Three Sides of the Tracks

by Mike Addington

  “We’ll get y’all for this,” one of them said.

  “Yeah, you’re real bad asses,” Dunn said. “Dozen of you punks jumping on one guy. We’ll let y’all wear your helmets next time ‘cause it’ll be worse if you want more.”

  No other responses came from the football players. Those who managed to stand were wobbly. The rest still lay on the floor or sat up wiping blood off their faces with their shirttails.

  Danny found Thurston, stooped down, and grabbed a handful of hair. He shook Thurston’s head till his eyes flickered open. “Buddy boy, if you ever mess with Caroline again, you’ll be playing football with a permanent limp.” He banged Thurston’s head down on the hardwood floor, pulled it up, and slammed it back down. Thurston’s eyes went blank again.

  Caroline held a cloth to Richard’s face as he lay propped against the wall, both cheeks swollen, nose caked with blood, and lips split open. Blood matted his hair.

  Richard looked up in gratitude.

  Danny grinned. “Well, I guess you showed them.”

  Richard tried to laugh, but started coughing, and little flecks of blood covered his hand as he held it to his mouth.

  “Sorry, dude, but looks like you’ll have to go to the hospital,” Dunn said, taking a look at the damage to Richard’s face.

  “No, I’ll be okay.”

  “No, you won’t,” Caroline said. “I think your cheek’s broken, and you’ll have to see a doctor about that.”

  Richard started to argue, but Caroline gave him a stern look, and he relented.

  A group of adults stood to one side, shocked by the sudden and ferocious violence and without a clue of how to handle it other than to call the police.

  “Well, we’d better go now, or we’ll be here forever,” Danny said as the sound of sirens floated through the building. “Give me your keys, Richard.”

  Richard had trouble moving his arms, but he finally snaked the keys from his pocket and handed them to Danny.

  Danny and Michael Dunn guided Richard to his car because one of his eyes had swollen almost shut.

  Caroline opened the door and pushed the front seat forward as Richard lowered himself onto the backseat.

  Danny tossed his keys to Teresa. “Follow us to the hospital, babe.”

  “I’ll follow you too,” Michael Dunn said.

  About two blocks from the dance, Danny passed the police cars coming the other way.

  “Better duck, Richard. I’m a witness. I saw you hit Thurston with your face,” Danny said, a hint of a smile on his face.

  Caroline slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not funny. He’s hurt pretty bad, Danny.”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  Danny pulled the Mustang up to the emergency room entrance and hopped out. He motioned to the security guard that he needed help and saw the man wave to the nurses.

  Caroline was helping Richard from the back seat when three nurses came out and pushed her aside. One leaned in and took Richard by the arm. “Can you get out by yourself, hon? You hurt anywhere else besides your face?”

  “Hell, yes,” Richard said. “I’m hurt everywhere except the bottom of my feet.” He tried to smile at the nurse, but she wasn’t having it.

  “Smart aleck. Another smart aleck. Everybody’s got to be a smart aleck. Okay, Mr. Smart Aleck, just for that, I ought to make you walk inside.”

  Richard took a step toward the door, but the nurse grabbed him.

  “Get your butt on that gurney. I ain’t playin’ with you.”

  “What’s wrong with him, car wreck?” she asked Danny.

  “Yeah, you might—” Danny said then saw the look Caroline was giving him.

  “Bunch of guys beat him up,” Caroline said.

  A doctor joined the group as orderlies strapped Richard to the gurney. “Take him to x-ray,” the doctor said.

  “Has he been drinking?” the doctor asked the group.

  “No. No drinking. No drugs. He just got jumped on by a bunch of bullies, and I think his jaw might be broken because it made an awful sound when one of them hit him,” Caroline said.

  Bright lights from a car with its lights on high beam illuminated the group even more.

  “What the hell’s going on around here? Caroline, are you all right?” Jessie’s voice boomed out.

  Caroline could tell he was drunk from where she was standing. Knew it by the tone of his voice and the fact that their groundkeeper, Franklin, was driving. Jessie occasionally showed good judgment by having Franklin drive when he’d had too much to drink. She should have known the pansy chaperones at the dance would call him.

  She hurried toward Jessie’s car hoping to head him off. “Yes, Daddy, I’m fine. My date got beat up, and we brought him here; that’s all. I’m not hurt.”

  Jessie looked her over. “What the hell’s all that blood doing on you then? Your face don’t look right either. Somebody hit you? If they did, it’ll be the last person they hit.”

  Jessie put his hand on Caroline’s jaw and turned her face to get a better angle. “Uh huh, that’s what I thought. Who hit you, young lady?”

  “I don’t even know, Daddy. Everything happened so fast. Anyway, I’m not hurt. I told you. Just go back home. Everything’s fine.”

  “I decide when everything is fine. And when I go home, you’re coming with me. You don’t tell—”

  “YOU,” Jessie screamed as he caught sight of Danny. He stood stock still for a second, then, incoherent, he ran back to his car.

  “Get his pistol, Franklin,” Caroline yelled at the driver. “Quick.”

  Franklin did move quickly. Something in Caroline’s voice told him he’d better. He reached over the console and locked the passenger side, then opened the glove box and grabbed Jessie’s .38 caliber pistol. He pretended to throw it far across the street into the bushes alongside the road, but he really dropped it on top of his shoe and slid it under the car.

  “Get your ass over there and get my gun, Franklin, or your ass is fired. You hear me?” Jessie bellowed.

  “Not the way you are now, Mr. Jessie. You ain’t yourself. I ain’t lettin’ you go to jail, fired or no fired.”

  Jessie sputtered obscenities then realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Franklin. He turned around, and Caroline stood in front of him, blocking his path.

  “Daddy, please go back home. You know how you get when you’ve been drinking. I don’t want to have another fuss with you.”

  “Then start doing as I tell you,” Jessie screamed as he pushed Caroline away and ran toward Danny.

  Michael Dunn lunged at him, but Jessie sidestepped and pushed Dunn to the ground as he continued toward Danny, who stood at the front of the Mustang.

  “I told you what was going to happen next time I saw you with my daughter,” Jessie growled. He swung his right hand and caught Danny a glancing blow as Danny raised his shoulder to ward off the punch.

  Jessie and Danny were about the same height—both a little over six feet tall—but Jessie was 40 pounds heavier, although most of it was fat. Still, 250 pounds is a lot of weight, and the blow knocked Danny sideways.

  Danny deliberately maintained a passive posture, hoping not to fuel Jessie’s anger. But the blow knocked him off balance, and, when Jessie swung again, he caught Danny full on the jaw.

  Danny’s head snapped back, and Jessie hit him again before Danny gained his bearings. Danny threw up his arms to protect his face and stepped in closer to avoid any long punches. He didn’t want to hit Jessie, not in front of Caroline.

  The security guard came back outside. He called for more help on his radio then ran at Jessie and dove for his legs. A clean tackle brought him to the ground.

  6

  Graveyard

  Tombstones lay toppled over. Others leaned precariously among the broomstraw and weeds, some barely large enough to contain the essential information. Small saplings grew over the older graves, the oldest dated 1879. Splattered mud dotted the occasional glass vase that held a collage of
plastic flowers left by a relative many years earlier, although one had to look hard to see them among the grass.

  A 100-yard dirt roadbed—weeds grown up between the seldom used tracks—skirted a small grove of pine trees with patches of briars and weeds that grew in the middle.

  Jason pointed to a three-inch-thick pine tree along the edge of the grove. “Cut that one, Ricky. About half way.”

  Ricky started hacking.

  “Put the rope on it first, imbecile. How’re you gonna climb it if it’s hacked in half?” Jason yelled.

  Ricky slung down the hatchet, grumbling, sick of being yelled at all the time. He clenched the end of the nylon rope in his teeth and started climbing, and, when he was a couple feet below the top, he tied a strong knot between two branches to keep it from slipping off.

  “Now, do your Davy Crockett thing,” Jason said with a sneer then walked a few yards and began hacking on another tree.

  Some of the graves had sunk, and Tim and Chuck scraped out more dirt from one of the few graves that still had an upright gravestone; there was even an angel with outstretched wings on top.

  The teenage boys scraped until Jason came over. “That’s deep enough, I think. Lay down in it, Tim. Let’s see.”

  “I ain’t laying in no grave.”

  “Chicken shit,” Jason said, looking at Tim with disgust. “You gonna do it, Chuck, or will I have to do everything? Thought y’all wanted to have some fun.”

  Chuck didn’t much want to. He’d been a regular church member until thoughts of girls, cars, and Saturday nights filled his head. But he didn’t want to look small in Jason’s eyes, so he stretched out in the depression, his five-ten frame barely fitting.

  Jason stepped back a few yards and looked. “Needs to be a little deeper. Just to be sure you can’t be seen from the road.”

  “You mean you want me to be the one in the grave?”

  “No, I want Tim to, but he might freak out and wet his pants. Can’t have him smelling up the car later,” Jason said with a smirk.

  Tim looked at the ground.

  “Think you can push that tree over?” Jason asked the smaller Tim. “You’ll ruin the whole thing if you can’t.”

  Jason was six-feet tall, heavy, and muscular—physically more mature than the other 16 year olds in the group. Tim weighed 150 pounds, 50 pounds less than Jason, and it was either go along with Jason or challenge him, which would only end in more humiliation.

  Tim mustered as much bravado as he could and looked up. “Yeah, I can push the tree over.”

  Jason’s lips curled. “You’d better.”

  The four boys worked for another hour, chopping at the saplings and scooping out dirt.

  “That’s good enough. Let’s go get something to drink,” Jason said.

  Jason opened the trunk and threw in the hatchet and shovels then they all piled into the ’87 Chevrolet clunker. Jason cursed when the key turned and the car didn’t start. He jumped out, opened the hood, and beat on the battery connections with the hatchet. “Try it now.”

  The motor turned a few times then sputtered to life. Jason cursed again and sat back behind the wheel.

  The boys drove down the dirt road to the blacktop and headed farther from town, toward Nate’s Grocery.

  Nate groaned when he saw who entered.

  Jason glared at the old man when he passed the register and headed for the cooler. He grabbed two twelve packs of Old Milwaukee bottles and set them on the counter.

  “I.D.,” Nate said though he knew it was useless.

  “Why you go through this every time, old man,” Jason said.

  “ ‘Cause the law says I got to,” Nate replied, anger and frustration fighting for room in his eyes.

  “Which one you think you’re likely to have the most trouble from, me or the law?”

  Nate sighed and rang up the beer. “Nineteen twenty-one.”

  Jason flung a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change . . . since you were so nice about it. Put it in a bag. Don’t want it gettin’ hot before I drink it all.”

  The boys went back to the cemetery to drink the beer and finish up.

  They hid the Chevy, and, now, darkness covered any signs of what the boys had done Saturday afternoon. They sat in the middle of the cemetery among the pines trees and brush, drinking more beer from a return trip to Nate’s. Empty cans and cigarette butts littered the ground. They talked and teased each other until headlights swept across the graveyard.

  They waited 10 minutes then Jason said, “Okay, Chuck, go to that grave with the angel. You’re gonna have to cross the road here and sneak down so they can’t see you. Be quiet now.”

  “Oh, crap. Don’t worry ‘bout that. They’re probably so hugged up, they couldn’t hear a bulldozer coming through,” Chuck said and laughed.

  Jason thumped Chuck’s head with a knuckle. “Just be careful and don’t ruin it. This is gonna be a hoot. You got the flashlight?”

  “Yeah, I got it. Okay, I’m gone.” Chuck pushed through the bushes, walking carefully to avoid stepping on dry sticks. He bent low when he crossed the road even though he was not in view of the car, which was parked farther up.

  Chuck stepped among the graves and entered the woods on the other side, just inside the tree line. He worked his way toward the car until he saw the tombstone with the angel. He dropped to his stomach and slithered over the ground till he came to the grave then lowered himself in and positioned himself so his face could be seen when he raised up.

  The parked car was swaying back and forth when the couple inside heard the first sound.

  “Hooooo, hoooooooooo.”

  The girl pushed her partner up. “What in the world is that? Did you hear it?”

  “Oh, just some critter, an owl maybe; come on.”

  “Hoooooooooooooooooooo.” The sound was louder now.

  The young man jumped up and wiped off the condensation on the window. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Well, you heard it, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I heard something . . . but it’s probably nothing.”

  “I don’t know. We are in a graveyard, you know,” the girl replied.

  “So what. There’s nobody else here. That’s why we’re here, remember?”

  “Hooooooooooooo, hooooooooooooo, Whooooooooo’s innnnn here wid meeeeeeeeee?”

  The young lady pushed her amorous lover off and pulled up her undergarments. “Get your butt up and get us outta here.”

  They collided trying to climb over the back of the seat.

  “I can’t see. Wipe off the window,” he said as he fumbled for the keys.

  The girl snatched a roll of paper towels from the floorboard and frantically wiped the windshield.”

  “Hooooooooooooooooooooo,” came a moan from just ahead.

  The couple looked toward the sound, and the young man turned the key.

  “Hooooooooooooooo, hoooooooooo.” A pale face rose slowly from the grave.

  The girl screamed.

  The car lurched forward.

  “Hoooooooooooooooooo, . . . you arrrrrrr mine now. You can’t get awaaaaaaaaaaay.”

  A tree fell across their path, and the light inside the grave grew brighter. An eerie hand pointed straight at them.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” the voice cackled, “yessssss, staaaay with meeeeeeeeeeeee.”

  “To hell with this,” said the young man. He gunned the car and rammed the tree, pushing it in front of the car.

  Bam. The car slammed into another pine tree bordering the road, slowing only briefly as the tree broke in half and crashed onto the roof. The tires bounced onto the hardtop road outside the cemetery and skidded sideways before straightening and roaring off, leaving the top half of the broken pine far behind.

  Chuck jumped up in time to see the car slam into the tree. He and Jason embraced, then both doubled up laughing. Tim and Ricky joined them.

  “Did you hear her scream?” Jason howled, slapping Chuck on the back. “I thought he was going
to drive straight through the woods for a minute there. You did great, man, great. Heck, you almost scared me. Hoooooooooo, hoooooooo,” Jason cooed. “That was worth all the work. Come on, let’s get back in the grove.”

  “You little squirt, you did great too. Pushed that tree down at the perfect time,” Jason told Tim.

  Jason reached in the sack and pulled out a six-pack of beer. He gave one to each of the others then opened one for himself and lit a cigarette.

  “To the Graveyard Gang,” he said and banged his beer can against the others in a toast then tilted it up and drained the can in long gulps.

  Tim was glowing after Jason’s praise. “Reckon how long it’ll be before we get another one?”

  “Shouldn’t be long; it’s Saturday night,” Chuck said.

  “Oh, y’all are real bad asses now, huh?” Jason said, with a look at the others to let them know they weren’t as tough as him.

  He smashed the beer can against his forehead, bending it in half. “Let’s see you do that, Rickey.”

  “No, thanks. I know I can’t do it.”

  “How ‘bout you, Chuck, Tim?”

  Chuck took a couple of swallows to finish the beer and slammed the beer can against his forehead. It bent a little, which drew laughter from Jason. Chuck smashed it harder, cutting his head in the process, but the can did bend all the way.

  “That’s the way, brother. You’re getting there, dude,” Jason said, reached down and popped another beer.

  “Hey. Here comes another car now,” Jason said and chugged the beer.

  “Get ready, Chuck.”

  Chuck grabbed the flashlight, and they all crouched low as the car glided a quarter way around the loop and stopped.

  “They can’t see you from that same grave. You’ll have to work your way around to another one,” Jason said.

  “No problem,” Chuck replied confidently.

  “There’s a cut tree close to the car. I’ll take that one, and you and Tim take these other two. When they take off, y’all let go. We’ll give them a reeeeal scare,” Jason said and chuckled.

  Chuck once again ducked low and crept across the dirt road. He worked through the tree line and underbrush, found the grave they’d dug out and scooted in.