by Paul Heatley
Still holding him, the man goes to Luann’s trailer, lifts his head a little to see through the gap where Jake was watching. He grunts, then the noise turns into a chuckle, and he looks back at Jake. “Weren’t doin anythin wrong, huh?”
“I ain’t hurtin anybody.”
“That’s a fact. Sayin that, I don’t reckon the two of them would be too pleased if they knew you were out here watchin them.” He pauses, tilts his head. “Then again, I don’t reckon the girl’s parents know she’s entertainin.” The man pulls him closer, leans him into light that shines weakly from a security lamp three trailers down. “Ain’t you Harry’s boy?”
Jake goes limp. He’s been made. “Yes, sir.”
“You don’t remember me, huh?” The man’s grip, though his hands stay in place, goes loose.
“You look familiar.”
“Well, it’s been a long time since I saw you last, too. Few years at the least. I’m Carlson.”
The name sounds familiar. “Okay.” He doesn’t know what else to say.
“I used to work with your daddy, back when the mill was operatin. Where’s he now – still at the bottle factory?”
“Yeah.”
Carlson lets go of Jake but stays close, looks like he is thinking. “You do this kind of thing regular?”
“How do you mean?”
“Peepin – watchin folk.”
Jake lies. “No sir.”
Carlson studies him with one eye. “Tell you what – this one time, I’ll let you off. You get outta here, and we’ll pretend we never talked. But I catch you again, I’ll drag you to your daddy, y’understand?”
Jake nods. “Yessir.”
“Good.” Carlson sounds satisfied. “Get outta here, then.”
Jake turns, runs into the dark, takes care not to trip over his feet again. He slows when he is far enough away, stops and looks back. Carlson stands where Jake had been, he peers through the gap, watches them inside the trailer, watches Luann. His hand is in his pocket, and it is not still.
Jake feels hot tears sting his eyes, tears of shame and frustration at getting caught. Even thoughts of Luann, what little he had seen, aren’t enough to shake the darkness from his mind. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets, grits his teeth, and takes a slow walk home.
4
Jake sleeps late, wakes to the sound of the toilet flushing. He lies on his stomach, rolls onto his back and sits up on the edge of the bed, runs his hands back through his hair and sees he is still dressed in the clothes of the night before. He yawns, stretches, hears his stomach grumble, but he doesn’t move. He sits still, listens. Whoever flushed the toilet, either Maggie or his father, is in there still. The shower is turned on, the door slides open, then closed again, then the water pounds against the walls and the occupant’s body.
Jake’s room is small, cramped, barely big enough to accommodate his single bed. Where he sits, his knees touch the wall which separates his room from the bathroom. On the mornings when his father is in there throwing up the over-indulgence of the night before, the sound is thunderous and echoes through the thin walls. The flushing of the toilet, the running of the taps or shower, aren’t quite so extreme.
At the base of the bed is a narrow wardrobe, sat atop crates so its doors clear the mattress when they are opened. On the floor next to his headboard is a small stack of comic books. He has a few band posters on his walls, an attempt to give the room some personality, but there is not much space and they all overlap.
Jake peers out the door. The sitting area is a mess, but there is no one there. He goes to the kitchen, grabs a bowl and a box of cereal, pours out some milk, is on his way back to his room when his father’s door opens. Harry steps out from the gloom, yawns and scratches the back of his head. He wears his underwear and a sweat-stained vest, his pale arms and legs on show. The shower is still running – Maggie. She has been in the trailer for a few days now. Jake doesn’t know when she left to get more of her stuff, but she seems to have made herself at home. Her washed clothes hang from the windows, she has a toothbrush in the bathroom, and she has brought her own towels.
Harry smoothes out his moustache with the flat of his hand, narrows his eyes. “What time’s it?”
“I don’t know.”
Harry shuffles to the kitchen, prises open the blinds and looks outside, winces as daylight greets him. “How come you ain’t at school?”
“It’s summer vacation.”
“It is?”
“Yeah.”
“Since when?”
“A week ago.”
“Shit, boy, you don’t tell me nothin.” He nods at the bowl in Jake’s hands. “You not gonna make your old man somethin?”
Jake holds back a sigh. “What do you want?”
“We got eggs?”
“I don’t know.”
Harry checks. “We’ve got eggs. I’ll have eggs. You know how I like em.”
“What about Maggie?”
“What about her?”
“Will she want any?”
“I dunno, ask her yourself.” He grins then, a twinkle in his eye like he’s remembered something. “You like Maggie?”
“She’s okay.”
Harry’s grin broadens. “Wait until she gets outta the shower before you ask her though.”
Harry steps past him, still smiling, sits at the coffee table where bagged drugs lie, and the paraphernalia to accompany them. He looks at his hands, checks the amount of fingers there, then starts to roll. While he does, he picks up a bottle with some beer left in the bottom and drinks it down.
Jake stays in the kitchen, leans against the bench and eats his cereal. Harry has left the door to his bedroom open and there is a familiar stench leaking out of sweat-filtered alcohol.
The shower stops running. Jake feels his breath catch. He shovels more cereal into his mouth and chews hard, stares into the bowl. The shower door slides open, then closes again. Jake spoons in more cereal.
The bathroom door opens. Over the top of his bowl Jake spies the bottom of Maggie’s legs, streaked with rivulets of water, as her bare feet step out onto the carpet. “Hello, Jake,” she says. He has to look.
She beams at him, shows off all her perfect white teeth. Her hair is slicked back from her forehead, tucked behind her ears. A blue towel is wrapped around her, covers her. Water glistens on her shoulders and the top of her chest.
Jake realises he hasn’t said anything. “Uh, hi,” he says, mumbles, barely audible. Maggie keeps smiling.
“Jacob’s about to make eggs,” Harry says. He is leaning back into the corner of the sofa, speaks like he is holding his breath, the freshly rolled joint burning in his hand. “Want some?”
“How you makin them?”
The bowl is empty now but Jake clings to it, like it is some kind of shield to hide behind, like it can hide anything he is feeling and the evidence of anything that might be happening below the waist. “Scrambled.”
“Sounds good,” she says, then disappears into the bedroom, closes the door. Jake lets out a breath then, shaky and ragged like he’s been holding it in a long time. Harry watches him. He chuckles.
Jake turns away quickly, gets to work with the eggs, cracks them into a bowl and mixes them up. He pours the mixture into a frying pan then looks at his father. He holds up the joint. Jake scratches behind his ear, says nothing.
“You interested?”
Jake changes the subject. “You’re not at work today?”
Harry lowers the joint. “Nope. Week off.”
“You don’t tell me nothin,” Jake says.
Harry laughs.
Maggie returns, dressed but still towelling her hair. “What’s so funny?” she says.
“Ah, nothin,” Harry says. “Smoke?”
Maggie joins him. “Don’t mind if I do.” She wears tight jeans and a loose shirt. Jake waits for the day she wears the dress again, the dress she wore the first night he saw her, riding low on her breasts and with her ass almost hanging
out. Every morning she emerges from the room wearing something different he feels a surge of disappointment.
“So,” Harry says, and it is clear from the way his voice is raised that he is talking to Jake, calling across the room. “Since there’s no school, what’ve you got planned for the day?”
Jake takes the pan off the heat, spoons the eggs onto plates. “I’m goin out,” he says.
“You don’t wanna spend some quality time with your old man?”
“Sorry.”
“Where you goin?”
“I dunno. Just out.”
“With who?”
“Friends.”
Harry roars laughter.
“Jesus Christ, Harry,” Maggie says. “Not so loud – you scared the crap outta me there, right in my damn ear.”
“I’m sorry, honey. It’s just the three fuckin musketeers over there. Y’know, those two boys won’t set foot on the trailer park. Scared. Think we’re all a bunch a inbred cannibals or somethin.”
Jake takes them the eggs, sets both plates down on the table along with the bottle of tomato ketchup he’s carried over tucked in his armpit. His father has a specific ratio to how he likes his plate: two-thirds egg to one-third ketchup.
“I’m sure that ain’t what they think,” Maggie says.
“They’re town folk, honey,” Harry says, puts an arm round her shoulder and pulls her close to him. “That’s what they all think.” He puts his mouth close to her ear, speaks low so Jake isn’t supposed to hear, but Jake hears. “There’s only one part of a person I’m willin to eat, and they gotta be a female at that.”
Maggie hits him on the arm, but she giggles. She looks up, meets Jake’s eye. Jake looks away, busies himself in the kitchen.
Harry squeezes half the bottle of ketchup onto his plate. “Come over here and sit with us a spell, boy. You in a rush?”
Jake grabs his jacket. He tries not to look at Maggie, tries to focus solely on his father. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m in a rush.”
5
Jake sits in a booth at the back of a diner with Ray. Glenn is in the toilet, through the door that advertises men with a framed black and white photograph of an old movie star that Jake doesn’t recognise. They share a bowl of onion rings that swim in grease, and another bowl of fries that are lukewarm and stiff. Ray doesn’t seem to mind. He shovels handfuls of each into his mouth, chews quickly and swallows as if he is trying to finish them off before Glenn can return. Jake chews idly on an onion ring, holds it at the corner of his mouth with his left hand while his right traces the outline of the letters JC carved into the table.
A few booths down sit a group of girls they go to school with. The girls talk loudly but it is hard to tell what they are saying, a barrage of garbled noise that assaults the ears. An old man sits alone at a table across from them and he grimaces at their speech, probably just wants to eat his cremated burger in peace. One of the girls writes on the wall between the windows with a felt marker pen, on a space between all the license plates and cartoons. The waitress doesn’t seem to care, too preoccupied flirting with the bartender, her back to the room.
Glenn leaves the toilet, sees the girls, makes eye contact with one of them and lowers his head, hurries back to the booth, sits so they are behind him. “When did they get here?” he says.
“Not too long ago,” Ray says.
Glenn slaps his hand. “Slow down – Jesus Christ.”
Ray looks past him. A couple of the girls look over, talk amongst themselves, one of them laughs loudly. “What’s the deal?”
Glenn shakes his head. “You see the girl with the braces?”
Ray and Jake look. She sees them and turns away quickly, hides her face behind a menu. “Uh-huh.”
“I’ve been with her.”
Jake raises an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, we didn’t fuck. But we made out. She let me put a finger in.”
“When was this?”
“Coupla months back. Her parents are friendly with my parents, it was at her mom’s birthday party, her fiftieth or somethin. They were lettin us drink.”
“She musta gotten pretty drunk,” Ray says.
“Fuck you.” Glenn picks absently at the remnant of a scab on his chin from where he took a fall from his skateboard a few weeks back. “She took me up to her room.”
“Did she seduce you?” Ray grins.
“Shit, I dunno. Maybe she did.”
“How come it didn’t go any further?”
“I fell asleep.”
Ray laughs. “What did she do?”
“I don’t know. I woke up alone. She must’ve told everyone I’d put myself to bed, because no one seemed to care that I was in her room.”
Jake glances at their table. The girl with the braces keeps stealing looks, all of them do.
“What’s she doing? Is she looking?”
“Yes.”
“Aw, let’s just get out of here.”
Ray picks up a fry, suddenly taking his time. “Hey – we’re still eating.” He smiles as he chews, lumps of potato between the gaps in his teeth.
Jake looks out the window to their left. Movement catches his eye. A woman passes, holds the hand of a little girl. The woman has dark hair, cut short. Sports a grey t-shirt and faded jeans, she isn’t wearing make-up. She is Jake’s mother. The girl is his half-sister, her father is his mother’s new husband. He has never met the husband, or his sister, or the other child not present, the boy, his brother. He watches them pass, disappear from view. He feels the familiar hot angry knot balling in his stomach. He grits his teeth and turns away from the window.
He doesn’t feel the gnawing ebb of abandonment anymore, like he used. It has been a long time since he last felt that longing. What he feels now is more akin to hate.
Ray and Glenn are still talking about the girl. He can’t hear them. He bites his lip and looks round the diner. The old man has finished, he is leaving. The waitress still talks to the bartender, doesn’t notice the old man leave. The girl with the braces meets his eye. They look at each other for a moment.
“Let’s go,” Jake says.
“I’m still eating,” Ray says.
Jake stands. Glenn joins him.
Ray blows air. “Whatever,” he says. He shovels in a few more fries, another onion ring, follows them as they leave.
A couple of the girls call out in a sing-song voice as they pass. “Hi, Glenn.”
Glenn pauses, nods. “Ladies,” he says.
“Where you off to in such a rush?”
“Don’t you want to sit with us?”
Jake recognises the girls, but he does not know any of them by name. They are in different classes to he, some of them are older.
Glenn, despite his earlier cowering, is unfazed. “Sorry, ladies, but we’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Come on, Glenn – come take a nap with us.”
The girl with the braces says nothing, stares intently at the tabletop and turns a painful shade of red.
Glenn cocks his head to one side, holds out his arms. “Sorry, but I’m good. I’ve already had my nap today. Shame, right? But what you gonna do?” He sniffs the index and middle fingers of his right hand, runs them slowly under his nose, and the girls let out a noise like Ooooooo! or maybe Ewwwww! and Glenn laughs and says, “Catch y’all later!”
The three of them leave. The waitress doesn’t turn. She flicks her hair and laughs at something the bartender says.
They ride their skateboards down the street to an old warehouse, empty for years, most of the windows smashed, they go round the back and practise jumps in what used to be the loading area. Jake thinks about his mother.
6
The trailer’s walls are thin.
Jake can hear them, through the bathroom next door, he can hear them in his father’s bedroom, he can hear what they are doing to each other. Can hear his father’s laboured grunting, and Maggie’s lighter gasps. He can feel it, too, the
way the trailer rocks with their thrusting.
They say things, between all the panting. Dirty-talk. Their voices are muffled. He can’t make it out.
Jake crawls out of bed, gets dressed and creeps from his room, goes outside, closes the door and sits on the step in the cool night air. He can still hear them. Maggie’s cries get louder, until she unleashes an orgasmic squeal. His father begins to laugh, but it is not over. They don’t stop. He can hear the banging still.
He walks, walks fast until he is away from the trailer, from the noise, until he can’t hear them anymore. Maggie occupies his mind, and he tries to hold onto her but thoughts of his father intrude. Her heavy breathing resounds in his ears, and he quietly imitates it.
After a while he takes a seat, parks himself on the steps of another trailer. He looks up, cranes his neck to see the stars, the thousands and thousands of them twinkling there in the clear sky. In the distance, something howls – a dog, or a wolf. He ignores it, too far away to be of any concern.
The moon is full. Its silvery rays shine down and give the dark objects that surround him – the trailers and parked cars; the drying clothes hanging from lines; bicycles dumped in overgrown grass – an eerie glow.
The stars, the moon, hold him for a long time. He looks at them until it feels like he’s not on Earth anymore, like he’s up there with them, floating through them, the world doesn’t exist, it’s been swallowed up by light, and he’s part of the stars, the universe, the eternal everything and nothing.
A door opens opposite. Footsteps on a wooden porch. Jake looks. An old woman steps closer to her wooden railing. She is naked. Her mottled flesh hangs loose and her breasts sag down almost to her waist, one resting on either side of her bulging, stretch-marked stomach. She, too, glows in the moonlight.
“Hi,” she says. There are maybe three teeth in her mouth. She cocks one hip and puts a hand on it, rests her other hand on the railing, posing. “Cold out.”
Jake can see the dead veins in her legs black under her otherwise bright white skin. He stands up and walks away.
“Where’re you goin, lover? What’s the rush?”
