by Cote Smith
“Call Dad,” my brother said. “Make him help.”
“Your father doesn’t know a thing about cars,” my mother said. “I wish that he did.”
The phone rang. I thought it was our dad, calling to prove our mother wrong. But it was Rick. He would be here right away. Anything for a lady in distress.
When she finished talking to Rick, our mother found a tow man in the Yellow Pages. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and spoke into the phone, sayings things like “dead” and “estimate.” Then she hung up the phone and spread her arms wide on the counter, like some busted perp. You’re under arrest, I thought, and patted her down with my eyes. She let her head drop. “If I asked you two to wait for the tow man,” she said, “would you be able to do it? If I gave you the key, could you give it to the man and not mess it up?”
“Of course,” my brother said. “We’re not babies.”
My mother worked the van key around the ring. “I don’t like doing this, but I can’t be late to work again. So it’s up to you guys,” she said, and when she placed the key in my brother’s palm, she left her hand in his, like a low five gone wrong. “Don’t talk to anybody and don’t do anything stupid.”
We waited with her until Rick finally showed up in what was a real nice sports car once upon a time. Two doors, faded black body, a ridge on its hood that looked like a nose. I pictured Rick driving my mom around the city in this car, fast and crazy, the way he raced around the golf course in his customized cart. I wanted to warn my mother. Watch his hands. Look out for the leg pinch.
Rick ran around the car to open the door for my mother.
“When will you be home?” my brother asked.
“Right after work.” She buckled herself in, pulled the strap tight. “Take care of your brother, OK? You know the drill.”
I stuck my head in the window so my mother could kiss my face, and saw Rick, grinning as always. “No need to worry, retard,” he said. “Yours truly knows how to treat a lady.”
My mother kissed me goodbye. “Go wait with your brother. Be good.”
* * *
After they disappeared down our street, we opened the van doors to let the heat out, sat in some shade we found on the curb. It was early morning, but the day was an oven.
“We should be in the pool,” I said, “where it’s nice and cool.” If the pool wasn’t a safe subject, I didn’t know what was. “Are you mad?”
“No.”
“Are we mad at Chris?”
“You want me to tell you how you feel? If you’re not mad, then why be mad?”
The answer was that I hated myself for forgiving too easy, something I was known for. One summer my dad nicknamed me Marshmallow Man, because no matter what anyone did to me, especially my brother, I always forgave them and quickly returned to my original form.
“I don’t like that he talked about Mom,” my brother said, “or the way he talked about her, but he said he was sorry. So, I don’t know.”
A large truck turned onto our street, and we raised our heads with hope, but it wasn’t the tow man. I got off the curb and hopped in the driver’s seat to take my mind off things. I had sat here once before, up front with my dad, one night after a policeman’s birthday barbecue, when my mother said my dad had had too much to drink. I scooted up to grab the wheel and put my hands where my dad had shown me. A dumber kid would have made driving noises with his mouth, bounced up and down like roads were nothing but speed bumps. But I was a real driver. I checked the side mirrors, shot my eyes to the blind spots. I put my blinker on when I wanted to turn and pumped the brakes when a kid chased a ball into the street.
I saw my brother approaching in the passenger mirror and nodded hello. His shirt was off, and he walked with his arms loose like boiled noodles. He got in the backseat like he was someone famous and I was his driver.
“Where to, sir?” I asked him.
“I’m here for the van. You called for a tow?”
“Oh, yes.”
My brother stuck his foot in my face. “Well, here it is!”
“Cut it out.”
“But it’s me! The Toe Man!”
He pushed his stinky foot into my nose. “No you’re not,” I said. “You’re gross.” I fought his foot until finally I had to punch his leg to get his toes away from me. “I’m not playing that. I’m the taxi man. Now where to?”
My brother didn’t answer, and when I looked into the rearview mirror I saw his face had changed. His eyes were slanted and menacing, and I knew right away he’d transformed into the Stranger, like he had in the woods.
“Sixth and Revolution,” he said, giving our dad’s address. “And step on it. I’ve got a cop to kill.”
“Don’t,” I said.
He chuckled to himself.
“That’s not funny,” I said.
“I know,” the Stranger said. “I wasn’t joking.”
I flicked on the imaginary meter and pretended to ignore him.
“But if you like jokes, I’ve got one for you. Why did the Stranger cross the road? To kill your entire family! Hahaha!”
He fell out of the mirror, rolling over in the backseat.
“Stop it,” I said. “You shouldn’t be laughing. You shouldn’t play the Stranger anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the movie.”
My brother stopped laughing.
“It wasn’t a movie.”
“Yes it was.”
“No,” my brother said. “Movies aren’t real.”
It took me a moment to understand what he meant. Because he didn’t say any more, and I didn’t either. Eventually my brother rose from the backseat, like a vampire rising from his tomb. For some reason, he looked as pale as one, too.
“Where are you going?” I said.
He handed me the keys and said, “I’m going to the pool.”
* * *
The chain-link fence rattled, shaking under someone’s weight. I rolled over in my pool chair, to find my brother, to ask where he was going, to yell at him for leaving me again. He had already left me in the van, where I waited for the tow man for what felt like forever before giving up and leaving the key in the ignition. But my brother was hovering in the pool, his eyes on the woods side of the fence.
“It is I,” Chris said, “Sir Chris!” His voice boomed across the pool, in an unnecessarily grand way. I looked back at the front gate, which hadn’t moved.
“Where did you come from?” I asked.
Chris gestured toward the woods, then bowed. “I have come from my secret kingdom, good sire, a place of magic and nobility.” My brother swam to the side of the pool, rested his arms on the pool’s lip. “Ah, this must be the fabled swimmer of the Frontiers,” Chris said, “a serfdom famous for its watery ways. What say you, fellow nobleman?”
“What are you doing?” my brother said. “Why are you talking like that?”
“Talking like what?” Chris said. “Oh, dear sire, I apologize. You must forgive me if my words are colored with my native tongue. You see, I have just returned from conversing with my kin, whom I haven’t seen in many a fortnight.” Kin. Fortnight. I tried to lock these words in my brain, so I could look them up later. “You see, I sometimes forget we have our own way of speaking, to which others’ ears may be unaccustomed.”
“What’s your kin?” my brother said.
Chris wagged his finger. “No, no, I cannot discuss them further. I will not.”
“Why not?”
“Why, because of the charlatan.” My brother looked as confused as I felt. “Have you gentlemen not heard? Oh, it’s most terrible. There is a man, disguised as me, who travels from pool to pool, preying on innocent swimmers, ruffling their feathers by making unwanted small talk about their families. You know, mothers and the like.” A small smile crept across Chris’s face. “But that’s not me. No, my cause is much nobler than petty gossip.”
“Whatever,” my brother said, and he pushed himself out of the pool.
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“Dear sire, art thou questioning my purpose? Dost thou doubt my motives? If so, let me assure you, I come from an honest, polite people, mastered in the way of manners. Believe me, I will only broach the subjects deemed appropriate by you and your stableboy.” No one looked in my direction, but it was clear they were talking about me. “While I can understand your hesitation, what with that big-mouthed fool on the loose, I promise, if you give me your trust, I will not disappoint. I swear on my lineage, on the long list of my family’s dead, you will be happy to see what I have traveled far and wide to show you.”
He was obviously talking about the Gainer at this point, but it still piqued my interest. Maybe it was the language he was using, or maybe it was because Chris had only done the Gainer once, and although I had seen it performed in person, it didn’t seem real. It existed in my mind as a blur, its unnatural motion part of an amazing, dying dream.
“What dost thou say?” Chris said, offering my brother his hand. “Can I count on your loyalty, as you surely can count on mine?”
My brother extended his arm and let Chris pull him out of the water. “Just the pool moves,” my brother said. “Nothing else.”
“I wouldn’t dare of it, my liege,” Chris said. He put his hand to his chest, which was much browner than when we had first seen him, though still flat and unmuscular, like mine. “We will speak of nothing else. You have my word, I will only take you as far as you want to go.”
“Then I am yours, Sir Chris,” my brother said, and bowed his wet head. “Now have my stableboy fetch me my towel.”
* * *
“What do you think of my new trunks?” Chris said. He and my brother had dropped the medieval act and were now practicing pool moves. “Picked them up when I snuck by the old castle. Not too shabby, huh?” The trunks were blood-red and stopped well above his knees, much more suitable for swimming than the boxers he wore before. They’re lifeguard shorts, Chris explained, though they didn’t look new, as he had described. The thick white cross on the left leg was cracked, and some of the lettering had peeled away, so that life was much more visible than guard.
“They’re nice,” my brother said, “now watch this.” He flipped into the pool, crookedly and with a widely spraying splash, but landing upright. This was the first time I’d seen him flip.
“Whoa!” Chris said. “What in the world? When’d you get so good?”
My brother swam to the side. “I’ve been practicing, like you told me.”
Chris gave him a high five, but I stayed where I was, sitting in the shallow end. That was awesome, Chris told him, but keep your body balled tight, my man. You’re all over the place. Remember: one smooth, even motion. My brother nodded, listening to every word Chris said, and then he flipped again. This time a little straighter, a little less messy.
He flipped several more times, steadily improving, and soon he was running to the diving board instead of walking, becoming more confident the closer he came to perfection. Smiling wider the more Chris cheered him on, and for the first time since we’d watched the tape. I should have been happy for my brother, for his success. I should have been up there with Chris, cheering him along, instead of rooting against him, hoping he would hit his head on the board, just nick it, or fall flat on his stomach. But no one was paying attention to me. It was Chris and my brother, off on a wild adventure, while I was left to tend the horses.
I grew tired of playing by myself, and began walking around the inside of the fence, circling it again and again, raking my hands against the chain link like I was the prisoner. Like I was the Stranger looking for a way out and they were the ones who should be afraid of me.
Still, no one noticed. After my brother mastered the front flip, he and Chris took a break. They stood next to the deep end and discussed what move my brother could do next. Had my brother ever tried a back dive? Chris wanted to know. No, my brother said. Chris put his hand on my brother’s shoulder. He let it linger, and they didn’t see me. They didn’t see me sneak behind my brother, creep closer and closer until I was close enough to reach out and hug. They didn’t see me slowly raise my arms, then with a flash throw them at my brother, shove him violently into the pool.
My brother fell on his face, and the water popped as it punched him in the stomach. He didn’t sink, though, like part of me wanted him to. He thrashed in the water, immediately angry, immediately understanding what I had done. Before I thought to run, he was out of the water, his mouth open, his hands tensed into claws. He was the Stranger, only he wasn’t playing. I hid behind Chris. I put his body in front of mine and held on to his waist. My brother’s feet slapped the concrete, louder and louder, and I squeezed Chris and begged him to protect me.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Chris said. “Easy there, big man.” He put his arms out like a protective gate, and my brother bounced around, telling Chris to move, to get out of the way.
“You think that’s funny?” my brother said. “Do you?” His chest and stomach were red from falling on his front. “Get out of the way. I’ll kill you!”
Chris held him back. “All right, all right. Let’s take a breath. I’m sure it was an accident.”
“Yeah right! You saw what he did!”
He kept hopping up and down, pointing at me. It wasn’t until Chris grabbed him by his shoulders that he stopped jumping. He made my brother look him in the eye and said, OK, you’re right. He saw. It wasn’t an accident. But no need to get all hot and bothered about it. This is your brother. Surely he had a reason.
“Isn’t that right, little man?” Chris said. “What, was there a bee on his head or something?”
I looked at my brother, dripping, his eyes fixed. Bee, he mumbled. Yeah right. Chris stared at me, waiting for an answer. But what could I tell him? What could I say that would make a difference?
“No?” Chris said. “Perhaps the bee was in your bonnet. Perhaps the stableboy needs a break. Some time away from his kingdom.” He turned to my brother. “What sayest thou, good knight? Should we give your servant some time off? Send him on vacation?”
My brother leered at me. I could only imagine what he would do to me later, when he got me alone. “Yeah, why don’t we send him far, far away. Like, forever.”
I started toward the gate, keeping my distance from my brother. I’ll wait by the van, I told them. For the tow man. Chris raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Just the pool moves.
“Good idea,” my brother said. “And don’t come back. Or you’ll regret it.”
* * *
The tow man was nothing like I pictured. I spent another hour waiting, trying not to think about my brother and Chris at the pool without me, trying to imagine the tow man instead. What he would look like, what he would say. But he wasn’t the fat guy in overalls I imagined, a greasier version of that jerk Wayne, who hounded our dad at dinner. The tow man was skinny and wore pants. His face was clean-shaven minus a few hairs that hung from his chin like a frayed jump rope. He asked me where my mother was and when I said at work he didn’t seem to care. He handed me the carbon paper to sign and didn’t say anything when I wrote my name in print. He gave me my yellow copy, took the key out of the ignition, and a moment later the van was gone.
I thought about going to the apartment. I thought about sitting patiently on the couch, reading a book, and waiting for my brother. I thought about these things. Instead, I took a lap around our complex’s other building, the building where the chalk kid and his mother lived. This way I could spy on the pool from a spot my brother wouldn’t expect. I could watch my brother and Chris have fun without me, high five, share a joke at my expense. Whatever happened to that stableboy? one of them might say. Oh, who cares? the other would say. Let the baby have his horses.
I was sure I would see all of this.
But by the time I made it around the building, my brother and Chris were gone.
* * *
The pool was empty, the complex silent. I sat on the couch, waiting and hoping for my brothe
r’s return. I recalled the details: the pool gate swinging open with the wind; my brother’s towel heaped on a pool chair. This, I told myself, meant he wouldn’t be gone long. He couldn’t leave his towel out all night. He would have to bring it back or our mother would get mad.
But he wasn’t back by lunch. Every ten minutes I went out onto the porch and looked for him, scanning the complex as far as I could, hearing nothing, seeing less. I took the kitchen timer into our room and set it to ten. As the timer ticked down, I tried to busy myself by playing with my brother’s toy men. All the stories I told, however, turned into tales of two men turning against a third. I put away the toys and watched the timer ding.
Our mother would be home any minute. What would she say when she saw my brother wasn’t here? Chris? Who is Chris? Some stranger? She would stare at me accusingly, as if I were the older brother, the responsible one. And you let him go by himself? I checked the time on the TV, reading between the blurry lines of the one channel we got. It was well past five. The TV’s static distorted the man on the news, stretching his head, sucking it into some other dimension. What choice did I have? I had to go look for my brother before our mother found out. I had to leave the apartment and go into the world alone.
The smoking lady was waiting.
“Hey!” she yelled, much louder than she had to. “You! I see you!” She was wearing the same sweats as the last time we saw her, but her T-shirt was somewhat soaked, like part of her had fallen into the pool. She pointed her cigarette at me. Her hand was shaking.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said. “You and your brother, think you’re so smart. But I know kids. I’ve seen their tricks.” She took a long drag and ashed onto the hallway carpet. Orange flakes that could have started a fire, had she not smothered them with her bare feet. “Where is the other one? That, that big kid. I don’t see him. Guess he’s gone, maybe? Guess I tell your mother.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I’m right here,” my brother said. I turned around and there he was, dry as the towel around his waist. “Just went to check the mail. That’s not a crime, is it?”