by Nick Younker
Although Brad had spent most of his time drinking or sleeping, he never actually laid a hand on the boys when he was drunk. It was never the drinking that the boys had to worry about with their stepfather though. He was a happy and peaceful drunk and did not get volatile. But the next morning, during the hangovers, he was always temperamental. He sometimes broke things, mostly Mark’s stuff, when the boys were too loud or acting out.
By the time Noah and Joe showed up at the ’Bend, there wasn’t much room left in the parking lot. They’d worked around it for a few years and they were about to today. Dean gave Joe a high five and passed Noah the ball. Since Dean was already warm, he gave them a chance to warm up with a few layups and defensive maneuvers.
“Hey man, what took you guys so long? We’ve been here for like an hour or so,” Dean said as he grabbed a blank tape from his BMX rack and tossed it over to Mark.
“Don’t look at me, man. Noah was the one still snoozing when I got there this morning,” Joe said.
Mark started fidgeting with his jambox, which he always brought along because he liked to record rock songs off RBT-FM. Most of their collection consisted of recorded music from RBT because it was the only rock station in the area and it had the best reception.
“Hey guys! What do you want me to record today?” Mark said.
Joe and Noah were still warming up and Dean was fidgeting with the totes on the back of his BMX. He usually toted Mark around on it since he didn’t have a bike of his own. Just after Noah powered in a layup, he looked over at Mark and said, “How ’bout some of that new music from Pearl Jam or Nirvana?”
Joe and Dean both agreed.
“Yeah that’s awesome. But RBT doesn’t always have them on, so they’re hard to catch,” Mark said.
Dean tightened his tote peg and looked up at Mark. “Just make sure you hit record this time instead of the mic-record. Last time you recorded the sounds of us playing ball over that KISS song. I don’t want to play it back and hear us, just the music.”
“I’ll remember.” Mark sat the radio on top of a blue ’70s model Ford pickup and grabbed the ball from Noah. “Games are to ten today. No twos or threes and no stuffing me down low!”
Noah smiled as he followed Mark out to the check line and fidgeted with his hair. “Yeah, you wish!”
Mark tossed him the ball, “check,” and Noah tossed it back. On the radio, RBT jock Wilson McGee blared loud on the warm, hazy morning while the sun was reflecting off the road behind them.
(94-9 RBT-FM kicking off a long block of Hoosier-Land rock on this beautiful Friday morning. We’ve got Alice-in-Chains, AC/DC and Springsteen coming up this hour, but first! Mellencamp! . . . on the thunder-city rocker!)
Joe heard that loud and clear. “Dude! Dude! Hit record man! That’s JC! Hit record!”
Mark ran over and hit record. The boys always got excited and had a lot of fun when they played ball to Mellencamp. It just seemed to flow right for them. Mark liked to make sure he recorded everything they could off the radio because tapes and CDs were just so damn expensive and they always had to go all the way down to Barrelton to get what they liked.
When Mark returned, he threw the ball back to Joe for a check and their game got underway. When these boys played, it meant a little more contact than the NCAA would allow, but they wouldn’t have any fun calling fouls on each other and shooting pointless free-throws. The game was about action, not standing still with their thumbs up their asses.
Mark dribbled and maneuvered around Joe, driving past him only to meet Noah, so he threw the ball back out to Dean who sunk a 12-footer from beside the pickup. Noah took the ball back and drove in past Dean and missed a layup, which Joe quickly rebounded and put back in the basket.
(R.O.C.K in the U-S-A!)
The game lasted about an hour and the boys played hard all through it, recording music and playing game after game until they were just too worn out to stand. Mark was recording a Springsteen song when they stopped to rest against the front of the ’Bend. Even though Dean always told him to hit the “record only” button, he forgot and pressed the mic-record, which recorded them as well.
(Born in the U.S.A.!)
Chief Derr walked out of the ’Bend and ruffled Joe’s hair as he passed by. They liked the Chief. He always seemed to be on their side every time they got busted playing ball on someone’s barnside. He just rounded them up and took them to the Co-op for popcorn while he ate his peanuts and told them to stay out of trouble. He was always good to them, and he also watched out for Dean and Mark.
The Chief walked up to the Co-op and pulled the popcorn machine out while Joe cooked up a plan for the day. He knew it was a long shot to convince Dean and Mark, but he wanted to go out to the sinkholes and explore the old caved-in areas west of the bluff park. The downside to that plan was that most of the teenagers around Fogstow, or even Jamison County for that matter, liked to hang out there and party. Most of them were pretty nice to the boys, but they sometimes got those occasional out-of-towners who liked to act like dicks and throw their bikes or their basketball over the high walls into the stripper pits. He knew they wouldn’t be there this early in the morning but they always started showing up by noon, since school was out and the weather was nice.
Mark had a bad experience there in July when they came across a party while exploring the area on their bikes. The East Jamison teens were nice to them, and they even got along with most of the Barrelton High School teens. But Bret Holder was there and acting like a total dick. It was bad enough they had to deal with high school kids, but an older boy like Bret? That was just impossible. He first started shoving the boys around and would taunt them by spitting beer at them. He would laugh, but no one else would laugh with him. Most of the teens were actually scared of him. When Bret finally started to realize he looked like a fool, he backed up a little and told them to get their asses home before he whips them. The boys had hesitated for a moment and that was just a moment too long. He threw Mark off his bike and flung it over the high wall into the stripper pit. It hit every rock of the sidewall on the way down. The bike didn’t sink immediately, and when they looked over the highwall, they saw that it had been destroyed, probably before it even hit the water. Mark started to climb down to get it, but Dean held him back. Everyone knew those stripper pits were deep and dangerous.
Mark was upset for weeks after that. He had just lost his mom that year, and now all he had were the boys. He thought they wouldn’t let him come anywhere with them if he didn't have his own bike, and he really wanted to be with them. His stepfather wouldn’t buy him a new bike. Brad Oxley said that if he couldn’t take care of the one he had, then he definitely wouldn’t be able to take care of a new one. Finally, Dean installed tote pegs on his BMX and he took him everywhere with them. Even though Dean sometimes teased Mark, he really cared about him and how he felt. In their minds, they only had each other to depend on.
“How about we hit the sinkholes and explore the old mine shafts before the dickheads come out?” Joe said.
Dean was up for it, but he didn’t respond. He wanted to see how Mark would react. Even though Mark was nervous about the idea, he still wanted to do something like that.
“When do they start showing up?” Mark asked nervously.
“Probably around noon or so. But they may come later. That gives us a couple of hours to get in and out before they get there,” Noah said.
Mark was hesitant and even a little scared when he reached up to give Joe a weak high-five.
“Okay guys. I’m in.”
“Okay, but we park our bikes in the bluff park on the river side of Floating Asshole where they can stay hidden. Then we hike there and back,” Dean said.
Floating Asshole was a really steep hill that ran alongside the bluff trail. It was one of those dirt hills that had immense vertical grade going up and a quick overhang going down. If you got your BMX going really fast before you hit the hill, you could fly over it, and when you rounded the top to g
o down, it felt like your asshole was floating in anti-gravity.
Joe jumped up and high-fived Dean. “Deal!”
They all got up and went around the corner to fetch their jambox and basketball. Mark’s jambox was still sitting on the Ford truck, recording the Springsteen song when Brad Oxley stumbled up in shorts and a bathrobe He was holding his palm upside down against his upper eye bone. He swatted the jambox across the parking lot. It hit the broadside of the ’Bend wall and kept playing.
“I thought I told you two I wanted all those cans smashed and bagged before I got up this morning! Either one of you wanna tell why the hell they’re not?” Brad said. He was obviously having a nasty hangover. Mark stood scared and frozen, and Dean just looked at him, expressionless.
“We didn’t think you would be up until after noon, Brad! Jesus! Why the hell did you have to throw his jambox?” Dean said.
Brad walked over to the jambox and his it with his palm until it finally stopped. Dean jerked it out of his hand, put his arm around Mark and started toward home.
“Why the hell do you have to be such an asshole, man! It’s not like we wouldn’t have listened to you if you just came over and said your piece!” Dean said.
Brad didn’t reply; he just held his hand up to his head. Linton had heard the commotion and walked around the corner to see what was happening.
“Everything okay over here, guys?” Linton asked.
Brad took a tired look at Linton and made his way back across the parking lot, waving the boys on with him.
“Get a move on!” Brad called.
They lived caddy-corner to the ’Bend, which was on the opposite side of Main Street, off the curve. Locust street terminated into their house as it came along the backside of the ’Bend.
Linton watched them go for a moment, and then turned to Joe and Noah, who were visibly stunned. They had trouble looking up at Linton at first.
“You boys wanna tell what just happened here?” Linton asked.
They both took a moment then Noah looked up at Linton with anger in his eyes.
“It just seems like Mark can’t catch a break, you know, Boss. I mean, I can understand if he breaks a few things here and there, but it seems like every time he’s mad at them, he breaks something of Mark’s,” Noah said. His anger turned to watered eyes and then he looked back down, just in case a tear rolled down his cheek. The last thing he wanted to do is look like a crybaby in front of Chief Derr.
Joe felt the same way, but he just kept quiet. He also knew Mark was getting it the worst. Even when Dean tried putting his old BMX trophy on the counter one morning when he knew Brad would wake up with a hangover and break something, he still found Mark’s Sea Monkey aquarium hidden under the table and smashed it to pieces. Joe knew this. Noah knew this. But no one else did.
Poor Mark. Just because a kid didn’t have bruises didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering. If only they could put it into words for Linton. If only they could make him understand. But none of the adults would ever understand. They would just pat their heads and say chinup kid, things will get better. But things didn’t get better for their little friend. They just keep getting worse and at times, they’d just as soon Brad Oxley had taken a few swings at Mark, or even Dean. Just enough to put the bruises on them. At least then they would have a chance at a better life than the one their mother left behind.
Linton took a minute to think about what Noah had just told him and let them both stand there without questioning them any further. He knew that a broken jambox wasn’t grounds for him to intervene, at least not yet. So he decided he would do the next best thing. But that would have to wait. He had to make his early morning commute out on the bluff trail and make sure everything was peachy there, which could sometimes be a burden.
Kelly Doss had seen and heard the commotion outside and let Linton handle the situation the best he could. When she saw it winding down, she came out to get the boys.
“Hey boys, you hungry? Lucy and Pete are making you both up some pancakes and bacon. Why don’t ya come on in and get your hands washed? Sound good?” Kelly asked as she put her arm around their shoulders. Kelly looked back at Linton and gave him her half smile, only it was the kind that showed concern, not intellectual pity.
Linton turned back to the Chapman-Oxley house and gave it another once-over, then went back to the Co-op to dig out the three-wheeler and make his way up the bluff trail to the overlook park.
***
2
Linton had patrolled the bluff trail every morning for the past two years, even when he was off duty or sick. It was standard practice since the county provided the 3-wheeler ATV and alternative funds for it, even though it was outside of town jurisdiction. It certainly was a hassle, but one might have argued that the town should have been responsible for the area, given that it mostly served their townsfolk. So he made his morning trips up and down the trail, checking out the area to make sure it wasn’t littered with booze cans or campfire debris from late night parties, which were banned by county ordinance.
Today was no different for him. He usually ended up finding the remains of the night spread sporadically across the trail and the overlook park. He kept a roll of trash bags on the 3-wheeler and scooped up about three dozen beer cans, a few liquor bottles and various smashed cigarette and roach butts. He kicked the butts in the river, threw the bottles in the park trashcans, then piled up the beer cans and put them in the bag. He figured when he came back to town, he could walk over to the Chapman-Oxley home with his bag of cans, and that would be a good way to get invited in to speak with Brad Oxley.
He knew of no other way to intervene on behalf of Dean and little Mark, so he was going to take advantage of the situation. What he was going to say to Brad had already raced through his head a few times. His first thought was he could take an aggressive stance and let Brad know he had his eyes on him and would know how he treated the boys. But that could be counterproductive, especially if Brad took an aggressive stance right back at him and kicked him out. His next thought was to just sit Brad down and try to get him to open up about his life and his troubles, and maybe just try to help him work through them the best he could. Lord knows he was no psychiatrist, but if Brad wanted to vent a little about his troubles, he could open up the platform. Maybe that might help ease his aggression toward the boys. But what if he didn’t open up? What if he didn’t want to talk to him and he just decided to accept Linton’s gifts and send him on his way? That would turn out to be a big waste of time, and Linton knew one thing for sure: Something had to be done. It couldn’t keep going on this way. He was worried that eventually Brad would hurt those boys if he didn’t try something.
***
3
The crowd at the ’Bend was starting to die down a little while Joe and Noah sat at the lunch counter and piled down pancakes and bacon. Joe had a tendency to eat way too fast, especially when he was hungry. He would stuff a lot of food in his mouth at once and spend more time chewing than actually enjoying it. His bulged cheeks about to give Kelly a panic attack; she was so afraid he would choke. Lucy sat right beside him on the red leather barstool and did the same thing with dry toast, mimicking Joe. That got Kelly even more worried, so she walked around the counter to intervene.
“Slow down you two. That food ain’t going nowhere. Take smaller bites and chew your food good. Look at Noah; he’s getting along just fine.”
Joe slowed down and a smile filled his face - and exposed some of his chewed food. Lucy looked at Joe, then looked back at Kelly and did the same thing, which gave her a chuckle.
The door clanked open and in walked Cam Wright with a knapsack over his shoulder. He was wearing long underwear with a flannel t-shirt that had the sleeves cut out and a jacket vest on over it. He had his UMWA hat pulled down and he looked like he was about to go on a hunting trip. Kelly reached for her coffee pot and turned to the lunch counter to fill Cam a mug as he sat down and ruffled Noah’s hair. Noah gave him a smile and opened
his mouth so Cam could see his chewed food.
Cam had been around Fogstow all 29 years of his life and everyone really liked him. He always played ball with the boys at the ’Bend when he was in town, but most of the time he was gone on the barge. Cam worked seven days on, four off on the Bucky Cole barge, and that day he was coming in to catch the breakfast johnny back to the Bucky. He usually drove his truck out to the Cape Sandy dock and jumped aboard there, but his truck was sitting in his garage with the motor out, on a cherry picker. He had to tear it apart to figure out what was wrong with it and by the time he diagnosed the headers, he was going to be too late to get to work. He was supposed to be on the river working the Bucky for the next seven days straight, so his only option was to catch the next food johnny there in Fogstow.
“How ya doing Cam? You hungry?” Kelly asked.
Cam laid down his knapsack and put his thermos on the counter. “Well, a little bit I suppose. But I think I’m just gonna get a sack of those hot peanuts for now. The Bucky is keeping ribeyes on board now, so I’ll eat those up this afternoon.”
Kelly smiled and filled his thermos with hot coffee.
“Please tell me the Bucky called one in this morning. I need a taxi,” Cam said.
Kelly smiled and put the coffee pot back. “Did your truck breakdown again?”
“Yeah, well it’s at home with the motor torn apart. I didn’t have enough time to get it back together in those four short days.”
Kelly turned back to the lunch counter with a large brown sack full of the Bucky takeout orders. “Yeah, they called in four plates.” She put a slip down on the table. “Go ahead and sign for them, will ya?”
