by Otis Hanby
I like the evenings at my cousin’s house. I can be alone as much as I want. With both of Jack’s sisters and his brother, all graduated from high school and moved out; I find several places that I can be in solitude. Most times I go into my room and read, but other nights I go outside and smoke cigarettes and think about things.
The weather is unseasonably warm lately, so tonight I’m sitting on the stairs in front of the house, smoking and staring at the stars. I can’t get enough of the clean, fresh air. One night, sitting out here, I watched a distant storm cloud illuminated by lightning. I was entranced. It’s brief instances like these I appreciate because it helps me forget the darkness that’s slowly consuming me.
My cousin leaves me alone for the most part. He has animals to feed and other things to keep him busy. If he does join me on the stairs to smoke, we won’t talk unless I initiate it. He’s very respectful in the sense that he lets me have my space, and I appreciate it. I know I should try and engage Jack more, but I’m just too hurt and angry most of the time to see past my own misery.
I think of Erica often. Each time I think of her, I feel a fresh wave of pain. Every once in a while, I feel angry instead of sad. When I do, I hit our makeshift punching bag in the garage. I tried skating the small half-pipe ramp in the garage, but I realize I’ve lost interest in skateboarding. Instead, I’ve become interested in books and solitude. It’s like I’m giving the darkness what it wants. The more I seek isolation, the more the darkness has the time to gnaw away at me, one bite at a time.
My cousin and I do have our rough patches. Last night we got into a fight while Jack was shooting basketball on the small patch of concrete at the head of his rocky driveway, and I joined him. We started to play a game of H.O.R.S.E., and sometime during the game, we got to arguing over whose turn it was. I threw the basketball hard at Jack, and he charged at me in response. Not wanting to hit my cousin in the face, I punched him in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him right before he grabbed me. I know it must have hurt him, but it didn’t stop him. He succeeded in wrapping his arms around me and took me to the ground. I fought against his hold by trying to throw elbows into his sides. He only squeezed me harder, pinning my jabbing elbows. Every time I tried to get loose I was unsuccessful, so we lay there for a long time. He was not letting me go until I submit.
After what seemed like an eternity, he let me go, but only after I agreed to stop fighting. I scanned myself for injuries and noticed my muddy, stretched-out shirt. My cousin walked off in the direction of the house. I lit a cigarette, feeling bad for having lost my cool. I was also scared that my Uncle Joe would see Jack’s disheveled and muddy clothes when he went inside and punish both of us. But Jack’s dad never said anything, and Jack never came back outside. I stayed outside for a long time feeling regretful.
***
I woke up this morning to a quiet house. I dress and venture into the kitchen. Jack’s eating a bowl of cereal, and he looks up at me.
“Where’s your mom and dad?” I ask.
“They’re at work.” Jack tips his bowl back and drains the milk into his mouth. I pick up the box of cereal on the bar top and pour some into a bowl that Jack had left out for me on the counter. Jack gets up from the bar and goes outside, but I don’t sense any hostility. I assume that last night’s confrontation is ancient history for the fact he’s talking to me. I watch Jack through the sliding glass door of the back porch as he walks to the barn with buckets of feed in his hands. I eat my breakfast absentmindedly. After finishing my cereal, I head into the garage for a smoke. It’s warm for December. I’m lighting a cigarette as Jack comes into the garage and I offer him one.
“I’ll be back,” he says, going into the house.
After a minute or two, Jack comes back outside. He takes the Zippo out of his pocket and lights the cigarette I offered him. After a couple of pulls, he says, “Come on.”
I follow him to the rear of the house, where he pulls a gun from the front of his pants.
“Where the hell did you get that?” I ask.
“It’s my dad’s .357. He’s had it forever. Get some cans from the garbage and set one on that fence post,” Jack says, pointing.
“Alright,” I say, a little nervous.
I grab a couple of Dr. Pepper cans out of the trash in the kitchen and return outside. I walk them to the fence post. After placing one on top of the fence post, I throw the other can on the ground and walk back to where Jack is standing. Jack holds the .357 up, squinting one eye as he aims, and takes a drag off the cigarette hanging from his mouth and blows out the smoke. Several seconds pass and the crack of the gun makes me jump. The empty can explodes off of the post. My ears are ringing.
“Damn that’s loud,” I say, plugging my ears with my fingers.
“Yeah. Go find a few cigarette butts so we can plug our ears.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I walk to the driveway and quickly find four cigarette butts. I return to the back of the house as Jack’s walking back from the fence post. He’s holding the remains of the can, and he’s already placed the second can on the fence post.
“Look at this!” Jack says, holding the torn can up for me to see.
“Damn. That can is destroyed!” I say, feeling excited and nervous. I hand Jack a couple of the cigarette butts. He smashes them with his fingers and stuffs them into his ears. I follow his example.
“Here. It’s your turn,” Jack says, handing me the revolver.
I am surprised at the weight of the gun. It’s much heavier than I expected. I hold up the .357 and aim it at the can using the rear and front sites. I’ve never fired an actual gun before, but I know how to aim from playing Nintendo games. Nervously I squeeze the trigger. I’m surprised how hard it is to pull. The .357 fires and recoils hard, and the noise is deafening, even through the cigarette butts. I look to the fence post and see that the can is no longer there. I’m surprised that I actually hit it.
“Good shot,” my cousin says, reaching for the gun. I give it to him gratefully. It has one hell of a kick, and my adrenaline is high.
I enjoyed shooting the gun even though it scared me a little. The .357 has a lot of power and was too much to take in. My cousin and I retrieve the can I shot and compare it to the first one. Both are similar in terms of carnage. We walk back to the patio and remove our cigarette butt earplugs.
“I should put this away. Hopefully, my dad won’t notice that he’s missing a couple of rounds,” my cousin says, and he walks over to the side door of the house.
I peek into the sliding glass door off of the kitchen and see my cousin step on a chair and place the gun in an upper cabinet by the fridge. Not wanting him to see me, I move away from the window before he turns around.
We go out to the barn when he comes back, and he shows me his stash of dirty magazines. They’re old and worn, but entertaining. When I lose interest in the magazines, I go back inside and read in the bedroom and enjoy the solitude. After a while, I can hear Jack listening to music on the living room stereo. I know if his dad comes home with music blasting in the house, Jack will be in for some grief. I return to my paperback and let myself get lost for a while.
Chapter Sixteen
After the short warm spell, it begins to get cold again. I’ve been living at my cousin’s house for over two months, and my parents agree to let me come home for winter break. My grades have improved, and I haven’t gotten into any fights or any other kind of trouble. I’m not participating in extracurricular activities or bringing home straight A’s or anything, but I’m doing enough to show improvement, and that’s apparently enough to allow me the reward of coming back for a visit. The biggest thing that keeps me out of trouble is that my uncle has worked my cousin and me every weekend for the past month. We spent one weekend re-roofing the house. Another weekend, we cleaned the barn and cut and stacked firewood. My cousin also drove a tractor five miles from town that his dad borrowed, back to his house in the cold rain, while I rode in the truck wi
th my uncle in uncomfortable silence.
I was sure that the hard work I’ve been doing around the house would win a little approval from my uncle, but I was wrong. Just that morning, I heard my Uncle Joe say to my cousin, “Go get that bitch out of bed!” I pretended not to hear him and stayed in bed until my cousin came into the room. He makes rude comments about my dad and stepmom every once in a while. I can’t understand why my family angers him so much. From what I can tell, my dad’s always been kind and genuine with him.
I stop thinking of how I can win my uncles approval and become a little excited about going to Garland for a few days. I’m still depressed about Erica and I being broken up, and going back to Garland without any hope of seeing her stirs the emptiness inside me. Getting to see Rodney again is cool, and I wonder how many things have changed since I left.
I pack my bag with a week’s worth of clothes, and reach to my neck, feeling for my butterfly necklace. I look down at it and remember the closeness I had with my friends; then I tuck it into my shirt so my uncle won’t see it and think I’m a faggot for wearing it. I’m sure that he would look down on me for having something feminine on. However, it’s my favorite possession.
It’s 4:00 in the morning and I’m to ride with my uncle into Garland. He commutes to Dallas for work, and my parents’ house is on the way. I’m not looking forward to having to ride with him. I grab my bag of clothes and look down at Jack sleeping. I wish that he could come with me. I want him to experience hanging out with my friends and me, but his mom told him it was vital that I have alone time with my parents. I know that I’ll be hanging out with my friends most of the time, and not my parents, but I didn’t feel like pressing the issue. I feel lucky enough that I get to go home. I head into the kitchen where my uncle is filling his thermos with coffee. Without a word, he turns and heads for the door. I follow. His truck is already running when we walk outside. It’s bitter cold, but the truck is nice and warm.
Jack gave me precise instructions before we went to sleep the night before. He told me I have to talk to his dad so he won’t fall asleep. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to talk to him about. Besides, doesn’t he drive himself to work every morning without anyone to converse with? But it seemed like a big deal for my cousin, so I agreed.
My uncle pulls onto the highway, and my trip home begins. I don’t talk to my uncle immediately, mainly because I have no idea what to talk about. The radio plays country music softly as my uncle drives. I smell the aroma of his coffee and find myself wanting some, but I’m too timid to ask. I look out the window for something to do, but it’s useless, being so dark outside. Sighing to myself, I venture to ask a question.
“Do you ever get tired of driving so far to work every day?”
“I don’t most times. It gives me a chance to think about things. It’s a mental break from work before I get home. There are so many goddamn idiots where I work that I need a little time to settle down before I get home.”
“What do they do?”
“Break equipment. Steal tools. Get hurt. I think everyone there has shit for brains. It’s all I can do to keep myself from punching one of those shit birds in the mouth.”
I think about what it would be like to piss my uncle off. I’ve seen him get mad at Jack, his mom, or something inanimate, but I’ve never seen him mad at another grown man. I did get a glimpse of what his anger could produce the previous weekend when he was hammering a two-by-six to the garage. As he stepped down off the ladder, the two-by-six came loose at one end and hit him on top of the head. My uncle grabbed the piece of wood and smashed it against the concrete, shattering it into bits.
“What do you do at work?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I’m head of maintenance.”
“What do you work on?”
“Industrial machinery mostly. It’s hard work, but I like to work hard.”
My uncle continues to talk about his work, growing up, and how he hates hippies. He does most of the talking. I just ask questions here and there to show that I’m interested. And I am curious, much to my surprise. Besides, it makes the trip go quicker.
As he pulls into my neighborhood, my mood brightens. Although my uncle and I chatted the entire drive, deep down I know any number of conversations with my uncle won’t make him like me any more than he did a week ago. My uncle pulls up in front of my house, and I thank him as I get out of the truck.
The sun is beginning to shine. I watch my uncle drive away, and I take a long deep breath of cold winter air. I’m relieved to be home, and I notice my parents’ car is gone. It’s Monday so they’d be at work. I see my sister’s car is gone too. My brother Will might be home, but he’d be asleep at this time of the morning. I walk to the kitchen, pick up the phone, and dial Rodney’s number. It rings a couple of times before he picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hey man! What’s up?”
“Corey?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Why the hell are you calling me so early?”
“I just got home. I wanted to call you before you left for the day.”
“That’s cool. Where are you at?” Rodney asks in a groggy voice.
“At my parent’s house. I’m going to be here for a couple of weeks. You think you could pick me up later?”
“Sure. I have to pick up Chuck first. Do you remember Chuck from school? You know, the headbanger?”
“Yeah, I know of him.”
“Me and him hang out now. He’s pretty cool. You’ll like him.”
“Cool. I’m gonna lie down for a while. I got up pretty early. Just walk in when you get here. If I’m asleep then just wake me up.”
“Alright. Just be ready to go when I get there.”
“I’ll be ready. See you soon.”
“Okay. See ya,” Rodney says, and I replace the receiver on the cradle.
I wake a couple of hours later to honking in the driveway. I look out the curtains of my bedroom and see Rodney’s Firebird idling. I pull myself out of bed and grab my jacket. As I walk outside, I see Chuck sitting in the passenger seat. He gets out and leans the seat forward.
“What’s up?” Chuck asks.
“Not much.” I feel a little strange seeing Chuck with Rodney. Our core people are skaters, and it seems like Rodney has crossed a line befriending a headbanger. He’s smoking a cigarette, and he offers me one.
“Thanks,” I say, taking it and pausing to let him light it before I wedge myself the rest of the way into the back seat.
“So, what’s been going on?” Rodney asks.
“Not much. I’ve been in hillbilly hell for the last month. Man, it sucks out there.”
“Are you back for good?”
“No. I’m only home for a week or two. Hey, what’s everybody else been up too since I’ve been gone?”
Rodney looks in the rearview mirror and says, “Hell if I know. I don’t hang out with anybody anymore. Just Chuck.”
“What do you mean? Doesn’t anybody skate anymore?” I’m feeling really uncomfortable.
“Greg and Seth still skate. Seth’s always at Greg’s house hanging out with him. Chad and Tyler keep to themselves pretty much, but I think they’re still skating. I think they still hang out with Leann, Marcy, and Erica.”
Hearing Erica’s name makes me catch my breath. I’m no longer angry, but it still stings.
“Erica’s been kind of a snob since you left,” Rodney continues. “Darren and Brigette are still together. They don’t really hang out with anybody else either. Braydon is all into school. I don’t think he even skates anymore.”
“What about you? Do you still skate?” I ask.
“Not really. I’ve been skipping a lot of school and hanging out with Chuck. We just try to find pussy or hang out. Chuck knows a few chicks that like to screw.”
“Yeah, I can introduce you to a chick if you want,” Chuck says.
“That’d be cool,” I say, not meaning it. I don’t feel ready to meet some
one else. I stare at Rodney’s forehead in the rearview mirror as he drives and says, “Damn, a lot has changed in a short time.”
Rodney doesn’t say anything to that. He lights a cigarette as I’m throwing mine out the window. I feel gloomy thinking about how different things are now. I thought I’d be glad to be home, but somehow it doesn’t feel like home anymore. An uncomfortable silence fills the car. I feel like I don’t fit in with Rodney anymore. He seems to have a new life with his new friend. Nothing feels right. Why should I feel so depressed? I mean I’m here with Rodney, he did come to pick me up, and he evidently wants to hang out with me. I feel like I’m in second place. Rodney’s supposed to be my best friend. Maybe I’m just being stupid. My brain feels scrambled trying to keep up with all the changes that took place in such a short time.
We drive across town to the area where Rodney lives. We turn on a street that leads in the direction of Rodney’s house, and we see a group of about ten black kids walking in the middle of the road. Rodney slows down to about ten miles an hour. The black kids don’t move out of the road, but Rodney presses forward anyway. As we reach them, they’re forced to make way. Several of them slap the car with their hands and yell cuss words at us as we creep by.
“Get the fuck away from the car, you fucking niggers!” Chuck yells through the window.
I think that’s a stupid thing to say considering we’re surrounded. Rodney hits the accelerator making the black kids jump back. I look back out of the window and see them regroup in the street. A few of them are chucking rocks at us. One strikes the car’s trunk.
“Damn it! Those motherfuckers are going to pay!” Rodney says, cutting the wheel hard. The tires smoke as the car spins around to face the group of kids.
Rodney revs his engine, making the car sound as if it’s growling. The black kids remain in the street. Some of them are still hurling rocks in our direction, but we’re too far away.
“Corey. Hand me the baseball bat on the floorboard back there,” Chuck says, turning in his seat.
