by R. M. Garcia
“I’m out back!”
Misha walked through the house and out to the backyard. He found Donnie under the chassis of a 1967 Volkswagen Thing that he and his father had been restoring before he was killed. This was a good sign. He was doing something, anything. He could still remember the week that Donnie simply stayed in bed and didn’t eat. This was good, he thought. He wasn’t in a depressed slump again. “You get the part in?” Misha took off his shirt.
“Several of them actually,” Donnie answered as he rolled out from under the car on a creeper.
“Sweet, we might get this hunk of junk running by the summer,” Misha said, grabbing the second creeper and hoisting it over his head. His muscles rippled as he carried the heavy wheeled platform over to the car.
“I hope so,” he said as he rolled back under the vehicle.
“What are we replacing today?” he said as he rolled under the car next to Donnie.
“Shocks and struts. I also got the alternator in.”
“Nice . . .”
The pair worked into the night on the vehicle. After several hours, all four wheels joints had been repaired. They got out from under the vehicle and began putting away the tools. Both of their bodies were covered in oil, dirt, and sweat. “When do you want to put the alternator in?” Misha asked as he grabbed a rag from the toolbox and cleaned his hands.
“I picked up a half dozen more parts that had been on hold for Dad,” Donnie replied cleaning his hands with a towel. “I also got the engine on the way.”
“You’re getting serious about getting her running again.”
“Yeah, Dad wanted to get her running. I figured I would get it done for him.”
“I was worried about you all day, but you seem to be handling yourself just fine.”
“I told you I was fine. A little crushed about today, but otherwise OK.”
“Good . . . Now do you want to explain the For-Sale sign?”
“It’s time for a change,” he said, throwing the towel at Misha’s head. “I think I’m going to move to New York.”
“What about school? You can’t just drop out. The courts won’t let you do that until July.”
“I’m going to get a GED. I’ve always had that option. I had only wanted to graduate for Mom and Dad’s sake.”
“Then do that. It’s only three and a half months. Don’t let a chick chase you away.”
“I had such a great night with her and her family.” Donnie pursed his hips together “For a second, I felt like I had a family again.”
“It was that good, huh?”
“Yeah, we could have been eating dinner with my parents,” Donnie replied “That’s how comfortable it felt.”
“Wow! Man, I didn’t realize it had been like that.” Misha tried to remember the last time he and Donnie’s family sat down to dinner.
“Yeah, and now anytime I see her, I will be reminded of that feeling,” Donnie said. “I don’t care to deal with any more feelings of loss. I just want to move on.”
“I can understand that kid, but quitting isn’t the way to go.”
“I’m not quitting. I’m just going down a different road.”
“Horseshit . . . you’re quitting.” Misha got right in Donnie’s face to make his point. “You didn’t have to go back to school, but you did. You didn’t have to fight to save this house, but you did. You didn’t have to try and fix that busted down rust pile in the backyard, but you are.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Shut up! I’m not done yet. You have unfinished business here and now. If you don’t finish what you started this year, you will regret it forever. Now man up and grow a sac.” With a quick flick of his wrist, Misha struck Donnie on the groin with the back of his hand.
“Ahhhshole!” was the only thing he could mutter as he bent over in pain.
“Now think it over,” Misha ordered as he walked out the door. “Your mom and dad wanted to see you graduate and not sell their house and for reasons unknown to me repair that ugly piece of shit in the backyard.”
“OK, you made your point. I’ll give it some more thought.”
“I’m taking Gia by the way.” Misha grabbed the keys to Donnie’s car.
“Don’t bother picking me up tomorrow. I think I’m just going to hang here and work on the car. The quiet helps me think.”
“All right, kid, we have a game tomorrow night. I’ll expect to see you there in uniform.”
“Dude . . . I already quit.”
“Yeah, I talked to coach and unquit you. We only have five games left. If we win three more, we can get into the play-offs.”
“Coach said I can come back?”
“Hell, yeah, we need that weird brain shit you do.”
“It is simple physics,” Donnie began explaining. “I just calculate the trajectory arc and . . .”
“Whatever, man,” Misha interrupted laughing. “You never miss three point shots, and we need that edge.”
“OK, I’ll be there.” Donnie couldn’t believe he had been talked out of everything he decided today.
“I’m going to hold you to that.” Misha walked out closing the door behind him. Donnie watched his friend drive off. Misha’s words had hit hard. Donnie had a lot to think about. He went upstairs and undressed. He decided to take a hot shower and wash off all the grime on his body. He was drying his long hair when he noticed his phone was vibrating. He looked at it and it read ten missed calls. He could see that one was from the coach, another two from Mr. Simmons, and seven were from Abbie. He put his phone on its charger and flopped onto his bed.
Donnie lay on his bed for what seemed hours; no matter what he did, he couldn’t fall asleep. Every so often, the phone would buzz, and when he looked at it, he could see that Abbie had tried to reach him again. Donnie was not ready to talk to her, so he let her calls go to his voice mail. Deciding that he would not get to sleep anytime soon, he decided to go out for a run. He put on his special pair of shoes and climbed out his window. He ran down to the edge and jumped. He landed on his lawn and performed a roll. Without missing a stride, he stood back up and began running. He ran down a familiar path of obstacles and hurdles consisting of mailboxes, benches, and the occasional car. Parkour or free-running was one of Donnie’s true passions. He had been practicing it in secrecy for years and mainly ran at night. The hurdling of obstacles and barriers came naturally to him. His mind seemed adept at plotting courses as if they were math problems. He reached his favorite spot to free-run within ten minutes. The old Houghton textile mill offered many places inside to climb, hang, and vault over. As always, he entered the property through an open window ten feet off the ground. To reach it, he ran at the wall at full speed and ran up its side, extending his body at the last instant, grabbing the inside of the window sill. He pulled himself up and inside.
Inside the structure, there were enough lights still functioning to allow him to see clearly. There were two levels. The lower level contained an assortment of old machinery and scattered garbage. The second level consisted mainly of a honeycomb of catwalks. He was excited to begin his run. He vaulted over a railing and fell to the lower level below. The roll that followed was executed perfectly, distributing the weight of his body evenly. He continued his run, a pattern he was very familiar with and had almost finished his first lap when he got an uneasy feeling. There were security guards that routinely patrolled the exterior of the building, but they never came inside. He also had not seen their car in its usual spot. He ran to a jump spot and this time decided to add a backward somersault at the last minute. As he was upside down, a figure lunged at him and missed him by inches. Had he not flipped, he would have easily been tackled. The man stood up after landing headfirst in a pile of empty paint cans. Donnie stopped to see if it was a guard. He could see it was a guy not much older than him. The man stood less than six feet tall, had short blonde hair, and wore a black jump sweater, camo pants, and black army boots. He looked like one of the kids in ROTC. Donnie noticed th
at he had a star-shaped scar over his left eye. He was obviously not a guard.
“What the hell man?” Donnie asked. “You could have really hurt us both.”
“That was my intention,” the man said. “You’re an unwanted nuisance.”
Donnie didn’t like this at all. This guy was obviously cuckoo and possessed a weird look in his crystal clear blue eyes.
“This is your final res . . . Hey!”
Donnie didn’t wait for him to finish and took off running. “Peace out freak!” and started working his way toward the exit. He ran down a thin corridor behind a row of inert machinery. He glanced back to see if the man was chasing him and was relieved to discover that he wasn’t. He looked ahead just as the man stepped in front of him.
What the fuck! How the hell did he get in front of me that fast? Donnie thought.
“Now you’re dead!” the man said as he attempted to grapple him once again. Donnie sped up and at the last moment performed a headfirst baseball slide and slipped right under the man’s legs. The shift in velocity had thrown off the man’s timing and forced him to miss. Donnie planted his hands down and leapfrogged back to his feet and kept up the forward momentum. He ran toward some scaffolds that were still assembled. Its rickety frame was an obvious maze to navigate through, but it might as well been an open corridor to Donnie. He could hear and feel his pursuer right on his heels. He reached the edge of the structure and grabbed the outermost corner and performed a monkey swing with only one arm and spun toward the outside of the structure. The sudden change in direction was enough to widen the distance between predator and prey. The man crashed into some loose hollow pipes that were stacked under the metallic structure. The clanking sounds the crash made were deafening.
The man stood up with such force that the pipes went flying in every direction. One of the pipes traveled so far from the force that it struck Donnie on the side of his chest and cracked one of his ribs. The pursuer screamed in frustration and continued his chase, his yell still echoing after he had started to move again. Donnie had a fair amount of room between them now. He needed to get upstairs quick, to get to the window. Donnie kept spying over his shoulder, and he could see that the man was closing the gap fast. He spotted a crossbeam that had fallen from the ceiling years ago. It now lay one end on the ground floor and the other on the second floor. In the past, it made for an excellent ramp to slide down. This was his chance. He hit the beam in full stride and ran up it, almost losing his balance. The man did not fare as well as he attempted the same stunt. Halfway up the ramp, the pursuer lost his balance and slammed chin first into the beam and spun off, falling ten feet to the ground floor.
Donnie was having trouble breathing now, and his muscles were beginning to fatigue. He wouldn’t be able to keep this pace up much longer. The window was now in sight. Donnie ran as fast as he could while holding his side. He was praying that he could make it out safely. He glanced back just in time to see the man jump from the bottom floor to the second tier. He smiled at Donnie and accelerated toward him, closing the distance easily. “What the hell!” Donnie screamed. His pursuer had just performed a twenty-foot vertical leap, but that wasn’t possible, was it? Donnie could feel him close on his tail once again. Donnie needed to do something quick. The man stretched out his hand; his fingers were almost gripping the inside of the hoody on Donnie’s sweatshirt now. “You are mine n... Ughhh.”
Donnie ran up the wall just under his exit window and performed a back flip. The pursuer had concentrated so much on catching Donnie that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings yet again. He slammed headfirst into the cement wall, which resulted in a sickening crack of bone and teeth. Donnie did not stop moving. His pursuer was now in front of him. He used the man as a makeshift ramp and ran up his back and easily reached the window above. As he pulled himself up, he looked down and saw that his pursuer was sliding down the wall unconscious.
“K-Swiss Ariakes motherfucker, one hundred dollars at Footlocker!” Donnie yelled and slipped through the window. He fell to the asphalt below and rolled. The pain from his rib was getting worse. He started running home as fast as he could and had to maintain an arm pressed against his right side in order to keep moving. His speed at this point had been greatly diminished, but he continued to push himself nevertheless. He was not sure that he would be able to outrun that guy again should the chase resume.
Donnie was almost home. He could see the lights on his front porch now. He continued looking back, expecting to see the man in black at any moment. Donnie could feel eyes on him again, in fact he was certain. He dismissed the pain and opened up into an all-out run. Just a few more yards, almost there, almost there, almost there.
CHAPTER 8
CeeCee
ABBIE GOT UP the next morning and checked her phone. There had been no messages or missed calls. She got ready for school and waited for Kelly to pick her up outside. As she waited, she tried to call Donnie once again. The call went straight to voice mail just like the last dozen or so calls she had made. Kelly arrived a few minutes later to pick her up. Rebecca and Trista were already in the car. She got into the car but was obviously distracted.
“Did you have any luck reaching him, Abbs?” Trista asked.
“He still isn’t answering his phone,” Abbie explained.
“Give him time. I’m sure he will come around,” Kelly assured.
“I just don’t want him to think I sent that message. He must hate me right about now,” Abbie said. Rebecca remained silent.
“What are you going to do?” Kelly asked.
“I think I’ll just confront him at school today,” Abbie replied. “I know his class schedule.”
“You do, huh?” Rebecca said teasingly.
“It’s not like that.” Abbie wanted to punch Rebecca. This was all her fault. She shouldn’t be teasing her.
“Uh-huh, I memorize boys’ class schedules too.”
As they pulled into the parking lot, Trista pointed out a girl to the others. “There, that’s her,” Trista said, pointing at Cecilia Feldman. She was a plain-looking girl. Her reddish brown hair was tied tightly back into a ponytail. She looked a bit on the heavy side and was dressed in loose baggie clothes.
“Who is she?” Rebecca asked with interest.
“The girl I was telling you about last week.”
“The girl who just transferred in from Abe Lincoln High, is that her?” Abbie asked, “Poor girl, she looks miserable.” Cecilia’s gait reminded her of Donnie. He had walked in very much the same way, head down, avoiding eye contact.
“How would you feel if you had been invited to a Valentine’s Day dance as a joke?” Trista asked.
“Wait . . . what?” Rebecca asked.
“The story as I heard it was that the hottest boy at her old school had asked her to go with him to the dance. When they got there, he put on a T-shirt that read pig farmer,” Trista explained.
“What an ass!” Rebecca said.
“Then to make it worst, he chased her around the dance floor screaming suuueey!” she continued.
“That’s horrible!” Kelly said whilst parking the car.
“The embarrassment was so much that she now travels from Millville to attend school here in Bridgeton,” she finished.
“She’s a senior, right?” Kelly asked.
“Yeah, she’s trying to finish the school year here,” she confirmed.
“So sad, having to finish your senior year at a new school,” Kelly said. “Only three months left.”
The girls had arrived at school, and Abbie headed toward Donnie’s first class of the day. She waited outside the class, but he never showed. She continued this pattern for every class he had that morning. By the time lunch period arrived, Abbie realized that he had missed all his early classes. She sat down for lunch with her friends.
“I don’t think he came to school today,” Abbie informed.
“Try again tomorrow. He may just need a day to cool off,” Kelly assured.
>
“No . . . I don’t think we will see him for a while,” she said.
“So what do you want to do?” Trista asked.
Abbie knew she needed to act. She couldn’t let this situation go on any longer. “Maybe I should go to his house, but that presents a problem.”
“What problem?” Kelly asked.
“I don’t know where he lives.”
“Four weeks’ tutoring with this guy and he never told you where he lived?” Trista asked.
“Never came up,” Abbie said. “My mom knows where he lives, but if I ask her for his address, she will get suspicious.”
“Best not to involve your mom I think,” Kelly advised.
“Hey, why not ask Mr. Simmons?” Rebecca said.
“Now you’re thinking!” Trista said.
“Do you think he would give it to us?” Abbie wondered if she could weasel the address out of him.
“Not us, but for you . . . sure, you are the teacher’s pet after all,” Trista said.
“I’ll run up and ask him after school, and then we can hopefully pass by his house,” she said. After the last class period, she went to Mr. Simmons’s class and said, “Hey, Mr. Simmons.”
“Hello, Abigail, I wasn’t expecting to see you again today,” Mr. Simmons said. “Did you have a question?”
“I came by to ask you a big favor.”
“Whatever I can do,” Mr. Simmons replied.
Abbie decided not to beat around the bush. She would just come out and ask. “I need Donnie’s address. He isn’t answering any of my calls, and I want to go check on him.”
“I tried to reach him last night without any luck. Please have him call me when you talk to him, OK.” Mr. Simmons wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “You didn’t get that from me.”
