his pictures, his mom’s equivalent of hanging coloring pages and good test scores on the fridge.

  “Uh-huh,” Creed says. “Are you sure it’s not troubles with your boy—”

  “Uncle Creed?” The Kid calls out from the living room, interrupting Creed, but not before I see the warning look that Otter shoots him.

  Creed smirks and yells back “What’s up, Kid?”

  “Did Otter go get my soy ice cream yet?”

  Otter laughs. “Is that your way of telling me I need to go get it right now for you?”

  “Yes. I was trying not to be rude, but I would like ice cream for when my show comes on.”

  “What show is that?” I ask, trying to remember if he’d told me.

  “It’s a show about the history of slaughterhouses in the 1920s,” he calls back.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” I mutter. There’s nothing quite like the buzzkill of seeing how hamburger gets made. And nothing quite so boring as the history behind it. I turn to apologize to Creed and Otter, but Creed stops me, as he knows where I’m going.

  “Shut up, Bear, and let the Kid do what he wants.” He finishes off his beer and reaches in to grab another one, saying, “Besides, I want to watch it, too, and see how long it takes for me to get drunk enough to see if it gets funny. Why don’t you go with him?” he asks me. “Give Ty some Uncle Creed time and you some time off.”

  I can think of at least four hundred reasons why that’s a bad idea and look at Otter who is scouting around for his keys. “Do you want me to go?” I ask. The moment I say the words, I regret them. My mouth tends to move on its own.

  He looks surprised but readily agrees. I tell him I’ll be right back, and I go to find the Kid.

  I walk through the hall, pausing to look ev
ery now and then at the pictures on the walls. There’s one from, like, fifteen years ago of Creed, Otter, and their parents. There are separate ones of Creed and Otter and other family: grandparents, aunts, uncles. It used to weird me out seeing these pictures. We didn’t have anything like that hanging in our house. My mom said that when I was seven, she took me with her and had our pictures taken “professionally,” I remember her saying proudly. But when I asked her where the pictures were, she said she couldn’t remember.

  I get to another picture in the hallway and stop. It’s black and white, taken when me and Creed were fifteen years old. Otter had taken it, showing us jumping on a giant trampoline that they used to have in the backyard. Otter had caught us mid-jump, our longer hair frenzied about our faces, our shirts bunched slightly up around our stomachs, revealing white lines of skin. I look at myself then and realize how different I look now. How different things are now.

  I was too skinny all through high school, until finally I got sick of it and started working out. I’m nowhere near as bulked up as Creed is, but it’s a lot better than where I started. My face isn’t tragic and my skin is clear. I don’t have a tan, but then most people that live here don’t. I have brown eyes and black hair that needs to be cut. I have a white scar on my forehead near my right eyebrow where Creed had accidentally hit me with an aluminum bat when I was thirteen years old. That took four stitches, and my mom sat with me in the emergency room, saying I should see if I could get any Vicodin. I did and gave it to her.

  I’ve never been one to be concerned with looks or vanity (for the most part). To be honest, I don’t have the time. I don’t have fancy clothes or expensive haircuts and don’t really see the need for it. I’m more worried about keeping a roof over our head and buying Tyson new shoes almost every other week. I don’t know how it’s possible for a nine-year-old to go through so many pairs of damn shoes. So, with all that, I’ve learned it’s significantly easier to be humble when you’re forced to do it. You can consider that a life lesson from me to you. You’re welcome.

  I take a deep breath and look back at the picture, a moment caught from what feels like a lifetime ago.

  I go out to the living room and see the Kid reclined out on the sofa, head on a pillow, eyes opened wide as he watches yet another show that looks like it belongs in the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. “Kid,” I grumble at him, “I don’t know how you don’t have nightmares from this. This creeps me out.”

  “Maybe you just feel guilty about what you eat,” he deadpans, never raising his eyes to look at me.

  “You little punk,” I growl, leaning down and tickling him right under his ribs where I know he gets it the worst. My mom and I are the same way. He tries not to laugh but is soon howling at me, “Bear, Bear!” trying to wiggle this way and that. I stop, and he looks up at me with such a look that for a moment I am blinded by my love for this kid, my Kid, that it feels like my breath gets knocked out of me. I kiss the top of his head, and he says, “Ah, gross!” but that’s okay.

  “You gonna be okay here with Creed for a little bit while Otter and I go get your ice cream?” I ask when I’ve recovered myself a bit.

  His eyes steal away from the TV and lock onto mine. “You’re going to come back, though, right?”

  I smile reassuringly and ruffle his hair where I kissed him a moment ago. “You got it, Kid. I shouldn’t be gone long at all. It should only take a little bit, but to be on the safe side, give me an hour, okay?” He looks at his watch and notes the time, then nods. I do, too, seeing it’s almost seven. “You have your cell phone with you?” I ask. He nods again and pulls it out of his pocket. “Alright, then. I’ll be back in a little bit, but call me if you need to.” He nods again, already back into his show. I touch his head again and walk back toward the kitchen.

  It may or may not be weird to you that he has a cell phone. It seems like a lot of kids his age do these days. It’s not really something I can afford right now, but I make do. I learned early on after Mom left that if he had his own way to reach me, he felt better about being apart from me. He never uses the cell phone to call anyone else, and aside from Creed, Anna, Mrs. Paquinn (our next-door neighbor, more on her later), and occasionally Otter, no one else calls him on that phone. If someone needs to reach him, they do so through me.

  I’m about to reenter the kitchen when I hear hushed voices, and I pause, immediately feeling guilty for eavesdropping. But I listen anyway. They’re talking about me, so I figure I’ve got the right to hear what they say.

  “What were you thinking, saying something like that to him?” Otter hissed.

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Otter?” Creed sounds slightly amused and slightly pissed off all at the same time, which he has a great talent for. “He already knows. I told him a while ago. It’s not a big deal. He doesn’t care.”

  “I’m not talking about that! I don’t care who the hell knows!” Otter sounds upset, and my breath catches in my chest, not wanting him to say anything further. But he does anyways. “It’s not about that! Jesus, Creed! If you only knew….” Shut up, Otter! Shut up! “Besides, if I wanted him to know about anything, I would have said something myself. Stay out of it!”

  But Creed pushes on: “So that’s really why you’re back, isn’t it? It didn’t work out between you and what’s-his-name?”

  “Creed, I swear to Christ, just drop it! I don’t want to talk about this right now!” I hear someone slam their beer bottle onto the countertop, and I assume it’s Otter.

  “Chill, big bro. Like I said, Bear doesn’t give a damn one way or the other.”

  Oh, Creed.

  Silence falls in the kitchen, and I realize I’m still holding my breath. I let it out slowly, hating the way it sounds ragged. But that was closer than I ever wanted to hear it said out loud. It’s not about that… if you only knew! His words ring in my ears, and I feel lightheaded. Okay. There might be something else that I should tell you—

  “What are you doing, Bear?” the Kid says loudly from somewhere behind me. I jerk a little bit to the right, hitting my head against the wall. It hits a picture, and a second later I hear it shatter on the floor. Goddammit, Kid! I think angrily, knowing I am more upset with myself than with him. I look over at Ty, standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, a big O expression on his lips. I mutter something incoherently and bend down to pick up the glass before he steps on it. Creed comes out of the kitchen, and I can feel his smirk on my hot skin.

  “I’m sorry,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “What the fuck?” he says lightly. “No need to be all ghetto in my nice house.”

  I bark out a harsh laugh. I look down at the picture and see it’s another one that Otter had taken. It shows Creed and his mom at our high school graduation. I am off to the side somewhere, out of sight, holding Ty’s hand and the sign he and Mrs. Thompson had made for me, saying “Yay Bear!” The picture captures Creed at a perfect moment of wild youth, diploma in one hand, his other around his mom. There’s a smile on his face so big you can almost count all of his perfect white teeth. Well, you could have before it had fallen on the ground, tearing right across his face. Shit! I think, feeling my face get redder. Before I can say anything further, Otter is hunkered down beside me, picking up shards of glass.

  “Otter, I suck. I’m sorry,” I whisper, wondering why I feel so goddamn bad.

  I feel him shrug as his arm is touching mine. “It’s just a picture,” he says. “And it’s not even very good. Anyone with a camera can take photos and say they’re a photographer.” He sighs, and I can feel the bitterness coming off him in waves, and I wonder if he is just saying those things for my benefit. I wonder if he is really as pissed off at me as I am at him. I wonder why he’s really here.

  I wonder a lot of things.

  “Bear, just leave it,” Creed says, towering over me. “Me and the Kid can pick it up. His show is on, and Otter owes him ice cream.”

  “Soy ice cream,” Ty says, making sure
we haven’t forgotten.

  “That’s right!” Creed says, stepping around me and picking up Ty to throw him over his shoulder. Ty laughs in the way that only kids can as Creed carries him back to the living room.

  Otter puts the glass on top of the picture, causing Creed and his mom to look all distorted and broken. He holds out his hand to help me up. I look at it for a moment.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  What a loaded question.

  WE’RE in his car, after stopping at three gas stations, none of which carry soy ice cream. Big surprise, right? Otter suggests we go to the grocery store where I work, which is almost on the other side of town. It seems kind of weird because there’s another store on the way that would probably have the gross stuff my brother eats, but I don’t say anything. It’s nice to get away for a little bit.

  I know how that sounds, okay? I know that I’m in a kind of fucked-up situation with Ty and all, and I’m doing my best but sometimes I just want to get away. I feel guilty about it, kind of like how I am feeling now, but every now and then, the sheer joy of it outweighs the guilt. I wonder, not for the first time, if this is how my mom felt. Is this what she was thinking when she decided to sit down and write those letters? That undeniable sense of freedom that seems to loom up out of nowhere? I can see how easy it would be to fall to it, to just get in the car and drive and drive and drive until everything around you is unfamiliar and nobody knows who you are and what you’ve just done. To start over and become anyone you want to be. Who’s going to know the difference?

  But then, reality sets in.

  I’m nothing like her. I’ve learned how to squash those thoughts quicker than they can take root. If I were to fall prey to it, like she did, then how am I any better than her? After she left, it took me a long time to be where I am at right now. I have a responsibility and not just to myself. What the hell would happen to Ty if he woke up one day and found me gone? I sometimes lay awake at night, these things floating around my head. I see him running from room to room, calling out my name, “Bear, Bear, Bear!” I see him picking up his cell phone with his little hands and calling me, only to find my number has been disconnected. What would he do then? I know for a fact he would never trust anybody ever again. He has a hard enough time doing it now. That’s about the time I always realize I could never do that, not to him, not to anyone. I am not my mom. I am not my mom. I have to be a good father—