Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  *****

  Chapter 12

  Billy Bristol's trailer was jammed with people. From one end to the other, the place was packed, so thick with bodies that it was difficult for anyone to move. It seemed as if it would be impossible to fit anyone else in there, and yet, people continued to arrive, somehow squeezing themselves into the crowd...which only made matters worse.

  Despite the claustrophobic conditions, no one seemed to be uncomfortable or cross. They were all grinning and laughing loudly, clowning and shouting and having a good time. The mob was dense, the place was stuffy, but everyone was happy, thoroughly enjoying themselves. Another of Billy Bristol's famous parties was underway.

  The general good mood could be largely attributed to the fact that the people in the trailer all enjoyed each other's company. They were all either full-fledged members of the Wild West gang or regular hangers-on, and most of them had known each other for years. Over time, the individuals in the gang had formed a close bond, a unique gestalt; their distinct personalities had grown to complement each other, merging into a family of sorts, a tribe in which everyone found friendship and played a special role.

  Of course, the good mood in the trailer was also helped by the great quantities of beer that were being consumed. A keg of the stuff sat in Billy's bathtub, surrounded by ice, and it was being drained quite rapidly. Except for one or two teetotalers, everyone in the place had a plastic cup full of beer, and as soon as a cup was emptied, it was swiftly refilled. Since it was nearly impossible to get from certain parts of the trailer to the bathtub, the gang acted in bucket brigade fashion to ensure quick refills; empty cups would be passed from person to person through the trailer to the bathroom, then filled at the keg and passed from hand to hand back to the cup's owner. Though this made it easy for everyone to get beer, there was still a problem, unfortunately, whenever someone actually needed to use the inaccessible bathroom.

  Though everyone was crushed together in the trailer, the crowd itself was divided into various groups, each one carrying on conversations of its own. There was a bunch of people talking and laughing in the bedroom, and another in the bathroom, and several in the short hallway. There were many sub-groups in the main mass of people in the living room and kitchen, each cluster discussing different subjects, telling different jokes and stories. The sub-groups fluxed and shifted as the party continued, people transferring from one orbit to another; the conversations overlapped, flowed together, broke apart, constantly altering.

  One of the more vocal and colorful groups in the trailer was based in Billy's kitchen, an area only divided from the living room by a counter and some suspended cabinets. Though the Wild West gang had no formal organization, the bunch in the kitchen could be considered the core of the gang, the officers of that ragtag battalion.

  Gathered around the kitchen table, old members of the central group laughed and drank alongside newer recruits. Naturally, Billy Bristol was there, as were his lieutenants, Ernie Dumbrowski and Dave Heinrich; Jack Bunsen and Morris "Boris" Blovitz were also in attendance, a pair of jokers who had been with the gang from the beginning. Two other charter members were also there: Becky D'Amoto, a stocky girl who had worked at Wild West longer than anyone in the group; and Jane Niessner, a skinny brunette who was Becky's best friend.

  Mixed in with these old-timers was an assortment of fresher cronies. Darlene Rollins was there, snuggled in Dave's arms; a newer member even than Darlene, Larry Smith also occupied the kitchen, blithely seated among the founding fathers as if he were one of them himself.

  Laughing, gulping beer, clapping Billy on the back, Larry fit right in with the crew. Already, he exhibited an easy familiarity toward everyone; he really did act as if he'd known them all for years, not just a couple of days. Despite the fact that he was probably at least twenty years older than anyone in the gang, he'd quickly taken to them, and they had readily returned the favor.

  As a matter of fact, Larry had held center stage in the kitchen through most of the party, entertaining the crew there with great success. He'd told one story after another, each one purportedly drawn from his experiences, each successive yarn funnier and wilder than the last. The band in the kitchen loved every one of his tales; the Wild West rogues hung on every word from his lips, exclaiming and laughing in all the right places.

  Larry was already on his tenth story in two-and-a-half hours, and he was still holding the attention of everyone in the kitchen. That was no mean feat, considering the large quantities of beer that most of them had consumed.

  "Anyway," said Larry, wryly raising one eyebrow. "Me and this guy Butch are hitchhiking, and there's just nobody coming down that highway. The sun's going down, and we're out in the middle of nowhere...and believe me, the middle of nowhere is really nowhere in North Dakota. So we're walking down the road, just praying that something'll come our way soon, because it's starting to get kind of cold out, and we don't even have coats on. There's something in the air, and we both know there's gonna' be a hard freeze that night, so we wanna' get to someplace warm real quick."

  "So did any cars come by?" asked Jane Niessner with great interest, leaning back against the counter that marked the boundary of the kitchen.

  "Not for the longest time," said Larry, shaking his head. "After a while, the sun starts going down. Butch starts talking about what it feels like to freeze to death, and I'm about ready to haul off and pop him one just to shut him up."

  "Good idea!" cheered brawny Jack Bunsen, seated across the table from Larry. "That Butch sounds like a serious pain in the ass! I'd've pasted him a good one a long time before that!"

  "Well," chuckled Larry, "it wasn't easy, but I always tried to be patient with ol' Butch. He sure was a pain a lotta' times, but the thing was, he didn't mean to be."

  "So, when did you finally get a ride?" asked Becky D'Amoto, leaning against the counter beside Jane.

  "I guess it was about an hour after sundown," answered Larry, frowning as if he were searching his mind for details. "Yeah, that's right," he smiled then. "It was almost exactly an hour, because Butch kept checking the time on his watch and telling me how long we probably had to live."

  "Oh, brother," snorted Jack, wagging his head.

  "We saw headlights," explained Larry, "and we both jumped out on the road and started waving like crazy. Anyway, it turns out to be a van, and it pulls right up beside us and stops. Butch runs up and tries the door, but it's locked, and then the window rolls down and this guy squints out at us. He's this wormy little guy with big glasses, and he's actin' really nervous, so I start thinking that maybe he won't give us a ride."

  "Oh no!" laughed Billy Bristol. "He probably thought you two were mad killers or something!"

  "Maybe he was the mad killer," smirked Ernie.

  "Anyway," continued Larry, reaching up to rub his goatee, "this little guy just looks us over, real slow, checkin' us out, and I know we look seedy as hell. So we're both saying 'Please, give us a ride, man, we're freezing out here,' and then he finally says something, and we just can't believe it." Breaking the line of his tale at that important point, Larry pulled his beer to his lips and took a long swallow.

  "So what'd he say?" piped Darlene.

  "The guy gives us this real serious look," smiled Larry, "and then he says 'Are you two fellas born-again Christians?'"

  "Well, were you?" wondered Becky.

  "Nope," Larry said with a shrug, "but we didn't know what to say to him. I mean, we needed that ride, so we had to make sure we got on his good side, right? Anyway, I thought about it for a minute, and I figured the guy must be a Christian, or else he thinks Christians won't be likely to kill him or something. Even though I'm not born-again, and I know Butch isn't, either, I decide the best thing to do is lie to this guy."

  "Makes sense," nodded Jack Bunsen.

  "You should've told him you were worshipers of the snake god Quetzalcoatl," gibbered Boris Blovitz, digging a handful of potato chips from a bowl on the table.

 
"Boy, you're weird, Boris," chided Jane, rolling her eyes.

  "Why, thank you," beamed Boris. "I aims to please, sweet thing."

  "So what did you say?" asked Dave Heinrich. "Did you say you were born-again?"

  "Oh, yeah," confirmed Larry. "We made ourselves sound like the most dedicated Christians since the original twelve Apostles." Pausing again, Larry had another drink of beer.

  "So did he give you a ride, or what?" Billy asked impatiently.

  "Well," Larry said deliberately, leaning back in his chair, "the guy just stares at us. We finally shut up, and nobody says anything for a minute, but Butch and I figure we've got it made. So what does the guy say to us after all that?" Larry waited for just an instant before continuing, slowly rolled his gaze around the entire group in the kitchen. "He says 'Shit, that's too bad. Last time I gave a ride to someone who said he was born-again, I got the livin' shit beat outta' me and my car got stolen!' "

  "Oh no!" giggled Jane Niessner.

  "The guy took off before we could say another word," Larry smiled while everyone laughed. "Butch just turns to e and says 'Boy! Them Christians must be meaner than I thought!'"

  "Butch wasn't too smart, was he?" laughed Ernie.

  "He only took those brains of his out on special occasions," said Larry. "Like for card games. He must've won every poker game I ever saw him play, and he didn't cheat, either. He was smart enough when he wanted to be, but that wasn't too often." His latest story completed, Larry lifted his beer and drank what was left in the cup. An amused and satisfied smile remained on his face, evidence of his enjoyment of telling stories to a receptive audience.

  While the gang chattered and joked, Dave Heinrich turned his attention to the girl in his arms. Darlene was laughing brightly, her body jiggling against him, and he was glad that she was having a good time.

  Impulsively, Dave pulled her more tightly against him, pressed his clasped hands more firmly against her stomach. When she felt the change in his grip, Darlene turned to look over her shoulder at him.

  Dave thought that she looked beautiful, and he felt a swift rush of affection for the girl. Her wide brown eyes, the slight flush in her cheeks, the gentle smile on her small mouth-all these combined to form a picture that truly touched him, turned a key deep within him.

  "What do you think you're doing, buster?" Darlene asked at last. "Are you trying to crush me or something?" she said, her voice bell-like and teasing.

  "No," Dave said softly, smiling back at her. "I just don't want to let you get away."

  "Why?" asked Darlene, smirking coyly. "Are you afraid I might run off with somebody else here?"

  "I don't know," said Dave. "Were you thinking about it?"

  "Would you be jealous if I did?" she smiled, cuddling against him.

  "You better believe it," he whispered, and then he kissed her.

  As her lips moved and lingered against his, Dave felt happy. He was having a great time at the party, and he felt a little drunk, and Darlene was very close to him. His personal army of anxieties had retreated in the distance, become no more than a tiny speck on the horizon; he wasn't worrying about school, or his troubles at work, or his bickering family, or even his future. He wasn't fretting about Darlene, either, wasn't worrying about his future, or lack of future, with her; he was simply relishing her company, the light in her eyes, the feel of her soft lips. He felt clear and clean and free and young and careless, the way that he wished that he could feel every minute of his life.

  Just as Darlene's lips separated from his, Dave heard a shout from the living room. Both he and Darlene instinctively turned to look in the direction of the racket.

  They saw a guy swaggering through the crowd, beaming and shouting greetings at the people around him. He had a crazy, tousled mop of auburn hair, and a thin fringe of beard that ran from his ears to his chin, but no mustache; his face was big and round as a pumpkin, and his wild eyes were nearly obscured by huge cheeks pumped upward by his grin. At first glance, he might appear to be some sort of renegade Amish man, a devilish, gleeful rebel clad in a Hawaiian shirt instead of a plain smock and coveralls, his odd beard the only remnant of his Amish heritage.

  "Who's that?" asked Darlene.

  "Jeff Tressler," supplied Dave. "He's a cousin of Billy's."

  "Nice shirt," she quipped, wagging her head. "Looks like he just flew in from Tahiti."

  "Yeah," chuckled Dave. "Jeff's a real character."

  "Hey hey hey, everybody!" whooped Jeff, hoisting both hands in the air and waving a salute to the kitchen crew. "What it is, people!"

  "What's up, Jeff?" chuckled Billy.

  "Oh, the stars, the moon, the ceiling," flipped Jeff, his grin expanding, inflating his pillowy cheeks even more.

  "Ho ho ho," Jack Bunsen grunted sarcastically. "That's really funny, Jeffy."

  "Thanks!" piped Jeff. "So how's this party then? Hope I didn't miss nothin'!"

  "No, you didn't miss anything," replied Billy. "Party's just gettin' geared up."

  "Man, I had a hell of a time finding someplace to park," bubbled Jeff. "All those cars out there, man. I had to park the whole way down in front of Ernie's place, practically."

  "Just so you didn't knock over the mailbox again," chuckled Ernie.

  "Hey," returned Jeff, poking a finger in Ernie's direction. "Maybe if you hadn't put it up so close to the road, I wouldn't've hit it in the first place!"

  "Right," leveled Jack Bunsen. "You got so wasted you couldn't even walk straight, you sneaked out to your car instead of waiting for one of us to take you home, you plowed over Ernie's mailbox, and now it's his fault."

  "Aw, I wasn't even drunk that night," insisted Jeff.

  "Whatever you say," snickered Jack, casting an amused glance at Billy.

  "Is that where everyone's been parking?" interjected Larry Smith. "Out along the road?"

  "Where else is there?" grinned Jeff. "Billy's teeny-weeny driveway only holds like three cars."

  "We park there all the time," Billy said casually.

  "Huh," Larry said thoughtfully, cocking his head to one side. "Never have any trouble? With the township, I mean. Sometimes they get picky about that kind of stuff."

  "Nah," said Billy, shaking his head. "Nobody's ever hassled us about it. Township cops are pretty cool about that shit."

  "Well," shrugged Larry, "that's good then. As long as the cops don't give you any trouble, that's great."

  "Don't worry about it," Billy said confidently. "They never hassle us out here. We're practically out in the country, y'know?"

  "They're very lax about that kind of thing," agreed Ernie. "The police don't care where you park, or if you're having a party, as long as nobody else cares."

  "Yeah," snorted Jack Bunsen. "The cops spend all their time drinking down at Ed's Beer Garden, anyway."

  "Great, great," Larry said coolly. "That's good to know. If I ever get a car, I won't have to worry about leaving it along the road here."

  "You got it," grinned Billy, spreading his arms wide. "This is the perfect party place, Larry. Lots of parking, hardly any neighbors, and no nosy cops. It's Heaven on Earth, man."

  "Hey!" hollered Jeff, jabbing a finger toward Larry. "Who is this guy, anyway? I never seen him before!"

  "Jeff, this is Larry Smith," said Billy. "Larry, this is my cousin, Jeff Tressler."

  "Hey," chucked Jeff, nodding at Larry. "What's up, man?"

  "Oh, not much," Larry said slyly, drawing a hand over his crew-cut. "The moon, the stars, the ceiling, that kind of thing."

  Everyone laughed, and the party continued.

  *****

  About an hour after Jeff's arrival, Larry stopped telling stories and excused himself from the kitchen, saying that he wanted to get some fresh air. As soon as he got up, Jeff Tressler leaped in to commandeer his seat at the table.

  On his way out of the kitchen, Larry paused near Dave and Darlene and invited them to join him. Naturally, Dave was eager to follow his new idol, and Darlene quickly agreed
that it sounded like a good idea. Grabbing their coats from atop the refrigerator, the couple muddled through the crowd after Larry.

  Dave felt relieved when he stepped outside; though he'd been enjoying the party, it really was warm and stuffy in the trailer, so the cool air and open space was quite soothing. As he stood on the front stoop and pulled on his coat, he took a deep breath and released a satisfied sigh.

  Larry hadn't bothered with a coat, but he didn't seem affected by the chilly night air. Clad in a black T-shirt and bluejeans, he strode briskly down the steps to the yard, not shivering a bit. Planting his hands on his hips, he gazed up at the starry sky, frosty puffs of breath rising silently from his smile.

  "Ahhh," sighed Larry, peering upward, lit by the glow from the trailer's windows. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

  "Sure is," agreed Dave, tugging up the zipper of his coat. "Lots of stars," he said, and then he craned his head back to watch the sky, duplicating Larry's stance.

  "I always like stargazing," offered Darlene, also looking upward. "I don't know what any of them are called, but I like to look at them anyway."

  "You don't need to know their names," said Larry. Slowly, he began to turn around, his eyes still trained on the cosmos.

  "Hey, Larry," said Dave. "Do the stars look different from different places in the world? Like, are they a little different when you see them from Argentina, or Turkey or wherever?"

  "They seem different," Larry said slowly, continuing his gradual rotation. "Each place makes you feel different, so the stars seem different."

  "So how do you feel when you see them from here?" asked Darlene.

  "Strange," sighed Larry, and he stopped turning, paused with his back to Dave and Darlene. "I feel strange."

  "What do you mean?" wondered Darlene. "Why do you feel strange?"

  For a moment, Larry was silent, and the noise from the trailer seemed to grow louder. "I feel younger," he said finally. "I also feel very, very old." He drew in a deep breath, then released it.