Goddamn motherfucker!
Connor couldn’t believe Arthur was backing out.
He was ruining everything.
No matter what staff or the idiots he lived with said about Arthur “Missing out” or “Blowing a golden opportunity,” making time with some dumbass girl was miniscule compared to Connor’s master plan.
Goddamn, he needed this!
Stupid Arthur could close his eyes and make out with his pillow or hump his hand any old time, he could wait, he was good looking and nice and shouldn’t have any trouble pulling a chick once he got out of the system, but Connor needed this and he needed it now. He had invested too much into it to just pull the plug over Arthur’s idiocy. So what if the only reason he got the nerve up to actually go through with it was because the only person he cared about at the group home was going to be away for the night. It was time to just say “Fuck Arthur and fuck his cowardice.” If he wasn’t going tonight, Connor was going to press on and risk it anyhow. If Arthur got burnt to ash, well tough shit, it sucked, tragic. Connor had tried to accommodate. He held off for as long as he could, but now there was no more waiting.
Tonight was the night.
Tonight, the world would burn.
He had to wipe the drool from his lips when thinking about it.
* * *
The van ride from the house to the movie theater was electric with excitable chaos. George the Destroyer and Marvin kept things from getting too out of hand, but they allowed the boys their trash talking fun. Gabe and Santos fucked with everyone and everyone fucked with them back. Momma jokes broke everybody down. Laughter rang out. Connor smirked and internally fought against the fun roaring around him. He had to keep his focus. He couldn’t give in. Goddamn idiots.
Santos to Alberto: “Your momma so fat she broke her leg and gravy came out!”
Gabe to Johara: “You mom’s so ugly any position I fuck her in, it’s still called doggystyle!”
“Watch the language!” George the Destroyer laughed out a warning.
Johara to Gabe: “Yo momma got one arm! When she go swimming she go in circles!”
Gabe back to Johara: “You mom’s so stupid she tried to alphabetize a bag of M&Ms!”
Despite his sullen mood and preparatory state, Connor couldn’t help but to get caught up. He had a few zingers ready to go—Your momma is so fat she got baptized at Sea World!—Your momma is so ugly she makes onions cry!—Your momma is like a pirate, thar she blows!—but couldn’t get up the nerve to shout any of them out. The bastards were merciless about his stutter, about his shakes, always dogging on him, and he didn’t want to draw their fire. Assholes. It was best just to keep quiet. He didn’t belong and there was no sense in trying to fit in now.
The momma jokes turned to roasts.
Feelings got hurt.
Egos were bruised.
Once they pulled into the Cineplex parking lot, Johara, who had taken to staring out the window after suffering a particularly nasty insult, shouted “There she is!” and dead silence fell over the van.
Melanie was waiting out front, just to the left of the box office.
Connor swallowed back a lump and stared open mouthed. There was something about the moment that struck him to the very core. As Melanie stood there, straining for a better look, the sudden silence in the van, the sunshine reflecting off of her straight, golden hair like yellow fire, the sparkle in her blue eyes that managed to dance brilliantly through squinting eyelids despite the power of the sun’s rays—he was dumbstruck by her beauty. He had always thought she was pretty, but he never really cared, he wasn’t particularly interested in girls or their bulbous shapes. Now, bright like flame, a goddess of the sun, she made him sweat with nervous desire. Embarrassed by the heat in his groin he looked away and stared at his feet.
“That’s her?” George the Destroyer asked.
“Fuck yeah!” Alberto pressed his face to the glass.
“Language, Berto!” Marvin yelled from the driver’s seat.
George the Destroyer started chuckling and shaking his head. “That girl likes Art? Whew! Hot stuff! Man, what is that kid smoking messing this chance up?”
The silence shattered with courtesy laughter (when the king makes a joke the subjects must laugh). The spell broken, idle chatter resumed while the van cruised for a parking place at the far end of the lot.
Lined up outside the van, the boys stood quietly as George the Destroyer marched back and forth before them and laid down the law. “After three long months you ass-wipes finally got it together so here we are. If today goes well, we can do this again. We have an entertainment budget gentlemen, and it is nice to be able to use it on occasion, get you animals out of the house…”
His speech continued and continued and continued.
Connor couldn’t focus, instead he danced from foot to foot (the other boys had to stand perfectly still, at attention, but he was allowed movement due to his condition) and stared off in the distance at Melanie. She had her hand on her brow and she went from her tippee-toes to a standing position, tippee-toes to a standing position. They were pretty far off and given the gaggle of boys she probably hadn’t figured that Arthur wasn’t among them. He wondered—
“Connor!” The Destroyer was in his face. “Don’t you hear me boy?”
“Y-Y-Yes s-s-s-Sir.” He hadn’t, until just now.
The Destroyer must have been calling him for a while. A few ugly veins stood out on his red, sweaty forehead, frustration crazing his eyes, whereas a minute ago while delivering his speech he seemed in good spirits.
The other boys began to giggle.
George shut them down with a loud, “Quiet! Now Connor, what I’ve been trying to tell you is that you need to run up to Arthur’s little girlfriend and give her the bad news. Can you do that?”
Before Connor had the chance to process the request Santos jumped in, “I’ll do it.”
And then Gabe, “Fuck you pussy, I’ll do it.”
And then Berto, “She wants a real man I’ll—”
And then the Destroyer, “Connor will do it! The rest of you jack-offs shut up or we’re going home!” George gestured to Marvin who in turn gestured to Connor.
“Come on man, I’ll walk you over.”
They parted from the group and walked across the parking lot. There were a few hoots and hollers but they swiftly died beneath the Destroyer’s wrath. It was a blazingly hot day and heat rolled off the pavement in visible waves. The parking lot, what with its ocean of black asphalt, was a lake of fire. Sweat ran freely down Connor’s forehead. He wiped his face with his hands and then rubbed the excess sweat on his blue jeans.
“You okay?”
Connor shook his head yes.
Marvin’s voice lowered to a whisper. “We’re still going through with tonight.” He put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “I can’t let Arthur miss this. You wanna help?”
Connor shook his head again, this time with enthusiasm.
“Tell her what’s up okay? And then tonight, let Arthur know. I’ll handle Leon.”
“O-O-Ok-kay!” Connor never spoke to staff. Only when it was absolutely necessary. It felt weird, but right, nice to be in on the plan, nice to be useful.
Marvin gave his shoulder a little squeeze and smiled down at him.
When they got within ten feet of Melanie, Marvin fell back and let Connor approach her solo. Melanie smiled at him and waved. She continued to look past him at the group that had only just begun to follow George across the sweltering lot and away from the van.
“Hi Connor. How are you?” She pulled her attention away from the group locking him up with her dazzling eyes.
“M-m-m, g-g-good.” He smiled back. “A-A-Arthur isn’t c-c-c-oming.” The sweat ran in droves.
She looked over him again, this time for confirmation. The group was still too far to discern who was who. “You’re kidding right?” Her disposition was as sunny as ever.
“N-N-No. H-H-He’s n-n-not h-h-here.�
� Connor wiped away the sweat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “H-H-He t-t-told G-G-G-George t-t-to f-f-f-f-f-uck off. B-B-But—”
Before he could get the good news out her whole demeanor darkened down. There was a black fire raging in her eyes. Connor felt a boner mounting. He shifted and tried to spit the words out. “B-B-But—”
She whispered, “Motherfucker,” so low he almost couldn’t hear it. Most people didn’t know that beneath the shimmy shakes he had excellent auditory skills. The glorious image he had begun to assemble of her tarnished a tad. Fire and beauty were absolute turn-ons. Crude language, especially from a female, filled him with disgust. It was how his mother communicated and something inside on a subconscious level was repulsed by it.
Within an instant Melanie regained her smile and her lady-like manner. “I’m sorry to hear that Connor.”
“B-B-But t-t-tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“H-H-He’ll m-m-meet y-y-you t-t-tonight.”
Melanie’s eyes got wide and she quickly looked from side to side. Leaning in, whispering, she asked, “You know about that?”
Connor shook his head and smiled. Even in the heat she smelled damn good. Girly. Like flowers and fresh, cool air.
“At 11:00?”
He nodded and smiled bigger.
She aped his smile and gave off a quiet little squeal of delight. “You are so cute I could just eat you up!” Reaching out she pinched one of his cheeks.
The group finally reached the box office. Connor felt all of their eyes on him and he was equal parts proud, parts embarrassed, parts annoyed. They kept quiet, the Destroyer had them in check, but Connor could feel the taunts and catcalls pouring from their eyes just the same.
Melanie giggled. “That is so cool.”
She looked to him to say something, to carry on their conversation, but he couldn’t get the words to come. She was far too intimidating, what with her beauty and sweet persona and his idiot housemates were way too close, way too focused on the encounter. Instead, Connor simply hiked his thumb over his shoulder indicating he had better rejoin the guys.
Melanie looked past him yet again, this time up close and personal at the teeming group of boys. She forced a smile. “Oh, okay,” she said and extended her hand for him to shake it.
Connor took the delicate, warm thing as tenderly as he could and gave it a little wiggle. Disengaging he gave a weird little bow and then quickly turned tail. The group worked hard at suppressing laughter and little titters, half-jokes, passed between them. They looked tense, primed to pounce, a pack of hungry jackals ready to eat him alive.
“Connor?” she called after him.
The group went silent, as if she were talking to them. Connor stopped and turned away from the fools.
“Would you like to watch the movie with me? I mean I came here to watch Blood & Gristle and I don’t like watching movies alone. Especially scary ones.”
Pure, unadulterated joy was a feeling uncommon to Connor. There were small pleasures. Cards with Arthur. Favorite foods. Videogames. Planning destruction. But nothing to really light his heart aflame. Tonight he had planned on changing all of that. He had planned on making them all pay for their callous disregard and then either dying for the trouble or miraculously escaping into the night with burning joy. This impending joy was expected and he was looking forward to it, but Melanie’s proposal filled him with such warmth he wasn’t sure how to feel. In a way it diminished the coming evening’s intensity. It gave him the warm fuzzies and made him feel wanted which went a long way in dismantling destructive desire.
The jackals began hooting and hollering.
George shushed them with one wave of the arm and took it upon himself to address Melanie before Connor could stammer out a response, “He would be more than happy to accompany you little miss.”
* * *
They sat on the opposite side of the theater from the group. Connor was nauseatingly nervous. Shakes seemed to shake on top of his regular shakes. Bile crested the top of his throat and the sweat wouldn’t stop even though the theater was climate controlled. He kept his eyes on the screen in hopes of tuning out his envious housemates to his right and the lovely Melanie to his left. Three minutes of silence elapsed. In time, the housemates faded into blurry oblivion, Marvin and the Destroyer regulating their behaviors, but not Melanie. He could feel her, smell, her, taste her, mere inches away. She kept looking over at him, smiling, raising her eyebrows in anticipation of some sort of conversation. But Connor couldn’t oblige. Talking was tough enough when he was comfortable and had lots to say. Being on edge rendered him mostly mute.
By the time the pre-show slideshow had began repeating advertisements, Melanie took matters into her own hands. She politely tapped him on his left arm. Connor slowly turned his face toward her. The simple arc took forever, the world going slo-mo around him and his every thought sucking in on itself.
“Hey,” she smiled in greeting.
Connor did the little head nodding thing he always used for hellos.
“So… Do you come to the movies often?”
Smalltalk. Painful. Connor shook his head no.
“Really? I love movies. I…well, I used to come almost every week. Lately I’ve been busy though.” Her eyes looked faraway for a few seconds before sparkling back. “Didn’t you just love The Basilisk?”
“I-I-I- n-n-ne—”
“You’ve never seen it! How can you watch Blood & Gristle if you’ve never seen the original?” She widened her eyes and lightly slapped his arm.
A spark shot through Connor’s nervous system. The touch, coupled with how fast she was able to understand what he was trying to say knocked him loopy.
“Omigod, Connor! So there’s this ancient demon who’s trying to take over the world…”
Connor watched her intently as she told him about the first film in The Basilisk series. He marveled at the expression in her face. How her eyebrows rose and dipped, how her cute nose crinkled, how her full lips swooped and swooned. She was insanely gorgeous and he felt like he was going insane sitting as close to her as he was. One half of his brain followed the bizarre adventures while the other half, staring in awe with infatuation fantasy, quickly descended into the deepest pits of dismal despair.
This beautiful, articulate, kind girl was not for him.
She was not his friend.
She would not be his desire, his confidant, his salvation.
Instead she was just a pretty piece of flesh put before him to tempt and sway and confuse. Connor understood that everything had a will. He had seen it first hand within the inextinguishable Flame that roared at the back of his brain. And any way you looked at it, his plan was a threat. And the concentrated Matter that vibrated the group home and his housemates into being was getting mighty, mighty nervous. It had to protect itself. Call it fate or destiny or (if you were religious) divine intervention, call it whatever you want, Connor knew what was what and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him.
“…and just when you think it’s over, blam! Here we are.” Melanie finished the synopsis in a rush of breathy excitement. “Man, I love The Basilisk. This one’s supposed to be even better!” Pleased with her rendition she leaned back in her seat and took a brief break before sitting up and resuming. “So Connor, how old are you?” She reached over and brushed a few strands of hair off of his sweaty forehead. When her fingers came in contact with the salty layer of slime she didn’t even retract in horror, instead she smiled and smoothed the sweat into a dry patch of his hair. “Hot?”
This unexpected contact, her lack of repulsion, obliterated all conscious thought. Connor’s conspiracy theory suspicions about Matter’s attempts at self-preservation evaporated. He tried to respond but the two questions, age and heat, cancelled one another out. “U-umm?”
“How old?” She helped.
“Fif-Fif-Fifteen.”
“Fifteen? I’m sixteen. I only ask because…”
A million and one unfl
attering reasons ran through Connor’s head. Short. Funny looking. Retarded.
“…you’re so darn cute.”
Connor smiled awkwardly as blood rushed his systems with wild abandon. He felt like he was going to pass out.
Just then the house lights died and the coming attractions thundered on to the screen.
* * *
Concentrating on Blood & Gristle was impossible. Not that it mattered. The few scenes Connor managed to digest were pretty much unwatchable. Melanie and the rest of the theater seemed to be enjoying it though, but then they probably weren’t sick with lust or planning on burning down a house and killing their enemies either.
He hoped Gabe and Santos were enjoying themselves. Out of everybody they were his primary targets. Hopefully Jo-Jo (Johara) and Alberto and Leon would get it too, but as long as those two fucks burned Connor would be satisfied. He wished he could take down the Destroyer, but the fat fuck didn’t work nights. Oh well, burning the house that he managed, that he was responsible for, would have to do.
While the movie rolled he kept closing his eyes and trying to envision the blaze. It responded and roared eating through stucco, wood, drywall. The lumpy bed he (barely) slept on whooshed to ash. The water heater in the garage exploded, its twisted and torn shell ratcheting sky high, taking off like a death rocket, cleaving the unlucky soul (Alberto or Johara) that slept in the room above it in two. Flames licked the kitchen cabinetry.
Just as things were getting good and fiery, new fantasy intruded. Melanie’s face smiled from behind the intensifying red wall and extinguished the inferno. Her sugary words interrupted the orgasmic crackle. Reverberations echoed within his skull, “You’re so darn cute, you’re cute, so cute, so darned cute.” When Connor tried to flex his mind and wish her away Dream-Melanie fought back.
“L-L-Leave m-m-me a—”
“Alone?” Dream-Melanie smiled.
“Y-Y-Yes!”
“But you’re so cute!”
“I-I-I n-n-need the f-f—”
Lambs Page 9
