by Joe Meno
It started right along the hood and crept back to the gas tank and blew the damn thing off its wheels and into the middle of the street. I heard the explosion and pulled myself out of my bed and met Junior in the hall and we ran on down the stairs and outside and somewhere in my heart and his we both knew it was too late, even before we could see the tumultuous waves of fire and flame, before we could hear the windows crack from the pressure and heat, before all the oil burned on out in a pool of black gunk and the headlights shattered and shot on out, before all that filled our lousy eyes, that single shot of an explosion from down on the street filled our ears and our hearts as a kind of resignation we already knew. Before we were down off the front porch and out on the lawn and the orange glow flickered across our sore lips, it was all already done in our heads and hearts.
“It’s all over now.” Junior frowned. “All over now.”
“Mother of God,” I mumbled, scratching my chin. “This just ain’t right.”
The fire swallowed that poor car whole, making it nothing more than a heavy black metal corpse. From where I stood on the curb, right beside Junior Breen, it seemed all his dreams, all his tiny hopes of some new kind of opportunity, had been set aflame and left to smolder dully in the middle of that black-paved street.
“It’s done fer now,” he sighed.
By the time one of La Harpie’s three fire trucks arrived and me and Junior and even L.B., still low and unholy and still threatening Junior over his missing teeth, were all standing out on the curb across the street from where that fine automobile had been parked, we watched it smolder and burn.
“Serves you bastards right.” L.B. smiled. His bald head shone with the fire. “Serves you two bastards right thinking you’re such hot shit.”
Everyone came out on their porch and watched the car burn. Everyone just stood there whispering to themselves in their nightclothes, muttering and nodding at me and Junior, casting all the aspersions they could carry over their thin gray lips and dirty white teeth.
“Look at the wheels melt.” Junior frowned, sitting on the curb down the street from the hotel. The fire burned on as the firemen sprayed it down. “Look at that poor thing sag like that.” He smiled a little, then lifted his head. “Hell, it still looks fast.”
I patted his shoulder and spit at the ground. “This ain’t right. You didn’t have anything to do with Monte,” I said. “I never should have let you come with me.”
“I did it, not you. This is my own fault.”
I watched the orange flames move through his eyes, fading along his face.
“Didn’t think it would bring on anything like this. They all had to see that boy was being hurt.”
Junior nodded. “This ain’t over. You sure can feel it.”
After that night, Junior Breen didn’t say a damn word. He just locked himself in his room and sat there mumbling to himself until the next morning and didn’t even bother showing up for work. That pretty ol’ car had been his last hope. Nothing could remain close before it faded black and turned to dust. Not me or Clutch or little Monte Slates, not the car or the friends he made, not all the words he spelled out with his big hand or big hollow heart. Nothing could stay close before it became dull and empty of light.
Only her.
Only Eunice.
home
Come around the bend …
Down to the bank …
Come across the field and down to the bank …
Those days were like a crown of gold over her head. Her hair was a knotted nest of some tiny white and yellow flowers with little bluebells wrapped inside her curls. Maybe she’d bring him a sandwich or a bottle of Coca-Cola, all cold and full of beads of ice along the side. Wasn’t it all so pretty? Wasn’t it all so nice?
Then a thousand murmurs of the blade …
Then it was all gone and pushed far downstream.
Here was a man full of the grave old memories of his past. Junior would sit at work and stare out through the glass windows. He’d remember how it used to be, how it had been when he was still a boy, not more than fifteen, free and pure, without the most mortal of all sins holding him.
The best day in his life had been when he had saved Eunice from Forger Dunagree. He had seen something there in her eyes. He had seen something there of his own goodness hanging in the light above her head. She had promised him that he would become a smart man. A man with a nice clean soul.
“I’ll show you my parts for less’n a quarter and let you kiss me in my ear if you want.”
That Eunice was less than three years younger but smart as a whip and knew everything there was to know about making out and sex and having babies and French kissing. Eunice was the pretty little wild girl with deep red curls who would go around and kiss all the boys in school and offer them a full view of her private parts for a quarter or whatever pocket change they might have. There was nothing sinful or impure to it. Eunice was a girl who was proud of her own particularly high-spirited beauty and charm. That poor girl would shed her underpants at a moment’s notice or go off and kiss you inside the mouth if you just dared her to. She was the kind of girl that had nearly married every boy in school by the sixth grade and there was nothing her mother or teachers or parson could do to stop her from growing up that way. This girl kept getting wilder and more and more beautiful each undelicate year she lived. There were boys all over town who had carved her name on their arms and promised to buy her a ten-thousand-acre pumpkin farm and a brand-new silver Cadillac if she’d run away with them when they were old enough to elope. This girl was a golden-stemmed flower among some worn swampland and weeds. This girl was something that was too sweet or pretty or pure to outlast the lifetime of a ten-cent kiss.
“Do you got a quarter or not?” she asked Forger Dunagree, blowing a hot breath in his ear. “Or are you chicken to see?”
“I ain’t afraid to see.” This Forger Dunagree was the dirtiest kid in Colterville. He was only about thirteen and was missing nearly all of his adult teeth. He lost most of them in fights with other dirty kids and the rest to tooth decay and gum disease. Forger’s old man was a corn farmer who was known around town for getting drunk and falling asleep in his neighbors’ yards, half undressed. Forger had run his old man down with the tractor once while the old drunkard was passed out in the field. He managed to lop off a good portion of his father’s left foot before Forger heard his old man screaming. They had been too poor to afford plastic parts, so Mr. Dunagree replaced his lost appendage with cheap balsa wood that would sweat and creak when he walked.
“I ain’t afraid to see naked parts. I got a stack of magazines like that at home in the back of my dresser drawer.” Forger frowned. “Naked parts like that is old hat to me.”
“That so?” Eunice smiled. “Bet you never got to give a pretty girl like me a kiss?”
“Whoever said you were pretty was just fooling you for kicks. You’re about as pretty as a bug-eyed carp. Maybe a mealy-mouthed snail.”
“Do you got a quarter or not?” Eunice sighed.
“I got four bucks. What’ll I get for that?”
“’Cluding tax?” Eunice asked.
“Sure, sure, including tax.”
“I pick your cherry for you right now.” Eunice smiled.
“What?” Forger’s face shot bright red. He felt sweat break out along his greasy little chin. “You make it for only four bucks?”
“Less than that. But it costs more ’cause you’re so dirty.” Eunice smiled.
“Fine.” Forger smiled back. “Where you wanna go do it at?”
“Down by the riverbed. It’s pretty quiet down there.”
“All right.” Forger smiled.
“Give me my money now.” Eunice grinned.
“What for?”
“So I know you’ll meet me there.”
“What if you don’t show?” Forger asked.
“Oh, I’ll show, don’t worry.”
“But how do I know?”
“He
re.” Eunice sighed. She pressed her lips to his greasy mouth and slipped her tongue inside. Forger’s eyes snapped open huge and wide. He gave a little cough, then a smile.
“That’s only part of it.” Eunice grinned again. Forger nodded and dug into his pockets and handed her the four dollar bills. “Meet me down by the woodshed in about an hour.”
“I sure will.” Forger grinned and took off like a loose little dog. Eunice shook her head and kissed each one of the dollar bills.
“Boys are sure dumb.”
Junior Breen had been trying to build a raft all summer long. Every time he’d find some scrap wood, it would be warped or full of holes or half-eaten with termites or just rotted through.
“Virtual infestation.” He’d frown and throw the wood back on the muddy ground. He had gotten himself three good pieces. That was it. Barely enough to make a skiff. He had made himself a nice oar, shaved it on down from a two-by-four and nailed a paddle on the end. He wanted to build that raft and drift down the river to New Orleans and meet some voodoo priests and eat rice and red beans and run off with the French-speaking whores. He sat in that woodshed all summer long, trying to whittle himself out a dream from gnarled wood and the edge of a shortened hacksaw.
“Didn’t think you’d show up.” Forger smiled, wiping the sweat from his long narrow chin. “Thought you’d taken my money and made a fool of me.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you, Forger. Not to someone who lived so close to me.”
They sat on the muddy bank, littered with dry brown leaves and rotten blackened wood and dirt and grassy green moss. The thin river wavered by, smelling hot and full of must.
There was a whitish film along the edge and all kinds of yellowish insects skimming the surface in thick buzzing eaves. Eunice uncrossed her legs and took Forger’s hand and planted it on her own chest.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered. Forger nodded and did. He smiled and licked his lips. Eunice reached down and unbuckled his dirty gray corduroys at the snap. Forger made a little mumble.
“Now keep your eyes closed,” Eunice said. He nodded. She reached down and touched him just below the waist. Then she pulled his pants down around his knees. He had a pair of old gray-and-white tight skivvies on. They were worn and threadbare and tight around his groin.
“Now don’t move,” she whispered. He nodded again. She put her hand over Forger’s eyes and placed his hand against her chest. He could feel the beat down there, thump-thump, thump-thump soft and clean and potent as spring. He felt the back of his legs aching as she breathed against his ear. Eunice laid her body right beside his, still covering his eyes, still breathing in his ear. She slipped his skivvies down and gave a little giggle.
“That’s it?” she snickered, shaking her head.
Forger shot up and pulled up his pants. His face flashed bright red. “What? What’s wrong?”
“It’s too small. I’ve got myself a bigger pinky finger than that.” She gave a little frown. “Let’s just forget the whole thing.”
“But my four dollars …”
“But nothing. You’re lucky I don’t go around and tell everyone in school.”
“I want my money back.”
“You want your money back?” Eunice smiled. “Here you go.” She dug into the front of her dress and held out the soft green folds of cash. “Everyone in town’s gonna know what a little peck you have. Everyone’s gonna laugh and shout and make jokes about it. Even your whiskey-drinking old man. He might take you out in the barn and try to stretch it out for you.”
The trick always worked. Every boy that had paid Eunice a red cent had lost their money on account of their small privates and unfounded fear.
“That’s fine.” She smiled. Eunice closed her hand and folded up the cash and put it back in her dress.
“You got an awful big mouth. Jim Ginerly said you told him the same thing and backed on out with him, too.”
“It’s not my fault you boys all have small parts.” She tried to smile. Forger gripped her hard around her wrist and pushed her down on her back, then climbed on top.
“I don’t think I care.” Forger smiled. “You’re going to do it anyway.”
He began to push up the folds of her white dress when a thick gray shadow fell hard over him. It cut straight through the heat and the dampness and the steady muddy ground, making everything cold and solemn and still.
“Take your hands on off.” Junior frowned, holding the hacksaw tight in his hand. “Take your hands on off ’fore I separate them from your wrists.”
Forger nodded and hopped off.
“Junior, we were just wrestling is all …”
“Go on. Get ’fore I split you in two.”
“But she took my money, Junior. She took it from me unfair.” “You wanna walk with a limp?” Junior asked, placing the blade against Forger Dunagree’s knee.
“You make it with her, too, huh? She takes you out back here and gives it to you?”
Junior slammed his big wide forearm up against Forger’s chin, knocking him clear off his feet. Forger landed on his back in the mud, gritting his teeth.
“Now get,” Junior grunted, holding the hacksaw tight.
“You are a little whore!” Forger shouted, wobbling to his feet. “You’re a whore and everyone knows!!” He stumbled away, spitting the blood from out of his teeth.
Eunice stood and straightened out her dress, then shook her head.
“My hero.” She frowned. “When are you gonna let me take care of myself?”
“Doesn’t look like you were doing such a good job.”
“Maybe not to you. But I took Forger back here ’cause I knew you’d be working in there. I knew I wasn’t in any trouble at all.” Eunice gave a little smile. “Did you hear us making it?” She gave a little sigh, then a wink. “It was so wicked. I can still feel all the sin burning along my skin.”
“Hush, Eunice, why do you have to talk like that?”
“It’s what makes the boys pay, isn’t it?” Eunice dug into her dress and handed him the four dollars. “Here, you earned it more than me.”
Junior shook his head.
“You keep it and buy yourself some manners. Maybe you won’t have to go lying in the mud for friends then.”
Eunice gave a little huff, then stuck her money back in her dress and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“How’s the raft coming today?” she asked.
“Slow as syrup.” He frowned. “Slow as your own dubious grace.”
“Hush, Junior, why do you gotta talk like that?” Eunice let out a little laugh, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed Junior’s cheek. “A smart fellow like you could make some girl’s heart ache. You know, you’re gonna grow up to be the most handsome, smartest fellow in town. And everyone will call you Mr. Junior and all the ladies will fight over every one of your words. Every one, I bet. You’ll be the nicest man anywhere around.”
“Thanks.” Junior smiled, shaking his head. “How much you charge the boys for a good prevarication like that?”
“What?”
“A nice lie like that? How much do you usually charge?”
“That one’s free. Hey, I know what I oughta do. I should go spend that money on a dictionary so someone can half-understand what it is you’re saying when you speak. Maybe I’ll just go get myself a malted and some steak fries instead.” Eunice shrugged her shoulders and gave a little smile. “See you later, Mr. Junior Breen.”
Junior smiled and watched her creep out through the woods down the bank. Later that day, he found the nice red dictionary, bound tight in red leather, sitting out all alone out by the woodshed door. There was no note or letter saying who it was from. But he knew. He always knew. Eunice had surely stolen it from the elementary school.
He would always love her.
He would always love her poor unholy soul.
Junior felt his body tighten under the sweaty white sheets.
It was all a cruel kind of dream. Nothing b
eside him but his lonely bed and the night.
But she was still there. In the room. Right behind the closet door. Breathing there still. He shot out of bed and pulled on the closet hard. It was locked. Nailed shut. He dug under his mattress for the cold gray hammer and pried its silvery claw between the frame and the door, digging at a long metal nail, forcing it with all his strength and weight. He jammed the edge of the claw-hammer under the next nail’s head and slid it on out, then the next, then the next, until there was a shiny silver halo of spikes left cold and dull along the floor. He left the last two in and gripped the doorknob and pulled, tearing the wood from its frame. The wood creaked and struggled but finally gave. Then it was quiet. Then there was nothing but the voice he so badly wanted to hear.
Eunice . .
He stepped on inside.
Eunice …
Nothing there. There was nothing in there but the dark and the dust of the past.
But he had heard her breath. He had heard her voice in his dreams.
Eunice . .
Nothing had been there all along.
He fell to his knees, beginning to sob, leaning his face against the dull wood frame, still seeing her lying there in the light, all alone and undone, broken in pieces by the thin hacksaw he had used.
Go around the bend …
Sink on down …
Disappear …
Don’t come back around.
There’s nothing here whispering.
There’s nothing here for me to hear or feel.
There’s nothing here but the cold red tributaries of my own sin.
old red organ
Doing it in a motel bed and breaking parole seemed like a fine idea at first. I wanted to get out of that town as soon as I could. I wanted to have intimacies with my Charlene like a normal man and his girl should. I had stolen some cash from where I worked and ran a baby down trying to escape, but now I was something worse. I had helped burn up Mr. Slates’s face when I was nothing more than a convict myself. Also, I had stolen Earl Peet’s girl. Everywhere I went in town, people would whisper and stare at me. That poor little baby in the blue carriage had already been laid in the ground. But that damn fool Earl Peet was still walking around.
