Located in southern Redina County and surrounded by rolling farmland, Belford was a town with a population of around 3,200—large enough to have all amenities, but small enough for everyone to be on first name basis with each other. It was a pretty town, with wide tree-lined streets, lots of attractive single and double-story houses, most with a smiling face and an American flag to greet you on the front porch. But the main attraction was the centre square, a quaint, picturesque park with pine trees, towering maples and buckeyes, and a white gazebo situated squarely in the middle. It’s what most of the stores lining Belford Road looked onto, including Barb’s.
The bell jingled when they entered the corner store. Mrs. Stein looked up from behind the counter and smiling said, “Well, hello there, boys. How are we today?” Mrs. Stein had short gray hair and her wrinkly face was kind, familiar. Draped over a long-sleeved candy-striped shirt was the light blue shawl she always wore.
“Great,” Frankie said. “It was the last day of school.”
“Last day of middle school,” Toby added.
“Which means summer vacation has begun.”
“My, my,” Mrs. Stein said with a click of her tongue. “You boys certainly are growing up fast. It seems like just yesterday your moms came in with you two in prams, crying your little hearts out.”
Toby and Frankie smiled politely, and then headed for the confectionary aisle—their favorite and most visited aisle. Toby grabbed a Butterfinger, Frankie a packet of Twinkies and a Reese’s Giant Peanut Butter Cup, and then they wandered over to the drinks fridge, where Toby grabbed a can of Coke, Frankie a Dr. Pepper.
They paid for their stuff (receiving a complimentary bag of Gummi Bears each), said goodbye to Mrs. Stein (“So fast,” she said again as they left the store), and outside, sat on the curb and munched on their food and slurped at their drinks.
Toby was lost in thought, enjoying the junk food, when Frankie nudged him on the shoulder. “Hey, what did ya do...?”
“Look,” Frankie said, voice low, nodding.
Toby looked down the street, to where Frankie was gazing, and saw a man ambling towards them.
Ordinarily seeing a man walking down the street wasn’t a big deal, it certainly didn’t call for a nudge on the shoulder. Even when that person was a stranger. Though fairly uncommon, it wasn’t unheard of for someone from out of town to pass through. But this was no ordinary stranger.
The man walking in their direction was tall, at least six feet, and was as dark as the night. He was as thin as old Mr. Joseph, and had similar white wiry hair. But what was most striking about him wasn’t that he was black, or that he resembled Mr. Joseph; he looked like a homeless man. His clothes were dirty and crinkled—they were barely one step up from rags—and he carried a bag in his hand, a large, soiled gym bag that Toby figured contained the old man’s clothes and quite possibly every meager possession he owned. And it occurred to Toby then, as he sat staring at the man drawing closer, that he had never seen a homeless person before, not in real life.
“A bum,” Frankie whispered. “A bum right here in Belford.”
“Ssshhh, he’ll hear you,” Toby said.
The stranger walked with unhurried steps, and as he passed the boys, he turned his head and looked at Toby.
Toby froze. The gaze was piercing in its nothingness. The stranger frowned ever so slightly, like he saw something in Toby, then he nodded, turned his head back to face the front and kept on walking.
Toby eased out his breath.
Then flinched when Frankie said, “Creepy looking dude. What do you reckon he has in that bag?”
Toby’s mouth was dry, so he sipped some Coke. “Dunno. Clothes, I guess.”
“Maybe a machete, or an axe,” Frankie said. “Or a severed head.”
“As if,” Toby said.
Toby turned and watched the stranger shuffle down the street. He noticed others watching the disheveled man; or rather, trying not to appear to be staring while looking at him.
“I’m surprised he didn’t ask us for some change,” Frankie said. “I bet he goes into Patterson’s and tries to bum a burger and some fries.”
When the stranger was a small blob in the distance, Toby turned back and continued eating his chocolate bar.
“Patterson will probably throw him out if he does,” Frankie said, slurping his Dr. Pepper. “I can’t imagine Patterson giving away food to some bum. Wonder what he’s doing in Belford?”
Toby shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Maybe he’s Mr. Joseph’s long lost brother,” Frankie laughed.
“Yeah, maybe.”
When both had finished their afternoon sugar rush, they disposed of the garbage and crossed over the wide, empty street and started up Belford Road.
“You know what we should do,” Frankie said as they meandered along. “We should play a prank on Mr. Joseph this weekend. Sneak over to his house late at night, like midnight, when your parents are asleep.”
“And do what?”
“I dunno. Go up to his house and knock on the front door?”
Toby grinned. “He’d probably bite our heads off, then drink our blood if we did that.”
“Then cook and eat us.”
“Yeah,” Toby said, and they both chuckled.
When they came up to Hanny Street—a short, narrow, unpaved thoroughfare—they turned left.
“Come inside, little boy,” Frankie said, in a screechy old-witch type of voice. He angled his head, in a bad impression of Mr. Joseph’s severely crooked posture. “I won’t hurt you, my little chicken,” he continued. “I just want to drink your blood.” He was now starting to sound like Count Dracula.
“Very funny,” Toby said. “You know if the wind changes, you’ll stay like that forever.”
Straightening up, Frankie said, “That’s bullshit. It’s kid’s stuff.”
“Then why did you straighten?”
“It was starting to hurt. Anyway, it’s your expression that stays the same, not your posture.”
Hanny Street ended. They came out onto Bracher Road and crossed over. The moment they were back walking on the sidewalk, Frankie said, “Wanna race?”
Toby nodded. “To my house?”
“To your house.”
The two boys stopped. They often held short, spontaneous races. Most of the time Toby won, but Frankie was getting faster and stronger.
Toby got into position: body bent forward, arms poised like pistons about to fire, eyes staring dead ahead.
“On my count,” Frankie said.
Toby glanced at his best friend; now his competitor—his body was tense, his eyes determined.
“One...Two...”
Frankie bolted. Toby, taken by surprise, watched in disbelief as his portly friend bounded down the street, arms pumping wildly, backpack jostling on his back like Pamela Anderson jogging without a bra.
“Three!” Came the distant, breathy final count.
“Hey!” Toby shouted, and took off after him.
Frankie had gotten a good head start, he was almost at Toby’s street, but by the time Frankie turned left into Pineview (which had no pine trees at all—though Toby liked to think that once upon a time, when Belford was founded in 1818 by William S. Holt, who also founded Polksville, the area was littered with them), Toby was less than ten feet behind him.
Toby flew around the corner, his own backpack slapping against his back as he ran.
He saw her the moment he rounded the corner—she was standing looking back at Frankie jogging up the street—but there was no chance of stopping in time, nor dodging her. She faced Toby, her eyes widened, she drew in breath, and then Gloria Mayfour was knocked to the pavement. Toby followed her down. He felt the impact of Gloria hitting the concrete, heard her grunt and then smelled the familiar sweetness of Bazooka gum as her breath whooshed against his face.
Toby lay on top of Gloria for a few stunned moments, his face buried in her peach-scented hair. He knew he should get off, she might be hur
t, yet he couldn’t help liking the feel of her body underneath. But when he realized his right hand was clutching her left breast, he immediately rolled off her, hoping she either hadn’t noticed where his hand had fallen, or if she had, assumed it had fallen there by accident.
Frankie came running over as Toby got to his feet.
“Are you guys okay?” Frankie said, panting loudly.
Ignoring Frankie, Toby said, “I’m really sorry, Gloria. Are you hurt?”
Gloria sat up. She looked pale and a little shaken. “I’m okay. Just a bit winded.” She reached around to the back of her head.
Toby drew in breath. “Did you hit your head?”
She brought her hand back. Thankfully her fingers were clean.
“Not hard,” she said. “My head’s not bleeding. I’ll probably have a nice bump, but I’ll live.”
Gloria started to rise from her sitting position.
Toby twitched. He wanted to help her, knew that’s what they would do in the movies—the hero taking the beauty by the hand and drawing her up close, holding her in his arms—but he was no hero; he was just some bumbling fourteen-year-old kid. So he stood there feeling useless as Gloria got to her feet.
“God, I’m so sorry,” Toby said again. “Really, I am.”
Brushing leaves and dirt off her clothes, Gloria said, “Don’t worry, it was an accident.” She smiled shyly.
Is she talking about the collision, the accidental grope, or both?
Standing face-to-face with Gloria, having just knocked her down, having accidentally felt her up, all of Toby’s adolescent insecurities came flooding to the surface. He was rendered speechless, his face burned and his hands went all clammy.
There was an awkward silence.
Say something! Toby told himself. He looked at Frankie; Frankie looked just as lost as he was.
“You’re bleeding,” Gloria said, breaking the tension. She pointed to his knees.
Toby gazed down and saw, through a tear in his jeans, blood seeping from a graze on his right knee.
“Oh yeah,” Toby said, shrugging. “It’s nothing.”
“Well,” Gloria said, looking self-consciously between Toby and Frankie. “I guess I’d better get going. I was on my way to the store. I wasn’t home for two minutes when my mom says we’re out of milk and asks if I could go down to Barb’s and get some.”
“Parents, huh?” Toby said, mouth feeling thick and dry, like it was full of sawdust.
“Yeah. Well, see you guys around.”
“Yeah,” Toby said. “See you around.”
“Bye,” Frankie said.
Gloria walked away, soon vanishing around the corner.
A few moments ticked by before Frankie muttered, “Holy shit.”
Toby faced Frankie.
“I can’t believe it,” Frankie said, sporting a goofy grin. “You talked to Gloria Mayfour. You ran into Gloria Mayfour. You actually fell on top of Gloria Ma...”
“I get the picture,” Toby said.
Toby couldn’t share his friend’s excitement. Sure, he had finally talked to Gloria, brief and uncomfortable as it may have been, had felt one of her breasts, even though he hadn’t meant to and there was a fabric barrier between his hand and her flesh, but he was embarrassed—both for Gloria and for himself.
“Why so touchy? She wasn’t hurt, it’s all good.”
“She was hurt a little, she hit her head. But that’s not the problem. I’m embarrassed.”
Frankie frowned. “Embarrassed, why?”
Toby told him about the accidental grope. “She had to have noticed. She must’ve been so humiliated.”
“Screw that. You felt up Gloria Mayfour! Man, wait till I tell the guys about this.”
“Don’t you dare,” Toby told Frankie. “I don’t want anyone to know about this.”
“Why? You talked to Gorgeous Gloria. Christ, you fell on top of her and touched one of her breasts! Every teenage guy in town would give their right nut for that privilege.”
“I don’t give a shit about every guy.” Toby stepped up to Frankie; stood so close he could smell the sourness of his sweat, feel the hotness of his breath. “Don’t...tell...anyone,” Toby said through gritted teeth.
Frankie’s brown moon-shaped eyes widened. He swallowed. “Sure. I won’t tell a soul.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
With one hand, Frankie made the sign of the cross on his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“If you tell even one person, I’ll tell the whole town that you cried like a girl at the end of Titanic.”
“Hey, I promised, didn’t I? Jeez!”
Satisfied, Toby stepped away from Frankie and started walking towards his house.
Frankie caught up to him. “You aren’t mad at me, are you, Toby? I mean, I was only joking around. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
Toby nodded. He fought hard to suppress a grin, but he lost the battle. “Yeah, I know.”
They arrived at Toby’s house—a charming two-story structure, the imitation wood vinyl siding painted a light pink with brown trim. The house sat proudly in the middle of a neatly trimmed lawn, which matched the neatly trimmed hedges that flanked both sides of the property.
Stopping at the edge of the front lawn, Toby turned to Frankie. “Go on, I’ll meet you at your house, okay?”
“Why? I always come inside and wait for you.”
“I have to clean my knee. It may take a while. I’ll be around at your place in about half an hour.”
Frankie sighed. “Okay, whatever. You’re still staying for dinner and then watching the horror movie marathon later, though, right?”
“Of course,” Toby said.
“Mom’s working tonight, Leah will probably be out, and I don’t want to watch Psycho all by myself.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there to hold your hand.”
With a nod, Frankie turned and started up the street, but stopped and looked back at Toby. He was frowning. “Hey, why was Gloria walking down Pineview? She lives on Cooper Avenue. She doesn’t need to cut down Pineview to get to Barb’s.”
Toby hadn’t given the matter much thought, but Frankie was right. Why was she walking down Pineview?
“Who knows?” Toby said, trying to act like he couldn’t care less, but really he was churning inside with nervous excitement. “Maybe she was taking the long way to Barb’s, or she was just out taking a walk, enjoying the sunshine.”
Or coming to see me? Yeah right, in your dreams.
With a shrug, Frankie turned back around and continued meandering up the street.
Toby cut across the lawn and hurried up the porch steps, to the front door, where he pulled the keychain from his pocket. Though they lived in a small town, one with an almost zero percent crime rate, his parents still insisted on locking all doors and windows whenever the house was empty, so he singled out the front door key, unlocked the deadlock, and stepped inside.
It wasn’t quite three o’clock and both his parents were still at work, so the house was quiet. The only sound was that low, almost undetectable hum he heard people refer to as white noise.
As Toby headed for the staircase, he wondered if Frankie had any inkling of the real reason he didn’t want him coming into the house.
Most days after school, Toby and Frankie headed straight to Frankie’s house, where they played basketball, computer games, or lazed around watching TV. And since Toby’s house was on the way, it made sense for Frankie to wait if Toby needed to stop off at home first for any reason.
But not today.
It was true, he did want to clean the blood and dirt from the small wound on his knee and put a bandage over the graze, but that would only take a moment.
The real reason he didn’t want Frankie coming inside had to do with Gloria Mayfour, how it had felt lying on top of her, and the softness of her breast.
For that, he n
eeded privacy.
Toby bounded up the stairs, and into his bedroom.
CHAPTER TWO
Toby was feeling nice and relaxed as he rode his Rampit Red Schwinn BMX towards Frankie’s house; the warm wind that fluttered his hair carried with it the glorious scent of flowers and freshly-cut grass, heightening his joy and sense of freedom (he usually only rode his bike when he was by himself—Frankie’s old BMX died last year, and his mom didn’t have the money to buy him a new one, so Toby preferred to leave his bike at home whenever he was traveling with Frankie).
Replacing his torn jeans was a long pair of shorts, and instead of a polo shirt he now wore an old Nike T-shirt. Completing the outfit was a pair of Nike sneakers, so Toby was all set for a sweaty afternoon of one-on-one basketball, finishing off with a lazy night of watching Psycho, Frankenstein and, depending on the time, Bride of Frankenstein.
When Toby arrived at Frankie’s, he dumped his bike on the front lawn and headed towards the front door.
The Wilmonts lived in an unremarkable house. The single-story wasn’t rundown, but the clapboard siding could do with a repaint and some of the boards on the porch were loose. Still, Frankie kept the front and back lawns short, and they did have a colorful and healthy array of flowers, thanks to Suzie’s green thumb.
Frankie lived with his mother and older sister, Leah, who was a senior at Holt High. Frankie’s dad had left before Frankie was born, so he had never known his father, had never even seen a picture of him because, apparently, Frankie’s mom had burnt all photos of him when he left. Toby had trouble picturing Suzie acting in such a way—he knew her as a sweet and gentle person—but then Toby had never experienced such loss and hurt before.
Frankie hardly ever spoke about his father, and Toby couldn’t recall the subject ever being brought up by either Suzie or Leah. All Toby knew of Frankie’s dad was that his name was Brian and that he used to work as a laborer. If Frankie knew more, he had never told Toby.
The Awakening Page 3
