My Best Year

by William Hazelgrove

  “Getting a little fresh air Macy.”

  She doesn’t bat an eye.

  “No donuts left?”

  “Who’s Mr. SpongeBob?”

  She shrugs.

  “Just a guy.”

  “You and Randy not going out anymore?”

  She shrugs.

  “Yeah. We are.”

  I look at her and she looks like she could suck the chrome off a bumper with that mouth.

  “Whose car?”

  She nods to Mr. SpongeBob.

  “His.”

  “You got an ID?”

  Her mouth flattens out.

  “It’s in the car.”

  I turn to the guy and call out.

  “How about you there, SpongeBob, you got an ID?”

  “My name is Toby Clampet. SpongeBob is a cartoon character,” he says, staring straight ahead.

  “Toby Clampet do you have an ID?”

  “Yes. It is in my pants.”

  He starts to reach down.

  “Not so fast there Bob,” I say walking over because you never know. I mean he is weird looking and with the cop killings going on you can’t be too careful.

  I put my hand on my Nine Millimeter and nod to him.

  “Okay.”

  He reaches down and hands me the wallet still staring straight ahead.

  “Nice underwear.”

  “Thank you,” he says.

  I finger his ID and right away I feel the condom pushing through the leather.

  “Expecting a little action tonight?”

  He frowns.

  “That is for intercourse. Not action,” he says.

  “Are you new in town Toby?’

  “Yes. We just moved here from a suburb of Chicago so I can have my best year of high school. My dad graduated here in 1988.”

  I squint at him. I had heard of some weird family that moved in with some retarded kid and some strange rumblings over at Sycamore High. I mean everyone knows that school is going to get closed any day and the kids bused over to LaSalle. I feel sorry for the teachers. Most of them won’t have a job before summer.

  “Your best year huh,” I say holding up the condom. “Well it looks like you are off to a good start, Toby.”

  FLUNG

  PAUL

  THE PHONE RANG AT midnight. I had lost tracking capability around ten when they were at the Sycamore Diner. It happens. GPS loses the satellite and then it doesn’t matter if they have their phone on or not.

  “Hello.”

  “Yes Mr. Clampet.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Sergeant McElroy of the Sycamore police.”

  Julie had just opened her eyes on the couch and sat straight up. I felt the other shoe coming just as Max in Parenthood told his mother he was sorry for saying cruel things about survival rates for her breast cancer. I wondered then what would happen if things were not wrapped up in forty-five minutes. Apocalypse?

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Clampet, you better come down to the station. We have your son.”

  It’s funny. Occasionally I come upon pictures of Toby when he was ten. They are usually in my sock drawer where I keep everything. Among old cameras and pipes and cigars are some buttons with my son’s face laminated on them. He has a baseball mitt and a buck-toothed grin. I have been staring at that picture lately to remind myself that things were not always this way. I wasn’t always sitting in a police station with my wife in my old town.

  “Where is she?” a woman demands barging into our small vestibule.

  The woman looked like an older worn down version of Macy. She has on tight jeans with spikes and a frilly white coat. Her hair is bleached with fierce dark roots. She stares at me and right then I knew it was Georgia. She smiles and gives me a big hug.

  “Paul. You look fucking great!’

  Julie is staring at this woman who smells of cigarette smoke and booze.

  “This is my wife, Julie. This is Georgia, Macy’s mother,” I say.

  “Howyadoin,” she says in the brassy scratchy voice.

  “I am fine,” Julie murmurs.

  “So I heard you had moved back. Macy told me about you.”

  I nod like I am underwater. I knew Georgia was working at the diner and had never left Sycamore. You always try and avoid running into your past because there is really no connection to the present. But here she was looking still sexy in a slutty used-up sort of way.

  “Paul was my sweetie,” she explains to Julie. “We went to the Homecoming together, didn’t we?”

  “Ah…yes.”

  Julie looks at me.

  “He didn’t tell me that.”

  “Oh yeah. We were the popular couple. Paul was a football star and I was a cheerleader. When I heard Macy was going out with his son I thought, well the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “No it doesn’t,” Julie said with her lips pressed tight together.

  Georgia then turned toward the police station.

  “So where the fuck are they?” she says, the cigarette bobbing in her mouth.

  “The officer said they would be out to speak to us,” I explained.

  “Probably Floyd, the fucking loser,” she muttered fingering her lighter.

  I found it incredible she might light up right there. A man in a goatee and construction boots with a greasy John Deere hat came in and looked around. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “What the fuck is going on Georgia?”

  “Oh, what you are going to play big Daddy now?”

  The man looked at me with dark eyes.

  “Do we know each other?”

  “I don’t think so,” I muttered.

  He then turned back to Georgia

  “What are they holding her for?”

  “I don’t know probably pot and beer and underage sex,” Georgia shrugged, winking at me.

  Dwayne turned back to me

  “I do know you, you were like a jock or something, kind of an asshole.”

  “If there is any asshole here, Dwayne, it is a fucking deadbeat who doesn’t pay child support!”

  The man slammed his fist against the wall.

  “Will you fucking shut up!”

  “Oh real good Dwayne. Piss off the cops some more why don’t you. You are such a fucking asshole.”

  “Shut up cunt.”

  “Real classy.”

  Georgia pushed her ass out and walked up to his face.

  “You don’t send child support and you never showed up for half of your weekends and now you come here like you give a fucking shit.”

  Dwayne adjusted his greasy hat and breathed heavy.

  “Get out of my face bitch.”

  Georgia got even closer like a dog nipping at his face.

  “What kind of a fucking man would come back and fuck his ex-wife?” Georgia turned to Julie and I. “Can you believe this asshole? He leaves me for some fat bitch he met in a bar and then comes slinking back to get some of the good stuff. What a fucking lowlife.”

  Dwayne grinned. “For a whore like you I figured you be used to that.”

  “Too bad you can’t even fuck without getting all fucked up. I bet you even take Viagra to get that little pecker of yours up.”

  “It’s big enough for that disgusting twat between your legs,” he says looking at me.

  Julie is sitting in a Patagonia hoodie and looking at the floor. I assumed Georgia was posing rhetorical questions and not demanding a reply. Dwayne then turned to Julie.

  “What kind of a slut would let her ex-husband fuck her?”

  Georgia walked toward us.

  “We met in high school. I was the most popular girl and led the cheerleading squad and I was Homecoming Queen and I wouldn’t look at someone like this lowlife,” she explained as if Dwayne had magically vanished.

  “But you fucked me while you were fucking that douche bag,” Dwayne grumbled.

  Georgia looked at me then like she was my wife.

  “He’s lying P
aul. I was always faithful to you.”

  “Bullshit,” Dwayne scoffed.

  I held up my hands to show I laid no claim to Georgia. “I really don’t …”

  Georgia turned to me.

  “I didn’t know what a fucking loser he was,” she explained. “That all he wanted to do was work in a garage and chase pussy in a bar.”

  “You chased enough dick to know what that was about,” Dwayne said wearily.

  Georgia was now directly in front of Julie and I.

  “Pussy! That is all he fucking wanted. This fat ugly old pussy!”

  “Better than yours,” Dwayne deadpanned.

  Georgia smiled and stuck her ass out toward him.

  “Yeah. My snatch was sweet compared to the gutter twat you were eating.”

  “If you like sloppy seconds,” Dwayne shrugged.

  Julie then turned and looked like she might get sick.

  “I have to get something from the car,” she murmured, walking out the door quickly.

  Dwayne turned to me and pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

  “Are you the guy paying Macy to date your son?”

  The switch was so dramatic. I was caught off guard.

  “Ah—”

  “That is none of your goddamn business,” Georgia shouted getting up in his face.

  His eyes narrowed and his arms swelled.

  “It is if it’s my daughter. I heard he was paying her serious cash.”

  “You’ll never see a penny asshole,” George shouted getting even closer.

  “Step the fuck back bitch,” Dwayne warned.

  “Why, you going to hit me again?” Georgia taunted getting even closer.” These cops will fucking throw away the key this time.”

  “Don’t fucking tempt me cunt.”

  Georgia then walked away from him and stood in front of me.

  “I was as pretty as Macy. Even prettier, right Paul? And I had it all ahead of me. I didn’t work in a diner,” she explained. “I really had it all then.”

  “You belong on a fucking street corner with all the other whores,” Dwayne muttered slumping down on the opposite bench.

  Georgia ignored him and put the cigarette back in her mouth. She turned to me and lowered her voice.

  “I really loved high school.”

  BMOC

  OFFICER FLOYD TWAIN

  I JUST WANTED TO scare them a little. Not that anyone could scare that Macy. I found half a joint and an empty beer can and Mr. Sponge Bob didn’t even have a license. So I had her drive the kid’s race car back to the station and I spent most of the time talking to the Clampet kid. That was a trip.

  “So do you smoke pot?”

  “It’s illegal,” he says.

  “But you smoke it?”

  “I invoke my right to say nothing that will incriminate myself.”

  “You mean the fifth amendment.”

  “Yes.”

  “How about the beer?”

  “Beer is only illegal for someone under the age of twenty-one to drink.”

  “You are under twenty-one,” I pointed out.

  “Yes.”

  “And you were drinking beer?”

  “I invoke my right against self-incriminating.”

  What the kid didn’t know—or maybe he did—was that he was a minor so none of this meant anything. So I took a different track.

  “What is this whole best year business?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why did your dad move you out here. This town ain’t exactly jumping.”

  The kid just stared straight ahead. He never met my eyes once.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You said you moved out here so you could have your best year of high school.

  “Yes. My dad had his best year in his senior year in Sycamore High and he wanted me to have one after I got kicked out of our old school for burning Mr. Slayballs’s ass.”

  I sat back then and stared at him.

  “Do you have a disability?”

  “I am autistic.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Oh, and your dad thinks you can have your best year at Sycamore High.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he know that school is closing this year?”

  “You will have to ask him.”

  About this time the parents arrive and so I hold them a little longer and shoot the shit with that hot piece of tail Macy and then I let them go. Mr. Clampet looks like one of these guys you see on some of those crappy shows like Modern Family or Parenthood. Nobody works in those shows and everybody is loaded. Duck Dynasty, now there is a show worth watching.

  “So will there be any charges officer?” Mr. Clampet wants to know.

  “They got lucky this time,” I say, playing the big man.

  I see Dwayne and Georgia and they are going at it in the parking lot.

  “Thank you officer,” Clampet says.

  His kid has left with his wife who looks like one of those women who drive a fifty thousand dollar Escalade. I gesture outside to the parking lot.

  “Mr. Clampet. Your son. He has some problems?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean isn’t he kind of retarded or something.”

  Clampet’s face turns red then.

  “He is autistic officer,” he says like he has a poker up his ass.

  I squint and hook my hands on my gun belt.

  “And you moved here to what…give him a second chance at the high school?”

  “Yes, well, basically. I went here—a long time ago.”

  I kind of got a little close on him then. I’m a big guy, six three, two hundred and fifty pounds and gaining.

  “I have heard about a lot of money being passed around at the school.” I paused then. “I mean we aren’t fucking lab animals for a couple yuppies to use to make their retarded kid feel better.”

  Clampet then went like three shades fire engine red. Yeah. I know you aren’t supposed to use retarded anymore but I just wanted to fuck with him.

  “He is not retarded officer,” he says like his voice was about to crack.

  I held out my hands.

  “Just saying, be careful out there. People are desperate in this town. People can be taken advantage of when their back is against the wall and I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. I like Macy and her mom and some stranger comes in thinking he can mess with people’s lives, waving money around…well, he shouldn’t think that everyone is for sale.” I look down my nose. “You get my drift?”

  Clampet just stood there and I could see the pulse in his temple.

  “Is that all officer?”

  I shrugged.

  “Yeah. Just pay the fine and you can be on your way.”

  “What fine?”

  I shrugged and tugged on my hat.

  “I’d say five hundred should do her.”

  Clampet turned red again.

  “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “I wouldn’t call it blackmail, Mr. Clampet. Just my contribution to your son’s best year. I mean Macy is dating my son and I know he won’t take too kindly to Macy giving your kid head out in the cornfields. He might kick your son’s ass.”

  Clampet reached into his coat and pulled out his wallet.

  “Can I write you a check?”

  “I prefer cash. There is an ATM at Joe’s gas station around the corner.”

  “I’ll be back,” he muttered.

  Then he walked out and drove that Cobra Jet Convertible out of the lot. Nice fucking car.

  VISCERAL REACTION

  JULIE

  “THAT’S IT,” I TOLD Paul under the kitchen lamp that hovered like some old movie.

  He sat. We were both exhausted from the night and watching Georgia and Dwayne. What scared me was the way Georgia went up to that white Mustang and sat on the hood like she was having sex.

  “Those people,” I began.

  Paul nodded.

  “Yeah,�
� he muttered.

  “I can’t believe you ever dated her.”

  “She was different then.”

  I think we both had some sort of visceral reaction to Dwayne and Georgia. It was sort of the road not taken. What if we had stayed in our hometown after college and lived in some sort of post high school twilight.

  “That was pretty brutal,” Paul said, nodding.

  I looked at him across the kitchen table.

  “Paul… this has gone far enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we just came from a police station where our kid was busted for pot and drinking…this whole best year thing is not working. Not to mention the money we are spending.”

  Paul looked at the floor and it was then I noticed his goatee had become silvered. I don’t know how I missed this but he suddenly looked fifty. We were getting older. It was this ship moving in the background before but now we could see it clearly.

  “We can’t go down with the ship on this one Paul. We aren’t twenty-five anymore. Our company is going down the shitter while we blow money like drunken sailors on your crazy scheme.”

  He stared at me.

  “My crazy scheme?’

  “Yes. This is all tied up in some midlife crisis of yours to get back something you missed…probably raising your son. Maybe it is even wrapped in you finding your best year again.”

  “That’s fucking ridiculous. I am doing this for Toby.”

  “Well you aren’t doing him any favors. So far he has gotten almost killed in a parade and now he’s been arrested. If this is your idea of his best year I would hate to see his worst.”

  “There are a few bugs,” he admitted in a low voice.

  “This isn’t a computer program, Paul. This is about getting our son to graduate high school.”

  “Yeah, well that wasn’t working out so well before either. I am going to give him something he can keep for life.”