The First

by Glen Kenner

  I wake up from a dream that I sometimes have. I think of it as the dark place dream and I don’t dwell on it. It dissipates in seconds. Sarah’s unlocking the front door and it must have been the sound that woke up me. She walks in, sees me and almost cries.

  I jump up and ask her what’s wrong? That makes things worse. She starts sobbing. Her Rangers shirt is dirty and torn and there’s bits of gravel on her forearms and legs. Blood but I don’t see any cuts. I close the door, lock it, pull open the closet door in the foyer and see the sledgehammer is where I left it and leave the closet door open.

  -Are you alright? What’s wrong?

  -I don’t know. I… I..

  We sit down on the couch and she wipes her nose on the inside of her wrist.

  -Sorry. I know you told me this stuff and I thought I kind of believed you but I got outside and walked around and it all seemed kind of stupid, I mean, not stupid but you know… not real. Not really. I mean, I still don’t know. But I went out and walked around and… And I felt good, you know? My body. I mean, I felt incredibly energized. Like I had a ton of adrenaline in me, but not out of control. Just like I felt super healthy. I walked up and down Delmar and got close to a bunch of people, listening for a buzz and trying to see if they reacted to the buzz you said I have. But nothing. I turned up Eastgate, you know, going north, and tried walking faster. And I did. I kind of power walked up the street. Fast, though. Like running speed, only I was walking. Power walking.

  She moves her arms like you see power walkers do and it looks funny but I didn’t want to laugh.

  -I’m powerwalking, right?

  She pantomimes it again and laughs and I join in for a second.

  -And I just kind of pushed it. I got faster and faster. Then I slowed down and turned around. I was I think six blocks from Delmar by then. So I started jogging. Just jogging at my normal jogging speed but I kind of pushed it and I went faster but had to stop. I couldn’t believe this. It was like being in a dream. That sounds stupid, but you know? It didn’t seem real, is what I mean. But I started back up, jogging, going faster and then a bit faster and a bit faster and it was so effortless! I saw Delmar coming up and I could see the traffic on both sides and there was only a city bus close by and it was moving pretty fast so I really pushed it and thought I’d just fly over Delmar right behind the bus as it went by and keep on going through a parking lot and…

  Ah fuck. I know how this ends.

  -...I just leaned forward a bit and really pushed myself and I felt like I shot across Delmar so fast and then I slammed right into the back of that bus. Just bam!

  She slapped one palm down on the other and I jumped.

  -I broke the bus! I mean, I dented it and the tail light broke and shattered and the sign on the side kind of came off. I don’t know what else. The bus driver must have slammed on his brakes and he got out and I was just standing there, looking around and I look up and the people on the bus are looking down at me and the driver comes running back and he’s yelling at me. He thinks I hit his bus with my motorcycle and he’s down on all fours looking under the bus for it and I just panicked. I turned around and shot off back down Eastgate and I tried to turn behind Mission Taco to come back here but I hit a street sign and it bent down and I kind of tumbled over and over through the parking lot and… well, I finally stopped and I just laid there and then got up. I thought something would be broken or pulled or whatever happens when you slam into a bus and roll across a parking lot. But nope. Nothing. And here I am. What the fuck, John?

  I think I’m going to burst out laughing. I don’t. Someday though, I will. And so will she. Today’s not that day. Suddenly she starts laughing. Hysterically. This Sarah, the new Sarah, is unpredictable as all hell.

  -Let’s go get something to eat. I’ll explain and maybe later I can show you how to come to a stop without damaging city property.

  The sun is half way down the western sky and dark gray clouds are moving over the city. My old truck doesn’t have air conditioning so we roll down the windows as we slowly drive down Delmar. We pull into the lot behind Fitz’s, get out and get in line for takeout. I stand close to Sarah and in a half whisper explain a little more about Firsts.

  -For some reason, again, no one probably knows for sure, but red meat and water seems to keep us…

  I point my thumb at my chest and then in Sarah’s direction.

  -...in the best health. But it’s not required eating. You can be a vegan and drink carrot juice every day if you want. I mostly eat the cheapest food I can buy and drink whatever beer is on sale. But for optimal health, to really feel good and be at your best, you want to eat a steak as raw as you can stomach and a few glasses of water every day. A lot of Firsts say that fasting for a few days really primes our bodies for peak performance but I don’t know. I like to eat. Anyway, meat and water is boring, but that’s Mother Nature. What are you doing to do?

  At the counter, I order a double everything Sunshine with onions. And a bottle of Orange Cream. I look at Sarah and she says she’ll have the same, but with a bottle of diet root beer. I tell her she doesn’t need to drink diet soda anymore. She’s going to keep her figure regardless. She puts her hands on her hips and then turns a pose and smiles. She changes her drink to a regular root beer and then adds an order of t-ravs.

  -What a pig!

  I laugh and she laughs loudly with me. We get our food, head back to the truck, get on the road and between bites we talk about controlling Sarah’s new found strength and speed.

  -Did you play sports in school?

  -Lots. I got my undergrad degree through a track scholarship. I could have played almost any sport then but I was seriously focused on school.

  -What about high school?

  -Track, volleyball, gymnastics, basketball, softball, swimming, soccer. Even football. I was the starting QB for the junior varsity team freshman and sophomore year. My dad sued the school district to make them let me play.

  -But you didn’t play varsity?

  -No. I could run and throw as well as our starting varsity QB, but I couldn’t take the hits. The guys were just too big. And they all wanted to sack me. Nothing sexual either. Nothing racist. They just really wanted to knock the crap out of me for some reason. I quit after my sophomore year. Most of the team and even Coach hated me. They’d purposefully let me get sacked. Some of the receivers wouldn’t even try to catch my throws. It sucked. But my dad’s lawsuit against the school is what got me interested in the law, so I guess some good came out of it.

  We’re on Kingshighway and I turn east on to Lindell. I tell Sarah I need to stop by a friend’s house for a minute and then turn the conversation back to sports.

  -So when you ran track, did you run any of the dashes? 100 meter, right? That’s the shortest one?

  -Yup, ran the 100. I actually set the national record at eleven point one. But not even a year later it was broken by a girl from UC Berkeley. Eleven even.

  Sarah is quiet for a second.

  -We were Facebook friends. We got to know each other from all of the competitions. She died about 6 months ago. Just got sick one day and died.

  I don’t tell Sarah, but if the other girl was that fast, as fast as Sarah, and suddenly died around the age of 20, she probably came from The Father. The other girl simply faced First Death and died. That’s what all other girls who come from The Father do. They die. Or they become something else entirely. But not Sarah. She survived and now she’s a First. That isn’t supposed to happen.

  -When you ran track, you had to learn how and when to control your speed, right? When to let up to go into a turn, when to pour it on, right?

  She nods.

  -Having this extra speed for your entire body, legs, arms, fists, is the same way. You have to learn how to handle it. But because of all of your sports training, it will come easy for you. You’ll go through more running shoes than you ever have if you run a lot at top speed.

  She laughs again. She’s got a great laugh.
>
  -Seriously, you will. But it’s worth it. You just need to practice. But you’ll want to run really early in morning, just at sun up, and maybe on some outer roads on 40 toward Wentzville. Or even 70 toward Columbia. You don’t want to attract attention. Make sense?

  She nods again and though I can’t see her eyes, I bet she’s staring off into space, trying to figure this all out.

  6 - Seeing Double

  I turn on to Maryland and slow down to find a spot on the street. Many of the homes in this area pre-date the automobile so despite being mini-mansions, they don’t have garages or carports. They may have had a small stable for the family horse and carriage, but most of those were torn down decades ago. Now just about everyone parks on the street. But I get lucky and find a spot in front of Maurice’s house.

  -I’m going to talk to a friend for a second. It’s actually Maurice, the guy I mentioned a few times. He’s a great guy and all, but I don’t think it’s a good time yet for anyone to know about you. I mean, being a First and all.

  She looks confused. I’m going to have to explain this to her sooner rather than later.

  -So hang tight in the truck and I’ll be right back.

  I notice through the thick canopy of century-old oaks that line the street the storm clouds are still heading toward us. When it hits, and those clouds break, the city is going to get drenched. I cross the street and go up the steps and onto the wide porch and ring the bell. Most of the homes in this neighborhood have been restored by younger couples, driving the home values through the roof, and Maurice’s home is probably one of the nicest and priciest. It looks brand new, though it was built sometime at the turn of the last century. A young white guy answers the door. A body-builder, like Maurice.

  -Hi, I’m John. Can I talk with Maurice?

  -I’m Maurice.

  -You’re not my Maurice.

  It feels like I’m being set up on Candid Camera, I think. This guy is built like Maurice, and I think he just switched on a gay vibe, like he’s making sure I understand his relationship with Maurice. Do I throw off a gay vibe? Is there a straight vibe? I’ll have to ask Maurice sometime. My Maurice.

  -You have your own Maurice? What a coincidence.

  I smile and laugh. He doesn’t.

  -If he’s here, can you tell him John from the Pool Room is here?

  He closes the door and half a minute later, it opens again. It’s my Maurice and he seems happy to see me.

  -John from the Pool Room! You still remember the name even! Come in, my man. Come in. You want a beer?

  -Hey Maurice.

  We shake hands but I stay in the doorway and then Maurice gives me a fist bump, his fist nearly twice as big as mine.

  -I just have a minute. Sorry. But hey, you’ve got a new friend.

  -John, man, he’s the one. You know what I mean? He’s the one. I swear. And his name is Maurice! Did he tell you that? Same name! He came into my gym one day and we got to talking. Anyway, yeah, we’ve been together for over a year.

  -Aw, shit, Maurice. I guess it’s been quite a while since I’ve been by, huh? Sorry about that.

  He shakes his head. It’s ok, it’s ok, he’s trying to say.

  -Listen, I’m sorry to ask but can you do me a favor, Maurice?

  -Hell yes, for you brother. Hell yes. Whaddya need?

  -I need to get in touch with the History Keepers. I don’t have a phone number, address, nothing.

  -The History Keepers? The dudes in Iraq or some shit? I’m sure I can get a phone number for you, no problem. I know a guy in New York that has everyone’s number. Well, not yours… but just about everyone’s number. You can call him, if you want. I mean, I’m happy to help, though.

  -Well, that’s the thing. I’d rather you not go through New York. And just about everyone I know is in New York. In fact, if you could make sure my name’s not mentioned, I’d really appreciate it.

  -No New York? Ok, well, I know a guy in LA. And Seattle. And Miami-

  -You got a guy that won’t attract any attention if he has to ask around?

  -Yeah, John. My guy in Miami is under the radar. But if I can’t get him, one of the others ok? Or just no New York? I call New York and you’ll have your number before you get back in your truck. Which by the way, how old is that fucking truck?

  He looks over my head and across the street at my truck.

  -When are you going to get something that at least has a CD player? And air conditioning? And power windows? And leg room?

  Maurice has ridden in my truck exactly once. It was in the early 80s. He’s complained ever since.

  -My truck is old and obsolete, just like me. We belong together. As for New York, no, won’t work.

  Just then the door pulls open farther and I realize that the other Maurice has been standing behind it the whole time. Now he’s next to my Maurice and they almost look comical. They have on matching shorts and muscle tees. There’s muscle all over the place. Both of them roughly the same height, probably six five. Black and white. Ebony and ivory. That’s a great title for a song.

  -Look, if Maurice says he needs to call New York…

  Maurice’s boyfriend emphasizes New York and I can tell he thinks that’s somehow a huge deal.

  -...then he needs to call New York. He’s trying to help you. So show him some respect. Or I’ll make you show him respect.

  -Sweetie…

  My Maurice tries to calm him down, looking first at his boyfriend and then back to me and giving me a wink before back to his Maurice.

  -...no one makes John do anything. I appreciate you sticking up for me, but John’s my oldest friend. He’s like a brother. I owe him everything.

  He leans in and gives his boyfriend a quick peck on the lips.

  -Let me talk with him just a minute more and then I’ll be inside. Alright?

  The other man is quiet but looks me over, up and down, and shakes his head. Then he backs away and I hear him from down the hall telling Maurice that the casserole will be done in three minutes.

  -Man, I’m sorry about that, Maurice.

  -No, he’s just overprotective, John. I let him think he’s stronger than me and when you throw in some of that white guilt, and he’s practically my manservant.

  We both let out a short laugh at that.

  -Tell you what. Start in Miami and work your way around if you need to. But not New York. Sound good?

  -All good, my man.

  -Thanks brother. I’ll drop back by in a day or two. Just write it down in case you’re not in and I have to get it from your hired help.

  -You still doing your move? The one where you break the guy’s nose?

  -Fuck yeah I am.

  -Ha! That takes me back. Shit, we need to get out, back over across the river, tear a place apart! Shit! Oh, but hey, when you come back ‘round, try not to hurt my Maurice, ok? I’m in love, John. I swear it.

  -I believe you. I was just being a dick to him. Sorry, old habits die hard. I’m sure he’s a great guy. But, Maurice, you know loving a Third ain’t easy.

  -I know it, man. And I hate it. But the heart doesn’t care, does it brother?

  -Not in the least bit.

  We fist bump again and Maurice closes the door as I turn around and head down the steps. The clouds are on top of us now and the temperature has dropped ten degrees. And the wind has really picked up. It’s tornado weather but it only looks like a thunderstorm to me. No crazy yellow or green light to the sky.

  With my head still facing up to clouds, I start to cross Maryland when a horn honks. I look down and to my right and a construction van is passing by. The driver lays on the horn but doesn’t slow down. Until he sees me. Our eyes lock for a second and he slams on the brakes and comes to a stop 50 feet away. I know him. I know that van. He gets out and so do two other guys from the passenger side. They regroup and stand in the street.

  I know all three of them. Fuck me.

  I look back at Maurice’s house and both Maurices are standing in t
he living room with the curtain pulled back on the huge picture window. My Maurice looks at me with a questioning expression. Do I want his help, he’s asking me with that look. I shake my head no. He nods his head once and turns and disappears back into the living room. But the other Maurice stays. He has a mixture of wonder and smugness on his face. He wants revenge, even if he only gets to watch it instead of delivering it himself.

  -You. You motherfucker. You’re dead.

  The older guy with the veins on his nose. And that bad breath. God. He’s the leader of the fucktards and he’s walking up to me fast, but with a limp. I notice he has one of those old school adjustable wrenches. Probably two feet in length, forged steel, maybe 10 pounds heavy. Wonder what he’s going to do with that?

  -I’m going to fuck you up.

  There goes the mystery. I step into the street and move toward the middle. You can really fuck a guy up ten different ways on a curb. I’m just looking to walk away with minimal damage done.

  -Hey, this is a busy street.

  I say this loud enough for all three fucktards to hear.

  -Lots of people will be looking out their windows. Lots of cars. Maybe a cop. How about we do this another time?

  The leader swings the head of the wrench down onto his palm.

  -How about we bash in your skull before anyone, including you, knows what happened?

  And then he rushes me with the wrench held high. Fuck my signature move. I step outside of his path, knock his empty free hand away, and land a decent right punch to his temple. He collapses three feet away without a sound except for the wrench dropping on the street. The two remaining guys look at each other and the one on the right, with a three foot piece of pipe in his hands, charges me. He’s a wrestler, I can tell. Still holding on to the pipe, he bends at the waist to come in low, his arms out wide. He wants to keep me from stepping away. Wrap me up in his grasp, slam me to the ground, and smash my face in with the pipe. He probably sees it all already done in his head. And now I have to fuck up that little fantasy for him. I stand still, waiting the three seconds it takes him to cover the distance. I notice the third guy turns to head back to the van. Just then the second guy almost has me. But I bring my knee up hard into his face and hear a crack and, under that, a crunch. Skull and nose? Two for one? Not sure. He drops at my feet but makes to get up.