“That’s beside the point,” his mom stumbled. “Anyway, it still doesn’t take away from the fact that somebody damaged his property. It’s disgusting. I’m surprised we didn’t hear anything.”
“Did you hear anything last night, Toby?” his dad asked.
Toby looked at the table. He shook his head. “I slept like a baby.”
“All this destructive behavior last night,” his mom said. “Must be the end of school and the start of summer vacation. Makes kids go crazy.”
“Last night? Oh, you mean what happened at Jinks Field?”
His mom nodded. “Your mom told you about that?”
Frankie opened his mouth to answer. Toby looked up from the table and glared at Frankie. This time, he noticed Toby’s expression. “Ah, yeah, she told me something about it. Not much though.”
“So what did this graffiti sprayed over Mr. Joseph’s house say?” his dad asked Frankie.
“Eat this, and Freak, and...” Frankie stopped, shifted his gaze between Toby’s parents.
“It’s okay Frankie, you can say it even if it’s rude,” his mom said.
“Okay… Fuck off, nigger.”
She winced, shook her head. “Horrible.”
Hearing what was sprayed on the old man’s house made Toby uncomfortable. True, the old fellow was a bit strange, but Toby couldn’t share in Frankie’s blasé attitude towards the graffiti. He almost felt bad for Mr. Joseph. Jokes between friends was one thing; what Deb and the others had done to Mr. Joseph’s house was another. He would love to tell the cops who was responsible. But there was Leah to consider. And his own neck if Dwayne ever found out he had squealed to the cops.
“Let this be a lesson to you boys,” his dad said in his most parental voice. “There is no excuse for ignorance and stupidity. Whoever did this to Mr. Joseph’s house was both of those things. Treat everyone as equal, regardless of race or religious beliefs. That is, unless a person does something to you that is totally uncalled for, then you can treat them like dirt and beat the ever-loving crap out of them.”
Toby and Frankie sniggered.
“Honestly, David,” his mom said.
“What? It’s the truth. Which reminds me, ‘bout time I start teaching you boys how to fight. And I don’t mean no pansy-assed wrestling, but real fighting. Boxing. How’d ya like that?”
All concerns regarding Mr. Joseph vanished and Toby was suddenly filled with excitement. For years he had begged his dad to teach him to box, but he had always responded with, “When you’re older, son.”
Now, it looked like it was finally time. Frankie, sitting beside Toby, looked just as excited.
Toby’s dad used to be an amateur boxer. While studying accounting at university, he had joined the boxing team. His own father had taught him a few moves, so he already knew how to handle himself. But, as he had told Toby numerous times: “Fighting inside the ring is a lot different than fighting on the streets.” Within a year he was State Amateur Middleweight Champion.
He had defended the title two years running. He reckoned he could’ve turned pro, but he was a strong believer in education, and, as he had drummed into Toby, strength and athletic prowess doesn’t last; a good education and knowledge does. So, following his own advice, he stayed in college, continued to box as an amateur, but never tried to make it in the pro circuit.
Toby had heard the story countless times. Toby liked watching boxing on ESPN, though, unbeknownst to his dad, he was more inclined towards the martial arts, like Kung-Fu and Karate. Some of his favorite movies were the old Bruce Lee chop-sockys, and the newer Jackie Chan spectacles. He often day-dreamed he was a Kung-Fu master, one that could fly twenty-feet in the air and do a spinning round-house kick. Then he would show Dwayne Marcos who was boss.
But boxing was cool. Just as long as he learned how to punch properly, that was fine by him.
“How about we start tomorrow? After your big campout? That is, unless you men will be too tired.”
“No way,” Frankie said.
“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”
“Then it’s settled,” his dad said with a nod. “Tomorrow I’ll start teaching you boys how to box.”
“Hey, I thought you said we were men,” Toby said.
“Well, you’re not,” his mom said. “And I don’t want you two going around picking fights. Boxing is for self-defense only. It’s not a license to fight.”
“You’re taking all of the fun out of it, Nancy,” his dad said.
“Can we use the bag?” Toby asked.
“Yeah, can we use the bag?” Frankie repeated.
His father nodded. “I’ll set it up today while you two are setting up the tent.”
Toby and Frankie exchanged enormous grins.
“Come on,” Toby said, getting to his feet. “Let’s get down to the store.”
Frankie nodded, skidding his chair back as he stood.
“You haven’t brushed your teeth young man, or cleaned up this mess.”
“I’ll do them when I get back,” Toby told his mom.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
His dad huffed. “I wouldn’t count on Toby’s word being any good.”
“I promise I will brush my teeth and clean up when I get back.”
“Well, that’s good enough for me,” his dad said.
“Okay,” said his mom. “Just don’t go buying too much junk food.”
“We won’t,” Toby said. “We’ll just get some carrots, a few apples and a pumpkin.”
“And don’t forget the bag of Brussels sprouts,” Frankie chuckled.
“Pair of comedians,” his dad said.
His mom couldn’t hide her smile. Still, she was able to keep her voice even and semi-serious when she said, “I mean it guys, don’t go overboard. And be careful of strangers.”
“Jeez, Mom, we’re not five years old,” Toby said as he headed for the back door, Frankie following behind.
“I know, I’m sorry. But you heard me about the junk food? Not too much?”
“Yes,” Toby said.
Once outside, Toby turned to Frankie. He grinned. “But I didn’t promise.”
Frankie wasn’t kidding about the morning being warm. It wasn’t quite nine and already the sun’s heat was intense. Toby considered going back inside and retrieving his baseball cap and sunglasses from his room, but decided he couldn’t be bothered.
Toby liked the heat, considerably more than he did the cold. Sure, winter had its charms—the snow, open fires, Christmas (which was his favorite holiday)—but the hot weather made him feel alive, eager to be outdoors, and glad to be at an age where nothing mattered except having a good time with friends. School was more of an annoyance than a major headache (though that might change come September), and girls were fascinating, sexy, and mysterious—the heartache was yet to come.
He had the freedom of a young teenager, without the worries of somebody a few years older. Toby couldn’t see how life could get any better. He wanted to stay this age forever.
He was feeling these things, not consciously thinking them, when they passed Mr. Joseph’s house. The old man hadn’t yet cleaned up the mess. Must still be in bed, Toby thought.
Eggshells littered the front lawn, some were even plastered to the walls, stuck there by the now-dry yolks and mucous-like whites. Toby gazed over at the graffiti. Eat this! and Freak! were painted on the left-hand wall of the house. On the right was: Fuck off NIGGA!!!
“What’d I tell you,” Frankie said. “Cool, huh?”
“It’s not cool,” Toby said. “Why is it cool? Just because some stupid rumor was spread around doesn’t give people the right to do this.”
Frankie remained silent for a moment, his gently perspiring face staring intently at Toby. Then he exploded with laughter. A real belly whoop. “Goddamn, Toby! You sound just like your friggin’ mother!”
“Fuck you, you tub of lard.”
“Why don’t you go over and clean the mess up for the old pervert? Then a
fterwards, you can suck his cock, which is probably crooked like his neck.”
Toby felt anger and disappointment towards Frankie. He didn’t mind the teasing. He expected it. Hell, he would’ve checked Frankie’s pulse if he hadn’t made some wisecrack in response to Toby’s sentiments. No, he was upset at how cold Frankie was towards what had happened.
Sure, Toby was freaked out by the old man—had been his whole life. He had also done his fair share of teasing and rumor-spreading and been involved in more than a few harmless pranks over the years. And he did find it unsettling how the old man watched them from his window every morning. But there was something sad and pathetic about him, too. Kind of like some smelly old dog that nobody particularly likes, gets under everyone’s feet, yet you still find yourself feeling sorry for it, at times wanting to go over and pet it. Still, you find yourself kicking at it all the same when its mangy body comes too close.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of mean what they did?” Toby said.
“Mean?” Frankie said. “They just threw a few eggs at his house and wrote some stuff. That’s not so bad.”
They also killed a chicken and left it on his doorstep, and hung its severed head through the screen door. Oh yeah, and by the way, your dear sister helped write those charming words.
They were a few houses past the old man’s when Toby stopped.
“What?” Frankie said, stopping beside him.
Toby looked up and down the street. Pineview was deserted.
“If I tell you something, do you promise not to say a word?”
Frankie’s eyes lit up. Whenever somebody started a conversation with the sentence, If I tell you something, do you promise not to say a word, you just knew something good was to follow.
“Yeah, I promise,” Frankie said.
“I mean it. If you tell anyone, there’s a good chance you’ll get your head kicked in by Dwayne Marcos.”
“Dwayne Marcos? What’s he got to do with anything?”
Toby took a nervous breath. He had wanted all morning to tell somebody about what he had witnessed last night. Needed to get it off his chest. He knew he was taking a risk, but Frankie was his best friend. He told Frankie almost everything. “I saw who did all that stuff to Mr. Joseph’s house,” he whispered. “I watched it all from my bedroom window.”
“I knew it,” Frankie said. “I could tell you were holding something back from me. So who was it? Dwayne?”
Toby nodded. “And Sam Bickford and Rusty Helm and Scotty Hammond. Also...” He considered leaving Leah and Debbie out, but he figured Frankie would want to know. “Leah and Deb Mayfour were with them.”
Frankie didn’t seem surprised. “It figures they would be with those assholes.”
“And that’s not all,” Toby said. “Not only did they throw eggs and graffiti his house, but, get this, they had a live chicken with them.”
Frankie chuckled. “Why, so they could throw fresh eggs at his house?”
“No. They killed it.”
Frankie blinked. “Holy shit! Why?”
Toby shrugged. “I guess to tie in with the whole biting-off-chicken-heads-every-full-moon rumor.”
“What did they do with it?”
“Well, after Sam chopped off its head, he left its body on the front doorstep, then wedged its head through the screen door.”
“Cool,” Frankie said. “Disgusting, but cool.”
“They killed a live chicken,” Toby said. “That’s fucking cruel.”
“Hey, the old pervert was probably going to bite its head off anyway.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Well even if it is, how do you think the chicken you eat at dinner gets on your plate? Somebody has to kill it—and probably by chopping off its head.”
“It’s still wrong. Killing an animal just for a joke is wrong.”
They resumed walking up the street, Frankie muttering, “Wow,” and “Killed a chicken.” Suddenly he said, “Hey, I didn’t see any chicken.”
“The old guy came out when he heard the eggs being thrown and after Dwayne and the others had left, he threw it in the garbage.”
“Oh.”
Toby saw no point in telling Frankie the truth, that the old man had in fact taken the chicken, including its head, inside. He could imagine Frankie’s reaction upon hearing such a thing. The rumor about Mr. Joseph eating live chickens would be absolutely confirmed in his mind.
Hell, maybe that rumor is true, Toby thought.
“And you watched all this from your bedroom window?”
“Uh-huh.”
“God, if Dwayne had caught you... if he knew you were watching...”
“That’s exactly why you can’t say a word to anybody. Because if you do, word will get around, and eventually the cops will find out. And then Dwayne will be really pissed—and not just at me, but at you as well.”
Frankie’s expression turned solemn. “Yeah you’re right,” he said. “Holy shit, Toby. I won’t say a word.”
“Good. I knew I could trust you. Though I can’t believe you almost told my parents about last night. They’d flip if they knew what really happened and that I was there.”
“Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
As they walked, turning from Pineview into Bracher, Toby again thought of last night’s dream. “I had a weird dream last night,” he said to Frankie.
“Yeah, I’ve had those. So who was it? Gloria? Jessica Alba?”
“I don’t mean that kind of dream. I mean strange, like in scary.”
“Oh. So what happened?”
“Well, I was in a box, like a coffin. It was completely dark. I tried kicking, but I couldn’t escape, and when I screamed, no sound came out of my mouth. Suddenly a hand grabbed me. That’s when I woke up.”
“Yeah, that is weird. What do you think it means?”
Toby shrugged. “Who knows? Probably nothing. You ever have any dreams like that?”
“Can’t say that I have. But you’ve always been the weird one, so it makes sense you would have weird dreams.”
They took the shortcut to Barb’s by going through the town square. They strolled along the path that wound past towering oaks and pines, past the white gazebo and park benches, and finally coming out at Main Street.
They were about to cross the street when Toby glanced to his right and saw the stranger. The tall dark man was sitting on one of the benches facing the street, his tatty old bag beside him on the bench. His clothes were dusty and looked to be torn in a number of places. He was just sitting staring at nothing. “I can’t believe he’s still here,” Toby said. “I thought after last night he would’ve gone as far away from Belford as possible.”
Frankie glanced over. “He stayed here in town? Wonder where?”
“By the looks of it, that park bench. Probably safer than staying at Jinks Field. Come on, let’s get going before he sees us.”
“Why, you scared?” Frankie chuckled as they crossed over Main.
“No, ‘cos I hear he likes fat kids, so that leaves me in the clear.”
“Ha ha, very funny.”
They entered Barb’s.
“Hi, boys,” Mrs. Stein said from behind the counter.
“Hey, Mrs. Stein,” Toby called, yanking one of the old wire baskets from the pile near the door.
“Hey,” Frankie said, picking up a second basket.
“You two are in here mighty early. I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of you in here before eleven.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Toby said.
Mrs. Stein chuckled and went back to pricing stock.
Except for Mrs. Parker, over by the canned goods, the store was empty.
Toby and Frankie hurried over to their favorite aisle.
“Okay. How much you got?” Toby asked.
“Ten bucks,” Frankie said.
“That all?”
Frankie shrugged.
“Okay, I have twenty. So that means we have
thirty bucks to spend on junk food.”
They looked at each other, avaricious grins on their young faces. This was as close to Heaven as fourteen-year-old boys got.
Both had earned money doing odd jobs: mowing lawns, painting fences (which was Toby’s favorite job, Tom Sawyer being one of his favorite books), raking leaves, shoveling snow. Sometimes they got ten dollars for their day’s work. Often it was only five. It wasn’t much, but at their age they didn’t have much to spend it on, aside from junk food and baseball cards.
“Let’s begin,” Frankie said.
Toby nodded.
As they started picking out their junk food of choice, the bell that signaled the arrival or departure of a customer jingled. Toby ignored it, figuring it was just Mrs. Parker leaving.
Toby had thrown a few Mr. Goodbars and Sugar Daddys into his basket when he heard Mrs. Parker say, very quietly, “Good morning, Mr. Joseph.”
Toby froze.
“Morning,” the old man replied in an even softer voice.
Toby gazed over at Frankie. He was busy scanning the assortment of confectionary, occasionally grabbing something off the shelf and dumping it into his basket like a girl picking flowers in a meadow.
There was another jingle as Mrs. Parker left the store. “Good morning,” Mrs. Stein said to Mr. Joseph.
“Morning,” he greeted Mrs. Stein.
Moving carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, Toby set down his basket and crept to the end of the aisle. He peered around the boxes of Corn Flakes, saw Mr. Joseph disappear down the aisle two down from where Toby was standing—the one containing cleaning products.
Soon the old man reappeared, shambling up to the counter, basket filled with bags of cloths and various bottles. It never ceased to amaze Toby how large Mr. Joseph was. He wasn’t fat or rippled with muscle; far from it. He was lean, wiry—but he was tall. He would’ve been even taller if his neck was straight.
“Hey, what ya doing?”
Toby jumped. He whirled around and put an index finger to his pursed lips.
Frankie frowned. “Told ya you’re weird.”
Toby turned back. At the counter Mr. Joseph and Mrs. Stein were chatting.
“Holy shit. When did he arrive?” Frankie was now peering over Toby’s shoulder, his body pressed against Toby’s back. “Wonder what he’s buying. I’ll bet it’s stuff to clean the egg and graffiti off his house.”
The Awakening Page 7
