by Andrew Smith
“Is it yours?” Simon said.
“That’s none of your business, Simon,” I said. I couldn’t believe my brother would have the guts to say something like that.
“Mine? Ha! Hell no.”
I thought about that gun I saw in the glove box, how strange this man was, and I found myself wishing more and more I could have found some way to stop my foolish brother from getting into that Lincoln; and I worried that maybe we were trapped with him now just like Lilly was. Maybe.
And I thought, Well, I’ve got a gun, too.
There was a green flash above us, lighting up all of our faces and casting sudden shadows against the colorless ground.
A ball of burning flame tore through the sky. At first, I thought it was a plane crashing down right on top of us.
“Look at that!” I said, pointing.
“A meteor!” Simon turned suddenly, seeing the object, flaring so brightly and shedding little white-hot spores as it fell.
The thing hit the ground so close to us, making a hissing pop as it came to rest in the brush not more than a hundred feet from where we sat at the edge of the well.
Mitch stood up and jogged in the direction of where the rock landed, and we all followed, Simon in the rear, dragging and scooting his noisy feet.
The rock had landed in a cluster of sagebrush, and the splintered twigs and spines smelled like the incense from some ritual. It made an obvious circle in its impact. Mitch leaned over the meteorite glistening in the heap of brush like polished and smoothed metal. The thing was oblong, just the width of his hand, which he passed over the object, and Lilly said, “I don’t think you should touch it.”
“This is like one of those outer space movies,” Simon said.
“It feels warm,” Mitch said.
And Simon pushed his way between me and Lilly and bent down and scooped up the rock, hefting it from one hand to another.
“It’s heavy,” he said. “And it is hot.”
“Gravity,” Mitch said. I could see the white in his eyes as he looked from Simon to me. His mouth was straight, turned down at the edges, like a dog when it growls in the back of its throat. “See what I mean?”
Of course I was thin enough that I could sleep fairly comfortably bent up across the floor in the back of the Lincoln. I had to accept the spot when Simon took over the length of the seat in the night when I climbed out over the trunk to go pee. No one could ever get fat at our house. I stood away from the car, next to the metal man, and faced off into the darkness in the same direction as the black-and-white image that was taped across the statue’s face. So when I climbed back in and saw Simon stretched out across the white leather of the backseat, the shining blob of metal from the sky lying next to him and looking so much like one of those Easter Island faces, I thought that I would finally have it out with him and get it over with, shove him back into his place where he belonged, but Mitch and Lilly were sleeping in the front seat, each propped in opposite directions against the doors, and so I gave up the idea, because I didn’t want to mess around with waking them up. I squeezed down onto the floor behind the front seats, Simon’s feet, still in my socks, dangling just above my face as I shut my eyes and tried to forget about it, thinking, I know Simon is awake and knows exactly what he’s doing.
I guess I stayed like that for about twenty minutes, thinking about things, unable to sleep. I heard the driver’s door open and felt the seat rise as Mitch got out of the car. I kept my eyes shut, in case he looked at me, because I was a little bit scared of him, but mostly because I didn’t want to talk to him if he noticed I wasn’t sleeping.
Mitch whispered something, but I couldn’t make it out. Since my head was so close to the open door, though, I could tell that he began to close the door, then pulled it back open, then pushed it in again, over and over, without actually shutting the door the whole way.
Mitch counted in a raspy whisper, “Nine. Ten. Eleven.”
I wondered if Simon heard what was happening, but he didn’t move at all, or give any sign that he wasn’t asleep. Then Mitch walked around the car twice, came back, and pulled the door all the way open.
He said, “One.”
I heard the crunching sound of his feet as he walked away toward the well, still talking to himself.
“I bet you don’t recognize him. It’s my father. He doesn’t even look like a person anymore, does he, Lil?”
Then he said, “Well, he’s not.” And I heard Lilly shift in her seat a little, like the sound was maybe waking her up, but then she was still again. But I wondered if she’d heard Mitch say her name and was pretending to be asleep, too, just so he’d leave her alone.
“Does he? Oh. It’s Jonah. It’s that boy named Jonah.”
I felt my pulse speed up when he said my name, like he was looking at me or something. Like he knew I was awake.
“Mitch, we should stop for those poor boys, she said. She likes poor boys. Poor and stupid.”
(mitch)
dumb kids
Poor boys.
Piss.
He pees on the rocks on the side of the well, looks back over his shoulder at the quiet car, the blond head in the front seat, but no heads in the back. The poor boys must be laying down together. Dumb kids. That Piss-kid should have thought twice before sticking his thumb out while the whore had her eyes on them.
He walks back to the car, whispers, “Hey, Lilly, wake up.”
She stirs and says, “Leave me alone, Mitch.”
He glances over the seat behind her. The dumb kids are asleep.
“Those stupid kids should have never got in the car with us.”
“Go to sleep, Mitch.”
He laughs a whispered hiss.
(jonah)
rule
Mitch walked around the car two more times before he got back in. I didn’t know what to think about the stuff I’d heard him saying and doing, almost like it was some kind of weird dream. Lilly didn’t move at all, or say anything else. Eventually, I heard Mitch begin to snore, and I opened my eyes and stared up at the stars until I finally went to sleep, too.
Everyone woke before I did. I opened my eyes when I heard them at the well filling up the canteen at the end of Mitch’s rope. Stiffly, I lifted myself from the floor of the car.
Simon and Mitch were standing there, shirtless, washing themselves with handfuls of water poured from the canteen. Lilly had changed her clothes and her hair was wet, and I wondered, envious, if my brother had been watching her do that.
“Here,” Mitch said, pulling the canteen up from the well-bottom again, “we’re washing up and then we’re going to go get a real breakfast in town.”
“Simon and me have ten dollars. I guess that’s enough for breakfast,” I said, yawning. I took my shirt off, then poured the canteen over my head and bent forward, watching the water run from my hair to splatter as mud at my feet.
“Aw hell!” Mitch said, and jerked. When he untied the rope, it slipped from his hand, and the weight of its length sucked the yellow cord into the shadowed depths of the well.
I dropped to my knees in the mud and caught the snaking end before it disappeared into the black hole.
“Gravity, Mitch,” Simon said, grinning, as Mitch, expressionless, without so much as a “thank you” took the yellow rope from my hand and began coiling it around his elbow.
I brushed the mud away from my jeans, rubbed the water into my eyes, and stretched. It felt good, the air dry and warm on that clear morning. I shook my hands and arms off and stood, watching Lilly across the well, brushing her yellow hair, tilting her head from side to side, the contour of her body showing faintly beneath the gauze shirt she wore as the sunlight shone through. And in that light, the sparse trees that sprang up around the creases in the red boulders of the shading hill looked so green behind her.
“Is something wrong?” she said to me, noticing that I was staring.
“No. Sorry.” I looked away, reddening. “I’m just groggy, I guess.”
“Did you sleep good?” Lilly asked.
“Yeah. I did.”
Simon and Mitch lifted the statue back into the car as I buttoned my shirt and tucked it in. Simon’s meteorite sat on the backseat behind Don Quixote, and when we had all gotten in and Mitch began to drive back out toward the dirt road to Tucumcari, I asked, “Why is that face taped on the head of the statue?”
“Ha!” Mitch said. “Don’t you know who that is, man? That’s Henry Kissinger.”
Simon leaned over to me and said, “Yeah, dummy. Don’t you know that? Henry something.” And then he reached across and touched Lilly on the shoulder and asked, “Are there any more cigarettes left?”
And when she handed Simon a lit cigarette, I pulled him backwards by the stretched-out collar on his tee shirt, pinning his back against the sharp edges on Don Quixote’s shield. I pressed my mouth right up into his hair, against his ear, so close that for just an instant I thought I smelled the stink of our home, our sweat-stained pillows on him.
“Why do you think you have to get even with me, Simon? What did I do to you? I been putting up with your crap ever since we’ve been alone and it’s not going to last much longer, so enjoy your smoke.”
And Lilly turned and scolded us, “What are you two doing?”
I released my grip on my brother’s shirt and said, “Nothing.”
“He’s just being stupid,” Simon said and exhaled a drag of smoke.
Then Simon straightened and turned away, smoking his cigarette as he faced the blur of the landscape rushing past us on that morning. I could tell he was about to start crying, and I couldn’t really decide whether I wanted to say I was sorry and hug him, or to punch him in the face, so I said nothing and sank down in my seat, picked up that fallen piece of metallic rock, and rubbed its burned and glassy smoothness in my hands.
“Brothers’ Rule Number Three,” I said. “We are not going to fight.”
Simon kept his eyes on the road and said, “Let’s see who breaks that one first.”
map
Hey Jones,
Sorry I haven’t written in a while. And, hey . . . don’t look at the pictures in here yet, I need to tell you about them, so hang on. I just finished eating a “lurp.” That’s dehydrated food. They say it will make me fat in a few months if I keep eating them, but I doubt it. I got so skinny since I came here.
Anyway, the first picture is of my track. That’s what we call our Dusters. Tracks. I know you probably think it looks like a tank, but Dusters are so much smaller and faster than a regular tank, which is good because they don’t get stuck in mud and can go through just about anything. The picture’s not that good cause it was raining pretty hard there. My track is named “Till Death Do Us Part.” The arrow that I drew on the picture is where the VC attacked from last week, but our Duster wiped them out. The next pictures are of the bodies after the attack.
Don’t think I’m turning into a sadist or anything. I’m just telling you how it is.
My best buddy here, Scotty (he’s from Flagstaff, AZ) told me I shouldn’t tell you about the shooting around here because it would be bad for you. I think it would be better if you knew where I was at. He tells his mom we got an easy job and he never hears rifle fire. Now, if something happens to him it would be worse for her. Right?
Anyway, don’t tell Simon or show him the pictures. This is just between you and me since you’re the man in the house now.
But, Joneser, I can feel myself slipping a little.
I learned a few Vietnamese words, but most of them are dirty so we can cuss out the Vietnamese. Even though the RVNs are friendly forces, you have to keep your eye on them. A couple of them are pretty nice. A 2nd Lieutenant gave me one of his insignias.
I try to keep away from them, though, because if a Vietnamese officer invites us to eat with them, we’re not supposed to turn it down. They feed their guests food which is supposed to be an honor to accept. If you don’t accept it, it’s an insult, and if you do accept it you’ll be sick for two weeks. They serve things like fish heads and chicken heads with the eyes and brains still in them. At least, that’s what I heard, so I’m keeping my distance. I prefer dealing with the ones who shoot at me.
Well, I’m going to sleep now.
Say hello to Mom for me.
Bye.
Love,
Matthew
In the early part of the morning.
Before the heat burns the air.
You can see the things that move in the desert.
The dirt road finally gave way to a crusty, paved stretch of utility road that ran south of the interstate, and here we passed among scattered houses, nothing more than scarred and gray plywood shacks with weeds growing up in the middle of their yawning vacant and black doorways.
I stared straight ahead through the windshield, over Mitch’s shoulder, my eyes occasionally and helplessly drawn to the girl sitting on the passenger’s side. And I wondered about her—she was too pretty, too young, to be riding in that car alone with a guy like Mitch. I wondered if I would ever have the guts to ask.
And I was embarrassed when she caught me staring, again, dazed.
She smiled.
“Have you ever been to California, Jonah?” she asked.
I looked down at my feet, feeling the heat rising in my face.
“I’ve never been anywhere,” I said.
“Well, I’ve never been there, either,” Lilly answered. “Maybe you should go. I think you’re good-looking enough to be a movie star. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I went red in an instant. I looked at her. She had taken the sunglasses away from those blue eyes. I couldn’t speak, felt as though I were choking.
“Oh yeah!” Simon laughed. “All the girls on the beach say that to Jonah when he walks by.”
And Simon reached across the metal statue and pinched at my face. I swatted his arm away.
“Simon’s an idiot. We’ve never seen no beach,” I said, angry.
“Are you trying to make me jealous, Lil?” Mitch asked. “You going to sit right here and start flirting with that boy in the backseat?”
Mitch smiled, but I could tell there was an edge of annoyance in his tone.
“I’m not flirting, Mitch,” she said coldly.
“It sounds like it to me,” Simon goaded.
Mitch gripped the wheel tightly with both hands.
“Control yourself, Lilly. The poor boy’s only got ten dollars and he wants to eat.”
It sounded like Mitch was calling her a whore, and I looked at them both, but I still couldn’t tell what was going on between them. And I thought, she probably couldn’t tell what was going on between me and Simon, either, or why we ended up together out there on that road.
Simon leaned around Don Quixote and whispered, “See? I told you she’s screwing with you.”
“So are you, Simon.”
Lilly stared at Mitch. It looked like she was about to say something, but she held herself back.
And then she said, sweetly, “I thought you were going to pay for breakfast, Mitch.”
Lilly smiled and brushed her hand back over the seat and patted me and Simon on our knees.
Simon grinned at me and mouthed, silently, “You’re stupid.”
I inhaled deeply, turning to look back out over the hood of the Lincoln, thinking about the rule I’d just made, and how hungry I was. “Well, one day we might go to California,” I said, “but we’ve just got to get to Arizona for right now.”
“We?” Simon said and laughed. “Can I have another cigarette, Lilly?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
Simon leaned forward and smiled at me, half closing his eyes as he mouthed “sweetie,” stroking the tin man’s leg. I clenched my fists in my lap, digging my nails into the flesh of my palms, trying to make it hurt, trying not to explode.
“And if this was The Wizard of Oz,” Simon continued, “Jonah would get the part of the flying monkey, anyway.”
&nb
sp; Mitch laughed.
“I like that,” he said. “And who would the rest of us be, Simon?”
Simon scratched his head.
“Lilly would be the good witch . . . the real pretty one. You’d be the wizard, Mitch. We all know who this guy would be,” and Simon rang a slap on Don Quixote’s flat and hollow chest. “And I’d be the dog. Arf! Arf!”
Mitch and Lilly both laughed.
And just then I saw the pointed ears of a scrawny desert coyote as the animal ignorantly stepped right out onto the road ahead of the car. I leaned forward.
“Look out, Mitch,” I said.
The coyote had made it to the midpoint of the road, and Mitch could easily have avoided hitting it, but he pressed his foot into the accelerator. The force pushed me back against the seat.
Mitch said something, mumbling to himself, his eyes focused on the coyote.
The tattered-looking animal pivoted its face around slowly, and Mitch veered the car to the left, so slightly, taking aim just enough to be certain he’d plow the cowering dog over.
Simon looked up. We heard the slap of the hunching coyote when its skull struck metal beneath the Lincoln, and felt the percussive thumping through the floorboards as the tires rolled over the animal’s body.
“Well, hello, Mister Coyote,” Mitch said, “how nice to run into you this morning!” He exploded in spasms of laughter.
It was horrible. I looked across at Simon, who smiled, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide in amazement and admiration.
“Oh, Mitch!” Lilly said in a tone like she was chiding a mischievous cousin.
“What?” Mitch said, exaggerating his pleading, still laughing. “It wasn’t my fault. That thing obviously wanted to commit suicide.”
“That was bitchin’!” Simon cheered, turning around to gaze at the butchery in the road behind as Mitch slowed the Lincoln to a stop. He opened his door and stood beside the car, facing back down the road.
“Canine meets V-twelve,” he said. “The cruel truth of natural selection.”
