The Thunder in His Head

by Gene Gant

“Dude. Don’t play me. It won’t even take a minute for you to answer my question.”

  “Okay.” His expression blanked, his face emptying of all emotion. “All right. I got Vivian pregnant, and now we have a six-week-old daughter, and Vivian’s stressed out trying to take care of her.”

  My brain went numb. I just stood there, wearing a pair of jeans I didn’t particularly like, staring stupidly at a guy who wasn’t the big, strapping man I really wanted, a guy who had a girlfriend and a baby. What the hell was I doing here?

  “And now you’re all upset, and I have to get into the locker room. This is so messed up.” Dwight’s voice broke. “Kyle—”

  “You know what? I gotta go.” I turned.

  “Wait. Just let me….”

  I don’t know what else he said then. My brain blocked out every sound, Dwight’s voice, the hum of car engines, the rustling tree leaves, the drifting, discordant notes of the school band warming up somewhere near the athletic field, even the slap of my own sneakers against the asphalt as I walked quickly across the parking lot. Stephanie’s car was gone. She must have parked it somewhere. Just as I began scanning the lot, Stephanie walked up suddenly beside me.

  She was smiling. Her mouth moved. I stared, reading her lips. She asked me if everything was okay, said something about getting settled in for the game.

  “I changed my mind about the game,” I replied through the fog in my head. “Can we just get outta here? Please.”

  STEPHANIE drove us to a crowded and noisy Chili’s. We got a table near the bar, next to a booth crammed with six college-age girls who were slurping drinks from salt-rimmed glasses while they carried on loudly about guys and music and life in general.

  Stephanie wasn’t obvious about it, but she had been watching me with concern after I told her about Dwight and Vivian. She seemed to be expecting an explosion of melodramatics on my part, and I kept thinking how mystifying it must be for her that I was so calm about the whole thing. Given all that had happened since last night, I was surprised myself that I wasn’t cursing my head off or something. God knows, I left Mom’s place this morning like a walking bomb with a fuse just waiting for a match.

  I watched as a waiter placed bottles of beer in front of two men at an adjacent table. “Can I have a Corona?” I asked.

  Stephanie smiled. “Kyle, your dad doesn’t even like for me to drink beer. What do you think he’ll do if he finds out I bought you one? Besides, this place could lose its license if they let you drink alcohol in here.” She studied my face for a moment. “Have you had beer before?”

  “I sneaked one at my dad’s place once. It was Super Bowl weekend and he was having a bunch of people over for the game, and he had this cooler filled with beer and stuff. I didn’t even finish it because I didn’t like the taste. Dad found the can in my room the next day, and he stopped bringing it into the house. That was after he told me that if he caught me drinking beer again, he’d shove the can down my throat.” I glanced again at the cold, golden bottles the men were swigging down. “Sure looks good, though.”

  “You want to talk about Dwight?”

  I laughed, a small, humorless sound. “You mean about how he’s so messed up in the head, he doesn’t know whether he likes boys or girls?”

  “You said he told you he’s gay, and that he and this girl broke up. I think you should take him at his word.”

  “Stephanie, I may look like a big, dumb jock, but I ain’t stupid. I sort of like Dwight, and maybe down the line I could feel a whole lot more for him. But why would I set myself up to get hurt? He’s confused.”

  “No, he may have been confused when he first met that girl, but from what you’ve told me, he knows exactly who he is now.”

  I laughed again, suddenly amazed. “He got a girl pregnant. How dumb is that? He’s gay, supposedly, and he gets a girl pregnant. Since when do gay dudes get girls pregnant?”

  Stephanie looked at me evenly. “It happens, Kyle.”

  “Okay, okay. But why couldn’t he just tell me he was somebody’s daddy the first day we went out?”

  “Maybe he just wasn’t comfortable saying something like that to you until he got to know you better.”

  “Who am I kidding here? Dwight’s a stud, and he’s got a baby with a gorgeous girl. And then there’s me. What chance do I have in that equation?”

  Our waiter, a skinny Hispanic guy whose slinky black hair hung in a little ponytail down his neck, returned to our table with glasses of ice water. “You guys ready to order?” he asked as he placed the glasses in front of us.

  Stephanie looked at me. “Do you know what you want, Kyle?”

  I hadn’t even looked at the menu, which still lay folded on the table under my arm. Oddly enough, I had no appetite at the moment. “I think I’ll just have some lemonade.”

  “I’ll have iced tea. And bring us a basket of onion rings.” She gave me a wink as the waiter left. “Just in case you want something to snack on.”

  I slumped in my chair, exhaling loudly. “Man. My life sucks, big-time.”

  Stephanie nodded. “That happens to everybody now and again. Things will get better for you, Kyle. Just hang in there.”

  That weird vibe was coming off her strongly now, wisdom and naiveté shining from her face in an impossible blend. There was something exotic about her. She could have been deposited here from some other time when people left their doors unlocked at night and made it a point to look after their neighbors. I squinted at her, realizing that as much as I liked this woman, I knew next to nothing about her.

  “What?” Stephanie asked, smiling openly under my gaze.

  “You don’t talk much about yourself,” I said.

  “I’ve told you a lot about me.”

  “Yeah, when I ask. But you never just talk about yourself the way most people do.”

  She pulled her hair back with both hands, twisting it into a little knot on the left side of her head. “There isn’t much to tell. I work at the Bartlett library.”

  “Yeah, Dad told me that.”

  “I’m working on an English degree. I’d like to teach someday. I grew up in Tupelo, my father raised me and my brother alone after my mother moved out and left us. When I was your age, I thought I hated Mississippi and its bigots, and I wanted to move away to a place where people were more progressive. Then I moved to Tennessee and realized there are bigots everywhere. So I stopped running and learned how to deal with them.”

  I kept staring at her. “Nothing ever bothers you, does it?”

  “Of course things bother me. And sometimes I feel as if I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

  “You? Uncertain about what to do? Man, you would’ve died with that secret. But what I meant is that I can’t see you cussing or smacking somebody upside the head when a person does something to upset you.”

  “What happened to your hand?”

  I held up my right hand as though surprised to see that I had one. “Oh, nothing. I got into a fight the other day, over something stupid. It’s nothing.”

  “Looks serious. Is it broken?”

  “No, I just cut it. I have to go to my doctor next week to get the staples taken out. My mom thinks I’ve got anger issues.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’ve got a problem with people doing stupid things to me. I’m just standing up for myself.”

  “Standing up for yourself doesn’t have to always involve hitting, does it?”

  “Watch it. You’re starting to sound like my mom.”

  “Oh. Well, pardon me.”

  WE STAYED at Chili’s for almost two hours and had a good time. One college girl flirted with me and I flirted right back. Some sad-looking older dude said Stephanie and I were a cute couple and bought dessert for us in honor of our cuteness. And Stephanie and I had some good conversations. It turned out that she was a big fan of Mom’s column. She told me that Dad was making major Christmas plans for the three of us (Mom and Dad had agreed that they would alternate holidays
with me, and this Christmas I would be with Dad), and that she had saved up enough money to start classes at the University of Memphis in January. My cell phone vibrated several times in my pocket during this while, but I didn’t even pull it out to see who was trying to reach me. Early on, Stephanie got a call from Dad, wondering when the two of us would be getting back, and she was very happy to finally hear from him. I wound up gobbling down the entire basket of onion rings the waiter delivered to our table. By the time we left, the sun had set and night was drifting down with cool fall coziness. I was completely at ease.

  Stephanie let me drive back to Dad’s town house. When I turned into the lot, I spotted his car parked right in front of his door. “Dad’s home,” I said, announcing the obvious. None of the front windows were lit, which meant that he was probably in his room.

  I parked, handed Stephanie her keys, and we climbed out of the Jetta. Stephanie looked at her watch. “I told him you and I would be back at eight. He said that would be fine with him. He’s going to take me to the last showing of that new Final Destination tonight. It’s only six thirty. Maybe he and I can have dinner before we see the movie.”

  “That’s a good flick. You guys will like it.” Apparently, Dad and I were both weird when it came to choosing date movies. I pulled out my keys. As I unlocked the door, something thumped loudly and heavily against the floor within.

  “Dad?” I yelled, alarmed, shoving the door open. I thought he must have fallen and hurt himself. Stepping inside, I reached out instinctively and flicked on the light.

  “Kyle—” Dad’s voice called out in the instant before light flooded the living room. There was frantic movement, and I caught sight of Dad’s bare torso as he hunched against the far wall, pulling up his boxers. Next to him, on the floor, a woman sat wrapped in the covers from his bed.

  I hadn’t gotten a good look at her face the first time I saw her, but from the blonde highlights in the long black hair disarrayed about her head, I figured this was the chick with the banging body Dad had escorted past Subway the other day. And from the frilly garments scattered all around, I figured she was naked beneath the covers she so desperately clutched up to her neck with both hands. She stared at Stephanie and me with wide, anxious, and embarrassed eyes.

  Once Dad got his shorts up, all movement in the room froze, and the four of us stayed that way for an eternity.

  Then, at long last, there was motion behind me. Dad unfroze, reaching out quickly with one hand, his attention focused behind me. “Stephanie—”

  I looked over my shoulder. Stephanie had turned and was heading out the door, but she stopped when Dad called her name. A few moments passed before she looked back at him. There was a tiny smile on her mouth, something so fragile and accepting that it pierced my chest like an ice pick. There was not even a hint of tears in her eyes, but the pain there was devastating, as if everything within her had been crushed. She shone that pain on Dad like a spotlight, and then she turned, walked back to her car, climbed in, and drove sedately out of the parking lot, disappearing down the street.

  I stood in the doorway long after she was gone, staring at the traffic flowing down the street. The sight of her pained face was burned into my memory, and my heart ached for her. There was movement behind me, voices, as Dad and that… woman apparently hustled into their clothes.

  “Kyle,” Dad said quietly behind me, “come in here and close the door.”

  I kept still. At that moment, I couldn’t move.

  “Kyle, it’s okay,” said Dad. “Come in here, please, so I can talk to you.”

  The pang of heartbreak erupted suddenly into a sharp burst of blazing anger. I turned. That woman had slipped on a mini, this one slinky and silky with a black-and-white checkered pattern. She was urgently shoving her feet into black pumps with stiletto heels that had her walking so high on tiptoe she probably got nose bleeds every time she wore them. She could not have looked more like a streetwalker if she tried.

  Dad had on his pants and shoes and was about to pull on his shirt. He was walking carefully toward me. He reached out for my shoulder. “Son—”

  I jerked my shoulder away from him. “Don’t touch me!” I snapped, sneering at his hand as if it were riddled with disease.

  Dad stopped and raised both hands. “Kyle, listen—”

  “No. You don’t have a damned thing to say to me.” I had to get the hell out of there. I started to turn.

  Dad’s face flashed with anger. “I said for you to come in here.” He grabbed me tightly by the arm, stopping me.

  Dad is both taller and stronger than me. There were times when we were goofing off and wrestling with each other that he would pin me, and I couldn’t free myself no matter how hard I struggled. But the touch of his hand sent an even hotter blast of rage through me, and I snatched away from him so violently that I staggered backward out the door, landing flat on my butt on the porch.

  I wasn’t about to let him grab me again. Scrabbling to my feet, I hustled off the porch into the parking lot.

  Dad came right behind me, racing down the short flight of steps. The one advantage I had was that I was faster. I poured on a burst of speed and ran out of the parking lot, leaving him behind.

  I didn’t stop running until I reached Mom’s house. My keys were still in my right hand. I let myself in through the front door. Slamming the door behind me, I rushed through the foyer and saw Reece shoot to his feet from the sofa. He face shifted from surprise to confusion to concern, all in a matter of seconds. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  My chest was heaving with exertion and emotion. Without even realizing what I was doing, I went to him and wrapped my arms so tightly around his neck I must have choked the man. I buried my face against the side of his neck. Reece just stood there, probably stunned, his arms held out and away from me.

  There was a rush of footsteps, and then I heard Mom say, “Kyle? What happened? Is something wrong with your dad?”

  I had to be alone. Pushing away from Reece, I went up the stairs and locked myself in my room. My body was wound up with fury, and I fought to hold it in, feeling that it would blast down the entire side of the house if I struck out.

  Eighteen

  AFTER several minutes of yelling questions and imploring me to open the door, Mom and Reece left me alone. I paced the floor rapidly, a caged beast, until my ire died down, leaving me feeling helpless and weak. Turning off the light, I lay on my bed in the dark. My throat was hot with angry tears but I was too drained to cry.

  The landline rang twice. Each time, Mom answered, and I could hear her muffled, heated voice rising from downstairs like billowing smoke from an out-of-control blaze. I pulled out my cell phone and turned it off. It had been ringing too, but I never answered.

  After an uncertain amount of time, the doorbell rang, and I knew it was Dad. Anger ripped through my chest again. There were more voices from downstairs. No matter what, I was not going to talk to him.

  Minutes later, footsteps came down the hall, followed by an anxious, sharp knock at my door. “Kyle, it’s me,” said Dad. The doorknob rattled. “Please open the door.”

  I bit my fist to keep from screaming at him.

  “Kyle, please.” His voice trembled with pain. That made me even angrier. Of all people, he had no right to feel hurt.

  There was a softer knock, and Mom said firmly, “Kyle, you open this door now. I mean it.”

  I rolled off the bed, turned on the light, and unlocked the door. Mom came in at once, but Dad hovered in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, looking contrite and worried.

  Boiling up beneath the anger at what Dad had done to Stephanie was all the fury I had buried over what he had done to Mom, to our family. Scowling down at the floor, I started pacing again, up and down in front of my bed. Mom stood there, watching me, and for once, she seemed to have no idea what to say.

  She brought her hands together in front of her face, fingers in a steeple as if she were about to pray. Mom had stopped believin
g in God years ago. She sighed. “Kyle, sit down.” She pointed at the bed. “Your father wants to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have anything to say to him,” I snapped, never breaking stride. But in the next instant, I swung around and I was in Dad’s face, snarling, “What is wrong with you? You can’t just keep doing stuff like that to people, like their feelings are nothing. Stephanie loves you. Mom loved you.”

  Dad nodded quickly, looking even more repentant. “Son, come with me. We’ll go back to my place and talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk. I just want everybody to leave me the hell alone.” I threw myself onto the bed again, pushing my back against the headboard. Clasping my hands to the sides of my head, I stared at Dad with hard, cold eyes. “Get out.”

  Dad didn’t move. I could see the determination set in his face, and he clearly had no intention of leaving without settling things between us.

  Mom took him by the hand. “Come on, Joe. Let him be.”

  “I’m not going to—” Dad protested.

  Mom tugged his hand, cutting him off. “Kyle’s too upset. Just let it be for now.” She dragged Dad to the door and pulled him through. Then she reached back and, with a final glance at me, pulled the door shut.

  I WAITED, long after Dad and then Reece had left and Mom had gone to bed and the house was dark and silent.

  When I turned on my cell phone, there was a string of text messages from Dwight. I didn’t read any of them, and I pushed all thought of him from my mind. I pulled up Jabber. GayGoon was online, thank God.

  GamePlaya4Life: Hey, what’s up?

  GayGoon: Hey, Hot Doc. What r u up 2?

  GamePlaya4Life: Want 2 hook up 2nite. U game?

  GayGoon: Hell, yeah! When?

  It took a few minutes for us to work out the details. Afterward, I got out of those faggoty jeans and into a pair of oversized white jeans, letting them sag off my butt. Instead of sneakers, I wore my favorite pair of black work boots and topped off with a thick black pullover sweater.