The Dope Thief

by Dennis Tafoya

  A car door slammed, and Manny ran up. Come to see the show. He was tall and gaunt as always, and he had his shades on even though it was full dark because that was Manny, man, he lived the part every minute of the day. He was cursing, and Ray saw Manny and Bart pull the kid by his feet into the garage and close the door, looking both ways down the street to see if anyone was out, doing that heads- up check that he had done himself a thousand felonious times, nothing to see here, nothing at all.

  Manny was pulling him to his feet now and that was when it was bad, the blood gone from his head and he was fainting and waking up again while the three shouted in whispers to each other and Theresa kept putting her hand out to the house and saying ambulance and Manny was saying no and that’s when Ray got what it was all about and said what he could say, maybe his last chance to weigh in on things.

  “No ambulance. Get inside.”

  Bart got it and knew it was the right thing even as he wanted to come with them and balled his hands and cried at the sight of Manny half- carrying Ray to the car and screamed a sound of rage that made Ray smile and try to lift his hand and wave. The last he saw of them was Theresa folding her arms around his old man and moving back into the house. Flowers, he wanted to say, and chocolates. Lottery tickets for everyone.

  IT WAS a long ride to the emergency room, hours and days of watching the streetlights flash by like flying saucers tethered to wires, each radiating an orange sodium glare that felt like sand in his eyes. Manny was babbling and kept pushing Ray’s arms down onto his stomach and telling him to hold things together, but Ray didn’t want to feel the ragged edges of himself under his hands, he wanted to feel the wind cooling his hot, wet arms and watch the lights. Manny was telling him a story about Scott coming to his house, but he was busy in his head and couldn’t follow things. There was so much to say and no point in saying it. No one to hear. Manny knew all about it, knew all his secrets.

  At the hospital Manny went in shouting and they got him onto a gurney and people with serious expressions gathered around him and he caught Manny’s eyes and tried to wave him off and however it happened Manny was gone and Ray could relax, fi nally, and let go. It was bright and there were people everywhere, and he was tired but didn’t sleep. There were people he knew, he thought. There were bikers with long hair and their hands on fire, Rick Staley looking apologetic, shaking his head like don’t blame me, man. Danny Mullen with his one hand and Danny’s mom with a bandage on her throat, and they all looked very concerned. There were other people that he felt he should know, guys from prison and cops, and it made him feel guilty that he couldn’t remember their names. And there was the girl from the picture, in her cap and gown, only it wasn’t the girl from the dealer house, it wasn’t a stranger from Bristol. It was another girl, one he did know. A girl he had loved. Who loved him.

  “HE’S DYING?” an older guy’s voice, clipped and precise. A cop. They all sounded military nowadays.

  “Yeah, Gene.” A young woman. A doctor, a low voice in case Ray was listening.

  “Does he know it?”

  “That I can’t tell you. He’s lost a lot of blood? He’s got major organs compromised?” Her voice making questions out of statements. Meaning she didn’t really know what to tell the cop.

  “If he knows he’s dying he can give us the name and we can use it in court.”

  “I don’t know his mental state.”

  “Can I talk to him?” There was an insistent beeping and electronic whirring noises, nurses conferring and someone being sent for an X-ray cart.

  “You can try.”

  “Raymond?”

  “Yeah.” His own voice, strange and hoarse.

  “Raymond, do you understand you’re dying?” The older guy, the cop, his voice raised over the murmur of patients and nurses and machines hissing. Someone was talking loudly into a phone, spelling Ray’s name.

  “I got shot at.”

  “Did he get shot?”

  “No, he was stabbed, according to that kid who dumped him here. Erin, were there gunshot wounds?” There was a sound of paper flipping, a metal clipboard clattering on a desk.

  “No, Doctor. Just the penetrating stab wounds, abdomen, left thigh, medial, right arm, left arm. We have . . . heroin on a tox screen. Cocaine. Methamphetamine. Blood alcohol, negative.”

  “Christ.”

  “No GSW.”

  The raised voice again. “Raymond, you were stabbed, do you remember?”

  “Shermie’s out.” He was trying to help, but he couldn’t see anything under the bright lights. He wanted to shield his eyes but couldn’t lift his arms.

  “Shermie?”

  “Shermie, he’s out! Tell Theresa. I call her Mom.”

  “Raymond, did Shermie stab you?” Quieter, “Do we know who he’s talking about? Do we have known associates?”

  Another voice, deeper, another cop. More paper flipping. “I don’t have a Theresa. Mother’s name is . . . Caroline. According to the fax we got from Lower Makefield. Father’s name Bartram.”

  “Tell her to get Shermie.”

  “What did Shermie do, Raymond?”

  “He was biting.”

  “He bit you?”

  “No, he’s too old.” There was a long pause, paper rustling, machines going, and the lights so bright it was like a humming in his head. Near his ear a nurse complained that the veins were all blown.

  “Doc?”

  “He’s going. It’s just . . . random connections, synapses firing. His blood pressure’s down. The surgeon’s on his way, but...”

  “Shit.”

  There was a beeping, loud and close. A woman said, “Oh, there we go.”

  “Yeah, this is going nowhere. Who’s on call for anesthesia?”

  “Raymond, can you hear me?”

  “What’s her name? That girl. Look in the car. I knew her name. Marletta.”

  “He’s out.”

  “That’s V-fib.”

  “Yeah, he’s . . .”

  “Lidocaine? Ringer’s lactate?”

  “Is anesthesia here?”

  “There he goes.”

  “Doc?”

  “Start compressions.”

  “Doc?”

  “Sorry, Dectective. He’s going. He’s got too many holes.”

  “So that’s that?”

  “That’s it.”

  He pulled off County Line Road in Perry March’s Lincoln, the lot packed, cars pulled up on the lawns of houses for graduation. He remembered how hot it was and the radio full of Nirvana because of Kurt Cobain.

  Through his open windows he could hear a voice through a loudspeaker and distant cheering, and already people were leaving,moving in small knots clustered around beaming kids in black and white caps and gowns. And he did feel something, a pang in his chest seeing kids he knew, their arms around each other or being squeezed by parents and grandparents.

  He drove slowly, looking at faces, a tall girl he’d had a crush on in junior high whose name he couldn’t remember now; a kid he’d had English with who’d always said “president” during roll call. Then there she was coming across the lot from the gym, her gown lifted and showing jeans on her short, muscular legs as she ran toward the street and her cap under her arm. A smile stretched to the point of breaking, waving over her shoulder at friends, hitting the curb and juking right to run alongside his car. He slowed and she yanked the car door open and they were gone down Centennial Road like a bank heist.

  She looked at him a long time without saying anything, and he’d steal glances at her until she smiled and hit his arm.

  He said, “Put the cap on, I need the whole effect.”

  She did, and moved over to the door to pose, her hand under her cheek. He shook his head.

  “So, how was graduation?”

  “Fun. How was Juvie?”

  “Oh, you know. There was one boy who I liked, but I couldn’t tell if he liked me back.”

  “Jesus, Ray,” but smiling when she shook her he
ad. “ You kill me.”

  “I could always make you laugh.”

  “Really, how was it?”

  “Oh, it was fine. I cleared some brush, cleaned up some litter off

  611.” She made a move toward him, bringing in her hand like shewas socking him in the jaw, touched his cheek instead.

  “I couldn’t sleep, thinking about you in there.”

  “Mars, it was fine, really. There are always some retards, but I just give them the eyes and they keep moving.”

  “The eyes?”

  They pulled up at the stop sign at County Line, and he turned toward her and lowered his head, his eyes hooded and empty, and she turned her head.

  “Great. There’s a skill. Honest to God, you scare me sometimes.”

  “I don’t want to fight, Marletta.” He put his hand on her leg. She kept looking away but covered his hand with hers.

  He said, “I would never hurt you, you know that.”

  “Oh, stop. I’m not frightened of you, I’m frightened for you, dipshit.”

  “Well, listen to the mouth on Stanard Hicks’s daughter.”

  “ Yeah, well, my boyfriend is a bad influence.”

  They drove for a while, the windows open, music low. There was a blare of horns and Ray swerved, fought for a second to hold the road.

  “Shit!” A car loomed on the left , shot past. They heard the kids inside shriek; saw the soap on the windows. GOOD LUCK! CLASS OF 1994. He lifted his fist. “Goddamn kids today.”

  “Careful, hon. You just stole this car you and don’t want to crack it up already.”

  He shook his head. “ You think you’re superbad?”

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, shook her head.

  “So,” he said, “Cornell, full ride?”

  “ Yes, and you know who got me in?”

  “ You got you in. You worked hard for that.”

  “I did, but it was Farah Haddad who wrote this absolutely incredible letter for me.”

  “Huh.”

  “I know you didn’t think much of her, Ray, but she really stuck it out for me.”

  “Well, that’s good. Not that you didn’t deserve it.”

  “You know, she also told me she thought you were the brightest boy she had in years.”

  He made a noise. “Really? A C or something would have been a good way to show it. She failed me.”

  “ ’Cause you didn’t give a shit, pardon my French.”

  “ Yeah, well, what the fuck.”

  “Exactly.” She shook her head. “And you practically wrote that paper for me on Vonnegut. Out of your head.”

  “It was easy.”

  “Not for everyone, Ray, for you. Because you’re smart. You think. All I did was add punctuation to what you told me and I got an A off McGlone. And he doesn’t give A’s.”

  “Then why are you mad at me?”

  “It should have been yours! You should have kept it together and stayed in school and gotten your own damn A’s.”

  “Hon, we can’t just fight when we’re together. All we got is what? A month or two and you’ll be off to school?”

  “And then what? For you, I mean? What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. A buddy of my dad’s said he might be able to get me something down the quarry.”

  They came to a light, and she moved across the wide seat of the Lincoln and put his arm over her shoulder and laid her head against him.

  “You can be more, Ray. Everyone knows it.”

  “No, no one knows it. I’ll be okay. And you’ll be off to see the world. Get that degree, man, there’ll be no stopping you.”

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “Is there a quarry in Ithaca?”

  “Raymond, will you please?”

  “Oh, Marletta, this is the way it is. Guys like me knock around, get work at the filling station or a factory shop. And the brilliant girls they fall for go off to Cornell and become doctors and lawyers.”

  “Oh, I am leaving. Do you know why?” She lifted her head and poked him hard under the ribs.

  “Shit! That hurt. Anyway, why wouldn’t you?”

  “I would stay for you, Ray. I love you, you . . . dumb-ass.”

  “Now you sound like Bart. The dumb- ass part, not the love part.”

  “Is that who screwed you up so bad?” She watched his eyes. “Was it Bart beating you and your mom, or going to jail? Or your mom leaving?”

  “Now you sound like the social worker at the Youth Authority.”

  “Well? What did you say to the social worker?”

  “I don’t know, Mars, I’m not the kind likes to dwell on the past. You know me, I’m more of an accentuate- the- positive sort of guy.”

  “Yeah, that’s you all over.”

  “What? I do nothing but smile when I’m with you. I think sometimes I must look like I’m retarded.”

  “You say that, but what good does it do, Ray?”

  “It does me all the good in the world.”

  “Really? ’Cause to me it looks like a waste of time.” She slid across the seat and put her hand on the door.

  He sat up and his voice was low in his throat. “A waste?”

  They turned into the parking lot at Lake Galena, and he had barely pulled into a spot when she got out and slammed the door. She walked down the short hill without looking back, and he got out and closed the door and trailed after her, his hands stuffed in his jeans.

  He got close to where she was picking stones out of the dirt and trying to skim them, the loose sleeves of the gown flapping. The first one shot in at a hard angle and splashed her. He sat on the grass a few yards behind her. “ You got to lean, hon. Get your arm parallel to the water.”

  “I know how to skim rocks, thanks. I need to know how to steal a car you’ll be the first one I call.”

  “Mars.”

  The next rock she threw hard, and it arced out over the lake, a long high course that ended with a small splash. “You told me you thought I was beautiful.”

  “You are. The most beautifu l girl I’ve ever seen.”

  She turned to him and sighed. “See? You say that and I am beautiful. I feel beautiful.” She lifted her arms. “And smart and capable and all the things you ever said to me, they . . .” She shrugged. “They helped me to be all those things. They made me see myself differently.”

  “I did that.”

  “Not just you. Farah Haddad, too. And Mrs. Cross, from the

  gym. Even Stanard Hicks, in his way.” She sat down facing him in

  the grass. “But when I say what I see in you, when I tell you that you

  can do things, can be things, it’s just, I don’t know. Wasted breath.”

  “It’s not’”

  “Yeah, it is.” She dropped her head. “I tell you you’re smart, you break into a house and nearly get shot. I tell you I love you and you steal a car and get sent away for three months.”

  “That’s not your fault, Mars. You can’t think that.”

  “I know it’s not, Ray. It’s something in you. I don’t know how it got there, though God knows enough crappy stuff happened to you.”

  “Oh, my life isn’t that bad.”

  Her eyes flashed and she smacked the ground with her hand. “Will you stop! Will you please for one blessed minute stop and listen to me?”

  She stood up and stomped over to him, and he thought for a minute she was going to slug him for real, her fists balled and her face taut and red.

  “You’re throwing your life away so fast I can’t. . . I can’t even keep up with it. I tell you I love you, I love you so much it takes my breath away, and it’s just nothing, it makes nothing happen. You can’t stop screwing yourself up, can’t give yourself a break. Can’t finish school or just stay around for me.”

  He reached up and touched her hand, but she shook her head and turned away. She let herself drop down facing the water again.

  He said, “It’s not a waste.” He pi
cked up a short length of stick and touched her back, trying to tickle her neck.

  “Oh, please.”

  “No, you have to think of it that you’re the only one who keeps me going at all. The only one who has anything good for me. I know I screw up, but without you it’s just worse. You’re the only one who cares whether I live or die.”

  “That’s some fun for me.”

  “You say you don’t matter, I’m telling you you’re the only one who does.”

  “I can’t do that alone, Ray. That’s too much for me to take on by myself.”

  “Who else is there?” He sounded lost, and she turned and looked at him and her eyes were red.

  “There’s you, Ray. You have to care about yourself. I mean at least a little. Enough to stay out of prison and not, I don’t know. Not mess with other people all the time. There has to be some small part of you that I could count on to keep on track.”

  They sat for a while, listening to the almost imperceptible sound of the water’s edge, tiny breaking waves slapping at the rocks. Across the water a family poured out of vans and SUVs and set up a picnic in one of the pavilions. The low sounds of adult chatter and the high voices of children carried across the lake. One of the smaller kids made a beeline for the water, and a man who was maybe his father grabbed him at the water’s edge and scooped him up into a giant whirling arc, the boy screaming. It took Ray a minute to hear that there was excitement in the whoop from the boy, not fear, and he heard the word “again” from the boy so that the man was forced to swing him out over the water again and again while the boy shrieked in mock terror and clutched at him. Ray looked down at his clenched hands.

  After a minute he got up and walked the few yards to where Mar-letta sat and dropped down beside her, his arm brushing hers. She dug under her gown, brought a tissue out of the pocket of her jeans, and blew her nose.

  “I love you, Marletta.”