The Awakening

by McBean, Brett

  “Sshhh,” Toby said.

  Once Mrs. Stein had scanned his items, the old man paid, said goodbye to Mrs. Stein (“I’ll see you Monday,” Mrs. Stein said), and as he picked up his two bags and turned and headed for the door, Toby and Frankie scurried back to the candy aisle. Soon the bell jingled.

  “That was close,” Frankie said. “If he had caught us watching, we’d probably end up like that chicken.”

  Ignoring Frankie’s comment, Toby continued filling his basket with junk food.

  Soon they had what they estimated to be about thirty dollars’ worth of chocolate, chips, cookies, soda and other assorted snacks.

  When they dumped the contents of their baskets onto the counter, Mrs. Stein stared wide-eyed at the mountain of junk food. “You two are going to be sick if you eat all that.”

  “We’ll manage,” Frankie said, beaming. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

  “Do your parents know you’re buying this much junk food?”

  “Of course,” Toby answered before Frankie opened his trap and ruined everything. “They weren’t very happy about it, but they said it’s our money and our stomachs.”

  “Never mind those things. I’m worried about your teeth!” She began ringing up their items. “So would I be right in guessing that you boys are having a sleepover?”

  Toby cringed at the word sleepover—it sounded so immature, so... girlie.

  “Sort of. We’re camping out in my backyard.”

  “I see. Perfect weather for it.”

  “Say, what did that old weirdo buy?” Frankie said. “Was it cleaning products?”

  Mrs. Stein frowned. “That’s none of your business, Franklin. And he’s not a weirdo. Jack’s a harmless old man. And he’s a damn good worker, too”

  Hearing someone refer to Mr. Joseph by his Christian name always sounded odd to Toby—it was like they were talking about someone else, someone... normal.

  “You kids are just awful to him. I’ve heard about all the pranks; the late night phone calls, the trash left on his property, ringing his doorbell in the middle of the night.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head.

  That was just a few of the many things the kids in Belford had done to Mr. Joseph over the years. One time, when Toby was seven, a fire was lit in the old man’s front yard. The blaze had burned some bushes and scorched the grass, but was put out before it could cause any real damage. They never did find out who started the fire.

  Another time, about three years ago, somebody littered the old man’s front yard with manure. They didn’t just scatter a small pile over the grass—they covered most of the lawn and even some of the porch in shit. All of Pineview woke the next morning to the stench of fresh horse manure.

  A junior at Holt High named Harold Watkins was nabbed for the offense when the jerk, who had done it on a dare, was found with his pickup littered with manure and stinking to high heaven. He confessed immediately.

  “Yeah, but the old pervert deserves it,” Frankie said. “Speaking of perverts, did you see that old bum sitting in the park?”

  Mrs. Stein huffed. “He’s just a poor man down on his luck Franklin. And yes, I saw him this morning as I was opening up. As a matter of fact, I went out and offered him something to eat and drink, poor man looked like he could do with a good feed, and a good wash, but he refused. He said thanks, but no thanks. I was shocked, let me tell you.”

  “Weirdo,” Frankie muttered. “Refusing a free feed. What do you think he wants?”

  Mrs. Stein shrugged. “He didn’t say.” She gazed over their heads. “Anyway, looks like he’s gone now.”

  Both Toby and Frankie turned and looked out the window. Sure enough, the park bench the man had been sitting on was empty. They turned back. “He was there just before,” Toby said.

  “He must be moving on to the next town. Gypsies do that, you know.”

  Toby knew that gypsy was just a polite term for tramp, bum, or hobo.

  “Anyway, your groceries come to $27.94.”

  Toby and Frankie handed Mrs. Stein the money.

  After ringing up the sale, Mrs. Stein handed Toby the small amount of change and he pocketed the money—he had, after all, paid for the majority of the food and drink.

  “You two have fun tonight. But don’t go getting sick.”

  “We will, and we won’t,” Toby said and smiled.

  Mrs. Stein smiled back. Toby noticed her yellow teeth.

  They grabbed their bags of goodies, said goodbye to Mrs. Stein, and headed out of Barb’s Convenience Store.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “How are we going to get all this junk food past your mom?” Frankie said the moment they stepped outside.

  Toby looked down at the two bags he was carrying, then at the bag Frankie was holding, the one containing the bottles of Coke and Dr. Pepper. One look at all this, and his mom would freak out.

  “We should’ve thought about that before we left,” Toby sighed. Instead, he and Frankie had been too eager to get down to the store to buy as much junk food as their slim wallets allowed. “You should’ve brought your backpack. We could’ve hidden some of the food in there.”

  “Well, we don’t have my backpack, so what are we going to do? Your mom’s going to be home all day, isn’t she?”

  Toby nodded. “Dad won’t care. As long as we give him some chocolate, he’ll keep quiet. But Mom, she’ll probably take most of the food back to the store.”

  Standing in front of Barb’s, it occurred to Toby that one of his mother’s work colleagues might spot him and Frankie, who in turn would inform his mom how they had seen Toby and his friend down the street with bags full of junk food.

  Sometimes he hated living in a small town.

  As they stood, thinking, Toby noticed the Reverend Henry Wakefield strolling along the street. He had a kind smile as he stopped and chatted briefly to passersby, and when he saw Toby and Frankie he gave them a small wave. Toby waved back and the Reverend headed in their direction.

  Toby liked the Reverend Henry Wakefield, he was one of the few adults he could share a joke with, feel relaxed around—surprising, considering he was a man of God. Toby had always thought all ultra-religious people were stale, boring old farts. He guessed Pastor Wakefield was the exception.

  “Morning boys,” the Reverend said, stopping just short of them, pleasant smile never faltering.

  “Hey Rev,” Toby said, smiling.

  “Um, hey,” Frankie said, facing the Reverend, a look of surprise on his face. Frankie never went to church; Suzie didn’t have a religious bone in her ample body, so Frankie always acted nervously around religious people such as Pastor Wakefield, which Toby found amusing.

  Henry Wakefield was a tall man, a few inches over six feet, and though he was lean, he was strong. His eyes were narrow-set, warm, and his nose jutted out just a shade too much for his angular face. He had short dark hair that was dusted with gray, though he still looked ten years younger than his real age of forty. This morning he was wearing loose fitting pants and a short-sleeved purple shirt.

  “So what has got you two up this early? Helping your parents with the shopping?”

  Toby shook his head. “No, me and Frankie are having a campout tonight in my backyard.”

  “I see. So buying too much junk food?”

  “Yeah,” Toby said, knowing this information wouldn’t get back to his mom—the Reverend wasn’t that kind of person.

  “Well not that much junk food,” Frankie said, stumbling over his words. “After all, gluttony is one of the Seven Deadly Sins, right?”

  “Relax, Frankie, I’m sure God understands,” the Reverend said. “Jesus was young once, too, though I don’t think they had Ho-Hos back in His day.”

  Toby chuckled. Frankie laughed, too, though nervously.

  “So, will I see you at church tomorrow?” the Reverend asked Toby.

  “Yeah, I can’t wait,” Toby huffed.

  “Good, because I’ll be yammering on about sex and
violence—you know, all the good stuff from the Bible.”

  “Really?” Frankie said.

  Toby shook his head. “He was only kidding.”

  The Reverend raised his eyebrows. “You think so, huh?”

  “I know so.”

  “Well, maybe Frankie had better come tomorrow and find out.”

  “Maybe I will,” Frankie said. “If you’re going to be talking about sex and violence, I mean.”

  The Reverend couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m sorry Frankie, I shouldn’t laugh. But Toby’s right, I was only kidding. I don’t want you to start spreading nasty rumors that Christianity is full of sex and violence. That would only stir the natives, and we wouldn’t want that.”

  “Huh?”

  “He means, people would start thinking that all the Reverend talks about is sex and violence during mass.”

  “But that would be cool. I’d go to church if the Reverend talked about sex and violence.”

  “I’m sure we’d get a lot more people attending if that were the case. But I’m sorry to disappoint you, Frankie. All I talk about is boring stuff like plagues, and the fires of Hell, and people being nailed to crosses and left to rot out in the sun.”

  “Now I know you’re jerking me around,” Frankie said.

  The Reverend winked at Toby, then he said to Frankie, “Guilty as charged.”

  “Yeah, if church was all about that stuff, think I would complain about going all the time?” Toby said.

  Frankie shook his head. “Guess not.”

  The Reverend smiled. “Well, don’t want to hold you guys up any longer. I guess you’ve still got to get ready for your campout?”

  “Yeah. We still have to put up the tent.”

  “Good to hear. Idle hands and all that...”

  “Hey, that was a cool movie,” Frankie said. “Jessica Alba was smoking...” Frankie suddenly looked like he had just dropped the F bomb in front of his grandmother. “Sorry, Reverend.”

  “What for? I agree, Jessica Alba is smoking hot. Just don’t tell my wife I said that.”

  “I won’t,” he said, earnestly.

  Toby shook his head again.

  To Toby, the Reverend said: “I’ll see you tomorrow.” To Frankie: “And I’ll be seeing you next time I talk about Jessica Alba running amok around a summer camp with a chainsaw. See you later, boys.”

  The Reverend continued walking along the street.

  “You know, for a priest he’s pretty cool,” Frankie said.

  “Yeah,” Toby agreed.

  “I didn’t make a complete fool of myself, did I? I always say stupid things when I’m around priests and nuns.”

  Toby looked at Frankie. “When were you ever around nuns?”

  Frankie said, “I was around a bunch of nuns years ago. I remember saying something like, ‘Hey, you don’t waddle like penguins’.”

  Toby smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like something you’d say.”

  “So did I?”

  “Huh?”

  “Make a fool of myself around the Reverend Wakefield?”

  “Yeah, but if you have to make a fool of yourself around someone, he’s the one you want to do it around.”

  “Yeah, he is pretty cool. He almost makes me want to go to church. So,” Frankie sighed. “What’re we going to do about our problem? You’re the brain, Toby. Do we try and sneak around to the tree house and dump the bags and hope your mom doesn’t see?”

  Toby set his bags down. “It’s too risky. Do you have any more bags at home?”

  “What, like backpacks?”

  “Nah, like suitcases. Of course backpacks.”

  “Yeah, I think so. Some old ones. Why? You wanna go back to my place and put the food in another bag?”

  Toby shrugged. “Might work.”

  “Yeah, but wouldn’t it be suspicious? I mean, we go out to the store empty handed, and we come back with a backpack?”

  “I guess you’re right. For once.”

  “Hey, dorks. Whatcha doing?”

  Toby groaned. He wasn’t in the mood for Warrick this morning.

  “Quick, let’s run,” Frankie muttered.

  They turned and faced Warrick. “What are you, stalking us Warrick?” Toby said.

  “Yeah, right. So you get away all right last night, Fairchild?”

  “Sure. You?”

  “Of course. It’ll be a cold day in hell when the cops catch this little black duck. But it was a wild time, huh? Wilmont, you missed out big-time.” Warrick sported a clownish grin, and in the bright morning sun, his army of pimples glistened like tiny rubies.

  “Yeah, Toby told me about it.”

  “So where were you? At home, jerking off?”

  “In your dreams, Warrick.”

  Still grinning, Warrick said, “Well, it was fun while it lasted. We showed that nigger a thing or two. Pity the cops had to spoil the party.”

  “Don’t think the bum would agree with you,” Toby said.

  “Hey, that old pervert got what he deserved. Spying on a couple of teenagers. Anyway, he wasn’t hurt—well, not badly. It was all in good fun.”

  Toby huffed.

  Warrick frowned at Toby. “So anyway, you hear that a few people got charged?”

  “With what?”

  “Disturbing the peace, drinking while underage, drinking alcohol in public. Nothing major. The cops have no idea what really was going down. Nobody blabbed about the bum being there. Somehow he managed to escape. Lucky for him; the cops would’ve definitely placed him in jail for vagrancy if they had caught him. You know, if I were in charge of this town, I’d have kicked him out yesterday, when he first arrived. We don’t need stanky bums clogging up our streets.”

  “You can’t kick a person out just for smelling,” Toby said. “If that were true, you would have been gone a long time ago.”

  Warrick gave Toby the one-fingered salute. “Still, I say one bum today, ten next week, and then before you know it, the whole town’ll be overrun with hobos. Makes me sick just thinking about it.”

  “We think he slept the night in the town square,” Frankie said.

  “No shit?” Warrick glanced over towards the park. “I would’ve thought for sure he would’ve left town after last night.”

  “That’s what I said,” Toby told Warrick.

  “Wonder if he’s still in there?”

  “He’s gone,” Toby said.

  “How do you know?”

  “We saw him sitting on the bench,” Frankie said. “Before we went into Barb’s. Now, he’s gone.”

  “Probably waiting at your house, Warrick, so he can give you some career advice.”

  “Hardy-fucking-har, Fairchild. Anyone ever tell you you’re about as funny as a heart attack? But shit, if he did sleep in the square, someone should’ve called the cops, then he would’ve been told to hit the road, or maybe even put in jail. Anyway, I just hope he got crapped on by pigeons.” Warrick cackled.

  “If someone had called the cops, then maybe the hobo would’ve told them all about what happened. You ever thought about that?”

  Warrick shrugged. “Nah, he wouldn’t say anything. Then it’d come out that he was perving on some kids. Besides, as if the cops would believe a stanky old nigger bum. They would think he was just crazy.” Warrick nodded down at the bags Toby and Frankie were holding. “So when did you two get married?”

  “Last week,” Toby said.

  “And I wasn’t invited?”

  “As if we’d invite you,” Frankie said.

  “Well I’m hurt. Really. So, which one’s the butt-fucker, and which one gets his butt fucked?”

  “Get lost, Warrick,” Toby said.

  “Let me think,” Warrick continued, apparently as deaf as he was crude. “Who would be the male, and who would be the bitch. I reckon that Fairchild would be the prissy one, and Wilmont would be the big hairy macho fag.”

  “What the hell do you want?” Frankie said. “We’ve wasted enough time standing here
listening to your bullshit.”

  “Yeah, what do you want?” Toby said.

  Warrick placed the back of his right hand across his forehead and rolled his head back. “Oh, how can I go on?” he said in a high Southern accent. “Toby and Franklin don’t wish to speak to little ole me.”

  “Finally he gets the message,” Frankie said.

  Warrick took his hand away from his head and nodded at the bags. “Seriously, what is all that food for? You guys having a party?”

  “No,” Toby answered, a little too quickly.

  A wry grin spread across Warrick’s bony, acne-coated face. “You’re lying Fairchild. I can always tell when you’re lying.”

  “Am not. This is for... ah...”

  “Our parents,” Frankie cut in. “They’re having a barbecue tomorrow.”

  It was a good save on Frankie’s part. Usually he wasn’t very good at telling lies. But Warrick’s grin remained, so maybe it wasn’t such a good lie after all. Warrick shook his head. “Bullshit. Parents never eat that much junk food. And they always buy the food themselves. They never trust their kids to buy the right kinds of foods.”

  “Your parents maybe,” Toby said. “But not ours.”

  Warrick sighed. “Ah, the stupidity of youth.”

  “You can talk. You’re the poster child for stupidity.”

  Warrick scowled at Frankie. “Fuck you, Wilmont. I’m smarter than you any day of the week.”

  “As if,” Frankie huffed.

  The thing was, even though Warrick acted like an ass, Toby knew that under all that crudeness and sarcasm, he really was a smart guy.

  “I’ll tell you what. If you tell me what you guys are really up to, I’ll tell you the latest bit of news.”

  This was Warrick’s usual way of getting people to include him—and for people to be nice to him. If they didn’t want to see his latest trick, or hear his latest dirty joke, he would bribe them, usually with gossip that, somehow, only he knew about.

  “Are you talking about what happened to Mr. Joseph’s house?” Toby said.

  The air was knocked out of Warrick’s bluster. “Um, yeah. How’d you know?”