No Take Backs

by Otis Hanby

  “What are you gonna do? Get out and take on all of them?” I ask, feeling scared.

  “No. Just give me the bat and watch.”

  I give Chuck the bat nervously as Rodney continues revving the engine. Chuck rolls down his window and Rodney accelerates forward. A couple of kids move to the side of the road, but the majority of them stand their ground. I look at the speedometer, then at Rodney. We’re going about thirty miles per hour. Time seems to stop as we near the group. Rodney doesn’t slow down, and the black kids are forced to make way once again. Chuck leans out of the window with the bat and swings it. I don’t see what happened because I intentionally shut my eyes, but I hear something hit the side of the car. Whether it’s the bat or a body, I don’t know, but what I do know is that I look back and see one of the black kids rolling on the concrete with his arms tucked into his sides.

  Rodney brakes and spins around again. The black kids seem really pissed off. They’re yelling and jumping up and down; some are looking around on the ground, presumably for more rocks to throw. Not waiting for them to find any, Rodney steps on the gas pedal hard, smoking the rear tires. The tires catch traction, and the car jumps forward. Two of the kids grab the one on the ground and drag him to the side of the road just as we’re about to run over him. The other kids are already on the sides of the street yelling and throwing rocks at us as we speed past. Chuck is leaning out of the window again, giving them his middle finger. When we’re past them, he climbs back down into the car, laughing hysterically. Rodney has a stone cold look on his face as he races forward. Soon Rodney turns onto another street, and the black kids are out of sight. I sit slumped in the back seat, sick to my stomach. I forgot how different it is here. Rodney’s always been crazy, but now he’s off the rails. Looks like he finally found a friend who’s equally as crazy as him. I always held back with Rodney, kind of keeping him in check a little. He seems to be happy to have a friend more like him. I just want to be back at my parents’ house where it’s safe. Rodney continues to drive fast and erratic like he’s got something to prove. I wonder if either of them can sense the fear radiating from me. They don’t seem to, and I try to keep it that way. I take another cigarette from Chuck. I light it and try to make some sense of the craziness that just happened.

  Instead of asking Rodney to take me home, and risk looking weak in front of him and Chuck, we went to Rodney’s house and played video games. After raiding his pantry and watching ‘Red Dawn,’ we leave for Chuck’s house, which is where we are now, hanging out and drinking a few beers. I’m feeling slightly buzzed when Rodney says we should take off and do something. Rodney and I are walking to the door when Chuck runs to the kitchen and returns with a can of biscuit dough.

  “What’s that for?” I ask.

  “You’ll see,” Chuck says, and we walk to Rodney’s car.

  It’s getting dark and cold outside, and we head towards the more rural area of Garland. As we drive, the trees begin to get thicker. I’m a little nervous not knowing where we’re going. I’m sure that whatever they have planned is going to be against the law, dangerous, or both — the road changes to blacktop from concrete. Rodney drives up a hill and slows to a crawl. Chad and Rodney seem to be looking for something out of the passenger window. I turn and look out my window and notice a graveyard.

  “What are y’all looking for?” I ask.

  “A special grave,” Rodney says.

  “There it is,” Chuck says, and Rodney brings the Firebird to a stop.

  “Yup, sure is,” Rodney says, pointing to a cluster of gravestones.

  “There what is?” I ask.

  Chuck continues to stare out the window and says, “You see that gravestone that says, Smiley?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Smiley was a guy that supposedly killed his whole family. And I heard that if you lie down on his grave at midnight, you can’t get up because he grabs hold of you.”

  I shudder as a chill shoots through me. Rodney opens his car door and gets out. Chuck gets out and moves his seat to let me squeeze through. He leans against the car as he waits for Rodney to walk around to the passenger side. I pull three cigarettes out of my jacket pocket and give Rodney and Chuck each one. I’m hoping to delay whatever it is they want to do, even it’s just long enough to smoke a cigarette.

  We sit in an eerie silence, the kind that can only be generated in such a haunting place. The wind blows gently, and I can hear a wind chime clanging somewhere in the distance. Chuck takes the last drag on his cigarette, throws it on the ground, and steps on it. Then he takes the can of biscuit dough out of his jacket pocket. He pulls the wrapping and then whacks the tube against the roof of the car, making it pop open, revealing the dough inside. Chuck digs out half of the contents and hands it to Rodney. Rodney peels the dough apart and begins rolling it into golf size balls as Chuck does the same.

  “I was told by my friend that biscuit dough eats the finish off of gravestones. I don’t know how true it is, but I’m gonna pelt that fucker’s grave with some of this,” Chuck says as he rolls the last of the dough and sets the balls on the hood of Rodney’s car.

  He picks up a ball and hurls it. The dough hits the gravestone and sticks to it. I feel a little weird witnessing someone desecrating a grave, and I’ve always thought that it was bad luck. I decline the dough as they offer me some, and feel guilty enough just watching. Rodney throws a dough ball, and it also sticks. The headstone does appear to be corroded, maybe as a result of previous dough ball assaults, and Rodney reaches for the last ball. He throws it, but this one doesn’t stick. I count a total of five dough balls attached to the headstone. As Rodney and Chuck are admiring their work, the wind suddenly picks up and begins to blow the tree branches hard. The wind chime sings noisily. I break out in goosebumps as the temperature seems to drop. I tuck my hands into my pockets. I guess Chuck takes the gusting wind as a taunt because he begins walking boldly towards the gravestone.

  “What? You don’t like me fucking with your headstone, you sick bitch? What the fuck are you gonna do about it?” Chuck says, still walking forward with his arms outstretched.

  At that moment, I hear a creaking sound and a tree branch, as big as the car, breaks off from one of the overhanging trees and almost lands on Chuck. He jumps back and shouts, “Fuck!”

  I look over at Rodney, who’s laughing. The wind dies as suddenly as it started, and Chuck turns around to face us. He tries hard to look as if the incident doesn’t bother him, but the paleness of his face betrays him. Then I hear a growling sound from a distance. Chuck freezes and cocks his ear to the direction of the noise as Rodney, and I look for the source. It’s getting closer and louder. A long moment passes. Then, as if some force draws my eyes to a particular spot, I see movement in the distant trees.

  “Look!” I yell as a dog comes into view.

  Everyone seems frozen as the dog is running straight at us. As it passes under a street lamp, we can see that it’s a Doberman Pinscher and that it only has three legs. Still, it’s covering ground at an incredible speed, and it’s snarling fiercely.

  “Run!” Chuck yells, losing his cool for the first time that day.

  I dive into the back of the Firebird and pull the seat back for Chuck. I see Rodney sprint past the front windshield to the driver’s side. Rodney and Chuck dive into the car at the same time, and Rodney’s starting the car almost before his butt lands in the seat. Suddenly, the dog slams into the side of the car door, scaring all of us. The Doberman has its one front paw on the window, and it makes muddy streaks against the glass as the dog jumps up and down. His growling barks penetrate the car. I lean away from the window, trying to put as much distance as I can in between the dog and me. The Doberman is so aggressive and pissed that I’m sure it’s going to find a way into the car. The Firebird roars to life and Rodney floors the accelerator, forcing the dog to fall away from the vehicle. As we speed away, I look out the back window, watching the Doberman give chase. The distance between the dog an
d us is growing, but I struggle to shake the irrational fear that he’ll catch up to us. Rodney pulls onto the highway and speeds off leaving the graveyard and dog far behind.

  Rodney and Chuck are laughing hysterically as we drive down the highway. My heart is still beating so fast it feels like it might explode inside my chest. Their laughter is infectious, though, and I begin laughing, too. I laugh so much that my stomach hurts and tears start pouring down my cheeks. Rodney is laughing so hard he’s forced to pull off to the shoulder, so we don’t crash.

  After several moments, we begin to settle down. I wipe the tears out of my eyes. There’s silence for a few seconds until I hear Chuck snort a short laugh through his nose. I laugh at that, and then Rodney laughs at me. Chuck, in turn, looks at me, and the fit starts all over again. I beg for everyone to stop because my stomach is killing me. I’m beginning to think that it might be possible to die from laughing. When we finally get it together, we sit parked on the side of the road for a while longer, trying to find reality again. I sigh deeply. Tense moments need an equally emotional release, I guess. That’s the only thing I can reason why we broke out in such a fit. Whatever it is, I feel better for it. Rodney pulls back onto the highway.

  “Did you get a look at that dog?” Chuck asks.

  “Yeah, that was a scary son-of-a-bitch. You should have seen your face,” Rodney says to Chuck.

  “I wasn’t scared!”

  “Bullshit. You were scared man. You saw him, Corey. He was a scared little bitch, huh?”

  “I don’t know if he was scared, but I think I shit my pants.”

  “Yeah, okay I guess I was a little scared too,” Chuck admits. “But man, that was some freaky shit.”

  “It sure was. Speaking of freaky shit, why don’t we go to Ranch One-Eleven?” Rodney suggests.

  The sick feeling in my stomach returns. I’ve had enough drama for one night.

  “Fuck it! Let’s go check it out. You in Corey?” Chuck asks.

  “I guess.”

  Chuck turns around in his seat and says, “You know there’s been a lot of activity out there lately. Freaking cats nailed to trees and guts stuffed in the hollows of the trees...”

  “Why would you want to go out there and see that stuff?” I ask.

  “Something to do. Are you scared?”

  “No,” I lie. I’m a little intrigued by the macabre, but the danger outweighs my curiosity.

  “Well let’s go,” Chuck says, turning around.

  Ranch One-Eleven isn’t that far away, and we arrive quickly. Rodney pulls up to a single barred gate that I don’t remember seeing the last time we were here.

  “Go out there and see if it’s locked,” Rodney says to Chuck.

  Chuck gets out of the car and walks to the gate. He turns around, and I can see the disappointment on his face in the beam of the headlights. Relief rushes through me, but knowing Rodney, he probably has a pair of bolt cutters in the trunk. Chuck gets back into the car.

  “It’s locked,” Chuck says.

  “What now?” Rodney asks.

  “What time do you have to be home?” Chuck asks me.

  “I don’t know. I should get back pretty soon though.”

  “I’m pretty tired anyway. I’m just gonna drop you guys off and go home,” Rodney says.

  I feel more than a little relieved. I just hope my parents aren’t going to be all pissed off that I’m not home when they get there.

  We’re driving back in the direction of South Garland when Rodney suddenly pulls off the highway into a housing development area. He stops the car in a vacant lot with the carcasses of the framed houses in the background. In front of the vehicle are three porta potties.

  “Come on!” Rodney says as he gets out of the car. Chuck follows quickly. I watch them through the windshield of the Firebird between the front seats. Rodney begins pushing the side of one of the porta johns, rocking it back and forth. I hear the liquid sloshing around inside. The porta potty rocks a few times and then finally drops onto its side.

  “Yeah!” Chuck yells.

  “Your turn!” Rodney yells to Chuck.

  Chuck rocks the porta john the same way Rodney did. It only takes a couple of times before it falls on its side. They both yell and laugh and give each other high fives.

  “Corey, get out here! There’s still one more!” Rodney yells.

  “Yeah, don’t be a pussy!” Chuck yells.

  I get out and see the liquid from inside the porta potties spreading on the ground. The smell is horrible. I look up and down the highway for any sign of traffic. Not seeing anybody, I run to the remaining porta potty and begin pushing it. It rocks and rocks and I think the damn thing’s never going to fall over. With a little anger and fear mixed, I give the porta john a big shove, and the thing falls on its side like the others. Rodney and Chuck high-five each other again, giddy over the destruction we’ve caused.

  “Let’s go before someone comes,” Rodney says, running towards the car. I couldn’t think of a better idea myself.

  Rodney pulls into my driveway a little after 10:00. I thank him for letting me hang out and walk up to my house. As I walk in, I see my dad and stepmom sitting in the chairs they always sit in. My dad has his feet propped on a footstool with his hands folded across his stomach. He looks up from the television and says, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I say.

  My stepmom just waves and continues watching the news.

  She has her legs folded underneath her, and her chin is resting on the palm of her hand. I go over and hug my dad, then my stepmom. My stepmom barely returns my hug. They don’t seem mad, just totally absorbed in the news, so I go into the kitchen and sit at the table looking through the Rolodex of phone numbers.

  I don’t know who I’m going to call, so I randomly flip through the alphabetical tabs. I get to the L’s, and a name jumps out at me. In my handwriting is the name “Lisa.”

  I met Lisa at Town East Mall in Mesquite last summer. I was walking around with Rodney when I saw a couple of cute girls in the food court. Lisa is a petite girl, well endowed, and so bubbly and energetic it’s hard not to like her. I adored her from the start. Rodney and I approached Lisa and her friend and said “hi.” They greeted us back and giggled. I noticed a piggy bank in Lisa’s arms and asked why she had it. She said she bought it because she collects pigs. I reached in my pocket and grabbed a couple of coins and pushed them through the slot on top of the piggy bank. I can’t even remember Lisa’s friend’s name now because I was too absorbed with Lisa at the time. Rodney was happy to keep the friend busy as I got to know Lisa. She gave me her phone number before we left the mall. I called and chatted with her a few times before I discovered she had a boyfriend. Disappointed to learn that we would only be friends, I stopped calling her.

  I wonder if she remembers me. I wonder if I should give her a call.

  I pick up the receiver from the wall in the kitchen and dial her number. The phone rings a couple of times.

  “Hello?” a voice says.

  “Is Lisa there?”

  “This is she.”

  “Hey Lisa, this is Corey. Do you remember me?”

  “Yeah, hi Corey, how’ve you been?”

  “Alright, I guess. What have you been up to?”

  “Not much. I haven’t heard from you in a long time. What made you call me so suddenly?”

  “I don’t know really. I was just in town and thought about you so I thought I would give you a call.”

  “In town? Did you move or something?”

  “I got into a lot of trouble, so I live with my cousin way out in the boonies.”

  “Oh yeah? What happened?”

  “I’ve been getting into a lot of fights and got kicked out of school. My grades are really bad, but I think I’m gonna pass tenth grade. My girlfriend also broke up with me before I got shipped off.”

  “You had a girlfriend? What happened?”

  “I don’t know; I’m still trying to figure it out. She already h
as a new boyfriend. I guess she lied about being in love with me,” I say, feeling sadness build in my chest.

  “It sounds like she was seeing someone else, or was interested in seeing someone else before she broke up with you.”

  “What about you? Are you still seeing your boyfriend?” I ask, wanting to change the subject.

  “Not at the moment. He’s being a total asshole right now. We break up and get back together all the time. Hey, you remember your friend Chance?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Chance is a kid I used to hang out with sometimes and lived down the street from me. He was the first kid I met when I moved to the neighborhood. We would skateboard together during the summer. It’s been months since I’ve seen him.

  Lisa continued, “I saw him walking down the street by my neighborhood and asked my friend to pull over to see if he wanted a ride. He got into the car and sat in the back seat. We were listening to the radio, singing along, and he told me to ‘turn that nigger music off.’ I told him that it was my friend’s car and we could listen to whatever we wanted. I asked him if he was racist and he said, ‘Yeah. I’m a Confederate Hammer Skinhead. White power!’ I told him that I was a Jew and I didn’t deserve to be hated for no reason. He told me I was a ‘no good kike’ and threw gum in my hair. Then he started spitting on me. My friend pulled the car over and told him to get out. He said he didn’t want to ride with a ‘nigger-loving Jew’ anyway. All I could do was cry. What a bastard. Did you know that about him?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I say, feeling sick. “Lisa, I’m sorry. I’ll kick his ass if I ever see him again. You’re such a sweet girl. That shouldn’t have happened to you.”

  “I’m over it now. He does need his ass kicked, though. You would do that for me? You would kick his ass for me?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “You’re such a sweetie. I knew I should have dated you instead of my dickhead boyfriend. If we end up breaking up for good, we should consider seeing each other.”

  “I’d like that,” I say.

  And I would date Lisa if it weren’t for the fact that I don’t live in Garland anymore. I like her a lot, and I’m a little sad knowing we’ll probably never be a couple. I can’t stop thinking about how Erica broke my heart. I know I should move on, but I can’t let go of the special way she made me feel. It was always something more significant than physical attraction. I remember the way she filled every cell of my body with warmth. I wonder if such a connection could exist with another girl, and I know in my heart of hearts that I’ll be chasing that feeling until I find it again. I’m convinced that Erica felt that with me, which makes me wonder how she could give it up so easily. My spirits sink. I hear Lisa make some adjustments from the other end of the phone, breaking the patch of silence.