by Geoff North
This is the first time I tried.
He took another drag with the same result and waited for the familiar buzz he knew would follow as the nicotine flooded through his bloodstream. It never came. He spit out a mouthful of rancid tasting saliva and tried another puff, then another, and then another. He felt like choking on each one.
He finally gave up and squished the half-smoked butt between his shoe and a rock. He wiped tears from his eyes and breathed a few times until the urge to vomit passed. “Well that was a blast, can’t wait for the next one.” He tucked the pack under a flat stone along with the matches. The sky was clear and it didn’t look like it was going to rain anytime soon. They were safe out here, better than keeping them in the house.
The two worked their way around the south side of the shelterbelt. His father had been one of the last growers in the area to resist clearing the land of most of its forest. Hugh studied the lay of the land and remembered all the great hiding spots and secret clearings inside the multitude of bluffs and bushes. A breeze from the northwest ruffled his hair, carrying with it the faint smell of horse manure and wild grass being burned off in a distant field. He could hardly wait for autumn, to watch the leaves change color, the exhilaration he’d feel when the first snow fell. The whole family would go ice-skating on the dugout.
He scratched Colonel behind one ear. “It’s not that much different in 2011. I don’t know what’s so exciting about it now.” The dog looked up at him lovingly. “Is it because I’m ten again?”
The southwest sky was brilliant orange on the horizon, fading to purple above, and framed in a navy blue that was spotted with the evening’s first dim stars, a picture-perfect prairie sunset. He watched as a jet plane high above and forever away plunged into the brightness, leaving behind a grey, billowing trail. Hugh could hear the distant echo of its rumbling engines chasing after the falling day. He’d loved to watch them disappear into the distance. He sometimes imagined he was on one of them, bound for an exciting new life in some far off, exotic land. Hugh never once travelled on a plane. He never accomplished anything that would change the world. He remained in Braedon, or at least very close to it his entire life.
So I never amounted to very much…big deal. Should’ve been happy with what I had.
He wished Cathy were with him now to see how it had been when he was a kid. She’d had it pretty rough growing up; her step-father had been an abusive alcoholic. He’d terrorized Cathy and beaten her mother regularly. Hugh’s family never had much money, but they had a stable family life, parents that always loved them. Cathy had told him more than once how much she envied him for that.
“I wish the kids could’ve seen it too.”
Colonel was zigzagging through the stalks of wheat, his long nose sniffing out field mice. Hugh had rented the land out in the nineties; almost all of the forest had been cleared. It hadn’t put any more money in his pockets. He should’ve left it alone.
I should’ve left it like this.
He whistled loudly and waited for Colonel to return before walking back to the house. Gordo and Heather were watching television, the high pitched voice of Don Adams as Agent 86 blared through the set’s single, tinny speaker. Get Smart was a Nance family favorite. Fred lay curled up in his dad’s reading chair next to the stone fireplace. The cat was rarely seen when his father was home; the two hated each other, and the only time their paths crossed usually resulted with Fred being booted across the room.
Hugh wandered into the kitchen and sat next to his mom. For a second he was worried he might smell like cigarette smoke, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her attention was focused on a crossword puzzle in the Braedon paper.
“Why do you work so damned hard, mom?”
She took off her reading glasses and gave his hand a light smack. “Why do you have to curse like that? Is that the cool way your friends talk?” She smiled and considered his question for a moment longer. “Why wouldn’t I work hard? Your father works hard, so does your sister. This place doesn’t run itself you know.”
Hugh felt guilty. She hadn’t mentioned any of the boy’s names. “I can help out more around here if you like. What could you get me to do?”
She looked at him as if he were a stranger. The smile was still there though. “Well for starters you can keep your room tidy and make your own bed in the morning. You can also begin gathering eggs from the chickens every evening. How does that sound?”
“I can handle that,” he said. It would give him a good excuse to have a nightly smoke.
Marion Nance suspected more behind his sudden kindness. “Do you expect something in return, maybe an increase in your allowance?”
He scratched his head and tried to remember what his allowance had been in those days. Every Saturday his mom would give him a handful of change to spend when the family went into town to grocery shop. He usually ended up buying a couple of comic books and a treat of some kind, couldn’t have been more than a dollar. He thought of the comics he couldn’t afford that afternoon and slowly nodded his head. Yeah, an increase would be nice now that you mention it.”
“I’ll give you three dollars each weekend if you get those jobs done,” she said returning to her puzzle.
“Thanks mom, I’ll start tomorrow.” Maybe if he did the chores with a smile on his face, that amount would increase. He paused halfway out of the kitchen and turned. “I love you mom.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Let her stew on that, he thought as he climbed the stairs. It would make her look more closely at Gordo’s work habits as well. His bullying brother would have to start pulling his weight more around here, and Hugh couldn’t wait to see how much it pissed him off.
He rummaged through the stacks of clothes in his room, throwing the dirty ones into a pile out in the hallway and folding those that weren’t too bad on his bed. Some he recognized, most he didn’t. He rearranged the books in his shelf and started to clean out the writing desk. He saw the lottery newsletter again. He grabbed a pencil and underlined the numbers for May 19.
8, 12, 20, 23, 34, 36
Thirty-five million dollars in thirty-six years.
He wrote the numbers down on a piece of scrap paper and taped it to the corner of his Farah Fawcett poster. He took another piece of paper and wrote the numbers down again. He shoved that piece under the mattress. Hugh would have to remember those numbers for a long time. He wrote out three more sets and placed them strategically throughout his room. One went in the comic book shelf, another tucked away in the pages of a children’s animal encyclopedia, and the last one he placed carefully beneath a tile in the ceiling.
Let’s see someone find that one.
He’d probably forget it was there himself in a few months. He found a permanent black marker in his desk and wrote them on the window sill.
8, 12, 20, 23, 34, 36
The numbers were already memorized, chances were that he would always remember them, but he wanted to sure. He printed out a final set on the right edge of the desk where he could see them every time he sat down.
After another hour of cleaning and reminiscing, Hugh was ready to call it a night. He went downstairs and gave his mom a hug and kiss goodnight. She was pleasantly surprised and squeezed him back. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but I like it.”
He grunted goodnight to Gordo from the kitchen. The older boy said nothing. He was too involved with his fourth or fifth hour of television to pay any attention. Heather was on the phone with a friend so he gave her a friendly wave on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
When he got back to his room, Hugh pulled the chair up to his window and watched the stars twinkle through the screen. How many times had he sat there in the evening and stared out to the west? He wanted another cigarette. He considered sneaking outside after everyone had gone to bed.
You don’t need to do that. You’re not physically addicted to them anymore.
That wasn’t the main reason for s
taying inside. It was a long way to the dugout in the dark. Who knew what could be lurking in the shadows?
Childish fears…like the McFarlane house.
He couldn’t escape those childish fears; he was ten years old again. Tomorrow morning he decided, right after breakfast. No sense pushing his luck so soon.
He pulled off his clothes and crawled under the blankets. The bed squeaked and sagged in the middle. It was another hand-me-down from Heather’s, and it had been Donald’s before her.
After half an hour of restlessness he threw the sheets back and let the breeze from outside wash over him. He pictured his family so far away in the future, his mom wasting away in a personal care home, his father long gone. Donald and Gordo had families of their own, and Heather still alone, waitressing well into her early fifties. He could see Cathy, and Dana, and Julie. He tried to imagine Colton’s face, but all he saw was his own, reflected in the bathroom mirror of 1974. He wondered what color his son’s eyes were, mild panic rose in his chest.
Blue… of course they’re blue…like mine, like Cathy’s.
Where are they?
“I want to go back,” he whispered into the black, hoping for an answer from the brown.
The muffled sound of the television downstairs answered him. A new episode of The Waltons was on.
Chapter 8
Hugh went to Braedon on Saturday with his mother for her weekly shopping run. She picked up a huge load of groceries for less than forty dollars at Nelson’s, and the young boy helped her pack it away into the back of the station wagon. The sour old bastard hadn’t said a word to her about his attempted tobacco purchase the day before.
“Are we going home now?” He had ninety cents to spend, forty cents left from yesterday, and fifty cents his mother had given him that morning.
She fished around in her purse and gave him three crisp one-dollar bills. “I’ll give you your work allowance a few days early.” Hugh looked around, gave her a quick hug and headed for the pharmacy. “You have to work for that,” she called out after him.
He couldn’t buy the comic books he wanted, his funds were limited, so Hugh settled on the idea of buying two copies of each title he knew would be worth a lot in the future. One copy he would keep as a gentle reader, the other would be stored away safely, only to be brought out again to sell decades later. It wouldn’t make him fabulously wealthy, but it was a healthy little investment, one that he would enjoy.
He smiled politely at Mrs. McDonald and the middle-aged woman scowled in return. He went to the back of the store and carefully picked out his treasures. He settled for two of the fat, 100 page World’s Finest books, two Spider-Man, two X-Men, two Tales of the Unexpected, and two copies of Batman. He had thirty cents left over. Normally he would’ve spent the extra on bubblegum or a roll of candy, but Hugh shoved the change back into his pocket. That could be put toward another book next week. He met his mom back at the car and gently placed the books on his lap, mindful not to smudge the covers with his fingers.
“Did you spend all of that money on comic books?”
Hugh got immediately defensive. “It’s better than junk food, isn’t it?” Was she going to control what he spent his money on every week? Would he have to hide his purchases from her, too?
She smiled and pulled the car out onto the road. “It’s your money dear—you can spend it however you want. I was just hoping you might be sensible and try to save some.”
“Comic books are a great investment, mom. They’re just as good as buying gold.”
“I’ll take your word for it, since I don’t have any money to spend on gold.”
And that was that. The rest of Hugh’s first full day as a ten-year-old went just as a ten-tear-olds day should go. In the early afternoon he looked over his new comics and listened to Heather play her favorite songs from the seventies over and over again on the record player in her room. Those songs were new, he realized. This was the seventies.
Later in the afternoon he choked back his second cigarette of the day down by the dugout. He walked through the fields with Colonel by his side, and explored through many of the bluffs scattered about the home quarter. Gordo took some time out of his busy television schedule to kick a soccer ball around the front yard with him. Hugh found it a bit boring and oddly embarrassing, but his young body was filled with excess energy that demanded to be burnt off. It was a wonderful feeling, being able to throw his body to the ground without any fear of inflicting serious damage. They took turns standing against the side of the work shed wall; each boy would take ten shots and then switch positions. They were tied after four rounds so Gordo decided the winner could only be decided by a wrestling match. Gordo won.
In the evening, Hugh watched the sun set over the dugout and puffed on another stolen cigarette. He really had to give it up, he thought, as he flicked the butt into the water. Later that night he pictured Cathy and the kids in his mind as he tried to settle into bed. He cried himself to sleep.
Sunday wasn’t much different than Saturday. There was little to do but wait. Wait until he grew up again to reclaim his first life. There were no big concerns a ten-year-old had to dwell on. No taxes to pay, no dead-end job to drag himself to five days a week, no one but him to take care of.
He watched the stars come out in the west from his bedroom window for the third night in a row. What could he have done to avoid this? Was this really a second chance, or was he being punished for making such a mess of things? Had time carried on since his body was sliced in half? Had there been a funeral? Did his family miss him as much as he missed them?
Did he still exist? Maybe all of this was just his dying brain’s last moments, a final electrical re-run in his mind of sights and sounds as the synapses shut down. He’d seen that on a documentary once. It made a lot of sense, and it had scared the hell out of him.
No.
He could smell the tobacco on his fingers; he could hear the chirr of crickets, the buzz of mosquitoes beyond the screen window. He could see the faint glitter of fireflies lighting up and winking out around the fir trees.
This is as real as it gets.
Thirty plus years was a long time to wait…doubting his very existence would make it unbearable.
8, 12, 20, 23, 34, 36
That would make the wait easier.
Something to look forward to.
***
Watching Fabian take a beating on Monday had definitely been something worth looking forward to. A tight ring of school children surrounded the spectacle; Hugh stood closer than any of them, encouraging his brother with each mean fist that pummeled the fat bully’s head into the ground. It was hard to feel sorry for the kid. In a few more years the town would discover that he was sexually molesting his little sister and torturing neighborhood cats and dogs. He was a whole mess of social fuck-up, headed down a road of hurt for anyone that got in his way. Let Gordo pound the tar out of him, maybe it would knock some of that bad shit out early.
“Your brother’s a goddamn liar! I never said nothin’ about you!” Fabian’s bloodied mouth spat the words out, it sounded more like: yer brover’s a goddab lia! I neva sai nuffin bou you! He shot a terrified glance at Hugh just as another blow landed on his forehead.
The one-sided fight would’ve lasted the remainder of the noon hour if Principal Davidson didn’t step in to break it up. He pulled Gordo off effortlessly by the collar of his shirt with a fist the size of a soccer ball, just like Bobby McBee, Hugh marveled. The circle of kids watching fell back in a wave; a super nova of scattering limbs and dissipating blood-lust energy rippled away. The show was over and it was best to get the hell out of range before the black hole of Fabian Bren, Gordon Nance and Reggie Davidson sucked them all in. Hugh followed the three back into school at a safe distance and he listened outside the principal’s office as the punishment was handed down. He could hear Fabian crying, his stuttering voice explaining between wails how he’d been jumped. He exited the office a minute later, holding a handfu
l of tissue paper to his bleeding nose and mouth. He made a bee-line for the washroom to clean up and shot Hugh a terrified look on the way. Fabian no longer posed a threat to him. Maybe a call to his parents would save his sister a whole lot of pain and suffering, too.
There was a minute of anxious silence as Hugh waited to hear what would happen to his brother behind the closed door. A loud smack made him jump; a quick yelp of pain from inside made him wince. He’d never gotten the strap himself and he never intended to. Fortunately that kind of discipline would be banned in all public schools in a year or two’s time. There was another smack, louder this time, but no yelp. Hugh could picture Gordo’s face tightened up into a red mask of agony and humiliation. There was a third smack, and a fourth. After number six Hugh heard the sound of a drawer being closed. That big prick, Davidson was finished. The door opened and Gordo stepped out. His face was redder than Hugh had imagined. Tears were leaking down the sides of his face and his mouth was set in a grim line of restraint. He looked at Hugh and winked.
He had to give his older brother credit. The little bastard was as tough as nails. He’d beaten Bren and taken the strap more for himself than Hugh, but Hugh couldn’t help but feel proud.
8, 12, 20, 23, 34, 36
Hugh printed the numbers on his home room desk.
On Tuesday, Hugh went down to the river after school with a group of friends. Heather had stayed in town to try on shoes for her upcoming graduation. Their mom had arranged to pick them both up at five. Hugh watched as Caroline Sterling, Billy Parton, Bob Richards, and Mandy Wood all took turns skipping stones across the slow moving water. It wasn’t a big river, thirty feet across at its widest point, and some of the better thrown rocks made it all the way to the other side. Hugh sat down on the bank and etched the lottery numbers into the damp gravel and sand with a stick.
“Come on Hugh,” Mandy yelled at him. “Let’s see what you’ve got!” He watched her throw another flat stone effortlessly across the water. It skipped two, three, four, five times and finally rolled up to a stop on the other side. There was a collective gasp from the other kids. Mandy was one of Bob’s first girlfriends, and arguably the cutest. Even at age ten, she was way out of Hugh’s league. Her auburn hair bounced off her shoulders as she spun around and flicked another rock into the air. Her dark, brown eyes glittered in the sunlight.