reflection 01 - the reflective

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  We went outside and got on our bikes. The old dump was really close to Scenic Hill Cemetery, so we parked our bikes there and walked over. It wouldn't be good for some observant adult to see a bunch of kids' bikes in front of a dump.

  The sign on the gate read: “Kent Refuse, Authorized Personnel Only, Trespassing Prohibited, Hours of Operation: Mon-Fri: 10:00-4:00.” On top of that was some haphazard lettering: Closed. The top of the chain link fence had spiraled barbed wire.

  I turned to John. “What do ya think?”

  He pulled out two pairs of gloves. John was always prepared.

  Jonesy's eyebrows shot up. “Great! Good thinking, Terran!”

  “You first,” I told Jonesy.

  Jonesy grunted, threw on the gloves and climbed. Fine muscles bunched and moved in his forearms as he finessed his way up the links, John and I kept an eye on the road while Jonesy climbed.

  “Hurry,” John said.

  “I am. Can it!”

  When he got to the top, he pushed down the barbed wire with one hand and straddled it in preparation for swinging his leg over to the other side.

  “Hey!” I yelled.

  He stilled, his junk hanging over the razor wire. “What? Kinda busy, doofus.”

  “Why don't you stay awhile?”

  “Shut up Caleb. It's your turn next,” Jonesy said, giving a nervous look at his balls, which hovered millimeters above the barbs.

  Jonesy carefully swept his left leg over and secured a foothold on the opposite side. He removed the gloves and tossed them over the top of the fence.

  I caught them and put them on while John pulled on the second pair. Jonesy climbed down the other side. I got them on and stood facing Jonesy. Jonesy smiled and did an elaborate middle finger.

  John laughed.

  “Have fun with that, Hart.”

  A knot of anxiety was like a ball in my stomach. I was gonna do this.

  I was definitely not scared of heights.

  I took a deep breath and started to climb. It was pretty easy going at first, but near the top, my arms started to shake. Jonesy hadn't mentioned that part. Maybe it hadn't made him tired. He was shorter, but muscular.

  I used the same technique for getting over as Jonesy did. I hovered precariously over the barbs in complete terror my arms would give way. But the threat of a testicle-free life kept me stable. Swinging my other leg over the top, I hung there a moment, catching my breath.

  “Somebody needs to do some push-ups!” Jonesy sang.

  Jerk.

  I climbed down and stood beside Jonesy.

  “I do pushups.”

  Jonesy grunted. “Maybe you should do some more.”

  John was studying the gate.

  “It's locked John, you're gonna have to climb,” Jonesy called out smugly.

  It was a huge chain link affair with a padlock the size of my fist.

  “It's got a numbered entry,” John said.

  Jonesy shrugged. “So?”

  “It's pre-pulse,” I explained.

  “Whatever. John, just climb. You're wasting time.”

  John started to spin the numbers on the lock, occasionally jerking it experimentally. A minute later, the lock gave way in his hand.

  John looked over at us and grinned. “I guess I'll just open the gate and walk in.”

  Jonesy put his hands on his hips as John stepped through to our side of the fence. “What the hell, Terran? Why didn't you try that from the start?”

  “I didn't think about it until it was my turn to climb.” John tapped his head, “Work smarter, not harder.”

  “Okay, smart-ass, go close the gate so adults don't check it out.”

  John sauntered over to the gate, carefully arranging the lock so it would appear locked.

  He came back over and we started to search for the perfect spot.

  I was thinking the place might stink, but the trash stench was long gone. The dump had been closed since I was little, back when recycling became mandatory and trash penalties had been imposed.

  There was a butt-load of tires, old cars and appliances, it was insane!

  Jonesy was thrilled, touching and inspecting everything.

  John and I stayed on a semi-clear path that meandered and wound through huge hills of old junk. John stopped and looked inside a huge commercial freezer. “Hold on a sec... I've got an idea.”

  “What?” I asked.

  He pointed at the hill of cars behind the row of appliances. “I think that if those cars over there weren't compressed all the way, we may be able to make a doorway using one of these old fridges. We can kick the back out and find some space behind it that we can use.”

  I thought about it for a second.

  “Yeah, let's get the Jonester over here and lay it on him.” I looked in the direction where I’d last seen Jonesy. He wasn’t there.

  “Jonesy!”

  “What?!” came the muffled reply. A head popped out of an old car.

  “Come on,” I called. “Stop dickin' around and get over here.”

  Jonesy shot his leg out and booted the car door open, its protesting creak piercing the quiet with a squealing groan.

  John cringed at Jonesy's subtlety.

  Jonesy trotted over and rubbed a hand over his face, covering it with grime. I looked closer. It was like grease, great.

  “You've got grease on your face now,” John said.

  “I do? Oh well, whatever. I've got soap at home.”

  I told Jonesy the plan.

  He gave a fist-pump. “Hot damn! What are we waiting for? Let's tear these babies open!”

  We separated, searching each one. I found an ugly pink fridge with a oblong handle in the shape of a dart. It looked to have a car emblem embedded in it. Weird.

  John studied it, circling around the thirty percent that showed.

  “Good size.” He stroked the top that he could barely reach.

  The freezer was a behemoth, bigger than some of the fancy fridges in restaurants. John whistled at Jonesy to join us. He walked over from inspecting an avocado-colored beauty.

  John opened the fridge. The interior was deep, probably two feet plus. Rust edged the inside, spreading out from the corners like a burnt-orange spider web. Jonesy pulled out the two shelves and sailed them like Frisbees over John's head.

  “Hey! Watch it,” John said, ducking.

  Jonesy laughed. “Hold your shorts, Terran. You'll live.”

  “Kick out the back, Jonesy,” I said.

  Jonesy did a super graceful dance move where he sorta hopped, then jumped, bending his knee and swinging it out at the same time. A ripple appeared where his foot had struck, the back buckling.

  Jonesy struck again, and the buckle widened from top to bottom

  “Come on Jonesy, I thought you were all-that-is-boy,” John antagonized.

  “I,” kick, thunk, whack, “am!” The whole back gave, splitting open to reveal the darkness on the other side.

  John whipped out his LED light and turned it on. A dim glow wove a murky path through the gloom.

  “Come on, let's go.”

  And in we went.

  There was only enough room to crawl. The dust turned all of us into sneezing, wheezing messes.

  After about eight feet, I said, “This isn't going to work.”

  John lit a match. “If there isn't enough oxygen, this match won't stay lit.”

  We all stared at the wavering flame. It continued to burn brightly, like a beacon.

  “Okay so what now?” Jonesy asked.

  John shook out the match. “There's enough oxygen this far back that I think this tunnel here might open up into a bigger space. Keep moving.”

  We crawled for about three more minutes, then the way narrowed. I twisted through the last bit and came out into a space large enough for me to stand. John emerged seconds later.

  John said, “Wow.”

  Everywhere around us were stacks of compacted cars. Several were precariously perched above our he
ads, acting like a ceiling. I wasn't worried. I figured they'd been there for a decade, and they probably weren't ever going to come down.

  “Come on, morons. Stop gawking and haul me out of here!”

  John and I turned to see Jonesy wedged in the part of the tunnel. John barked out a laugh that made Jonesy give him a death glare.

  “I like it,” John said.

  “We can't get out if he's in the way, smart one,” I said.

  John sighed. “You're right, but it was fun while it lasted.”

  We went over and each took an arm. I counted to three, and we jerked him out like an eel out of an oil can.

  Jonesy grabbed his knees and stood up, brushing the dirt off his jeans.

  “Thanks for the help, tards,” Jonesy delivered sarcastically.

  I smirked, looking around and whistled. “This is just the guy-cave we had in mind.”

  John took out another LED light and turned it on.

  “Where are you getting all the lights?” Jonesy asked. “And how did you know the combo for the lock?”

  John shrugged.

  “I read some documentary about pre-pulse security. They said sometimes commercial sites used the address numbers for security codes, or even the last four digits of the phone number, things that they could all remember.”

  “You mean, ding-a-ling?”

  “Yeah, Jonesy, actual non-pulse phones,” John said.

  “Why is this here?” I asked, indicating the big bubble room of forgotten cars.

  “It's like I was hoping,” John said. “It’s a pocket of space that was trapped, something they missed.”

  “The workers missed?” Jonesy asked.

  “Yeah. Just think of that job—all day long, smashing cars, trying to remember where you did it last. It'd be a bitch to keep track of.”

  “How would you know?” Jonesy asked.

  “I didn't. I guessed. When Caleb wanted to do the hideout here, I thought it might be a possibility.”

  “How do the girls get back here?” I asked.

  “Girls!”

  “Come off it, Jones. Jade, Sophie, and Tiff are included.”

  “There's Bry and maybe Alex, too.”

  “We can do it,” John said.

  “Does your mom still have that camping gear?” John asked Jonesy.

  “Yeah, we haven't camped much. Why?”

  “Light?” I guessed.

  “Yeah. I don't think we need heat, but if we can get a lantern, a bottle of propane, and some blankets, we could have a halfway decent place.”

  John looked at me.

  “What now?” I asked.

  Jonesy grinned. “I bet John is thinking we need some zombie action.”

  “What do we have to do?”

  Jonesy pointed at the tunnel. “We need to widen this some. No big deal.”

  Jonesy's ideas were always a big deal.

  “I agree with Jonesy, we just widen this tight spot,” John pointed to the squeeze that had plugged Jonesy like a cork in a bottle, “and we put them back.”

  I put them back.

  He turned to Jonesy. “What do you think? A one or two zombie job?”

  “Hey! Don't ask him. They're my zombies,” I said.

  John told us we'd also need some milk crates.

  “Where are we gonna get those?” Jonesy asked.

  I didn't have a clear picture of what a milk crate was.

  “Here,” John said. “It's a dump, after all.”

  “What are those gonna be for?” Jonesy asked.

  “Tables, chairs, storage, whatever,” John said.

  “Okay, let's get out of here before it gets too late,” I said.

  We crawled out of the tight tunnel the way we came in: slowly.

  Jonesy had the most trouble.

  He finally climbed out, arching his back.

  “We gotta remember, these old freezers are not safe. They self-lock.”

  “What do ya mean?” Jonesy asked.

  “We close the door from the inside, and we're screwed. Back in the day, kids would hide inside, accidentally close the door, and... well, ya know.”

  “I never heard of that,” I said.

  “Yeah, you wouldn't. We don't have bogus stuff like that now. Hell, they make up committees of people just to think up safety features,” John said. “Anyway, we gotta put a door stop in there so we don't lock ourselves in and get busy dying.”

  “Okay,” Jonesy said, “but we need to keep it open in a way people don't notice.”

  “We can just jam a piece of cardboard in there,” I said. “No problem. But we need to go. I gotta get home and take care of Onyx.”

  “Yeah, let's not get the parents all interested in what we're doing,” Jonesy said.

  “My parents don't give a crap as long as that four-point-oh GPA is still there,” John said.

  We walked out of the dump and through the gate.

  Jonesy stopped and told John, “You're kinda a putz not to let us know about the lock thing.”

  John grinned. “Yeah, but I wanted to see if you'd climb it. Even Caleb did.”

  Jonesy shook his head, smiling. “Anyway, remember that we have girls to protect now.”

  “Protect from what?” I asked.

  “I don't know... whatever.”

  “You get kinda squirrely when we get in tight spots,” I said.

  “Right, but I'll protect the chicks. You... you're on your own.”

  “Gee... thanks,” John said.

  ***

  Onyx met me at the door.

  His tail wagged like an ink spot in the middle of the doorway. I rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  The Boy has returned and is pleased because he is a Good Dog. I will lick the Boy's hand.

  Onyx licked my hand, leaving a wet and slimy streak. He looked so happy that I didn't have the heart to wipe off the goo in front of him.

  The Dog pressed his nose to the Boy's body and caught some interesting smells—real trash (tantalizing) and metal boxes and earth. Such good smells. He also smelled the other Boys. What had the Boy done?

  “Good dog. Gooooood dog,” I said, scratching the sweet spot behind his ear.

  Wag, thunk, wag.

  Mom had her nose buried in her dedicated reader, and Dad was taking notes—with a pen!—while looking at his pulse-top. Onyx trotted past them and went to his food bowl.

  Where is the person-who-feeds him? The food is here all the time now. The Dog paused. He surveyed the pack. They did not seem to be interested in the food. This new thing was confusing. He would wait and see what the pack did.

  Ignoring the food in his bowl, Onyx walked over and lay down on one of Gran's blankets. Mom had an endless supply of those.

  “What were you up to all this time, pal?” Dad asked.

  Going to the dump, exploring it illegally, finding a dangerous boy-cave so we could hide from the authorities.

  I shrugged. “Just screwing around, exploring.”

  “Sounds like the heat may be abating for the interim, Caleb.”

  “Huh?”

  Mom translated, “I think what Dad's saying is that the government may no longer be interested in you.”

  Doubt it. “That's not what interim means,” I said. “That was a vocab word last year. It means temporary.”

  Dad nodded. “You're right, Caleb. I don't have a crystal ball. I don't know that they'll always not be interested. For now, we have a reprieve. But if they find out you're not a two-point, we're back to square one. A stay of execution.”

  Mom put her hand on his. “We agreed to take it one day at a time, Kyle.”

  “I agree, honey, but let's be prepared for the inevitable.”

  “They'll eventually find out,” I said.

  Mom nodded, and Dad said, “Yes.”

  Oh, well. “What's for dessert?”

  They laughed and Mom said, “Nothing stops the appetite.”

  Right.

  Mom told me there was chocolate pudding in the fr
idge. I went to the kitchen and dished out a bowl of the chocolaty goodness. I took my dessert into the living room.

  “So what's your plan for the weekend?” Mom asked.

  I swallowed a huge mouthful of pudding. “I'm going to hang with Jade tomorrow night. I guess not much Sunday. Oh! The Js and I are gonna explore—”

  “Going to,” Mom corrected.

  “Going to check out this cool, haunted house.”

  Mom did the fish thing, her mouth opening and closing. I had that effect on my parents sometimes.

  Dad stared at me for a second. “This is not keeping a low profile, Caleb.”

  “It was Jonesy's idea. And we’re not going to a cemetery.”

  Not really.

  “Well, that may be, but you're aware you can control ghosts. Haunting is another issue to contend with.”

  “Jonesy has some... interesting ideas,” Mom said, “but he doesn't seem to think things through.”

  Totally doesn't.

  “Just be careful, Caleb,” Dad said. “We trust you. Keep in mind how wrong things went at Scenic with Gran.”

  I wouldn't forget that. Licking the spoon clean, I walked over to the sink. I filled my bowl with gray water to let it soak until Mom did dishes.

  Onyx followed me up to my bedroom. I flopped on my bed and grabbed one of Mom's old books.

  I cracked open the book, feeling its hefty weight in my hands like a promise spoken, kept, and realized.

  CHAPTER 26

  I woke up with something pressing into my rib cage. I pushed it onto the floor where it landed with a clunking sound. I looked down, blurry-eyed, and saw that it was the book.

  I lay back, groaning, and flung my arm over my eyes. Onyx came over and pressed his wet nose to my face. He gave my cheek a single lick.

  Gross.

  The Boy seemed sad about something. The Dog restrained himself and gave the Boy a single lick after inhaling the fragrant Boy smell. He would wag his tail and the Boy would notice and tell him the Good Word.

  I didn't want to hurt Onyx's feelings so I patted his head and said, “That's a good dog, Onyx.”

  That got his tail wagging, beating loudly on the wood floor.

  I laughed. “Okay, boy, okay.” I thought, You're a good dog.

  The Boy had put the word-smells in his head, and it sounded like the Good Word. The Dog wagged his tail.

  If Onyx wagged any harder it would take his butt off.