Dark Star

by Paul Alexander

  The night when he unenthusiastically agreed to the name, the Reverend sat alone in his study, buried in unpleasant thoughts until midnight. From the depths of his mind, a cacophony of voices reminded him of his failures. Amid the turmoil of guilt, he heard the final pleading words of a compassionate David. Through it all, he found not a modicum of peace, only swelling resentment.

  Another child to raise, he thought. It is my burden, my penance from God for my sins, for my failure with David. Could it be God wants me to have another chance to lead a disciple down the road of the righteous? This child will be mine from the beginning. I will not repeat my parents’ errors with this one. I will make up for the life my brother threw away.

  The Reverend raised James David in the only manner he knew, like a man. James David was a baby saddled with the responsibilities of an adult, an innocent child dragged into a world of unachievable expectations. The rearing was much more than a single mission; it was an arcane crusade.

  Open rebellion billowed up when James David was twelve. The Reverend, convinced of some emotional or mental deficiency, ordered an IQ test followed by a Rorschach test and a battery of other psychological exams.

  His IQ score exceeded 180; the psychologist told the Joneses he had never encountered a child with more of a contradictory personality. After that, the Reverend concentrated his energy on containment, avoidance, and survival. Everything he tried produced negative results, the antithesis of what he had hoped.

  *****

  Estrella was fourteen when her mother first introduced her as Star. Guadalupe changed the child’s name on the same day she sold the blossom off her baby’s flower to a portly, beak-nosed businessman for two, greasy hundred-dollar bills and an equally repulsive fifty. She dressed her gangly Star in a short, tight-fitting, plaid Catholic-school uniform skirt, a white cotton blouse, white ankle socks, and black size-seven pumps. The shoes, one size too large, scraped her heels as she walked. Lupe bought the whole outfit for two dollars in the Goodwill Store.

  From the doorway to her own room, Lupe watched it all unfold. She stood, callously by, listening as Estrella cried out with pain. Minutes after his violent thrusts began, the scruffy man found culmination; his fleshy form melted from the release, and his whole weight covered the child.

  She felt his paunchy stomach pressed hard against her navel. Her long brown hair filled her mouth; chewed endings scratched her throat.

  He grunted with the effort as he lifted himself off; a putrid, sweaty blast from his armpits assailed her nostrils. Instinctively, she closed her legs and tucked her knees to her chest.

  The obese caricature dressed without a word. His thick silhouette darkened the door. He paused as he turned to leave and glanced back at the trembling child. “Thanks,” he said gruffly and disappeared.

  Together for the first time, Star and Estrella felt hot tears fill their ears. It was Star’s idea to bite hard on the, prematurely dispensed, partially melted chocolate trapped beneath their tongue. The dominant, stimulating cacao flooded their mouth; with it came relief.

  *****

  Star quickly became the princess of the streets. The other hookers were cruel because they were jealous. She was what the johns always wanted, the schoolgirl.

  In her first year, she earned substantially more than her mother had in the previous five. Star’s per-interlude donation equaled more than three times what the other ladies-of-joy in the barrio could command, and Star managed twice the number of customers.

  She rested one week each month. Unlike the others, she stayed in her room with the shades pulled and the door locked. Lupe confiscated most of Star’s money and parsimoniously replaced it with dark chocolate. The small amount of money, portioned to Star, she spent carefully, and hid most of it in a secret compartment in her mattress.

  Lupe’s years on the street took their toll. She became increasingly more volatile with each passing year. Raising a child and turning cheap tricks meant there was never any money for the extras. However, with Star as her benefactor, Lupe explored life’s pleasures; she discovered the sublime effects of cocaine.

  THREE

  The night before Star’s sixteenth birthday, Lupe turned her last trick. After that, she spent her time alone in her room sucking her daughter’s money up her swollen nose.

  Star taught herself the art of maximizing her per trick income. She quoted one price on the street; when they were alone, usually in the back seat of a car, with her hands in their pants, she raised the price. She liked to tease and touch, sensuously, until they spent themselves too soon; often she never even lifted her skirt.

  *****

  At sixteen, James’s hormones and intellect raged; he was out of balance, and out of control. Nothing was ever right, fair, or what he wanted. His mother endeavored to comfort him. He would have none of it. He seldom spoke to her, and he skillfully avoided the Reverend.

  Saturday dawned like any Saturday, like any other day. The moon took cover behind the earth, and a swelling, yellow sun took its place. In the Jones’s home, there had been no conflict, no argument, or poorly received orders for compliance of any kind. It was just another Saturday.

  Except, James David felt different. He awoke with his heart pounding. I feel trapped in this house—in this life, he thought. I have to get out; I need to be free. He was bewildered, confused, distressed, and he knew not what to do. He knew only that he had to get out, to be free, and to get away from his parents, away from everything. Tomorrow is Sunday; they’ll make me go to church. He told himself. That’ll be one trip to the sanctuary over my limit.

  Escaping was easy. Both of his parents were out, his mother at the grocery and the Reverend visiting at the hospital. James threw a few essential articles of clothing, a crude homemade weapon, and some canned fruit into the army surplus duffel, which he kept stashed under his bed.

  The rickety screen door, with rotting mesh, slammed behind him. Three separate bounces of the door resonated loudly against peeling paint. With the last bang of wood on wood, James felt free.

  He slipped cautiously down side streets; with each step, he made his plan. “Serious times and serious circumstances require serious actions,” he said aloud to the empty sidewalk, certain that it was a quote from someone of extreme importance. “I bet President Kennedy said the same thing during the Cuban missile crisis,” he guessed. He had skipped school the day they discussed it in history class.

  The Saturday arcade was perfect; all the wrong people were there. A small group of kids, of whom he knew something about most everyone, loitered near the miniature golf course smoking and laughing.

  “Well, lookie at what we have here.” said Mike, a twenty-one year old, high-school dropout with a spotty, week-old attempt at a beard. James had seen Mike around; he had a reputation for hanging out with younger kids. “It’s the young Reverend Master Jones,” he announced with a dramatic flair.

  James stared at him in silence.

  Mike laughed and blew smoke through his nostrils like a puffing dragon. He tilted his head and followed with a series of miniature, perfect rings of smoke. The other boys jealously eyed every wispy, translucent circle in awe.

  Mike’s young wife, Tina, hung on his arm and looked admiringly at her husband. Her tight tank top accentuated tiny breasts and nipples. A miniskirt barely hid her panties. One long, feathered earring dangled provocatively from her left ear. James David had seen her before. She was five years older, and he liked that she looked more like a stripper than a toddler’s mother.

  Upon hearing Mike’s words, the others laughed, nervous, forced laughs. The chortle died down, silence hung in the air for less than a minute, and everyone turned to James.

  He smiled, then chuckled, “yeah, right, Master Mike, you’re just afraid I’m gonna blow my magic flute and steal your disciples.”

  Mike paused, cocked his head, and frowned almost indiscernibly. Appearing befuddled, he snickered.

  James smiled, pleased with his own cleverness. I’m sure, he
thought, Mike doesn’t know I just mixed a religious reference with a fairy tale and insulted him.

  Mike’s manly giggle abruptly stopped. A look of bewilderment crossed his face. James squirmed. It seemed as though Mike had understood after all. Mike’s features relaxed. A smile crept across his face. He started to laugh anew. This time it was a deep, robust guffaw.

  A titter bounced through the others. They seemed cautious at first, but in a matter of seconds, it became a whole-hearted, gut-busting howl.

  Tim was fifteen and a year behind James in school. They had a few classes together, including gym, and knew each other pretty well. He appeared to be the youngest member of the clique. James was sure Tim held the dubious honor of worst reputation. “My old man,” Tim had once proudly told James, “dropped a dime on me, and I done time in reform school.”

  “So, what’s your story, Jimmy boy?” Tim wrested control of the conversation. “What’s with the bag?” He leaned precariously against a wobbly, white picket fence, which surrounded the miniature golf course. “Takin’ care of your mommy’s laundry?” He spouted.

  Tim was small for his age, barely more than five feet tall. His long, stringy, dirty-blonde hair was oily and uncombed. His once-white tee shirt with wide yellowish stains at the armpits, hung loosely over greasy jeans. Rolled up in his left sleeve was a pack of Camels. His right sleeve, rolled to match, exposed unremarkable biceps. A mangled toothpick dangled from his mouth and counted out his words like a bandleader’s baton.

  James’s whole life had been nothing less than formal. His parents always called him James David, and his current state-of-mind was to non-conform with regard to anything set forth by his parents. However, Jimmy sounded repulsive and childish, not acceptable.

  With the strength of belligerence welling up inside, James began to speak forcefully. “Let’s get a few things straight, up-front.” He addressed the group, but he looked mostly at Tim. “No, this is not my old lady’s laundry or her anything else, and my name is not, I repeat, not Jimmy. You all may call me JD.”

  “All right, JD, now we’re talkin’.” Mike seemed to admire the way he had stood his ground against obvious odds.

  James felt a degree of respect from the group. With a single declaration, he had gone from outsider to member.

  Mike continued. “So, what’s your story? We’re all dyin’ to know what’s in the bag?”

  “Okay. Here’s the deal. I’m sick of bein’ tagged Reverend Jones’s son. I’ve had it up to here,” he touched his nose, “of bein’ told what to do by people who don’t understand me, who don’t understand us.” He reached out and encompassed his audience with a sweeping motion.

  They all nodded and grunted in agreement.

  “So, I’ve done it; I’ve left home. I’m washin’ my hands of the whole damn deal. I don’t need parents. I don’t need school. Those teachers don’t have anything for me, and they don’t care anything about any of us. All they care about is quittin’ time and payday. I especially don’t need the stinkin’ church. This bag is full of everything I need; as of today, I’m on my own.”

  “Welcome to the club!” Tim shouted exuberantly. “So, what’s next JD? You got a place to sleep?” Tim’s experience was obvious. “Any cash in that green bag of yours?”

  “Well, no, I’ve got a couple bucks. Hadn’t thought much about needin’ a place to sleep. Left home in a kind of a hurry. What do ya think, Tim, what do you usually do?”

  “Back in the day, I made some of the same mistakes, but I’ve learnt to plan my disappearing acts in advance. I usually steal money from my old man’s wallet, a little at a time, so he doesn’t miss it. I always try to crash at someone’s house. Hell, plenty a times, I’ve spent a week or better at a friend’s house, and their parents didn’t even know I was there. Once, I slept with my girlfriend every night for a month, ate in their kitchen, even smoked her Dad’s pipe, and never got caught. Shit, if we hadn’t had a fight, I’d probably still be livin’ there.”

  “Okay, so what do I do now?” JD asked again. “What do I need?”

  “You’ll need cash for food, smokes, incidentals, and a place to sleep. It’s too cold this time of year to sleep outside without gear. You need a place to sleep tonight. I can sleep another night at home, no problem. That’ll give us time to work out a plan. You know, the Reverend’s gonna come lookin’ for ya, right? You’ve either gotta avoid gettin’ caught or have a plan for if ya do.”

  Tim’s words made what had been a spur of the moment action seem like a long-term commitment. It all made JD more than a little nervous, but he had already set the wheels in motion. His parents, by now, had undoubtedly discovered he was missing. He knew it would not matter if he changed his mind and went home today or in a month; the consequences would be the same.

  “For tonight, at least, you can crash on the floor at our place,” Mike offered. Tina, still hanging on his arm, nodded her assent.

  “Okay, that’s great, now we’re workin’.” Tim said excitedly. “What about cash?”

  “I’m pretty sure my old man keeps some money hidden in the desk in his study.” JD answered.

  “Perfect.” Tim was obviously pleased. “You’ve got a key, right? Alls we hav-ta-do is sneak back in there and lift the dough. It’ll be a cinch—like tak’n candy from a baby.”

  “I forgot my key.” James shyly admitted.

  “No prob’, I’ve made that mistake; we’ll just break in. Don’t worry, your old man’s a preacher; he ain’t gonna call the cops. You’re his only fuckin’ kid. He won’t want his flock to find out that there’s trouble on the home front.” Everyone laughed.

  “Here’s what we’ll do. If it’s okay with Mike and Tina, let’s move this gig to their place. You’ve gotta get off the streets and lay low. You hide out there for tonight. I’ll go home and rip off my old man, son-of-a-bitch ‘ill be drunk before dark. Tomorrow we’ll meet up, get the cash, and maybe a few other things, then head for the woods.”

  “I have a sleeping bag and some camping gear,” JD remembered.

  “All right, cool. I’ve got a sleepin’ bag and a tent. Hell, we can live off the land. It’ll be a fuckin’ adventure. We can work our way, doin’ odd jobs, up to Canada. They’ll never fuckin’ find us.”

  Tim’s face darkened; he took on the expression of a concerned mentor. He rolled the cream-colored, soft-pack out of his sleeve, tapped it three times on the back of his wrist, and lit up. He offered the pack around, everyone accepted. Smoke curled up from Tim’s cigarette, which clung to his lips next to his toothpick.

  He began to speak in serious, contemplative tones. “We’re gonna have ta time this thing just right. We’ve gotta figure out how ta get in and out quick and without bein’ seen. Besides, we’ve gotta lot gear ta carry. It’ll have to look innocent, like a couple a Boy Scouts goin’ on a campin’ trip.” He grinned, exposing tobacco stained teeth between pursed lips. “A Boy Scout, now that’s a fuckin’ hoot.”

  “I can drive you.” Tina’s offer caught JD by surprise. “The two of you can hide in the back seat of my car. I’ll drive you to the Joneses’ and wait, and then I’ll take you to the woods. Tomorrow’s Sunday. JD, won’t they be in church?”

  “Yeah, sure, my old man leaves before daylight every Sunday, and my mom is always gone by nine.”

  “Mike has day shift at the station tomorrow. I can take him to work, and by the time church starts, we’ll be all set.”

  Mike nodded his consent. He seemed pleased.

  Mike and Tina’s impromptu party rocked until midnight. JD drank liquor, cheap bourbon and coke, for the first time. Tina mixed his drinks. The first couple were mostly coke. After that, she made them much stronger.

  By ten o’clock, the party ended. Underage guests made their excuses, and left JD alone with Mike and Tina. Mike took a final swallow and staggered off to bed. Through clouded eyes, JD watched as Tina carried extra blankets from a closet and made a pallet on the floor. Every time he closed his eyes, the room spun
wildly around. Eventually, he found a reluctant, fitful sleep.

  Sometime around three o’clock Sunday morning, JD awoke. He tossed and turned on the hard living room floor. Mike’s whiskey-filled exhalations sawed through the thin walls of the shabby apartment. JD caught a whiff of the familiar perfume only seconds before he heard the floor creak beneath whispered footfalls. The provocative scent flooded his senses. Tina lifted the blanket and slipped in beside him.

  She pressed her taut, warm body hard against his, and put her hand between his legs; JD gasped. She covered his mouth with her free hand, blew a shh in his ear, and followed it with a sloppy wet, exploring tongue.

  On the grimy floor of the Spartan living room, JD’s innocence urgently and quietly vaulted into the warm, inviting, luxurious folds of adultery.

  *****

  Grace was first to realize that something was wrong. Late Saturday morning, she returned from shopping. She called for James David, but he did not answer. Out with friends, she hoped. She unloaded her groceries and unconsciously put them away.

  When James David missed lunch, she began to worry in earnest; by dinnertime, when the Reverend returned home, she was frantic.

  “Don’t worry, Mother,” he said, although he never called her mother. “I’m sure he’s with his friends; they’ve just lost track of time. It gets dark so late these long, spring days.”

  “We should look for him.” She paced the floor. “He has never done this before.”

  “It won’t be necessary. I’m sure James David will be home shortly.” His tone was more demanding than comforting. “Now, calm yourself.”

  The Reverend spent the evening alone at his desk. He seemed only to stare at a blank sheet of paper, which was supposed to have been Sunday’s sermon. Grace situated a chair just outside the open door to his study, and passed a sleepless night staring blankly at a wall.