Spacecraft

by Benjamin Broke

worried. I know you got my back.” I said.

  “Yeah, I got your back. Your way, way back. Like back behind some bushes back.” He said.

  “Hey we ran into G and Todd and some other dude up at Hammy just now.” Michael said. “Todd was trying to start shit.”

  “He’s always trying to start shit. I hate that fuck. What were they doing?”

  “Just fucking up one of the walls on the basketball court.” Michael said.

  “Oh the mayhem thing? They put that shit everywhere. Who was this kid they were with?”

  “I don’t know. A short kid, busting a sag. I never saw him before.” Michael said.

  “Probably Bill. That’s Max’s little brother. Actually half brother, I think they had different dads. Remember we used to make him shoplift shit from the grocery store when he was little?”

  “That’s him?” I asked. “I remember that. He was like six or seven and you and Max would shove candy bars down his pants and he’d be crying. He’d walk out of the store all crooked.”

  “He grew up man. He’s got mental problems now. Max told me.” Jeremy said.

  “You still talk to Max?” I asked.

  “No. He moved away last year. He went to college in Oregon I think. He plays the violin and he got a scholarship for it.” He took a sip. “I guess he’s real good.”

  “That’s right, I forgot. He always had to be at music practice. It’s weird to think he’ll wind up playing classical music in an orchestra somewhere and he used to do whipits with us and throw rocks at cars and shit.”

  “You threw rocks at cars?” Michael asked. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we were bored or something.” Jeremy said.

  “We were like ten or eleven and we had this whole ritual about it.” I said. “We used Jeremy’s house as our base. We’d all say we were sleeping over at his house ‘cause his mom was the most oblivious. After she was asleep we’d put all-black clothes on and sneak out. We had different spots, but our favorite was the front yard of that big mansion up on New York and Holliston. We’d hide behind the hedge and wait for a car to come along. When it got close we’d jump up and just nail it with rocks. Most of the time we missed, but every once in awhile we’d hear a thunk -and we’d take off running. We broke some tail lights, and cracked a couple of rear windows doing that.”

  Michael laughed. “That’s straight-up pointless and dangerous.”

  “Yeah, we had some fun doing it though.” Jeremy said.

  “Sounds like a good way to get your ass kicked.” Michael said.

  “Yeah, but we never got caught. We were so young anyway that if we did get caught, it would’ve just been a stern warning or a ticket or something. We tried to do M-80s and Black-Cats too, but we could never time it right.” Jeremy said.

  “And you did all this just for fun?”

  “It was fun.” I said. “Why the fuck not? It’s better than joining the boy scouts or some shit. And really, how much has changed? I mean, what the fuck is the point of running from the police? That’s pointless and dangerous too.”

  “I don’t think it’s pointless.” Michael said. “It’s good practice for one thing. If we ever actually have to ditch them to get out of trouble, we’ll know what to do. plus, it fucks with their heads. Put yourself in their position- say you’re a cop and every time you see a kid, they start running and you can never catch them. Well, after awhile, you’re gonna stop trying so hard right? Fuck, I mean, it makes a statement. When they say ‘stop’ we’re supposed to shit our pants. Why? Who’re They? Just a bunch of fat assholes. They only have power because we give it to them.”

  “And ‘cause they got guns.” Jeremy pointed out.

  “Okay, running from the police is slightly less pointless than throwing rocks at cars.” I said.

  “So let’s fuckin’ do it then.” Michael said. Jeremy took some convincing -he said he was still sore from the night before- but eventually he agreed. We finished our beers and walked over to Lake, leaving our skates in the garage. We had a good plan to get back to the bunker. We were going to split up and take different routes to Jeremy’s neighbor’s yard. Then we’d just have to go over the wall and down the rat hole to safety. If it worked, the cop would think we disappeared from the neighbor’s yard, not Jeremy’s.

  We stood by Saint Elizabeth’s for a long time before a cop car finally came by. We took off running. When we met at the hole’s entrance we discovered that none of us had been chased. We gave up and went back to the garage to drink the rest of the beer.

  19

  Michael’s brother was late. He’d told me to meet him at PCC, down by the tennis courts at 8:00 AM. I’d been a little early because I was nervous and I wound up sitting on a bench for over a half an hour watching some old guys play tennis. I couldn’t even figure out who was winning. Finally Jason came down from the upper parking lot where the flea market was happening. “How’s it going?” I asked. “Are you making any money up there?”

  “Actually, yeah. I sold a few toys and some old records.” He said. “And we had a stroke of luck. Some guy asked about the guitar and I told him that it was an antique that’d been in my family for years and I wanted at least six hundred for it. Of course the guy told me I was nuts, but I said that someone offered me eight for it once. The guy in the space next to me, the one who’s watching my stuff, overheard the whole thing. You should go up there right now, it’s pretty dead. It’s the guy in the hat on the left of my space. I’m in the third row, four spaces in. I told him I had to make a phone call and use the john so you can’t take too long.”

  I left my skate with him and walked through the campus trying not to think of all the questions the guy might ask. I knew that if I over-thought it I might give myself away by sounding rehearsed. The main thing I had to remember was who I was. If I could keep that in my head, everything else would fall into place. Once I was in the market area, among the tables of nick-knacks and refuse, I felt calm. I saw Jason’s spot right away. I started at the end of the row and browsed a few other tables before I went to Jason’s. Our guy was watching me from a folding chair. At least I think he was watching me, he had sunglasses on so I wasn’t sure. He was a big guy in khakis and a button-up short sleeved shirt. I picked up the guitar and reminded myself what I was supposed to be thinking. “Hey mister,” I said excitedly, “how much do you want for this guitar?”

  “That stuffs not mine.” He said. “I’m just keeping an eye on it for the guy while he’s in the can.”

  I looked from him down to the guitar, as if I were studying it. “Well, do you have any idea how much he might want for this? I mean, he’s just got it sitting here with this junk.” I said, shaking my head.

  “I heard him tell someone it was an antique. He should be back any minute, and you can ask him yourself.” The guy said, a little annoyed.

  I pretended I was thinking some more. “Um, hey, can you do me a favor? I have to go call my dad. He’s definitely gonna want to buy this. Do you think you can hold it for me and make sure the guy doesn’t sell it to anyone else before we get back?”

  “Yeah, I guess I could do that. It’s just a old guitar, I don’t think anyone else would be much interested in it.” He said.

  I chuckled. “Mister, this is a 1932 Silvertone-P with pearl inlay. If anyone else knew it was here I think they’d be interested.” I said.

  “Oh?” Now he was curious. “It really is an antique huh?”

  “Well, please don’t mention it to him. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s got…”

  “It’s a black guy.” The man said.

  “There you go. A lot of old blues musicians in the south used these. Robert Johnson used one. The company only made like two hundred of them, and I think there’s only five known to still exist. Can you hang on to it until I come back with my dad?” I asked. “He’s a collector and he’s been looking for one of these for a long time. This is going to make his year.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll keep
it over here next to my chair.” He said reaching for it. I handed it over carefully. I could see the wheels turning in his head. “How much do you think this thing’s worth?” He asked.

  I looked at him for a second as if I was considering the wisdom of telling him. “You promise not to tell the guy when he gets back?”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  “Well one sold at auction last year for over three thousand dollars.” I said. “And this one’s in better condition.” The guy let out a low whistle. “I’m going to call my dad, he should be here in twenty minutes. Don’t let the guy sell it, please.” I said.

  “Alright, alright.”

  “Thanks.” I walked away fast. When I got back to the tennis courts Jason was sitting where I’d been. When he saw me he stood up.

  “How’d it go?” He asked.

  “I don’t think it could’ve gone much better.” I said.

  “Good. I’ll be right back. I’ll be around to pick you up as soon as I can make the deal. I’ll tell him I have to leave early to pick up my mom or something, if he hasn’t thought of it already, that should force his imagination. I’ll come around as soon as I can load up the car.” He said.

  I sat on the bench and lit a cigarette. I’d played my role well. If something went wrong now it wasn’t my fault. I sat there for about an hour before I saw Jason pull his little Honda up to the curb. I ran to the car and jumped in with my skate. “We did it!” He said,