Blood & Gristle

by Michael Louis Calvillo

  The box wasn’t just heavy, it was HEAVY. Timmy strained, the muscles of his lower back throbbing in time with his grunting, groaning, breathless lugging. He struggled and strained, accidentally kicking over his soda and muttering, shit, beneath his breath. Wobbling, fighting for balance, he lugged the box through the kitchen and then, with every ounce of strength firing in his thirteen year old muscles, he fought and powered and lifted the box onto the rosewood and mahogany dining room table.

  Timmy rolled his neck and shook out his arms. Damn straight, he thought, proud of himself for not abandoning the box and breaking down and calling his brother or dad for help. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and then leaned over the box. There was no address, theirs or a return, and he thought this was sort of strange, but he didn’t really dwell on it too much. A small, round symbol was imprinted dead center on each side of the butcher paper. It looked kind of like the Recycle triangle he saw all over his school (and ignored, opting to purposefully throw his cans and bottle on the ground instead), but it was round, and instead of white, it was a pale pink. Timmy inspected the box further, looking for a way to discreetly pull at the wrapping and get a peek.

  His parents forbid him from opening mail that wasn’t solely addressed to him, but then, his mom opened things meant for him hundreds (okay, maybe three) times. He traced a curious finger along a crease in the butcher paper and found a discrete little corner to yank on.

  “No!”

  Timmy turned. His mom’s shout startled him. He opened his mouth to yell at her for scaring him, but before he managed to get the words out, his mom rushed toward him with outstretched arms. Timmy didn’t know if she was mad or scared or what, but his defenses went up and he blurted, “What? I didn’t do any–”

  Before he could finish, his mom wrapped her arms around his shoulders and awkwardly pulled him away from the table. Timmy stumbled with her and nearly lost his balance, but they found their footing in the adjoining kitchen. He pulled away from his mom and grumbled, “Mom!” but then thought better of being rude. Maybe she heard him say shit when he picked up the box. Maybe she saw the overturned Mega Dew (that Timmy planned on cleaning but got distracted). Maybe he was in trouble, and talking back when he was in trouble would only make things worse. He was learning to go with the flow. Reading his parents moods and carefully planning mischief, not going crazy like when he was a dumb elementary school kid, helped to minimize hassle. He could get away with a lot more shit.

  “Are you okay?” His mom rubbed his face and shoulders and looked him over.

  She was scared and worried, not angry. It was safe to be rude, so Timmy picked up his original plan of attack and yelled, “Mom! What the heck!” He grimaced as only a thirteen year old boy could grimace and then pulled away from her again. “God, mom!”

  Satisfied that her baby boy was safe, Margret turned her head toward the garage and shouted, “Howard!”

  Howard, the patriarch of the family, was leveling a piece of plywood for some project or another when his wife’s voice pulled him from the satisfying calm of solid work. He abandoned the crisp smell of freshly cut wood and the pleasing concentration of manipulating objects with his hands and then made his way inside. The moment he saw the box sitting on the table his heart dropped end over end, plummeting from its seat in his chest, stirring up a tsunami of nausea and worry in the pit of his stomach. His throat went dry and he felt just like he did last year when Margret talked him into taking Timmy through some idiotic haunted maze at the community center’s annual Halloween carnival.

  The mazes got scarier and scarier over the years, each successive generations’ tolerance for fear aping, their ghoulish set pieces growing gorier, and the high school kids earning a little pocket change for the holidays grew bolder and bolder, adrenalized on fear-lust as they donned horrible costumes and sprang from corners and crawlspaces in an effort to make your heart leap into your chest. Walking with Timmy through the newest and most extreme of these terror mazes, Lucifer’s Hammer, Howard felt his heart stop on several occasions.

  Well, here was that weightless feeling all over again, but this time it didn’t just jump and fade in stops and starts, this time it lingered and held and grew so that not only his chest went light and tingly, but his whole being flittered like wind blown confetti.

  “When?” Howard choked on his question and coughed a bit.

  “Timmy just got it.” Margret squeezed Timmy’s shoulders and tried to pull him close to her. He did the teenage thing and resisted.

  “It’s just a stupid box?” Timmy complained and asked at the same time. “What’s going on?” He tried to move from the kitchen to the dining room table to show his crazy parents that there was nothing to worry about, that it was just a dumb old package, not something to be regarded with…horror? His mom held him back. Again, he shook her off, but he stayed put and asked, complained, “What?” again.

  “Where’s Kyle?” Howard kept his eyes on the box.

  Margret moved to her husband and put a hand on his shoulder. She too kept her eyes on the box. “He’s watching a movie with Lisa,” she answered.

  Timmy looked from parent to parent and was about to ask what their problem was, but an opening had presented itself and he couldn’t resist. “Their making out,” he smiled, and then he wished he kept his big mouth shut. Kyle was a good big brother. Even though he was twenty and Timmy was thirteen, he treated him with respect, more respect than any other adult and Timmy didn’t want to rat on him, but that Kyle was making out with his new girlfriend was just too juicy to contain. Something in his little brother DNA couldn’t, not say something.

  “Go get him.” Howard commanded. He stared and stared and stared at the box.

  Timmy frowned at him. What was his dad’s problem? What was going on here?

  Margret encouraged, “Hurry.”

  Timmy supposed his weirdo parents were talking to him, although nobody took the time to say, please, or to ask him by name. If he told his mom or dad to do something without saying please or being polite they’d give him a mountain of shit. Whatever. He let it go (he’d bring it up later and use it to his advantage somehow) and then ran off to get Kyle.

  “What do we do now?” Margret rubbed Howard’s arm and tried to get him to meet her eyes with his.

  Howard turned and met her gaze. “We knew this was coming.” His voice came out slow and faraway. He held his face in his hands and repeated, “We knew this was coming.”

  Timmy loitered outside of Kyle’s bedroom door. He put his ear to the wood and was rewarded with a steady outpouring of soft moans and muffled groans. The illicit sound set his groin all a-tingle and just like that – he sprang a raging boner. He tucked his erection into the waistband of his underwear and adjusted his pants and shirt and then pushed his way into Kyle’s room.

  A flurry of bed sheets whipped to and fro. Lisa let out a little shriek. Kyle huddled and secured his comforter over them.

  They were doing it!

  Timmy’s boner strained. He turned away in red faced embarrassment.

  Kyle covered his girlfriend and buried his face beside her pretty blonde hair. “Get out!” he growled into the pillow.

  “Dad–” Timmy tried to argue.

  “Get the fuck out, Timmy!” Kyle growled louder, his muffled voice almost clear. Lisa shifted beneath him. He was still inside of her and the movement sent shudders thrumming though both of their bodies. This was only their fifth time doing it. It took him forever to convince Lisa to let him – she complained that his parents were home, that, “They could walk in,” at any moment. Which was true, but Kyle laughed her off.

  He was twenty!

  Yes, he was still living at home, still trying to find his way in life, but he was a grown man. His family understood. They would understand. Shit, if he wanted to make love to his girlfriend on a Sunday afternoon, then he should be able to make love to his girlfriend on a Sunday afternoon. True, nobody ever said these things aloud, his mom or dad n
ever said it was okay for him to get busy on a Sunday afternoon, and true, he wouldn’t tell his parents that he was having sex with his girlfriend on a Sunday afternoon, but still, it was cool. It was no big deal. Everybody thought they were watching movies and they weren’t bugging any one and it was better that everybody just left it at that.

  Lisa was going to be so pissed at him.

  “Kyle!” Timmy persisted.

  Kyle shook his head in frustration. He shifted and pushed himself deeper into Lisa. She moaned silently into his neck, but before abandoning herself to pleasure, she punched at his stomach and tried to pull away. Kyle smiled into the pillow and pushed his penis in deeper. Lisa was going to be pissed, but she couldn’t say anything with Timmy in the room – Kyle figured he might as well have some fun trying to make her moan. He pumped, stifled his own groan, and then yelled, “Get out of here, man!”

  “Dad wants you! Now!” Timmy shouted through the awkward tension. He swallowed back a lump of humility and horny heat and then, at long last, ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  Lisa advanced from punching to clawing and unless Kyle wanted to bleed, he had no choice but to pull out of her and roll off. Their bodies came apart in a rush of cool air and tingling erogenous zones.

  “I told you!” Lisa balled her hands into fists and pounded the bed beneath them.

  “It’s okay, babe.” Kyle reached over and brushed some hair out of her face.

  Lisa sat up and began adjusting half removed garments. “Your little brother saw us…” Her words trailed off and she made a ewwww face.

  “What? Wrestling?” Kyle raised his eyebrows at her and smiled.

  “He’s not stupid, Kyle. He knows.” Lisa knew men, boys, and what she knew that when it came to sex, they all understood. Everything else? Dumb as rocks. But sex? Suddenly, ever man’s a freaking genius.

  “He knows? What? What does he know?” Kyle smiled. It would be fun to make her say it.

  “He knows,” she sighed and fastened her bra.

  “What?”

  Lisa gave him a come on look and then blurted, “We were…humping!”

  A small silence blossomed between them, only to be smothered by a round of uproarious giggles. They gave each other a kiss on the lips and smiled. There was something…nice, developing between them.

  “I gotta see what my dad wants.” Kyle got out of bed and fished his boxer shorts from beneath the sheets. While putting them on he swallowed back a clump of nausea and winced. Blue balls. Oh well, he thought, you took the risk…

  Lisa pulled her top on and then swung her bare feet to the floor. “I can’t face your parents. When the coast is clear I’m sneaking out.”

  “Timmy won’t say shit.” Kyle pulled his and Lisa’s pants from beneath the comforter, threw her hers, put his on, and then enjoyed watching his girlfriend do the same. She got her jeans up over her shapely hips, buttoned them up and gave him a yeah right pout.

  “Yeah right.” She broke her pout and grumbled what was in her eyes.

  “No, he’s cool. Really.” Kyle grabbed his girl around the waist and gave her a peck on the cheek. “We have an understanding.”

  Like with the making out, Timmy couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to sell his brother down the river, but then, he was thirteen and thirteen year olds didn’t have control of certain things, they lacked tact, they lacked foresight, they talked before they thought. The first thing he said when he returned to his parents was, “Kyle’s doing it!”

  Both of his parents gave him a look that said a hundred things – don’t tattle, interesting, Kyle is a dead man – but this box thing was really bothering them. The parental fire died from their eyes and that strange, nervous fear crept back in. Timmy had never seen his parents scared before. He didn’t like it.

  Neither did Howard. All of his life he tried to be the very pinnacle of strength and confidence. From the very day his boys were born, it was his sincerest intention to lead by example and raise a pair of self-assured men. That his final moments were upon him.

  Wait.

  Stop.

  Things could go well.

  Lots of families pulled through unscathed.

  Some even graduated with honors, moving into a realm of luxury and excess.

  Pipe dreams.

  But it could happen. It has happened. Things don’t have to end badly. Some families didn’t saw the box for generations upon generations (Howard’s wish for his family), but those that did…well, again, it didn’t always turn out badly. He gave the box another hard stare and shook his head. The internal pep talking did little to quell his fears. He was anticipating the worst.

  Margret felt her husband’s helplessness. She felt the shift in his otherwise confident demeanor and her stomach packed itself into a tight knot. Worry, worry, worry, but this might not be so bad.

  Right?

  The box was different for everyone. Families died. One member, two, three four, but then, families survived too. One member, two, three, four.

  There was no way of knowing until they each stepped up and took their turn, but at this point anything was possible. She squeezed Howard’s hand and gave him a hopeful smile. He squeezed back, but his eyes didn’t change.

  Kyle and Lisa walked into the room, hand in hand, blank faced, aping virtue, pretending that they had come from innocently watching a movie and not disrespecting the house by having sex right under everyone’s nose. Margret wished she could be mad at him. Anger was control. It was strength. She wished she could ball up her fists and call Kyle a Pig and Lisa a Whore (even though she was turning out to be one of the smartest, sweetest girls Kyle had ever brought home), but right now none of that mattered and she couldn’t muster the fury. Right now she wanted to hug them.

  Howard wasted no time. He said, “Now,” squeezed Margret’s hand, and then walked to stand before the box at the head of the table.

  “Someone spilt a soda in the entryway.” Kyle gestured over his shoulder.

  Margret grabbed Timmy by the hand and led him to the table. He wanted to pull away and run off, this was way weird, but both of his parents cast a grave seriousness that compelled him to do exactly as they said. He kept quite and followed his mom. She stood him to the left of his father and Margret took her place to the right.

  “Hello? Earth to family?” Kyle quipped.

  “Please join us.” Howard motioned at spots on both sides of the table, one for Kyle and one for Lisa. “Son,” he pointed next to Margret on the right. “Lisa,” he pointed next to Timmy.

  Son? Kyle cocked his head confused. His dad called him Kyle and Kiddo and sometimes his old nickname, Booger, but never Son. He let it go and asked, “What’s up, dad? There’s a Mega Dew can–” The spilled soda seemed important. The sticky, sugary, carbonated beverage was probably ruining the entryway floor. His parents didn’t seem to care though. His dad cut him off and gave him the most serious look Kyle had ever seen the man make.

  “Kyle. Please. Stand here.” Howard pointed to the spot. “Lisa,” he pointed to the other spot.

  Kyle nodded and shrugged and held his hand out for Lisa to do as his dad asked. The young couple took their spots around the table and stood behind their chairs.

  “Our lives are fragile,” Howard began. “Everyday…everyday is a test. We make choices and these choices have consequences and then we make more choices and on and on. I didn’t think this was going to happen to us. We’ve led…good lives, but…I’ve taught you boys to accept responsibility.”

  Both Kyle and Timmy listened to their dad and gave him a chance to babble on about whatever he was babbling on about, but they were this close to breaking from their spots and moving on. They were restless and confused and anxious. There were girlfriends to be humped and video games to be played. Howard sensed his boys’ agitation and stepped things up. “Our family is bound by a pact. We–”

  Timmy couldn’t help it. He had to say something. The weird vibes were just too weird. “What�
��s a pact?” he interrupted.

  Howard nodded, indicating the intrusive question was okay and then said, “A bargain. A deal. A pact.”

  “Like Deal or No Deal?” Again, Timmy couldn’t help himself.

  Howard didn’t dignify the second question with an answer. Instead he said, “Just listen, okay?”

  Timmy nodded.

  “There a lot of things your mother and I have been keeping from you. Timmy, you’re still too young, but Kyle? Kyle, I’m sorry. We–”

  This didn’t seem like the right time for whatever this was. Kyle had his new girlfriend here and his parents were acting all creepy and he didn’t think he even wanted to know what they were talking about or what they were keeping from him. Life was cool just the way it was and he was happy leaving it alone. “No time for novels here, Dad,” he cut in. “How about the short story version. Lisa and I are trying to make Shakey’s before their lunchtime buffet ends.” Kyle wanted to be a writer for a living and like all writers he thought his last turn of phrase – How about the short story version? – was much cleverer than it actually was.

  Howard cleared his throat and pointed at the box. “This box, holds our future. After we open it, everything might be the same…or…everything might be…different.”

  “I’m not really liking the way you say…different. Too little information, dad. Too vague.” Kyle was tempted to add, a full synopsis, please, but then figured that would be going overboard. Just because he wanted to be a writer didn’t mean he had to flaunt it.

  “You two are miracles!” Margret shouted. Sometime in the past few moments she had begun crying. Howard put a hand on her shoulder. “Your dad and I couldn’t conceive–”

  “Ewwww,” Timmy groaned.

  Margret ignored him. “We tried everything. We decided to adopt. But, the process… Your dad found another way.”

  “Maybe I should go?” Lisa took a few steps back from the table.

  “You can’t. I’m sorry to bring you into this, but the rules are very specific.” Howard looked over his shoulder and out the kitchen window. “If you step outside, the dark will take you and then it will come for us.”