Slot Machine

by Chris Lynch

  “That would be good, but we don’t have time. Just don’t embarrass me.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Mike asked, leaning in to hear.

  “I’m embarrassing Frank.”

  “Well then, cut it out then, Elvin,” Mike said. “We have to be on our best behavior or we won’t be selected to hang out with Opie and Orgy and all the other guys.”

  “I knew, I knew this was a stupid idea. I knew you wouldn’t appreciate this.” Frank was very serious and frustrated. He moved away from us and sat up front with the counselors.

  “We could try to behave if it means that much to him,” Mikie said, even though he was clearly acting up on Frank.

  “I’ll give it a shot,” I said as the van skidded to a stop.

  It was just like a camp. We piled out of the back to find a dozen more counselors there, hanging around a campfire, telling dirty jokes, even cooking black hot dogs on sticks. The major difference was that they were also drinking beer, and nobody seemed to be in charge.

  “Sure beats Ernest Goes to Camp, huh?” Frank said as Obie came by and handed each of us an icy-cold Coors as he made his rounds. I hesitated to take the beer until Frank gave me a pleading look.

  “We’ll see,” Mikie said, accepting his too. “So far these guys aren’t showing me anything.”

  Frank smiled, confident that we would soon see the beauty of it all. He opened his beer. “Onward to manhood, gents,” he said, extending his bottle. We all three clicked our bottles together, though the “onward” thing was not all that clear.

  Of all the boring things we’d done so far at camp, this was the most boring yet. Mike and I sat on a fallen tree and watched and listened, trying to somehow get it, to figure out what it was that was supposed to be so cool. I sipped my beer a few times, which I figured would help. It didn’t, so I followed Mikie’s lead by pouring it out gradually so it looked like we were drinking it.

  This much I picked up: There was a connection between these guys and their penises and rock and roll.

  “I call mine The Led Zeppelin,” one of them crowed, yanking himself by the crotch. There were hoots from all over.

  “I call mine Meat Loaf.”

  “Nothing. Forget it. You ready? Mine’s Pink Floyd. Say hello to everybody, Floyd,” the guy said, pulling down his elastic-waisted pants and shaking himself around.

  “Shit, it is pink,” Frankie blurted, which brought him a lot of attention.

  “Ooohh, like it, Frankie boy?” the still-exposed counselor said, marching Frank’s way. Frank made the effort to laugh along with everyone as he backed up, but I could see a little worry on his face. Then somebody kneeled down behind him, the penis waver advanced, and wham, Frankie hit the deck just as Mikie yelled for him to look out.

  They all sure found it funny. Frank tried harder than before to laugh harder than before. Okie or Odie or Oafie or somebody helped him and brushed him off while they all shared the good time. I looked at Mike, who shook his head and frowned.

  Obie walked over to us and offered me an orphan hot dog that was so burned that it was maintaining a little flame. When I hesitated, he snarled at me.

  Frankie took the hot dog, and received a loud pat on the back when he crunched away as if it was a raw carrot.

  “Loosen up, you guys,” Frank said as he washed it down with the beginnings of a second beer.

  Mikie stood, looked at Frankie close up. “Honestly, Frankie, are you having fun here? I mean, do you like this?”

  Frank looked over his shoulder at the counselors drinking by the fire, punching each other and laughing. Then he looked back at Mike. “Ya, I really do,” he said. Then something, the beer maybe, made his tone of voice change. “I wish you’d give it more of a chance, Mike. I mean, I know you’re, like, perfect and so much friggin’ smarter than me and all... but that doesn’t mean being a piss all the time makes you better than everybody.”

  “I’m not a piss all the time,” Mike said. “But maybe I am...” He caught himself, but he’d already said too much.

  I found myself staring at Mikie now. It was okay for me to think he was better than us, but to hear him almost say it himself? He made it not true was what he did.

  “What about you, Elvin?” Frank asked, waving Mikie off. More and more he seemed invested in this, like it was a party he himself was throwing, or like he was putting on a play and he wanted to know that everyone was enjoying it.

  “Well, I took a pretty good beating today, Frank, so I have a headache. It wouldn’t be fair for me to say.”

  He was disappointed. “Okay. I’m sorry. Why don’t you take off. You can walk. It’s not far.”

  Mikie got up. “That’s probably a good idea,” he said, looking down at me, waiting.

  “Nah,” I said. “I’m not in a big rush. I think I’ll sit tight for a while.”

  Mikie’s mouth dropped open. Frankie looked like he might hug me.

  “Okay,” Mikie said, shrugging. He turned and started down the hill, back to the road.

  Frank took Mikie’s spot on the log next to me. “Great,” he said, nodding.

  “I just didn’t feel like leaving with him, like that.”

  “Well I’m glad, I’m glad, El. Can I get you a beer? Can I get you a dog? You don’t have to have a burned one. I can get you a good one. I think you’re gonna like these guys—I...”

  “Frank,” I interrupted, “I didn’t want to leave with Mike, but I don’t really feel like hanging around here either.”

  “Oh,” he said quietly.

  I stood, then Frank stood with me. He shrugged. He was coming along.

  “You ain’t leavin’, are ya, dude?” Obie said, draping a big arm over his new protégé. “We’re just gettin’ started.”

  Frank gestured toward me. “Ya, well, my friends...”

  “If the kids have to go to bed early, we understand. You ain’t no kid, though, Frankie. No, you ain’t no kid.”

  Frank turned back to me. “You mind? ’Cause if you mind...”

  For just a flash I saw it—I thought I saw in his face that he maybe wanted me to say that I needed him to come back with me. But I couldn’t know that for sure.

  “I’m all set,” I said. “Have a ball.”

  Obie was quick to jump in and send me on my way. “Ya just go through those trees there, stay on the path, and when ya hit the road take a right. It’s only a mile.”

  As I headed into the trees, I heard huge, rough laughter from the whole crowd of them. I couldn’t bring myself to look back at what it was about, though.

  On the road back the moon was bright, like a single powerful streetlight following me home. Crickets and frogs and an owl sang me along, lulling me. Toads and opossums crossed the road like pedestrians at a crosswalk, ignoring me, and everything smelled like wet green.

  The mile walk was approximately a half mile longer than I remembered ever walking before. I breathed harder. My ribs started hurting again. My elbow, my leg too. It made me remember today, and consider tomorrow. I didn’t want to go through it anymore. Where had I put Frank’s vouchers?

  I was approaching the door to my Cluster and heard the ritual inside as Thor killed the lights: “Night, Knights,” he said, sounding embarrassed like always. But it’s part of the program, so he has to do it. “Night, Knights” came the first sarcastic chirp in reply. “Night, Knights,” “Night, Knights,” “Night, Knights,” they all jumped in, eventually blending like a herd of giant crickets.

  As I tiptoed into the Cluster, on into my bed, and hid behind my eyelids, somehow thinking I’d escaped notice, Thor’s voice now wafted my way. “Be careful, Elvin.” I opened my eyes to see him standing nearby. “Just be careful,” he said, and walked back to his bed.

  Elvin Doe

  Elvin’s Summer Cottage

  Midst of Other Lonely Boys

  Cluster Two, Massachusetts

  Occupant

  Elvin’s Winter Home

  Dear Birth Mother,
r />   The entire compound is abuzz. Yes, that’s right, it’s almost time for Parents’ Weekend. Can you think of anyone who might like to represent my family? Honestly, I’ve been wracking my brain and cannot come up with a soul who could fit the bill. There’s a fellow named Duke who sleeps on the slab next to mine—sleeps, that is, when he’s not sitting up rigid in the middle of the night staring at me while I try to sleep—and Duke has generously offered to help. Seems that Dukie has one mother and THREE fathers, and he’ll be glad to lend me one. All I have to do is meet the man at the bus on Saturday, tell him I’m his son, and if I catch him at his drugs apex, he’ll believe me.

  But Duke says not to bet the farm on a medal in the three-legged race or the raw-egg toss, and under no circumstances am I allowed to let “Daddy” bob for apples.

  Or maybe Save the Children could help me out somehow. Give Sally Struthers a call for me, would you? Oh, you’re a dear.

  Your biological son,

  Oliver Twist

  Chapter 7: Gonna flyyy nowww (theme from Rocky).

  I WASN’T UP WHEN FRANKIE came in, and he wasn’t up when I went out. In fact, nobody in my Cluster was awake yet.

  “Come on,” Mikie whispered in my ear, “you need some work.”

  I opened my eyes. I was so thrilled and surprised to see him that I sat right up in bed, despite the morning pains. “Hey, bub, what’s up? Am I at your house? Or are you at my house?”

  He shook his head grimly when he saw my confusion. “Sorry. Still at camp.”

  “Ugh,” I said, and threw myself back down on the bed. He pulled me back up to sitting position.

  “Come on, Elvin, it’s a great morning. I’m taking you running.”

  He had to cover my mouth when I laughed out loud.

  “I’m serious, El. It’s going to make you feel better. This whole stupid thing will work out better if you just get yourself in a little bit of shape. We’ll start slow. There’s a nice hiking trail we can use that I found walking around during Reflective Period.”

  I looked at him. He wore shorts, a tank top, and a determined expression.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Very.”

  “I might die, you know.”

  “You might.”

  “That’ll teach my mother. Let me get my big red shorts on.”

  We tiptoed out, backtracking to check out Frank before we left. He was spread out on his bed, limbs splayed like a starfish. He had no sheet covering him and he looked all sticky, lying on his back in his underwear like you do when it’s a rotten hot summer night. Even though last night was just a rotten cool summer night.

  Just outside the door, Mikie did his warm-up stretching silently. Grab the toe with the hand behind the back and bend way over forward. Touch the toes and hold it. Spread those feet... how far apart? “Oww, stop it, stop that,” I said. He laughed and finished, pulling one knee at a time to his chest.

  “You’re up,” he said, pointing at my legs.

  “I’m out,” I said.

  “You’re in.”

  He manhandled me. Slapped my legs, pulled one foot as far as he could away from the other, slapping, pushing, slapping, like the elephant trainer in the circus, until he’d squeezed me as much as he could.

  “Now, Elvin, taking your right hand, I want you to reach over your head, stretch your top half to the left, and reach for the ground, as if you were making an arc over your whole body with your right hand trying to get to your left foot.”

  “I will not,” I said indignantly.

  He knew he had me sort of frozen there, which is why he knew he could grab my hand and forcibly pull me over into the unnatural position he wanted.

  “Ow, Mikie, Jesus, Mikie, hell, Mikie, Jesus, Mikie,” I squealed.

  He started laughing, then pulled me the other way. “If you want to avoid injuries, El, you have to prepare yourself.”

  “I should be preparing myself for breakfast right about now.”

  “Ya, well I don’t think it would hurt for you to skip breakfast this morning, either. Just have a piece of fruit and some juice.”

  “Well, I, guess I should do what you tell me,” I said, poking him, “since you’re so much better than the rest of us.”

  “I never said that,” he said, pulling me up by the armpits so that my feet could finally get back together again. Just as I sighed, he put both hands on my back and bent me over.

  “Well, you said most of it.”

  “No, I thought about it later, and I decided that you guys were wrong; I did not say it.”

  “Gee, even when you’re by yourself you’re superior, huh?”

  “We’re not here for me—”

  “No, we never are. You’re so good, Mikie. I’m not worthy.”

  “Okay, you win. I’m better than everybody. Now touch those toes and we’re out of here, Elvin.”

  I hung there, touched halfway down my shins, then straightened up. “We’re out of here,” I said, leaning my face into his.

  He punched me in the belly, but not hard, then bolted.

  “How long did you stay?” he asked as we set out on the road.

  “I left right after you.”

  “Good. So what time did he come in?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. I was asleep.”

  “Stay awake next time. I want to know.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Say, what’s the rope for?” Mike had a rope, like a clothesline, coiled diagonally around his body.

  “Thought we might try some rock climbing, if a good spot presents itself.” He was running ahead with his back to me, so I couldn’t see if he was grinning, but he had to be. He had to be trying to get a rise out of me, because he couldn’t be serious. The only thing to do when he’s like that is to ignore him, so I did.

  It wasn’t so bad, those first few yards. Mike was right, it was a beautiful morning, so beautiful that for a while my body didn’t even occur to me. Some strange birds made whoo-ti-whoo and keekle-dee-gee songs, sounding like they were perched right on our ears. There was a little dewy water hanging everywhere, cool and sweet. The crunch-crunch of sticks and pine needles under our feet somehow made me feel it more, that we were accomplishing something before breakfast.

  “Don’t bounce so much,” he said, running backward to go as slowly as me.

  “Sorry, but it’s just impossible for me to make this much movement without bouncing at least a little.”

  “I don’t mean jiggling—I know you can’t help that. I mean bouncing. Up and down. You’re doing more vertical moving than horizontal.”

  I nodded, concentrating on my motion instead of talking. Because now, a quarter mile into it, I was starting to feel it. So I reduced the bounce. My feet skimmed the surface of the road. I was still slow, but I was more efficient.

  “Good, there you go. Doesn’t that feel better?” he said as he went back to running forward.

  “Unh,” I answered.

  By the half-mile mark the thrill was gone. I was spewing sweat like the sprinkler system down on Frankie’s golf course. I kept chugging, though, on through where the road turned to trail, and where the trail turned to path. The terrain also turned, from flat to rolling to just plain up. I was keeping Mikie in sight up ahead, but he was getting smaller.

  I crawled along, putting as much pump into breathing as I was into advancing. The trees still passed by me on both sides, but more slowly now. Then the whole scene stalled, seemed to go nowhere for the longest time, as if I was running on a treadmill and not getting anywhere.

  But through the fog of my heat vapors, Mikie actually was getting bigger. He wasn’t losing me. The gap was closing. Something must have been working right.

  “You okay?” he asked, putting his hand on my stomach to steady me.

  “I am,” I said, and I did feel better with him nearer.

  “You want to quit?”

  “I don’t want to quit. Soon, I will. But not yet.”

  Mike smiled a firm sort of proud
Marines smile. Next thing I knew, there was a tug at my middle. I looked down to see him tying the rope around my waist. He’d already looped it around himself, and we were lashed together.

  “When you want to stop for good,” he said, “just fall down. I’ll get the message.”

  And off he went. I staggered to get a little momentum before the fifty feet of rope between us pulled taut, but it did as soon as I moved. He jerked me ahead at first, but I got my balance. Mike slowed his pace a bit—okay, he slowed it a ton. But I kept with him. Then, being so close now, watching his correct form, listening to him—“Concentrate on your breathing, make it smooth,” he kept saying—I worked up an imitation of what he did. My right hand went forward when my left leg went forward. My left hand went back when my right leg went back. I breathed rapidly but regularly, one breath in, then one out, on each footfall. I never found myself with both hands at my sides at the same time, as I had at the bottom of the hill.

  After several minutes I picked up a few steps, and the tension on the rope slackened. “There you go, Elvin, how you doing?” Mike said while looking back over his shoulder. I nodded, and I think managed something like a smile.

  So he increased the pace. I had been sure that we had already maxed me out, but when I felt the rope tug at me from the middle, I shortened my stride, started dropping my feet a quarter step quicker. I kept up. He pulled me just enough and not too much, so that I could do what he was making me do. The pace he already figured I could do.

  “All right there, El? All right?” he called once more, his words choppier now, his voice much breathier.

  “... right,” I croaked.

  “... ’Most there,” he said, and made one more quick jump up in the pace. The hill was cresting; I could feel it lessen. Still I nearly fell this time, even put my hands out in front of me before righting myself. I reached the new pace, held it for a minute of panting, wobbling, careening, before we reached the end and staggered into camp.

  It was just short of a mile, mostly uphill, and it took us just under half an hour to do it. I fell flat on my face and rubbed it back and forth in the dew, then rested there happily on my forehead. In another minute I looked up to find Mikie sitting on a rock, sweating and panting almost as hard as I was, his head between his knees.