Carter's Unfocused, One-Track Mind

by Brent Crawford

  Join the club, and replace “months” with “ever.”

  EJ observes, “It’s like your left eye is wearing a fake mustache as a hat.”

  “What the hell am I gonna do?!” Bag asks.

  I yell over the laughter, “Get me a Sharpie! We’ll draw it back on.”

  Andre finally says what we’re all thinking: “You gotta get rid of the other one, dude.”

  “Clean the slate!” I cheer.

  Bag reluctantly shaves off his other eyebrow…and normal appearance. Who knew eyebrows were so important? He’s on the verge of tears, so we try not to laugh for a second. But then he looks up at us like a puppy that’s returned from his first trip to the groomer and asks hopefully, “Is it that bad?”

  We fall all over ourselves. Bag has no sense of humor about this because he just broke up with this girl, Kathy, and he was a total dick about it, so he won’t be able to get her back. And now that he looks like a giant newborn baby, he’s as dead meat with the girls who don’t know him as he is with the ones who do.

  EJ’s dad is in the kitchen reading the newspaper when we come up from the basement. Bag is the first guy he sees. He drops the paper in shock and gasps, “Oh, lord!” I don’t think their therapist has covered the possible negative side of “freedom,” because Mr. Johnson just gets up and heads for the door. “I wasn’t here. You didn’t see me.”

  “Hey, we can’t find those old boxing gloves, Dad,” EJ says.

  His dad stops to considers his next move. EJ continues, “We really need them. I told you that guy Scary Terry got out of juvie, so we’re going to practice fighting. Maybe you could show us some moves from your old boxing days?”

  His dad rubs his face in frustration. “I don’t know how to box, Emilio! Those are antique boxing gloves. Your mom got them for decoration when you were a baby…and they’ve been hanging on the wall of your bedroom ever since, genius!”

  The old leather boxing gloves are indeed hanging above EJ’s dresser. They’re mixed in with a whole collage of other old sports crap, but we still tease him mercilessly for not knowing where they were. The gloves are rad. They’re deep brown and soft as hell. The only problem is there’s only one pair, so on the way to the backyard we snag a pair of his dad’s ski mittens. The plan is that one guy gets the left boxing glove and the other guy gets the right, and we switch between rounds to keep it fair.

  We mark off our ring with a garden hose and we time the rounds with my watch. Real boxing matches have three-minute rounds, but ours are only two because no one can keep his hands up for that long. Sometimes our rounds last four or five minutes, though, when I space off and start enjoying the show instead of doing my job and banging the pots together.

  EJ and I fight after Doc and Bag. We hit each other a few times, but mostly we just walk around in circles talking trash and trying to breathe. Boxing is way harder than it looks, and getting punched or punching with the mitten hand sucks!

  Levi knocked Nutt out cold. It was really Nutt knocking himself out by leaning into a flailing girlie punch. His eyes glazed over before his knees splayed out to the sides and went out from under him. Andre caught him like a toddler before his head could hit the grass.

  The first rule of fight club is, You do not talk about fight club. Mostly because it’s embarrassing. A few fights ended with guys crying, and even Andre looked like a scared girl during his first rounds. But it’s like anything else: once you get whacked a few times it’s not so bad. My left eye appears to be swelling shut, and it’s definitely throbbing, but I’m having a blast.

  We’re watching Hormone and J-Low fight when EJ puts his arm around me and says, “You won’t get this at some drama school.”

  “Is that a good or bad thing?” I ask.

  He continues, “My dad said I could drive Aunt Jenny to homecoming. Do you want to double-date?”

  “Just because we have a car doesn’t mean we have dates.”

  “I’ll just take Nicky,” he replies. “And I heard you were taking Amber Lee.”

  “How do you even know about that?”

  “Nicky told me that Abby was gonna ask you to ask her, and we all know you’ll do anything she says.”

  “That’s kind of rude, dude.”

  “Are you or are you not planning to ask the pregnant girl that ditched you at that same dance last year?” he asks.

  “Shut up.”

  He laughs. “I hear pregnant chicks get mad horny.”

  I give him a disgusted look. “Gross!”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, you sick freak,” he says. “Come on, we could have fun at that dance.”

  “Naw, man, you’re hanging out with Nicky because she lets you have sex with her. I, on the other hand, avoid crazy.”

  He scoffs, but I know he’s actually kind of bummed because he doesn’t want to be alone with Nicky. I change the subject. “What do you think about the New York thing, seriously?”

  But he’s still too pissed about the prospect of an evening with Nicky to be objective. He just asks me, “Do you even know how to make mac and cheese?”

  “Shut up.”

  While Hangin’ Chad is beating the crap out of TrimSpa, some juniors come walking down the slope of EJ’s backyard. They heard about the fight club and they want in…until Andre randomly clocks one of them with the boxing glove. He thought it would be funny, and I guess he thought it wouldn’t hurt the kid if he was wearing the glove, but it looked like he killed the guy. The junior eventually started twitching and moaning, but it was scary for a second.

  My best friend and I never really got the chance to discuss my leaving home early. I fought three more times that day, and I know I got hit a few times, but I don’t think I got rocked. I must have, though, because I don’t remember riding home. Mom freaked out a little about my haircut, but then she noticed my bike was parked in the guest bedroom instead of the garage. Once she figured out why I was stumbling around the kitchen like a wino, she stopped worrying about the hair.

  6. FOCUS, DANIEL-SON

  EJ passed his driver’s test, so we’re officially mobile! Eleven dudes pile into Aunt Jenny after football practice on Friday. We go to EJ’s for a fight club session and then head to the theater to see the new Fast and the Furious movie. Unfortunately, only a few of us have money, and the penguins busted us trying to sneak everyone else in the side door. EJ only has permission to drive to the movie and the gas station, so we head to QuikTrip to loiter for a few hours.

  At the stoplight on Merrian Lane, an old yellow Cutlass pulls up next to us real slow. Everyone stiffens because it’s exactly like Scary Terry’s car. No one looks at the driver, but eventually J-Low says, “No bass, right?”

  “The trunk bolts aren’t rattling,” Nutt agrees.

  We all look over at the older man in the car next to us. We should explain why we seem to be laughing at him, but that would be even weirder. You see, Terry likes his music with a lot of bass. His sound system is probably awesome if you’re in the car, but if you’re not, all you hear is bolts rattling.

  The old dude is gawking at Aunt Jenny like she’s wearing a bikini. Eventually he rolls down his window and says, “Nice Swinger!”

  I mutter, “Take it easy, buddy,” but no one can hear it because EJ has put Aunt Jenny into neutral and revs her huge engine…VVVRRROOOOM, ROOOOHHM, ROOOOHHM!!!

  The whole car shudders like a wild animal shaking water off of its fur. The old guy nods with admiration before revving his own engine.

  Nutt says, “I think old boy wants to go!”

  “Hell yeah!” Bag yells. “Fast and Furious!”

  “Smoke this fool!” Andre barks.

  My wuss instinct says, “I don’t know, dude, it’s the first time—” but my words are drowned out by the roaring engine again. The light turns green and the Cutlass lights up its back tires and rips across the line. I see EJ floor the gas pedal, but the car doesn’t move. He seems to have flooded it. We’re covered in smoke and defeat�
�until Aunt Jenny shudders again and we’re all slammed into our seats. Four hundred and twenty-six cubic inches of American muscle scream like a rocket being launched as the back end fishtails around and the tires start eating pavement.

  We chant, “GO, GO, GO!!!” as she easily overtakes the Cutlass and leaves it in the dust.

  “Aunt Jenny was just toyin’ with him!” I cheer.

  EJ yells, “Holy crap, we’re going a hundred and ten on Merrian Lane!”

  Things look so different when you’ve crossed that hundred-mile-an-hour mark. We fly right past QuikTrip and almost take out a Mitsubishi Eclipse that’s trying to turn ahead of us. EJ whips the massive steering wheel around and skids to the side, plowing through the grass in front of the Econo Lodge. We bounce over a median before getting back to QuikTrip. We crack up and make fun of EJ’s driving, but we’re all very impressed with Aunt Jenny.

  She is suddenly, completely out of gas, so EJ almost nails a gas pump while pulling up to it. We act out a skit where EJ has blown up the station as we get out.

  Doc says, “Speaking of explosions, has anyone even seen Scary Terry?”

  “I bet he got arrested again,” Bag says.

  “We would’ve heard something like that,” I say. “I think he heard about our fight club and he’s like, ‘Screw that! I’m ain’t messin’ with Will Carter now that he’s a badass.’”

  Nutt adds, “Or he’s in Cambodia, training with Muay Thai monks, so that he can kill you without evidence.…Make it look like you just died in your sleep, but when the doctors open you up, all of your organs are mangled.”

  “Shut up.”

  EJ pumps gas and adds, “I bet he’s in New York City. They love crazy people there. He’s just waiting for you in some subway tunnel.”

  Abby downloaded the application for the New York Drama School for me, and EJ saw it in my backpack yesterday. I haven’t filled it out because it’s ridiculously long, but he keeps making these negative comments about New York all the time. Before I can call him out, Rusty’s LTD pulls up to the pump across from us. Old cars are cool, but they love gas.

  Rusty’s without Amber again, and hanging with some sketchy dudes instead. They seem drunk when they stumble out of the car, so we keep our distance. He struggles with the gas cap as one of his friends lies down on the hood of that Eclipse we almost smashed into.

  Doc quietly observes, “It could be worse, Carter. You could be having a baby with Amber Lee and living with her dad.”

  “There’s always next year,” I say. “Have you guys ever been inside her house?”

  Bag replies, “Nope, I like my dick right where it is!”

  “It’s really nice, and her dad isn’t so bad.…He’s kinda funny, actually.”

  My boys obviously care more about junk food than interior design or the complexities of human nature, because they just walk away from me into the QuikTrip. We enter as a group and find Jeremy waiting in line to pay for some Twizzlers. He’s with Bandana Boy, obviously on an awkward first date, so I get right behind them and ask the clerk in a deep voice, “Yo, you guys still keep the Magnums behind the counter?”

  Jeremy and Bandana Boy slowly turn around, and I say, “I’m sorry, did you just ask that same question, J?”

  Jeremy gasps and says, “Shut up, Carter!” as he swats my shoulder.

  “No penis jokes on a first date?”

  My boys head for the chips like they’re hungry, but I’m pretty sure they just don’t want to talk about condoms with gay dudes. They’re not bashers or anything; they just haven’t spent enough time in the drama department.

  Jeremy introduces me to the guy. I think his name is Brad, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything except his head wrap.

  I tell them about getting kicked out of the movie theater, but Bandana Boy obviously couldn’t care less and heads to the magazine rack. Jeremy rolls his eyes, so I ask, “Is it not going well?”

  He sighs. “I don’t know. He’s kind of annoying. We just talked about gasoline for five minutes. I tried to help fill up his car, and I got a lecture about ‘performance engines’ and ‘octane levels’ or something.”

  “I didn’t realize the Eclipse was a high-performance vehicle.”

  “Nobody did,” Jeremy quips.

  Rusty and his crew slither through the glass doors and head back toward my boys. Jeremy says, “Poor Rusty. He’s an a-hole, but I feel sorry for him now. Hey, can I ditch my date and hang out with you guys?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Where are you headed after this?” he asks.

  “Oh, we’ve arrived. We’re just hangin’ out in front of QuikTrip tonight.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Never mind.”

  “I thought you liked this dude.”

  “I do,” he explains. “It’s just that barf-scarf he’s wearing on his head! Yuck. I tried to talk to him about it earlier, and he got snippy.”

  “Does he have cancer?” I whisper.

  “No!” Jeremy laughs. “He may be going bald, though. That’s still no excuse for being rude.”

  “He’s probably nervous. Nobody likes criticism…especially on a first date, and when the person owns an Eclipse and does show choir—”

  Jeremy snaps, “Watch it! I told him the bandana was cute, but I suggested that he keep it in his pocket or wear it like a sexy cowboy neckerchief.”

  I prove that I am related to Lynn Carter by rolling my eyes.

  Jeremy sighs. “You’re right…I’m the a-hole.” And he goes back to collect his new friend. My boys come up to the counter with Rusty right behind them. Rusty rams his shoulder into Jeremy and says, “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

  Jeremy straightens himself. “No, it’s my fault, my shoulders have gotten so big, lately. I work out a lot.”

  Rusty looks at Bandana Boy and asks, “Is this like a gay date?”

  “It’s just like a gay date, Rusty. That’s very observant. Is Amber home with the kids?”

  Rusty is no match for Jeremy’s wit, so he turns his attention to Bandana Boy. He touches the guy’s head scarf before Bandana Boy knocks his hand away and says, “Don’t!”

  Rusty puffs out his chest and says, “Take it easy, gangsta.”

  “There is no need to touch, Rusty,” Jeremy scolds. “Did you have some after-work cocktails at the body shop?”

  Nutt laughs out loud any time he hears the word cock. Rusty seems to think he’s being made fun of, because his cheeks flush and he just walks out of the store without paying for his drink. His friends follow, and the cashier picks up the phone like he’s going to call the cops.

  “No, no…I’ll pay for their drinks, and all of this crap,” I say, like a boss.

  I like to complain about paying for stuff, but I love being able to do it. The clerk seems bummed that he doesn’t get to bust somebody tonight, but I know the last thing Rusty needs is to get arrested, or get into any stupid fights…which he’s totally going to do.

  “Yo!” EJ yells, and points out the window.

  Rusty has just thrown his whole soda onto the hood of the Eclipse. His friends think it’s the funniest thing in the world. Bandana Boy does not. He’s charging toward his car like an angry little dog, and I rush out the door. I don’t want to get beat up defending a Mitsubishi, but Jeremy is one of my best friends, so what are you going to do?

  Jeremy is pulling Bandana Boy back, yelling, “Stop! It’s so not worth it.”

  But Rusty kicks the hood of the car and sneers, “Don’t want to mess with the homobile!”

  “Hey!” Jeremy yells.

  I back him up and say, “Rusty, chill out.”

  He turns his attention to me and says, “You need to learn to mind your own business, boy!”

  My heart races, and I can’t think of anything to say, so I just glare at him. I should’ve said, This is my business, fella! But the moment has passed, so I keep my mouth shut.

  Bandana Boy says, “You bastard!” when he notices the scratch on his hood. He has tears
in his eyes as he charges Rusty again.

  “Step off!” Rusty sneers as he shoves the kid and snatches the bandana off his head. “Do-raggot FAGGOT?!”

  For the record, Bandana Boy is losing his hair.

  Rusty’s friends laugh, and I’m only able to say, “Hey—” before Jeremy has leapt five feet into the air and spun around. I’ve seen him jump before, so I knew he had some ups…but he’s not doing jazz hands tonight. His fists are drawn up beside his face, and his right foot swings around with lightning speed just before bitch-slapping Rusty’s head with the sole of his Top-Sider. WHAAAACK!!!

  My boys yell, “OHHH!” and my eyes are wide with shock as I file in behind my best (gay) friend who’s secretly a badass.

  Bandana Boy reties his head scarf, and Rusty holds his red cheek while debating getting beaten up or punking out in front of his friends. Jeremy asks, “Why would you say something like that?! You know that I’m gay. You can see we’re on a date, and you also know I’ve been in Tae Kwon Do since third grade! Every time I won a tournament or got a higher belt, I brought it in for show-and-tell. You really want to gay-bash a fourth-degree black belt? What’s wrong with you?”

  Rusty just silently fumes.

  Jeremy continues, “I’m sorry I did that in front of your friends, but you need to check yourself, Rusty.”

  This hate crime was over the moment Jeremy’s feet left the ground, but it officially ends when a police car’s siren chirps and a cop’s voice comes over the loudspeaker: “You fellas need to disperse. This a no-loitering zone.”

  Gotta love the Merrian P.D. Fighting crime without ever getting out of their car! They broke up a brawl last month and didn’t bother to arrest the kid who started it.

  Rusty and his friends jump into the LTD and speed away, and Jeremy gives me a nod as he opens the passenger door of the Eclipse. “Thanks for backing me up, Carter. It means more to me than you could know.”

  “Sure,” I reply. “Thanks for not needing any help. I didn’t know you were Bruce Lee! Hey, we’re doing this fight club thing at EJ’s house. Will you come and teach us some of that?”

  Jeremy looks at my friends and smiles before he says, “I’d love to.”