by Brian Hodge
“Hi, Casey, I’m Mike.” She looked at me like that might be a fake name. I suppose it could have been. It might have even been smarter for me to give her a different name, in case something happened. You can never be too careful with women.
The girl started crying a second later, and I thought she was going to ruin everything with all her weepy tears.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, kind of annoyed.
“I’m sorry.” She dried her eyes on a Kleenex and put it back in her bag. She had huge tits for a girl her age, at least a handful. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen or so. Kind of a flat butt, but good legs and a nice smile. “I don’t even know where to have you drop me off; I don’t have a place to live right now.” Perfect, hellishly perfect, it was. She needed me just as much as I needed her.
“Listen, why don’t we go get a couple of cheeseburgers, then you can crash at my place. My wife just left me, took the kids and everything, so I got plenty of room.” The girl called Casey smiled all cute and put her seatbelt on. This was going to go well. I could feel it.
Chapter Thirteen
(Chandra)
Proactive or Reactive
It was over. We were finally away from him. My relief was indescribable. Mother had no idea what I was planning, no knowledge of the thing I came so close to. I’m not a terrible person, just desperate.
The man was lecherous. That was a given. I am the oldest and could take his evil in stride. I felt his leering eyes on me many times. Still, I kept my distance and my honor intact. Durga may not have been so lucky. I had been terrified. Constantly. Not just for me, but for Durga, who went to the junior high school by herself with no one to look out for her. Anything could have happened if he’d cornered her alone. Durga had been afraid to do simple yoga in the mornings for fear of catching his lecherous eye.
We no longer were under his roof, but how far might he go to frighten us into returning? He was disturbed and dangerous. He may never leave us alone. Mother said Ganesh had placed obstacles in our path that we must find the strength to overcome. I thought Shiva and Parvati were manmade creations used to teach people lessons. If you studied world religions like I have, you’d see that it’s all a bunch of wishing and false hope. A playful elephant god would not save us from Villainy.
I’d been contemplating my plan since the first time I awoke in the middle of the night to find that Villain in my room. He was sitting at the edge of my bed staring at me, smoothing the sheets around my feet. I didn’t know how to explain to Mother how frightening and, well, disturbing it was to wake in the night and see him there. I was profoundly fearful about what would happen if such behavior was allowed to continue.
Mother used to be unhappy that I refused to call him “Dad.” Not “Father” of course. We only had one father. In the beginning she was very serious about us treating him like a parent. Both Durga and I resisted. It wasn’t just that we missed Father. A “dad” doesn’t sit staring from the edge of your bed. He doesn’t leer at your breasts and go out of his way to put his arm around your friends. There’s a line between being friendly and being lecherous. The Villain had crossed that line by the time I was twelve. By the time I was fifteen even Mother noticed it.
As I read more and more about psychology, I have to wonder how much of Mr. Goretti’s strange behavior comes from his own mother. Like many practitioners of Christianity I’ve met, she is not entirely sane.
“Granny” used to watch us so Mother could have time alone with Goretti. We hated her, and Durga used to cry and beg not to go. Granny told our Mother we resisted doing chores, and that any child who could not do chores was slothful and evil. Idle hands are the Devil’s playthings, she used to say. Granny spoke often of The Devil—more than I’ve heard anyone talk about something they supposedly despise. Apparently The Devil was creeping around every corner, loitering on every street, just waiting for the right moment to jump into your skin and make you do terrible things.
When The Devil got inside you, there was a beating, the purpose of which was to scare The Devil out. A painful ordeal to be sure, but Granny promised us it was all worth it. I couldn’t help thinking it was easy for her to say, since she was the one giving out the beatings. For years, she beat The Devil out of us on a regular basis.
The last time we stayed with Granny overnight, she quizzed us on what she called “Scripture.” We had never been taught to say Christian prayers and didn’t really know any. I can remember bowing my head for grace at Granny’s Thanksgiving meal, but we never had to say anything. With each unknown prayer, Granny’s rage escalated. I was sure she’d beat The Devil out of us for our perceived ignorance.
Instead, Granny took us into the kitchen and stood us in front of the stove. I had seen a TV show where a woman held her son’s hand over the flame on the gas burner. She went to prison at the end. I half hoped Granny would try something like that with me. I’d love to see her sent to prison, so long as she didn’t hurt Durga before she went. She took a small bag out of the cupboard and sprinkled its contents all over the floor.
“Kneel,” she commanded, and we both did what she said without question. It was uncomfortable at first, then painful, then excruciating and torturous. Moving back and forth hurt. Staying still pained even worse. She threw a leather-bound book at us, with pages marked. “Once you little heathens learn all the prayers a child should know, then you can get up!” She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Durga immediately began her Brahman chanting. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. It seemed so childish of her to rely on faith and fairy tales to—but what else did she have but faith? She was my only sister. It wasn’t for me to judge her. I held Durga’s hand and lifted her to her feet.
“You don’t have to do this. She’s not going to check on us for hours.” The words had barely escaped my lips when I realized how wrong I was. Granny came back into the room with a chair and a book by Jacqueline Suzanne. A smut book. Hypocrite! When she saw Durga on her feet, she darted immediately to her and raised a massive hand.
“Don’t you DARE hit her!” I screamed it without thinking. The hand came down on me instead, knocking me backward. I hit my head on the antique cabinet on my way down, which left a nasty knot on the back of my skull. It was this obvious injury that kept Mother from sending us back there after that. The old woman seemed oblivious to the hurt she had just inflicted. She commanded I kneel once again to learn the hateful scriptures that had clearly made this woman lose her grip on reality.
After more than five grueling hours, she let us get up. It was well after midnight and our knees were bloody and sore. I vowed that she would not get away with this. It was a vow I regret to say I could not keep. In fact, she was the only person to come out of this whole ordeal relatively unscathed. She even fancied herself a victim. Disgusting.
“You can go to bed,” she told us, with clear hatred in her voice, “after you sweep up every last grain of this godforsaken rice.”
Chapter Fourteen
(Mikey)
My New Girlfriend
We were like kids on a first date, sitting nervously on the sofa eating takeout cheeseburgers and drinking fountain soda through straws. She was such a pretty girl, this one called Casey. I liked watching her drink her soda. Every few minutes she’d look up and thank me. When the food was all gone, she collected all the empty boxes and used napkins and threw them in the trash. It was almost like having a wife again.
This Casey girl came back in and sat next to me on the couch. She said she was really tired, as if that meant I shouldn’t expect anything from her. After I’d bought her food and brought her into my home. I told her I’d go get her some blankets, but I was really looking for some tape, or rope or something, in case I needed to keep her from moving. I couldn’t have her take off running on me like the redheaded girl. I needed to be very careful.
I found a roll of duct tape and brought it out, with Chandra’s pillows and blanket. I suppose I could have just let the girl sleep
in Chandra’s room. But I wanted her where I could keep an eye on her. Besides, the girls never seemed to like it when I went into their rooms at night.
I put the tape on the table with the fine art of nonchalance. That means I did it so she wouldn’t notice, and she didn’t. Mama taught me the fine art of nonchalance years ago. It was how you went about getting people to let you into their homes, so you could talk to them about Jesus. Mama used to take me with her when she’d go to read scripture to the neighbors. She loved doing that. And if they didn’t let her in right away, she had all sorts of creative ways of getting in the door. Once she was in, she made herself very difficult to get rid of.
I wondered how it would be if I took this girl door to door to read scripture like Mama did with me. I could tell them she was my daughter. Once she got old enough, I’d tell them she was my wife; she’d be sure to like me by then. Looking at her as she sat there all pretty and sad, I began to wonder if maybe I could get her to like me. She seemed like a very nice girl.
“So,” I said to her, sitting down with the square wooden box I pulled out every now and again. I had a little less than a quarter ounce of weed, a small pipe, rolling papers, and two Bic lighters. I could see her eyes shifting back and forth as she pretended not to know what I was doing. “You ever smoke pot?” I poured some weed on the table and started picking out the seeds.
“Yeah, a couple of times. I didn’t like it much.” I looked at her like we’ll see about that, and kept rolling the joint. It was pretty good weed, and should get a little girl like this really fucked up. Girls are so much nicer when you get them high.
“Big beer drinker, are ya?” I laughed, thinking that even though kids are drinking younger and younger these days, I’d have a hard time believing this little girl was a “big drinker.”
“No, I’m into huffing. You know, Glade and stuff?” Glade? I was embarrassed to say I had no idea what she was talking about. How the hell would you get drunk from drinking out of a spray bottle? I decided to change the subject.
“What kind of music do you like?” I asked her cheerfully. I’m not sure why it was so important to get her talking. I really wanted her to like me; girls never seem to like me even when I’m really nice to them. I don’t know what the hell girls want.
This one was pretty desperate, nowhere to live and all. I thought maybe she’d be the one to realize what a good thing she had going with me. Then nothing bad would have to happen. That would be great for me.
I lit up the joint and took a long drag on it. Then one more. I tried not to hack as I passed it to the girl. She took a tiny hit, coughing like crazy as smoke flew everywhere. So cute. I walked over to my CDs, picked out some Pink Floyd, and put it on shuffle. People say not to listen to a Pink Floyd album on shuffle, that you’ll miss the greater point or something. Fuck ‘em. I could do what I wanted.
The first few notes of “Wish You Were Here” started, and suddenly I was very sad. It made me think of Dami and whoever she must have been screwing right about then. The sadder it made me, the angrier I got.
The Red is coming. Why would this Casey girl do that to me? Why does the Red have to come now, when everything is so nice?
I want to punch this girl and not stop punching her. I take another drag of the weed, and pass it, then another and another. Soon I feel less angry, but no less sad. I don’t even realize I’m crying until the girl says something. Now she knows I’m weak.
“Hey man, are you okay?” Her eyes are totally bloodshot, and she looks like she’s trying not to giggle. Goddamn little slut! I can’t believe she’s laughing at me after I did so much to help her.
“What?” I wipe my eyes on the back of my sleeve, “Yeah … um … Casey. I’m fine.” I don’t know what’s keeping me from bashing this girl’s head into the wall. She’s making me so damn mad. The Red is all over the room now, just hanging there. I smoke a little more weed just to calm down. It’s helping me, the weed. I hope it’s not too slow.
Mama says you can’t go around hitting people just because you’re mad at them. That’s not what Jesus would do. It’s not what God wants. God wants us to be fruitful and multiply, not bash each other’s heads in. I smoke even more, and slowly the Red starts to … I guess it just dissolved away. I couldn’t see it anymore. Plus, I was hungry.
I went to the kitchen to get me and the girl some ice cream. I always feel so domestic when I remember to keep food in the house. The next Pink Floyd song made me less sad, and I decided to eat my ice cream and then get more high. By then, I was confident my new friend and I would have lots to talk about. A cell phone rang, and I heard the girl answer it.
“Hello? No, it’s Casey. Casey,” I heard the girl say. Did she just answer MY cell phone? “Hang on; I’ll get him.” I looked up from the container of Ben and Jerry’s to see the girl holding my phone in her outstretched hand.
“Is your name Pooter?” I snatched it away from her, clearly letting her know how uncool it was to answer someone else’s phone. “It’s some woman.” Did she sound jealous? No, she was giggling at me.
“Hello, Mama?” Leave it to her to call now, when I’m in the middle of something important.
“Pooter? Who on earth is Casey? Did you move a new woman into your house already? You’ve got to slow down with these whorish women; they’ll walk all over you!”
“No, Mama, that’s … a friend. You don’t know her.”
“Oh, Pooter! She’s not a prostitute is she? Why, do you know that …” I tuned her out as she went off on a whole thing about the evils of prostitution. I didn’t even bother telling her not to call me Pooter. It never gets through to her. Of course, I’ve never been to a hooker in my life, but no point in telling Mama that. She thinks all men run off to drink and buy hookers and whores as soon as their wives stop looking. I suppose if you knew my dad, that sort of made sense.
Chapter Fifteen
(Our Narrator)
The Great Caper
A lot of people don’t realize that for a long time Mikey was a really cool guy. I mean, we were buddies, and I’ve never been buddies with an uncool guy. For sure, my other buddies didn’t like Mikey much. He used to say weird things about girls, and other stuff. One time we were all watching one of those slasher movies and this hot blonde got hit on the head and was passed out. We were all hoping she’d get away from the killer, but Mikey said he hoped she’d get raped so he could see it. I mean, even if you’re thinking something sick like that, why would you ever say it? It was weird, but nobody thought it was anything to be suspicious about.
Once he showed up at my parents’ place to pick me up. He had his old van then, with the first of the Boba Fett vanity plates, and a shit-eating grin on his acne-covered face. Not a pretty sight, but none of us were back then.
“Dude, what’s up?” I asked him.
“Oh man, we are two men on a mission tonight!” That didn’t give me any actual information, but I trusted Mikey enough to know it would be something cool.
“Where’re we going?”
“You just leave it to me.” I did leave it to him, and we took off in his silver van on the mysterious mission. It began with some beers. Normally I didn’t think it was a good idea to drink and drive at the same time. We were both pretty good drivers, even after a couple of beers or some pot or whatever. But drinking while actually IN the car driving was just stupid. You might as well have a bumper sticker that says: Please pull me over. I’m a dumbass.
Mikey’s van was pretty old, even back then. It had an 8-track tape deck, which I think was the oldest thing you could have in a car for music, besides a radio. And one of the van’s back windows was in the shape of a club, like in cards. My mom used to call clubs puppy feet, and that van the puppy feet car. Everybody but Mikey thought it was pretty funny. He thought she was mocking his ride. Plus, he had that vanity plate. It was pretty nerdy when he first got it and became progressively more so as the years went on. He never changed it, though. The last time I saw his car … his
other car … he still had it. That was the only reason I recognized his car that day in the woods. Bastard.
After the first six-pack of beer was gone, we stopped at the store for rolling papers. A couple of what DJs called lovely ladies were in the party store buying smokes and diet sodas.
“You guys gonna go get high?” the taller girl asked. They were both blonde, though one was much lighter blonde than the other. I nodded at them, glancing to the clerk, who was trying hard not to look like he was listening. “Man, I haven’t been high in forever.” Her blonder friend nodded in agreement. Not knowing what to say to them, I went back out to the car with my Zigzags and a couple bottles of Mountain Dew.
“Didn’t they have any Jolt?” Mikey asked me, frowning at my choice of sodas. Jolt was the super-caffeinated soda they had back then. I have no idea if they still make it now. “We really should have some for the miss—holy shit, look at those broads! Wooooo Woooo!” Mikey literally howled at them from the back of the van. I couldn’t believe it when the chicks actually howled back.
“Hey, baby!” the darker blonde called, waving with the hand holding her cigarette.
“Hey!” Mikey called back. Then, quieter, “Let’s get ‘em to come with us.” I had no idea how I was supposed to go about doing anything like that. How do you just “get” chicks to go places in the car with you? Not just chicks, total strangers. Before I could even think of anything to say, they were walking over to the puppy feet car … and to us.
Another thing you wanted to keep in mind about Mikey, is that he was really kind of selfish. You had to remind him to pass the joint, to pay his share, to sit the hell down so people behind him could see. He just never had any regard for other people or the fact that they might have feelings. Even the most dull-witted dolt would know not to do some of the things Mikey did. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.
