“More than likely,” I said.
“Then you’re probably right.”
“Listen, Tooth-”
“No, seriously, about Jamie, I’m kidding. Relax, I didn’t know it was gonna ruffle your panties.”
Tooth had definitely meant what he said about Jamie, I’d known him long enough to know his thought process. But we were square now, he knew the deal, and him acting like this was his way of shrugging the whole thing off. As for me, after hearing myself worry about Jamie, I contemplated an exorcism.
Tooth spread out on the couch and kicked me with his feet, answering my earlier question about him staying. I moved to the recliner as he put his Red Sox hat over his eyes. He never took that damn thing off, even when he slept. He’d had it since he was twelve, when his mom gave it to him as a birthday gift. Came in the mail with a card that said “Happy Birthday” and nothing else.
He said, “You know what, Roger?”
“You’re gay?”
“No, I’m being serious. Maybe I’m just drunk, maybe I’m lonely, or maybe I’m in a nostalgic mood, but I miss you. When you’re not here, I don’t do shit but get drunk with Tony and Derek from the warehouse, but they’re married so it ain’t much fun. And video games get real old when you play by yourself. So, yeah, I’m glad you’re back for a bit. It’s gonna be a good summer.”
I’ve got to tell you, that kind of moved me. He was drunk, sure, but it sounded genuine and it made me feel, I don’t know, wanted. As I watched him fall asleep on the couch, I kind of felt bad for him. His life had been screwed up for so long, and yet he’d pulled through okay. A drunk, religious zealot of a father, a mother who barely kept in touch, and enough alcohol to sterilize a Scottish commode. It was amazing he wasn’t lying in the same heap of discarded garbage where they’d found Mark Trieger, bloated and blue from a leap off the edge of life.
“A good summer,” he repeated.
Before I could respond, he was snoring.
I went upstairs and plopped down in my parents’ bed. What is it about lying in your parents’ bed that always makes you feel like you’re intruding? Perhaps because at some age it’s made clear to us that we have our own room, and there are no monsters in the closet, and crying isn’t going to change anything so just go back to bed. When I was little I’d jumped in bed with them after having nightmares. It became an epidemic for a while, and my father didn’t really know how to handle it. In typical male fashion he picked fights with my mom over it. Of course, I had no one to blame but myself since I would continually sneak downstairs and watch whatever monster movie was on the late show. Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense in retrospect, kind of like an acrophobe choosing to live in the penthouse apartment.
I remember one time I overheard my dad arguing with my mom about it in the kitchen. I was sitting on the nearby stairs unbeknownst to them.
“I don’t want him watching that shit anymore. He sleeps with his light on all night,” my dad said.
“He thinks there are monsters in his room.”
“I don’t care. It’s got to stop.”
“It’s normal for boys to start having bad dreams at his age. Their imagination is running wild.”
“Bullshit! It’s those movies, and if it doesn’t stop soon I’m taking him to a shrink.”
A moment later, my father rounded the corner and found me sitting there, and he knew I’d been listening. It was awkward. That was the first time I realized what shame felt like. It felt like having your insides cut up and your heart squeezed till it didn’t want to beat anymore. My father just gave me this funny look, a look I would later recognize whenever I had a birthday or on Christmas. It was a mixture of love and pity.
Crying, I said, “I’m sorry, Dad. I try not to be afraid, but I get scared.”
He didn’t say anything, just looked at his feet for a minute and then went upstairs without a word.
The following night, as I went up to bed, Jamie crying in her room, my dad passed me on the stairs. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Hey, sport, you going to sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down here for a second, I want to talk to you. You know, you’re getting kind of old now. What are you, eight?”
“And a half.”
“Geez, you’re gonna be eye-level with me in no time. But listen, this, um, this whole deal with sleeping with the lights on and coming into our room-”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean-”
“No, listen” — he put his arm around me- “I’m not mad. I mean, I think it’s time we formulate a plan. We’ve got to get rid of these monsters once and for all. Don’t you agree?”
“How?”
“Well, did you know that werewolves, and mummies, and even snakemen, they all have weaknesses that can kill them quick as you can say, ‘Back to the grave with ye!’”
“Yeah, but you need silver bullets and garlic and stuff.”
“Not if you know all the other ways to kill them, the secret ways. Did you know if you keep a rose petal under your pillow it’ll keep vampires away?”
“Really?” I was stunned that my father had this knowledge. “How do you know?”
“Oh, I read it somewhere.”
“Where?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. But just you remember, us humans are stronger than the monsters, and once a person knows how to defeat them, knows these tricks, they can’t ever hurt us again, even if we’re sleeping. Do you want to learn these secrets?”
I nodded.
“Think you can handle it? I mean, eight-and-a-half is old and all, but maybe we should wait until-”
“No, no, I want to know.”
“Okay, I can tell you’ve got the fight in you. Runs in our family that fight, that will to survive. Comes from my Grandma. I wish she were still around to see you. She’d recognize that fight in you, too.”
“I’ve got it, Dad, I know it. Teach me the secrets.”
“Okay, okay, you go on up and get some shut-eye. Everything you need to know is up there waiting for you. I love you.”
Somewhat puzzled, I told my dad I loved him and went on up. When I got to my room I found a comic book lying on my bed. Monster Slayer, number one.
CHAPTER 5
I woke to the sound of sparring insults, pots clanging, and something sizzling in a pan downstairs in the kitchen. The smell of coffee was like an uppercut to my brain, thick as mud even with the covers over my head. There was some laughter, then an angry harrumph, then what sounded like a plastic cup bouncing on the tiled floor.
“Don’t you have a home?” I heard Jamie say.
“Yeah, but I ran away because I didn’t want to be king anymore,” came Tooth’s reply. “Too many responsibilities. I beg of you, poor farmer, let me live with you and understand the people.”
“Roger! Come get your loser friend away from me!”
Ah shit, didn’t she ever shut up? Throwing back the covers, I forced myself out of bed and looked out the window, attempting to stretch but not finding the strength. The windowpane was warm already, promising another humid day.
Throwing on a robe, I shuffled down the stairs as if none of the bones inside me were actually connected to anything, and slumped into one of the chairs at the table. My vertebrae cracked like someone walking on dry twigs. Tooth was eating some eggs with little pieces of something purple in it and I didn’t want to know what it was. Actually, yes, I did.
“What the hell is that?” I poked at it with my fingers.
“Fruit Roll Up. I found it in the pantry.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, I can’t eat eggs unless they have something in them. It’s like eating a hamburger without any ketchup, which you don’t have any of by the way.”
“I found him down here rooting through our food like a shit-covered rat.” Jamie scowled as she sat down with her bacon and eggs. “There’s fucking Fruit Roll Up goo all over the pan and I am not cleaning it.”
“I take back what I sa
id about you developing.” Tooth sneered with purple teeth. “You’re still as annoying as ever.”
Jamie flung a piece of egg at him. “Shut up, scavenger.”
I left them to bicker and trade more insults, which was plainly enjoyable for both of them. Scraping some purple goo out of the pan, I cracked a couple eggs open and poured myself a glass of milk while they cooked. There was a small basket on the counter near the refrigerator, filled with little bits of this and that, the kind of stuff that should go in the junk drawer but somehow managed to make a deal with the warden for better accommodations. I rummaged around in it while the eggs sizzled in the purple bacon grease, which spat and popped onto the burners. A key from some unknown lock, a pin from St. Patrick’s Day, a couple nails, some paperclips, rubber bands, a Formula 409 magnet that had come with a free sample in the mail. I decided on a pair of dice my folks had bought on their trip to Vegas last year. They were red with white dots and said Snake Eyes Casino on them over the ones.
They had gone on that vacation alone, the first time without Jamie and me. Jamie had relished it because she was in that stage where parents are worse than homework. But me, I sort of missed the family vacations we’d had. The fighting, Dad’s manic need to make good time, Jamie and me dividing the backseat with an imaginary line. Instead, I’d had to stay home and watch Jamie, who’d spent the week at her friend’s house, no doubt fawning over magazines with some Hollywood pretty boys on them.
I tossed the dice up against where the counter met the wall and wagered on how long I could stand these two squabbling before I lost my temper. Finally, Jamie stood up and dropped her dishes in the sink, noisily.
“Mom said I can have the other car while they’re gone so you’re shit out of luck.”
“Fine with me,” I said, happy to be getting rid of her. “But I thought you had to have an adult in the car when you go driving.”
“I will. Tracey’s cousin is twenty-three and he’s coming with us to the mall.”
“What mall? Only mall near here is down in Manchester and that’s over an hour away.”
“Yeah, and if you tell Mom, I’ll tell her about the time I caught you and Mervyn trying on her underwear.”
I smiled. She was trying to play hardball but she wasn’t very good at it. Fact was, despite my run-in with the law, my parents trusted me more than they trusted her. Stealing lawn ornaments was one thing, but getting caught smoking dope in the attic with your friend was another. And she was, naturally, the offender of the second.
“That never happened,” I replied, juggling the dice now, “and even if you make up some stupid shit to get me in trouble, it’ll never work. Mom doesn’t trust you anymore.”
“Oh, yeah-”
“Why don’t you go pop that huge zit on your nose?” I knew that would piss her off. She had perfect skin, but her crazy teenage vanity turned every tiny bump into Mount Olympus.
“Fuck you,” she screamed, and with that, stormed out.
I sat at the table with my eggs and rolled the dice as I ate. Outside, the sun was high and the air coming through the window smelled of cut grass and pine needles and baking dirt. A murder of crows flew from a tree in the woods out back and sat on the power lines over the driveway.
“I want to go shoot my 9mm today,” Tooth said.
“Dude, how many guns do you have?”
“Just two. I would have got them long ago if it wasn’t for you always worrying what your mom would say. But you looked pretty happy shooting that.44. Gave you a hard on, didn’t it? I told you it would.”
I didn’t want to let on how much firing the gun had affected me, but it had certainly turned my nuts into giant Epcot Centers of steel. The sense of power was unfathomable; suddenly I was the mightiest thing in existence, all men bowing before me. With the squeeze of a finger I could undo all of God’s creations. Truthfully, I couldn’t wait to try the 9mm.
I rolled the dice; they came up seven, a lucky number if ever there was one.
“Okay,” I said. “But let’s go somewhere different. I didn’t like being so close to the road at that other spot. And besides, you and I still go there so maybe other people do too and I don’t want to shoot some fucking dude traipsing through the woods on his way to down some suds.”
“Fair enough.”
Just then the phone rang. Tooth leapt up and grabbed it, said, “Starlet Productions, you swallow the cream, we give you the green. Oh, hi, Mrs. Huntington. Yeah, Roger’s right here.”
I took the phone from Tooth, and waved him away. “Hi, Mom.”
“How much green we talking here?” she laughed
My mom was pretty cool, all things considered. “Only thing Tooth has that’s green are the skid marks in his panties. How’s Grandma?”
“Oh, great. She thinks she has Psittacosis.”
“Sounds bad.”
“It is, if you’re an owl. I don’t know where she gets this stuff from.”
“She’s not an owl, is she?”
“An old bird, yes, but there’s nothing wise in that addled brain.”
“Be nice. She gives me money for Christmas.”
“I’m glad I taught you not to be superficial.”
“I’m just kidding. I love the old bird.”
“Hey, you can’t call her that until you’ve lived with her for eighteen years.”
“Eighteen years with an owl?”
“Well, she can’t get her head all the way around yet but I doubt it’s for lack of trying. You and Jamie haven’t killed each other yet, have you?”
“Why, would that be bad?”
“It would if you got blood stains on my rug. Blood doesn’t come out without professional cleaning equipment.”
“I’ll lay down some tarp.”
“Good. But try to do it outside, if you could.”
“Agreed.”
“Is she up yet? I want to talk to her.”
“Yeah,” I replied, “I’ll get her.”
“And, Roger?”
“What, Mom?”
“I love you. Sorry we had to take off so quickly after you got back.”
“No sweat. I’ll see you in a couple days.”
I didn’t realize I didn’t say I love you back, and I don’t think she thought too hard on it-she knew I did-but I regret it now.
I put the phone down and hollered for Jamie to pick it up upstairs, then went to take a shower.
CHAPTER 6
We had to go to Tooth’s house, which was on the other side of town, to get the other gun. It was a small yellow house with a couple of bedrooms, a wraparound porch held up by some four-by-fours, and lots of empty, forgotten beer bottles still standing where’d they’d been placed when finished. The crispy yellow front lawn looked like uncooked spaghetti, and a basketball net stood tilted in the dirt driveway like a giant metronome needle that had stopped slightly left of center. The net had been ripped long ago but a few remnants of tattered rope hung from it and blew in the slight breeze.
Tooth’s father was sitting on the porch with a beer in his hand, reading a magazine about cars or airplanes or something. I couldn’t really tell because it was old and faded, like the kind you always see in patches of weeds by abandoned parks. He looked up when we pulled in and wiped the beer can across his forehead in an attempt to cool down.
“Get the gun outta the back,” Tooth told me. “We gotta clean it before we put it away.”
I grabbed the gun, which was in a black plastic carrying case, and followed Tooth up to the porch. He mumbled an apathetic hello to his father, and disappeared inside. Sometimes I didn’t know if they were really family or just roommates. I nodded to the ex-preacher, hoping to pass by without any conversation, but luck was not on my side.
“How you been, Roger?” he asked with the gait of a doped-up turtle.
“I’ve been good, Mr. Elliott. How are you?”
“Well, can’t complain. Other’n the heat it’s been quiet. How you doing at school? Merv don’t tell me m
uch about what he hears from you.”
“School is good,” I said, trying to end the conversation quickly. When he didn’t say any more, I figured that satisfied him so I headed for the door.
“That’s good, got to stay in school. I told that to Merv, but he don’t listen. Says he through with that shit. . his words exactly.”
I stopped at this, hoping it was the last bit of afterbirth to come out of his ethanol-soaked mind, but he continued with words that almost made me pray for mercy.
“I’ve been thinking, Roger.”
Shit. In my book, listening to a drunk get philosophical is on par with rolling down a hill in a barrel full of nails. You get dizzy, your insides shriek with stabbing pain, and you end up someplace lower than where you started. I stopped and resolved to excuse myself politely at the first possible opportunity.
He ran his hand through the few remaining hairs on his head. “I ever tell you about the time I saw Jesus in the gymnasium when I was at seminary?”
Oh, Lord, only six hundred and four times. “Yeah, actually you did. You saw him drinking from the water fountain.”
“Well, let me tell you again. I know you think I’m just a crazy drunk, but I got methods to my madness. He was getting a drink,” he continued, his eyes glazing over as he looked into the past, voice slower than ice trying to melt in Siberia, “and when he bent over and turned on the water, it wasn’t water at all that come out, but wine. Took a long swig, He did, and then He turned to me and a tear fell from His eye and landed in the wine. When it struck, little blue bolts of lightning stitched themselves across the purple liquid and formed a cross.” He stopped and looked at me to make sure I was still listening, then went back to the past. “I put down my basketball and walked over to ask Him what it meant, but He turned and walked out of the room. I followed Him outside but when I got there, there wasn’t anybody in sight except a student I didn’t know. ‘You see anyone come out here?’ I asked. ‘No.’ I searched high and low and never found Him. By the time I got back the wine was water again, and no evidence of Him having been there remained. Until today, I didn’t know what He was trying to tell me.”
The Summer I Died Page 3