by Justin Olson
“When was all this?” I ask.
“The marriage?” he asks.
“No. Her knocking on your door.”
“About two weeks ago.”
A nurse with a clipboard walks into the room to check something, and she looks at me and the dog. “No dogs allowed in the hospital. Don’t you know he has an infection?”
I stand, almost as an automatic response. “Oh. Sorry.” I definitely don’t want to make Geoffrey worse.
“It’s okay,” Geoffrey says. “He’s my dog.”
The nurse shakes her head. “Still no dogs allowed in the hospital.” She leaves the room, and Geoffrey tells me to sit.
He says, “I’d rather die with company than survive alone.”
HIDDEN
• • • • •
Tickles is curled up in a ball on his pillow bed in my room. “He can secretly stay in my room. And when I leave, I’ll put him in Geoffrey’s house.”
“Secretly, huh?” says Seth on the other end of the line.
I lie on my bed with the world’s largest smile on my face. Seth called a few minutes ago. It’s the first real, uninterrupted talk we’ve had since he left. “But enough about my problems. How’s Seattle?”
“Seattle is great. I am forgetting that I have to live in a town of three thousand people for a while.”
“Are you getting good pictures?”
“Not really. Nothing amazing yet. And my dad is being a pain. But he’s back at work now, so I have some more time to do my own thing.”
I want to tell him I can’t wait to have him back in Whitehall, but I don’t know if that’s cool to say. It might come off as pathetic. So I don’t say anything.
“Are you there?” he asks.
“Sorry, yeah.”
He chuckles. “Anyway, I better go clean up the kitchen before my dad gets home. It pisses him off when I leave plates and glasses out.”
My stomach drops at the thought of going another two weeks without Seth.
“But feel free to text or call me anytime, Charlie. If you want.”
“Okay,” I say. “I will.”
After I hang up, I notice Tickles still asleep, and I wonder if I can just sleep the next two weeks away.
COME AS YOU ARE, LEAVE CHANGED
• • • • •
The sound of the balls hitting the pins ricochets around the cavernous, dim hall. I can’t believe I’m at the bowling alley with my dad and his friends. I sit in front, near the lane, alone, and my dad and his buddies are in the back with beer.
One of his friends, a guy named George Smithers, just finished bowling and is walking back, passing me. “Charlie, I haven’t seen you in forever. You’ve gotten so big. Come sit with us.”
I think it’s funny when people say I’ve gotten big, which is really the only thing adults know how to say to teenagers they haven’t seen in a while, because I haven’t grown much at all in a few years. I am easily one of the shortest freshmen. Or, sophomore now, I guess. Add that to the reasons why I’m picked on.
George Smithers is a tall man, and he looks at me. “Come on. Come chat.”
They all make room for me as I awkwardly nudge into the guys surrounding the table. “Charlie,” laughs Ted. “Twice in a few days. What gives?”
A lot of the guys echo my name and say hi.
“I actually got him to join us tonight,” says my dad. He tips a beer toward me when he says that.
I can’t believe I’m joining him, because I feel like this is hell. But I don’t want to disappoint my dad.
“My boy is coming too. I’m sure you know him,” says a guy named Melvin.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“You know Trey Boxer,” says my dad.
Images of Psych of the Ass Trio flood my mind. I didn’t know Psych was Melvin’s son. Oh god. I don’t want to see any member of the Ass Trio tonight. Or basically ever.
George sips his beer and asks me, “Any girl in the picture?”
My face turns red. I think about Jennifer Bennett, but she’s not really in the picture. At least not in the sense that George means. “Uh.” I shake my head.
It’s my turn to bowl, so I get up and the guys cheer me on. I take aim and hit three pins. I’m awful at bowling, and I can’t wait to get home and hug Tickles. I don’t talk to anyone as I wait for my ball to return. I focus on the remaining seven pins. I manage to knock four more pins down, for a total of seven pins in that frame.
“Not too bad,” says Ted as he gets up to bowl.
Strike.
The guys cheer. But I sit there awkwardly, unsure what to do as I see everyone high-fiving, laughing, smiling. My fingers fidget. I twist my foot on the ground.
Ted walks back and asks what I want to do with myself after school, as the rest of the guys cheer on another guy I don’t know. By the way, this is the second-most-common thing that adults say to me, after “You’ve gotten big.”
“Uh, not sure.”
“Any job or career thoughts? Work at the mine with the rest of us?”
“Hopefully not.” I immediately regret saying that, thinking I pissed off Ted. But he just laughs.
“Don’t blame you.”
I really have no idea what I want to do as a career. I guess I never thought I’d be on earth long enough to have to come up with one. Just then in walks Trey Boxer, aka Psych. He carries his own bowling ball in a bag at his side.
I want to sink into the chair and disappear. But I’m with my dad. And Psych isn’t with the other two members of the Ass Trio. So we’re evenly matched.
He sees me, glares, and mouths “Fuck you” before smiling and loudly saying, “Charlie, I didn’t know you bowled.” His voice is friendly and upbeat. His acting is pissing me off. But he wants the other guys to think he’s something he isn’t—a decent person.
“I don’t.” I have nothing else to say to him.
He whispers “Watch your ass” as he walks over to his own lane and puts his ball into the ball-return. What a weird thing to say, but I pretend like I don’t hear him.
I watch him get a strike on his first roll. Followed by another one. And another one. And holy shit, Psych is a good bowler and not just an asshole. Though, he’s still mostly an asshole. We’re the only two people down on the lanes—minus the other guys who are coming and going as they bowl.
“Charlie,” he says after his third strike. “You know why I bowl so well?”
I shake my head.
“I picture your face on every one of the pins.” He laughs.
I stand up to bowl. “You’re an asshole.”
“Oh, don’t get your lady panties in a bunch.”
I shake my head and focus on the pins in front of me. I try picturing Psych’s face on the pins, but it doesn’t work. I roll a gutter ball. I hear Psych laughing in the background. Some of the guys say, “Don’t worry, Charlie.” Or, “You’ll get ’em, Charlie.”
I focus again—Psych’s face on the pins. I throw the ball and get all the pins. “Strike!” I yell.
“It’s a spare, you idiot,” says Psych.
My dad isn’t even around. Didn’t even see what I did.
When Psych’s up next, he passes me and says, “This time I’ll picture your boyfriend’s face on the pins.”
He stands facing the pins, his bowling ball in hand. Anger has built in my chest, and as he starts to swing, I run up to him and push him from behind. The ball flies off his fingers and slams into the lane before rolling right into the gutter. Psych falls to the floor and slides. But he’s not hurt. Damn. I fucked up his game, though, which counts as a win to me.
Before I know it, Psych is up and trying to punch my stomach. I’m holding on to him so he can’t pull his arm back enough to do real damage. The adults run over and separate us.
“Charlie,” says my dad, taking hold of my shoulders. “What the hell is going on?”
Psych’s dad is asking the same thing of his son.
I shake my head. “Nothing
.”
Psych says the same thing.
“Apologize to Trey,” says my dad. “For pushing him.”
I look at Psych. He mouths “Fuck you” again. I shake my head.
“Charlie,” says my dad more sternly.
“No.”
“Okay, come on,” says my dad as he pulls me by the arm. “I think you’ve had enough bowling.”
I gotta get out of here. Everything seems too surreal. He pulls me to the hallway near the bathroom and says, “What has gotten into you?”
“He’s a dick, Dad. Psych—Trey—is a bully.”
“Oh, come on now, Charlie. You’re being dramatic. Besides, you shoved him.”
“Yeah, and he deserves worse.”
“I think you’d better go home.”
“Fine. I never wanted to go bowling anyway. It’s stupid.”
My dad sighs. “And no UFOs tonight. Promise me.”
I stand there.
“Don’t test me right now, Son.”
“Fine.”
“You’d better be home when I get there.”
“Yeah? And when will that be?” I don’t say that. I want to, but he’s already heading back to the guys and Psych is smirking at me, and this whole night is stupid.
I’m heading home like I promised my dad. But nothing was said about not taking my sweet time and walking the slowest, longest path possible, all the while occasionally looking up into the Great Beyond.
I’m still pissed about Psych. I really wish I could’ve beaten the shit out of him. Though, I probably would’ve lost.
But I’m also pissed at my dad. He brushed it all off—and worse, made me feel like it was all my fault. Was it? Was I the one in the wrong?
This is one of those nights when my heart feels empty but my chest feels heavy and the world feels upside down. This is one of those nights when I’d like aliens to come save me.
FIRE ALARM
• • • • •
I have one of those rare summer day shifts, so I’m biking to work wearing my black pants and black shirt. Except I’m melting in the suddenly-turned 100-degree day. Every second on my bike is like riding through a furnace. I will be a sweaty mess when I get to work. I can’t wait to own an air-conditioned truck.
Larry the manager mostly works during the days, and greets me with, “Glad you could join us for your shift.”
My shift starts in three minutes, and I’ve already clocked in. So I’m not sure what Larry is complaining about, and I don’t really care.
“Who works today?” I ask.
“Tammy. And she’s having ‘Billy trouble,’ so don’t get in her way. Made that mistake last night.” He clenches his jaw.
The afternoon shift manages to stay fairly busy. I hate being a busboy, and I keep trying to nudge my way into serving, but apparently there’s not a huge need for new servers.
“Don’t forget,” Larry says as he passes me with a sandwich and fries, “checks are in the office.”
“Oh, right. I’d love to get mine.”
“Give me a minute. Jesus.”
“I mean, when you have a chance.” My face is beet red.
Larry calls me back to his paper-filled office a few minutes later and hands me an envelope with my name on it. “There. Now you can go buy yourself whatever stupid video game is popular right now.” For being barely thirty, Larry is one bitter man. I wonder if he has a girlfriend.
“Larry?”
“What?” he asks as he looks at the top paper in a stack on his desk.
“Uh. Can I go on break?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go.”
I go to the hallway and hang up my apron. I open my envelope and see that I have a check for eighty-nine dollars. I’m rich! I smile as I go to the convenience store next door.
Scanning the bookrack, I don’t see the book I’m dying to have. I keep looking and swoop back for another attack. I move some books to the side and finally spot it. Thank god. I look around, making sure no one is watching me grab the store’s only copy of Montana UFO Sightings.
I try to hide my smile, but it’s hard.
* * *
I find myself back in the staff cubby space, with the time clock and some boxes to put belongings in. I’m reading the last of the book’s introduction before my break ends, and Larry walks in. “Whatcha got there?” He grabs the book out of my hands.
“Um.”
“Montana UFO Sightings, huh? Didn’t know you were into that sort of shit.”
“I’m—”
“Nut jobs, every single one of ’em.”
Luckily, Larry isn’t a Whitehall native and wasn’t here to know the story of my mom’s fall from grace. But I need to keep a low profile and keep from being seen in public with this book again—because if a Whitehall native sees me, well, not only would my dad be furious, but my life would get worse, which scares me, because I’m not sure how that’s possible.
Larry laughs. “You’re a weird kid, dude.” He shoves the book into my chest and walks off, laughing.
I let out a big breath, and quickly hide the book.
DÉJÀ VU (IF ONLY)
• • • • •
I’m biking home from my afternoon shift. It’s about seven p.m. and still super hot out. When I get to the main street, I spot Jennifer Bennett halfway down the block with a couple of friends. They’re in a small line on the sidewalk to buy tickets to the movie. I’m hoping that she has forgotten all about when she saved me from the Ass Trio.
This is my chance. I could push through most of the steps of Mission Probably Improbable. I could play coy, go into the theater, and when they’re buying popcorn, I’d see them and be like, “Oh! Hey, girls. I didn’t know you were here.” They’d all look at one another with smiles on their faces, and then Jennifer would ask me to sit with them. We’d share popcorn and soda and laugh and cry, and I’d end the night with a kiss from Jennifer Bennett, my new girlfriend, because she’d realize how adorable and funny I am.
I don’t think she has actually seen me, as I’m pedaling slowly and am still fifty or so feet away. And I realize that (a) I stink like fryers and fried food and bleach, (b) I look gross from the heat of biking both to and from work, and, most important, (c) I am holding a book that no one should see me carrying, for various historical and contemporary reasons.
The girls are laughing as they head into the theater through the open doors.
I look at the old marquee to see what they’re going to watch. It’s a movie called Cain and is supposedly one of the biggest hits of the summer. Though, we got it two months after it was initially released across the country. We get all our movies late—if we get them at all.
When I reach the front of the theater, I stop riding.
I linger, seriously contemplating buying a ticket, before realizing how stupid an idea it is. Even if I saw them inside, they wouldn’t talk to me. If anything, Jennifer would feel more sorry for me sitting alone. I can’t date someone who pities me. I shake my head as I get onto my bike and pedal home, hoping that no one sees me.
SILENCE CAN ECHO LOUDLY
• • • • •
The sun is setting and the sky is growing dark, and my dad has yet to come home. Tickles is splayed out on the floor, alternating between asleep and moaning, and awake and panting. Since we’re on the second floor, it’s boiling, and my shirt has stuck to my sweating body.
I’m looking out my window and taking a break from my Montana UFO Sightings book. “Tickles, this is a fascinating sunset. I’d call it, uh, Colored Coals Below the Surface. It’s all these red, orange, and fiery colors bubbling out from the horizon.”
Tickles doesn’t even raise his head. I look back at my bed and how I’m almost done reading my new book, and I think how I could also just be leaving the movie theater with my new girlfriend, if only I had had the guts to go in.
I bend over, pick Tickles up, and place him on the bed with me. He looks groggy and tired, walks in a circle once, and then moves to the e
dge of the bed and kind of slides off and sits back down on the floor. So much for cuddling with the dog.
Back on my bed, I pick up the book, which was left open on the bedsheets. “Tickles, some of the sightings are fascinating.
“For instance, a guy in Butte once saw seven discs hover above a dormant volcano. This is what he said. ‘I was walking my dog, when out of nowhere Sam starts barking, and I look up and see these seven flat, saucerlike discs hovering above the M.’ That’s what they call the volcano mountain because it has a big M made of white rocks on it. ‘The whole event lasted about ten seconds, but I was able to take a picture. Only one before they all vanished. They didn’t even fly away. It was almost like they just became invisible. Sam looks up at the mountain every time we go for our walks now.’
“What do you think of that? What would you do if you saw a UFO? Huh, buddy?” I’m not looking at Tickles, for fear that he’s sleeping and I’ll feel like a big idiot. “The picture is included. You want to see it?” Tickles doesn’t say anything, so I just study it. Sure enough, seven creepy thin discs are hovering around this lone mountain peak on the edge of Butte.
The silence in the room builds, and the darkness grows as the daylight dims, but the small nightstand light is doing its best to keep me in a cone of ember light.
Tickles is snoring now and occasionally flicking his back leg, and I’m thankful for his company. I flip back to the table of contents to find another story I liked. “Oh yeah, Tickles. This is a good one.
“There was this school yard in Helena, Montana. This was about ten years ago. The kids were at recess with some teachers when what appeared to be an orb on fire flew right above them and landed with a crash not too far away. They show pictures of the crash site in the book, but the report says there was nothing at the site but some liquid ooze on the ground and busted-up trees. They called officials, who went to the site. The officials weren’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t a meteor, because there were no fragmentary space rocks left behind. Whatever crash-landed either disintegrated or up and left. Isn’t that crazy? But don’t you see? This is all validation for my own search. My mom’s right, we’re not alone.”
