“Nice, Rein Stone. You gave me a snuggy,” he smiled.
“Yeah? You squished the crap out of me.”
He did too. Reese weighs 270 pounds. And then Cody stood and threw, and it was really like in slow motion: the rock exploded from his hand and up into the setting sun and then it arched down, taking like ten minutes, amazing, arching, falling, until it cracked against the hood of his truck in the parking lot below.
“Jesus, no!” he shouted.
“Holy shit,” I said. “You hit your damn truck!”
“Damn, man, you got a cannon!” Karpinski said, spazzing.
Then we sat up there, the sun coloring everything orange like orange juice, and talked about girls and football, and I had to agree when they talked about how hot Abby Sauter is. She really is.
“She’s turning into a freaking swimsuit model,” Reese said.
The Bluffton poop air smelled fresh, like Aleah’s idea of the country, and we laughed and laughed, and the sun set. It was so fun. It’s good to be almost sixteen, I thought.
“It’s good to be sixteen,” said my older voice. “It’s good to be sixteen.”
I watched myself watching the sunset, and I was both happy and sad.
***
It sort of freaks me out.
CHAPTER 41: THE INJURY
At home that night, I found Andrew in my bedroom, using my computer. I told him to get the hell out, which made him scream at me (My charger is dead!), which made Jerri cry out “Shut up! Please! Shut the hell up!” from her bedroom.
Which caused Andrew to scream “You shut up!” while looking at me.
Jerri didn’t respond.
I looked at him. His lips were trembling. He was so dirty.
“Andrew,” I said quietly. “I honestly can’t take this anymore.”
“What are you going to do, kick me in half?”
“No. I just can’t take it.”
“Take what?” he spat. “You’re never here. You’ve abandoned me and Jerri.”
“What?”
“You don’t care about Dad.”
“Please stop, Andrew. I really can’t take it. And I might kill you accidentally.”
Andrew turned and stomped out of my room, but not before he stuck his tongue out at me (still a little kid).
I didn’t go to sleep. I passed out. That’s how exhausting dealing with Andrew and Jerri had become. I woke up only once when there was stomping and crashing above. Jerri shouted at Andrew really loud, and Andrew cried out. I think she screamed “Stop torturing me.”
Jesus. Really.
***
Then at weights in the morning, while I was bench-pressing, Cody not paying enough attention, Ken Johnson walked up and pressed down on the left end of the bar as I was pushing up.
It happened so fast that Cody really couldn’t have stopped him.
My right arm over compensated, and I went way out of balance. In a heartbeat, my back twisted really hard, and I flipped left off the bench. All the weights went crashing onto the floor. The bar nearly hit me in the head.
I was hurt. I cried out because fire rose in my lower back. Cody started shouting, “What’s wrong with you? What the hell’s wrong with you?” He shoved Ken, who just stared at me on the floor, not answering or fighting Cody. Others joined in shouting at Ken while I tried not to die. (Reese tried to pull me up, but my back hurt too much.)
In about five seconds, Coach Johnson was up the stairs shouting, “What was that noise?” Cody told him what happened while Ken stood there dumb-faced.
Then Coach totally lost his mind. He screamed at Ken.
“Go home! Go home! Get out of here! Don’t you even think about leaving that house!’ He nearly pushed Ken down the stairs, he was tailing him so close as he shouted.
After Ken left, Coach came back. Cody and Reese did pull me off the floor and helped me sit down on the bench.
“You okay? Oh, no. You all right, Reinstein? Jesus H. Christ. Do you need to go to the emergency room?”
“I’m okay,” I said, not really sure if I was.
“I’ll call your mom. You shouldn’t ride your bike home.”
“No, you can’t call her,” I said.
“Reinstein rode with me anyway. I’ll take him home,” Cody said, looking at me.
“Jesus Christ. I can’t believe this,” Coach said.
Pain shot up my back, and I winced.
On the way home, I was quiet. Cody couldn’t stop talking.
“Ken’s not a team player. He doesn’t give a shit about anybody but himself. He’d rather see you hurt than have you help our team be better. You okay? You still hurt? It’s no time to get hurt. We’ve got your birthday next week—it’s going to be awesome—and practice starts the week after. Baseball’s done after Saturday. We’re not going to make the playoffs. Coach Jones is an idiot. Can you believe he pitched Kelly at Iowa-Grant? So we can hang out more next week. You can’t get hurt now.”
I turned stiffly and looked at Cody.
“Ken Johnson tried to kill me,” I nodded.
“Yeah, I think so,” Cody said. “I should tell my dad to arrest him.”
“No. That’s okay.” I didn’t want any more Kennedy Johnson. Not even in a court of law.
I didn’t want to go home either.
Pain shot up my back. I’d have to be in my home, which wasn’t my home. All day? Several days? Weeks? What if this was a really serious injury? As Cody drove and talked, I imagined the dark and dank and smell and Andrew stomping around listening to some harsh punk music Dad liked or dragging spider-filled boxes out of the attic, looking for God-knows-what and Jerri screaming at him and Andrew screaming back and Jerri crying in her bed, me holed up in my room, not able to run, not able to do my paper route, not able to see Aleah, too broken to fight Jerri and Andrew off. Cody talked, and I began to panic.
“I don’t know what to do,” I broke in. “What am I going to do? I can’t lie around all day.”
“I don’t think it’s serious, Reinstein. Seriously. You walked away from there. You’ll be back moving fine in a day or two. It could’ve been a lot worse, like if those weights had hit…”
“I can’t sit in my house for two days!” I shouted.
“You want to come to my house?” he asked.
I wanted to go to Aleah’s, but she’d be sleeping. I thought about going to Cody’s but would have to answer questions there because Cody’s dad would know something was wrong. I had to go home. I had to.
“No, no. I’ll just go home. I’ll be okay,” I said, nodding, trying to hold it together.
“You sure, Reinstein?”
“Yeah.”
Cody wanted to help me into the house when we got there, but I wouldn’t let him. I couldn’t let him see the rubble inside.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Don’t worry.” I tried to sound reassuring. “I’ll come up to the game tomorrow,” I nodded.
“Put some ice on it,” he told me.
“On what? On my back? Will that help?”
“I don’t know. Everybody always says to put ice on it.”
“Okay. I’ll put ice on it.”
I straight-leg zombie-walked into the garage, totally wincing the whole way. When I turned, Cody wasn’t driving away. He was waiting until I entered the house (and into the care of Jerri, I suppose). I waved and went in.
CHAPTER 42: FOOD FIGHT
Andrew wasn’t home or at least wasn’t inside. There was no banging or music. And I don’t mean piano music. He never played piano anymore. Not forever. The house was so silent, except for Jerri’s TV, terrible and dead. Jesus Christ, I missed his piano.
I sat down on the couch because it was the closest seat to the garage door. I stared at the spot on the TV table where the TV had been. I’d missed cleaning that spot. The table was filled with trash. My trash. My food wrappers. No TV. Dead wrappers. I sat for maybe five minutes, but it felt like a year. My lower back throbbed, and I groaned.
If old A
ndrew had been there, I’d have crawled upstairs and asked him to play me a song to take my mind off the pain.
What happened to him?
I knew what happened.
Andrew had made good on his promise not to take Jerri’s behavior sitting down. Andrew stood up tall. He’d taken all the dark in this story and pushed it right out to the outside. He turned his clothes black. He’d turned his eyeballs black. He’d turned into a pirate. And I’m not talking about a funny movie pirate. Give me a bottle of rum! Arrggh! Feed my parrot! I’m talking about the kind that would board your ship and kill you for your hamburger.
Me? I ran away up a cliff and then fought to keep both him and Jerri away. Andrew turned all Black Night Bart and refused to disappear. What a kid. The real Barbarian. Not me. I ran away.
I wanted to be with my little brother.
Or I wanted to seriously run away.
My little brother was gone, and Ken had broken my back. I had no brother left—and no ability to run.
I moved my leg, and the pain took away my breath.
I seriously moaned.
I sat, trying not to freak, for another twenty minutes. But my head spun. Get out. Get out. Get out. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I was totally freaking out.
Then I thought: Go upstairs. Get ice. Ice back. If the back is iced, it might feel better. And I was hungry. Goddamn it, so hungry. I’d lifted hard before Ken’s attack. Eat cheese and bread. I’d put bread and cheese in the refrigerator the day before. I bought it at Kwik Trip so I wouldn’t spend so much money.
I could hear that awful TV in Jerri’s room. She was up there. But I wouldn’t bother her. Only Andrew bothered her. She wouldn’t come out of her room. I didn’t want to see her and have her not care about my back. She wouldn’t come out, I was convinced. My bread and cheese. Then ice.
So I got up. I moved across the basement as silently as possible. I hobbled up the stairs. As I climbed, my back muscles pinched, almost taking me down. I gasped but tried to hold it in so as not to make noise. Should I crawl? No. I kept moving.
At the top of the stairs, the floorboards creaked, and I stood still both from pain and worry. Claustrophobic. I released my muscles, my brain telling them to let go, and I worked my way into the kitchen, holding on to walls, propping myself up on tables, etc. The pain burned in my back. Hunger burned in my gut.
Then I stumbled up to the refrigerator.
First things first. Bread and cheese.
I opened the door and looked in. Where was my bread and cheese? I bent, although it pained me, and rifled through the mess of expired eggs and black and mushy vegetables—and found nothing. No, there was no Kwik Trip bread. There was no cheese. What? Adrenaline rushed. Did goddamn Andrew take my cheese? “Where the hell’s my damn cheese?” I whispered. Heat rose in my face. No food? I was stuck, broken, in this house with no food? Adrenaline pumped in my veins. Okay, pirate. Okay, Black Night Bart. Tell me right now: “Where in the freaking hell is my goddamn Kwik Trip cheese?”
Just then Andrew came in through the front door. He was wearing his stupid black trousers and his black pirate T-shirt. His hair had grown back enough that you could tell he had regular hair, but it was no longer. His face was dirty, and his plastic nerd glasses sat crooked on his nose. He was carrying a really big zucchini.
“Look what I found in the yard,” he said.
I stood straight, and my back killed. He wasn’t my little brother. He was a pirate.
“Did you eat my bread and cheese, you jerk?”
“No,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “I didn’t eat your white man bread.”
“It was white bread, not white man bread, jerk.”
“Okay,” Andrew said. “Hey. Listen. I’m hungry. How do you eat this thing? It’s big.” He held up the zucchini.
“Where. Is. My bread!” I shouted, not even thinking of Jerri.
“I don’t know, Felton!” he shouted back.
“Jerri wouldn’t eat that white man bread, Andrew. That’s why I bought it. Now tell me, where the hell is my bread?”
Andrew’s face fell. His pale skin heated up. He was almost crying.
“I didn’t eat your stupid bread, you stupid jerk. Why are you such a stupid jerk?”
“I’m a jerk?”
“You’re an assface jerk!”
Oh, that was it. I’d had it. I was done. Old Andrew was gone from my brain. Night Breed Bart was in front of me. I didn’t care if he was my brother. I’d totally had it. I took a step toward Andrew so I could finally throttle him once and for all. Andrew’s eyes got huge and teary. He gasped really hard, then raised the zucchini above his head so he could brain me with it. I took another step, ready to kill him, all the sweet thoughts and memories erased. Then my back knotted into a tight ball. Flames shot up to my neck. I spazzed and shouted. I crumpled onto the floor, screaming in pain.
Andrew dropped the zucchini.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” he cried.
“I hurt my back,” I tried to say. But it just crushed me. This pain just completely crushed. I could only cry out.
“Felton, what’s wrong? I’m sorry!” Andrew shouted. “I’m sorry! I tried to save your cheese. I told her she shouldn’t eat it.”
“Owwwwww!” I moaned.
Then Jerri cried from her room, “I can’t help you. I can’t help you. I can’t help you.” I mean, she was crying.
I breathed: Please release muscles. Release! I rolled over to the wall and propped myself against it, breathing hard.
Jerri sobbed from the other room. I could hear her throwing things. Calling out “I can’t” as she twisted in her sweaty sheets.
Something thunked loud against the wall.
“I think Jerri just threw your cheese,” Andrew cried, tears pouring down his face.
In her room, Jerri kept sobbing.
“Oh my God,” I moaned. “What the hell’s going on? I was about to kill you, Andrew.”
Andrew bent over me, his eyeballs bleeding, his lips trembling, his nose all snotty.
“I’m sorry, Felton. I told her not to eat it.”
“Andrew,” I said, breathing hard, “You know…” I gasped with pain. “I think…ahhhh…this…this thing with Jerri…it’s really serious.”
“What the crap, Felton. I know. I know,” he cried.
“I believe she’s gone totally and completely bat-nut crazy.”
“I know. I know. She really has. It’s my fault.”
“No, I don’t think she’s…I don’t think she’s going to get better.”
“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no,” Andrew cried.
“I think we need help.”
“I burned all my clothes,” Andrew sobbed.
“I know.”
“I told Jerri I wished she were dead,” he cried.
“It’s okay. It’s not you.”
“Nobody cares about us,” Andrew drooled.
“I know. I know.”
“What are we going to do?” he cried.
Jerri continued her hissy fit.
“I have to think.”
And then Andrew kneeled down and clung on to my neck and cried for like two minutes (which hurt my back a lot, but it was worth it). We both calmed down a little.
“Let’s get away from Jerri,” I said.
CHAPTER 43: A PLAN
Andrew helped me into the basement. We sat on the couch to make a plan. But Andrew began fidgeting. Then he stood up.
“I can’t sit in this house anymore, Felton. It’s completely deadly.”
“Yeah. Outside.”
Andrew helped me into the garage. He pulled two lawn chairs out and set them up and then helped me sit down on one.
“Thank you.”
Andrew faced his chair toward mine. He sniffled. Then straightened himself up, looked me in the eye, and said, “I want to be your brother, Felton.”
It was a peculiar pronouncement. But I knew what he meant. I straightened myself up as best I could
and then said, “Thank you. I was thinking the same thing before you came in with that zucchini.”
“Oh, good. That’s good,” Andrew nodded.
Okay. I was ready. Andrew knew stuff I’d been avoiding. Here it goes: “Do you remember when Dad died?” I asked him.
“A little bit. Not much. I remember getting closed in a bedroom and you crying.”
“I’d just found him,” I said. “I imagine I was freaked.”
“Yes. It’s fine you were crying. It must be difficult to find your father hanging from the ceiling.”
“Right.” I looked down the drive, the same drive that our dad certainly looked down ten thousand times. “And I believe you’ve come to the conclusion that this Jerri trouble has something to do with Dad.”
“Of course,” Andrew said.
“I didn’t want to deal with it. I’ve been confused, Andrew.”
“I was very mad at you for that,” Andrew nodded.
“What have you found out?”
“Not much. Jerri used to keep a diary, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been looking for it.”
“You haven’t found it?”
“No. I did find out stuff though.”
“Like what?”
“Jerri won’t tell the truth. You ask her a question, and she’ll go crazy.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t want us to know anything about Dad though.”
“Why?”
“I think because she lied about him.”
“Lied? About what?”
“That he was nice.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I found a photo album from their wedding.”
“With Dad in it?” I really hadn’t seen a picture of Dad since Jerri’s bonfire. I had an idea of what he looked like, vague memories. I imagined he looked like the comedian Paul Reiser but also knew that probably wasn’t right. “You saw Dad?”
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