by K L Going
I stop watching and wander over to where Joe is demonstrating a couple football moves to a crowd of guys.
“Hey, Joe,” I say, and maybe I slur just a little. “You ever try to empty a pool by cannonballing?”
Joe stops what he’s saying and squints at me. He’s completely drunk.
“No, man,” he says. “Can’t be done.”
“Ha!” It comes out all airy. “Why should that stop us? I’ll bet it could be done if enough people did it at once. Hell, yeah.”
Now I’ve got everyone’s attention. Suggesting brute physical activity to a group of plastered football players is almost too easy. Next thing I know, without my saying anything beyond that one innocent suggestion, the whole football team is lining up for a cannonball run.
I’m not into that sort of thing myself, so I wander over to the grill and try to figure out how to fire the thing up. I pour out a whole lot of lighter fluid, then strike a match. Once the flames die down, all the girls start to clap. Everyone’s laughing and someone turns up the music so loud the walls of the house shake. Rob himself brings out some hot dogs and someone sprays beer, and the football guys are hollering out the count, then dive-bombing into the pool. Everything is suddenly raucous, and I smile, thinking there is nothing in the world as satisfying as a drunken victory.
That’s when Jen slides up to me.
“This is the best party!” she says, looking pretty in the moonlight. More than pretty. Beautiful. She’s wearing the bikini I picked out for her.
I’m balancing on the edge of Rob’s deck, next to the grill, pretending to surf, and Jen is impressed.
“Do you really know how to surf?” she asks.
“Yup. I took lessons in Hawaii from a guy who was a professional surfer. I used to think that was what I wanted to be when I grew up, only I’ve never lived near an ocean. Watch,” I say. “I’ll show you how.”
I lean forward, and as I do I happen to notice that I’ve now attracted a large audience of cheerleaders.
“First you find your center,” I tell them. “Then you place your feet like this and watch for the wave . . .” I pretend to catch a huge one. “It’s really hard because you’ve got to keep your focus the whole time, and the water is rushing all around you. Sometimes it’s like you’re in a tunnel and you’re flying through the air.”
I move my body as if I’m really surfing, and the girls shriek.
I tilt forward, lose my balance, and fall into Jen. She screams, and then we’re on the ground. She’s lying beside me, panting and giggling, so I kiss her. I’m considering taking Jen up to Rob’s parents’ bedroom when I hear someone hollering.
“Cops,” some kid yells. “The neighbor just called the cops!”
He has to yell it about eight times before anyone moves, but then it’s mayhem. People literally flood out of the pool, and I catch sight of Joe and the rest of the guys trying to put out the fire in the grill with the remainder of the beer. Bad idea.
Seniors are disappearing like crazy, ducking into the woods behind Rob’s house and racing down the street. The house is completely trashed, and there are empty beer bottles everywhere. Rob starts picking them up, but Joe yells, “Leave it. Just leave it.” He and Rob run around to the side of the house and Jen and I follow them. They all pile into Joe’s car, and Joe starts the ignition. The car lurches forward before anyone notices I’m not inside.
“Hurry. Get in.” Jen’s waving from the back window, and I start forward, but then I realize Joe is way too drunk to drive. I may be plastered, but I don’t have to be sober to know this.
“Wait,” I say. “Let’s walk. Let’s cut across someone’s lawn or something. You guys could come with me—crash at Pete’s place.”
Joe looks at me like I’m insane, but right then the police car is pulling up, so he doesn’t have time to argue.
“Outta here,” he slurs. He slams on the gas and the car shoots down the road. I can see Jen watching me forlornly from the back window. That’s when I turn around and for the first time I see the red and blue lights from the cop car. I start to run, but it’s too late for that now. The police car pulls in front of me, blinding me with its headlights and blocking my path. I try to dart in the other direction, but whoever gets out of the car is quicker than I am. Soon firm hands are gripping my arms from behind and pushing me onto the hood of the patrol car.
Crap.
I think I might pass out. My head is spinning and my stomach churns. The cop is saying something, loudly and persistently, but it takes a long time before I realize I’m supposed to be getting up off the car hood. I peel my face from the metal.
“I’ve got to take you in,” the cop says as I pull myself upright.
I’m thinking, Well, of course you do.
“You can call my auncle Pe . . .” I start, but then I stop. As soon as I turn around it’s clear there’s no need to finish the sentence.
This cop knows exactly who to call.
38
A HALF HOUR LATER I’m drinking bitter black coffee in a tiny one-room police station. I’m sitting across from Dino’s desk, trying to remember exactly how this happened, but it’s a blur. Dino paces from one end of the room to the other in massive strides, causing the desks to shake.
“I should book you for vandalism,” he says. “Underage drinking. Extreme stupidity.” His expression moves between angry and angrier. His arms flex as he opens and closes his fists. There’s nothing I can do but agree. Maybe add a few more charges to the list. Failing to reform. Becoming unwittingly popular.
“Are you listening to me?” Dino asks. “You look like you’re zoning out.”
What? Zooming where?
“I’ve got to call Pete,” Dino growls, “and I should probably call your parents, too.”
My head shoots up. Probably? Did I hear a “probably” in there?
Please, god. If there is such a thing as mercy for the undeserving, let this man not decide to call my father. Please, please, please, god. Please. Please.
Please.
I’m not so good at praying.
Dino pauses, studying me.
“Listen,” he says with a sigh. “I haven’t made a decision yet. I’m going to call Petey first. If he says to book you, then I’ve got to do it and there’s no choice about calling your folks, but . . .”
I can barely force myself to nod.
Please.
Dino picks up the phone, dials, and waits.
“Pete? Yeah, it’s Dino. No, I’m working. What? Ha . . . yeah, wait. I’ve got something to talk to you about.” Dino glances at me, but I put my head down on the desk. “I’m not calling to request a song,” he says. “It’s about Liam. What? Nooo . . .” There’s a long pause. “He’s here at the police station.”
I close my eyes and let the sensation of complete failure wash over me.
“I picked him up at a party about a half hour ago,” Dino says. “There were a lot of them there, Petey. A lot of drinking. What? Well, no. Not exactly. There was a complaint from a neighbor.
“Yeah. I know. I’ll call Sarah and Allan if that’s what you want, but maybe you should come down here first. I know you’re working, but he could sleep here, maybe sober up a little, then you could come by when you get off and we could discuss things.”
There’s a long pause. A very long pause.
“Well, just calm down. The kid feels pretty bad about everything . . .”
Then there’s a click. I don’t even bother to ask. I wait for the sound of Dino dialing my father’s number, preparing myself for what I will say. Which is nothing. I’ve already decided that this time I will say nothing.
There’s a moment of complete silence, and I can feel Dino’s eyes on me. He reaches over and puts his hand on my forehead.
“You don’t look so good,” he says. “Why don’t you lie down in that cell over there?”
At that moment I can’t imagine anything more appealing than lying down in that cell.
“Really?
”
Dino nods. “Don’t look so happy about it,” he tells me. “Once you’re in there it locks automatically and I’ve only got one clean blanket.”
It’s a gift from the gods.
Now if I can just stay awake and pray all night.
39
WHEN I WAKE UP THE CELL IS DARK. My temples throb, and at first I can’t remember exactly where I am. There’s a strange voice outside, then music, and eventually I realize it’s the radio. I squint through the bars of the cell into the police station. The station is empty aside from Dino, swiveling in his chair, singing along to a song about hot love. I’m thirsty, and I think about asking for a glass of water but decide the sound of my own voice will make me retch. Instead, I lie back down on the thin mattress, thinking that with any luck I’ll pass out again. The sound of the radio is a comforting buzz in the background. Until I make out the words.
“All right, folks. That was ‘Hot Love’ by T. Rex. Before that was ‘Life on Mars?’ by the young Miss, oops, I mean, Mr., Bowie, and before that, my personal favorite, ‘Personality Crisis’ by the New York Dolls. I’m Rockin’ Pete and we’ve got your late-night glam favorites right here on WXKJ. Let’s go back to the phones now. For those of you who’ve just tuned in, we’ve got a listener poll going. The question tonight? Should I spring my nephew from the slammer? Give us a call at 555-WXKJ.”
My eyes shoot open. This cannot be happening. Not even to me.
“Let’s take the next caller. Larry, you’re on the air.”
“Yeah, Pete?”
“Yeah.”
“I just wanna say I love your show. You’re the best, man.”
“So kind, so kind. But tell me, what do you think I should do about my nephew? The kid’s seventeen. Kicked out of his house. He’s already been in trouble with me once, and now he’s picked up at a party for underage drinking. I don’t know, man, should I send him packing?”
The guy on the other end weighs everything carefully.
“Nah, I don’t know. He just sounds like a kid to me, and he ain’t been with you that long, right?”
“Correct.”
“Yeah, well . . . I think you should give him another chance.”
I close my eyes and silently thank Larry.
“You think? Okay, that’s cool, man. Let’s take another caller. Janet, you still there, darlin’?”
“I’m here, Rockin’ Pete.”
“Tell us what you think. Give the ol’ Petey some advice.”
Janet doesn’t hesitate. “Let him suffer! Kids like him haven’t got any respect, and when they’re like that there’s no turning them around. You can try and try. Let me tell you, because I’ve got a son about that age and I’ve tried everything.”
“You tried tellin’ him you love him?”
The woman laughs.
“That’s . . . well . . . I did that for years, but at this point I don’t even like the kid.”
I cringe.
“Thanks for sharing, Janet. Let’s take another caller. We’ve got Wayne from Grover County. Wayne? What do you think? Because I just don’t know. We’ve had a lot of callers on tonight’s show, and most of them think I should ship him off. You think that, Wayne?”
There’s an inaudible crackling sound, during which I silently beg Wayne to say something good about me. Maybe something good about forgiveness in general or . . .
“Fry him, Petey!”
Now I’m truly ill.
“What? You’re voting for capital punishment based on . . . Is that what you’re saying?”
“Woooo-HOOOO!”
“Wayne, how come I’m thinking you might not be a stranger to the bottle? Am I right in thinking that? Am I right, man?”
There’s another loud, indiscernible noise.
“Folks, I think good ol’ Wayne’s had one too many tonight. All right. Let’s wrap this baby up. Let’s take one more caller before the six o’clock hour. Whaddaya say? Spring him or send him packing? We’ve got Vince on the line.”
I hold my breath. Please vote for me. I feel like one of those reality show contestants who make the cheesy phone symbol into the television camera when their number is on the screen.
“Leave him in jail and call the parents. No question,” Vince says. “Pete, I’ve been a psychologist for twenty years, and that kid needs to learn a lesson. I guarantee he’s the way he is today because his parents don’t insist on discipline. If he’s seventeen, there’s not much more you can do, and frankly he’s not your problem. Sounds like they’ve shipped him off because they can’t deal with him, and now you’re stuck with their headache. You need to set some boundaries.”
Aunt Pete interrupts. “Yeah, but you really think there’s no hope at seventeen? I don’t know. I remember how I was at seventeen. I gave my parents a wild ride. All decked out like the guys from Slade, stealing my mom’s mascara. My folks kicked me out, and now they don’t even speak to me because they haven’t gotten over the embarrassment, so how can I turn around and send that same message?”
Vince is desperately trying to interrupt.
“No, but . . . that’s exactly what the problem is. Everyone’s so afraid of taking responsibility that the kid ends up a delinquent. You’ve got to be fair but firm.”
“That’s true.”
“I’m telling you, Pete. That’s your answer.”
“I hear you, man. I hear you.” There’s a crackling sound as the signal is momentarily lost, then Aunt Pete’s voice fades in again.
“. . . so, we’ve got to close the polls. It’s six o’clock and we’ve got more music coming up with Dean and Donna, all your country favorites, but right now I leave you with Alice Cooper to deliver the verdict. Ooooh. Looks like my nephew is goin’ down. It’s ‘No More Mr. Nice Guy.’ I’m Rockin’ Pete. Good night, all.”
And that’s it.
40
THERE ARE FOOTSTEPS outside my cell, but I don’t get up. What’s the use? I already know the verdict.
“He awake?”
I hear the squeak of the swivel chair.
“Out cold. You been thinking about everything?”
Pete lets out a long breath. “Damn right, I have. He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”
Dino scoffs. “Nah. No trouble. I think he’s scared is all. Looked a little bit ill before he fell asleep.” He pauses. “So, what’s it going to be? I’ve got to know before the next shift comes in. We’re either booking him or I’m sending him home with you, but it’s got to be soon.”
There’s a pause, then a sigh.
“I’m taking him home,” Aunt Pete says, but I know it’s only temporary.
Dino knocks on the cell bars.
“Pete’s here,” he tells me. “Time to go.”
I pretend like I’m just waking up, but really I should save myself the theatrics. What do they care? Dino and Pete are too busy commiserating about what a burden I am. How much I’ve screwed up.
I get up and walk out of the cell and Dino shuts the door behind me.
“I don’t want to see you in here again,” he says. “Let’s make this your first and last visit. Agreed?”
I nod. I’m trying to swallow, but it’s not working. Really, I feel like I might throw up.
“Come on,” says Pete. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.”
We plod out to the Nissan and I can tell he’s as tired as I am. Neither one of us says a word during the ride home. Pete’s probably waiting for me to apologize, but my head is pounding and I think, Why bother? The entire town voted me off, so what is there to talk about?
When we get inside the trailer Pete says, “You look like hell.”
I nod.
“I called your mom,” he adds.
“Is she coming to get me?”
He pauses. “No.”
“Dad then?”
“Why would you think that?”
I consider telling him that I heard the radio show, but I just shrug.
“That’s it?”
he says. “You end up in jail. I bail you out. And now you’re not even going to talk to me?”
I shrug again and Pete shakes his head.
“Fine,” he says. “Well, I’m not asking you nicely anymore. I want to know what the hell happened. I leave for work and you’ve just had a really successful day at Eddie’s shop. You said nothing about going to that party—which, by the way, I might have given you permission to attend had you bothered to ask me—then five hours later I get a phone call that you’re in jail. Jail, Liam. So. What. The hell. Happened?”
I’m guessing from his tone that it’s time to dish out the apology, even if it won’t do any good. And to be honest, if I didn’t feel like crap right now, I would feel sorry for Pete. It’s not like he isn’t justified in kicking me out. Truth is, he lasted longer than I expected.
“It was a horrible mistake,” I say. “There’s no explaining my actions. I was grossly out of line. I let you down. I let myself down and I let my family down. It’s shameful and I am ashamed.”
It’s not one of my better ones. Aunt Pete taps his fingers furiously on the arm of the couch. He gets up and walks around the room, then finally he sits down across from me again.
“Did you have fun at the party?”
I look up. What the hell kind of question is that? If I say no, he’ll know I’m lying, and if I say yes, he’ll blast me for having fun. I wish I were smarter so I could figure it out quicker.
“I don’t know,” I say, and then I sigh, guessing I’d better make a stab at it. “Yes?”
Pete laughs.
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
I wait a long time before answering.
“No?”
Aunt Pete sighs.
“Liam,” he says, “we’ve got to be able to talk. I’m not out to get you; I just need to know you’re being honest with me. Can you do that?”
Right. As if he’s not totally pretending I have some say in all this.
“What do you want from me?”
Pete shakes his head.
“Why don’t you start by telling me why you were the only one caught last night?”