Chapters 4, 5, and 6

Chapter 4

The weekend passed quickly and all too soon it was Monday morning and Monday meant work. The alarm went off and Billy slammed down the off switch without even opening his eyes. His father and mother had long ago left for their jobs, and the bus to take Justine to camp wasn’t due for another hour so she was probably sleeping. He hoped he could sneak downstairs and out the door without running into her. He could always grab breakfast at Food Town. Somehow, Billy had managed to convince his parents that he shouldn’t be the one to make sure Justine was ready for the bus each morning. His mother did that by checking up on her with phone calls every ten minutes.


Billy rolled out of bed and fumbled his way downstairs to the bathroom in his underwear, grabbing a towel from the linen closet. He quickly brushed his teeth, showered and needlessly checked his face for whiskers.


‘Look at that face,’ he thought. ‘It’s not exactly ugly, I guess.’ He wiped some toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. “Anyway, at least I don’t have acne.’ He dumped the towel in the hamper, ran upstairs to put on his so-called uniform of black jeans and a white shirt, and then came back downstairs and unlocked the front door. As he was leaving, the phone rang. Presumably it was his mother’s first wake-up call of the morning. He darted outside and immediately closed the door behind him. Standing on his toes to peer through the small window near the top of the door, he saw Justine making her way to the phone. ‘Let Mom deal with her,’ he thought, and headed down the hill towards the center of town. He savored his few minutes of solitude and freedom before the day gathered momentum. Billy drew in a deep breath and knocked the morning dew off the hedges as he made his way downtown.


The air was still. It smelled like a wet sock. He could already feel the humidity seeping into everything. It was obviously going to be another scorcher, but it was still early enough that he hadn’t worked up any perspiration by the time he arrived at the grocery store. After the trip home at the end of the day he’d be drenched in sweat. During the summer, it was like his sweat glands were attached to some spigot that got turned on whenever the temperature broke eighty. At least it was always cool at Food Town.


“Hey, Billy,” said Florence, the head checker. “Did you have a nice weekend?”


“It was OK.”


“Hope you didn’t get into any trouble.”


“No, ma’am.”


“Don’t go calling me ma’am. I ain’t old enough to be your momma.” Florence laughed. She was a heavyset black woman who wore purple eye shadow and false lashes. Her skin glowed a deep, chocolate brown, and her nails were alive with polish. As usual, she had a large piece of jewelry pinned alongside her nametag on her red Food Town jacket. Today, it was a tiger carved out of onyx.


The stock boys didn’t have Food Town jackets. They were instructed to dress in white shirts and black pants. The checkers had to wear these red jackets that looked like lab coats. Florence was the only checker Billy couldn’t keep up with when he was bagging groceries.


“Well, my weekend was nothing to write home about,” said Florence. Billy could tell she was waiting be asked why. People always seemed to be expecting him to say something. It was tiring trying to figure out what they wanted to hear and what he wanted to tell them.


“Uh huh,” he muttered. “Me, too.”


Florence stood with her cash drawer on one hip. He tried to guess her age but he had no idea. Finally, Florence gave up on him and continued the conversation. “I spent my whole weekend stripping floors and painting my bedroom. I swear that house is like a second job.”


“I thought you liked that house.”


“I do. I mean, I will, when I’m through making it livable.”


Florence had recently purchased a two-bedroom house down near the park for her and her son Reggie. Billy had strolled past it a couple of times. It was on his end of town – the section without the fancy houses and the garages. But Florence’s house was even smaller than his. She had planted flowers along the cracked cement path that lead to her front door, which was painted bright green. It sat in a row of similar homes, each of whose owners had struggled to create some characteristic which distinguished it from its neighbors.


“It’s my little dream house,” she’d always say. “Except I keep waking up to find I have to pour more money into it.”


It was the first house she’d ever lived in, and she was constantly fixing something or decorating something or scouring flea markets for the perfect piece of furniture. Until she bought it she had only lived in apartments. She couldn’t stop talking about it and the travails of home ownership. Billy and everyone else at Food Town were well acquainted with all its problems and advantages.
Florence continued. “And Reggie had a touch of bronchitis or something. I was waiting on him hand and foot, too. I’m glad I could come to work and rest.”


Billy gave her an obligatory smile and headed back to the dairy section where he worked. He liked Florence, and he sensed it was mutual. Still, when he tried to talk to her it was as if he had a mouth full of peanut butter.


Billy was the last of the stock boys to arrive. Peter was already opening boxes with his Exacto knife in preparation for stocking canned goods, and Mr. Graves was instructing the new kid on how to arrange the produce. He paused to nod to Billy who glanced at his watch, which mercifully said 7:31. He had just made it on time. Mr. Graves tore into anybody who was late, so it rarely happened.


Billy went into the back refrigerator and pulled out the new crates of milk that had been delivered earlier that morning and loaded them on to a big metal cart. Then he wheeled the cart out to the display case and started moving old gallons of milk forward so he could put the new ones in the back. He actually liked stocking shelves. It was methodical work and he could get lost in his thoughts. And it was clean. Last summer he had been a janitor in the same store, which meant cleaning bathrooms and climbing down into the giant trash compactor when it got stuck. He’d have to jump up and down on the garbage. That was bad, but he didn’t mind it as much as emptying the receptacles for used tampons in the women’s room. He always wore rubber gloves that practically came to his elbows, but it grossed him out and he thought that it was somehow illegal for him to be seeing all that. Compared to last summer, this summer was a piece of cake.


Mornings went by quickly because there was so much to do -- stocking the shelves, breaking down the boxes, and bagging during the late morning rush. The early part of the afternoon dragged, though. All the stock boys tried to look busy so Mr. Graves wouldn’t draft them into some deep cleaning job. There was always some kind of muck to be cleaned out of somewhere that the janitors never had the time to get to. Mr. Graves would prowl the store looking for the least occupied stock boy for a special assignment. Seeing his workers idle gave Mr. Graves indigestion. Billy usually hid a carton of cheese or sour cream near the refrigerator door so that he could pull it out in just such an emergency. Today would be easy, though. The new kid in produce looked like he was trying to make a good impression. Although he wasn’t off to the best of starts.


“That’s cabbage, son. Not lettuce,” said Mr. Graves.


“Right!” squeaked the new boy, and started rapidly shoveling the cabbage heads back into their boxes. Mr. Graves stood motionless, staring at the boy as he worked, which completely unnerved him. The boy was actually taller than his boss, who was the same size as Billy, and whose build was just as slight. Somehow, though, he projected power. While Billy was skinny, Mr. Graves was compact. His clothes and moustache were immaculate. His posture was perfect, and when he walked the supermarket floor, it was as if he were gliding. As he passed his employees their work pace would immediately pick up and the chatting would stop. He had managed that particular Food Town for the past 14 years -- almost as long as Billy had been alive.


Billy was satisfied with his job but he envied the checkout girls. He wished he could be a checker, but except for the bakery and the deli, jobs were pretty much segregated by sex.
Checkers worked hard when the store was busy but during lulls they were allowed to stand around or straighten up the racks of candy in the checkout aisles. They never had to pretend to search for work. And Florence always kept the front of the store lively. She was the only one who could get away with teasing Mr. Graves. Besides, checkers got to see all the weird kind of stuff that people bought. Other people’s food choices always seemed strange. Who knew that people ate things like pickled garlic and prune juice? And how long did it take any one family to consume their way through a 64 ounce jar of mayonnaise?


Around 3 o’clock there was another surge of customers. After making sure his section was well stocked, Billy got to spend his last hour or so bagging. The evening shift came on at 4:00.
“Almost quitting time. I can’t wait to get a load off these feet,” said Florence. Billy was bagging for her today so he was moving pretty fast.


“Are you gonna strip some more floors tonight?” asked Billy.


“Say what? Not on your life, boy. I’m gonna cook me up a bowl of chili and a pitcher of lemonade, sit down in front of the TV and chill out.”


“Chili on a hot day?”


“Son, it’s never too hot for chili.”

*************************************************************

Billy walked through the front door of his house and headed directly for the air conditioner, which was humming loudly. Justine had obviously beaten him home and turned on the window unit in the living room. He stood in front of it with his arms outstretched. The walk home had been stifling. His white polyester shirt clung to his skin, drenched in sweat. His hair was matted down on his head. The breeze from the air conditioner was intoxicating. After a while, he began to feel a somewhat chilled, so he trudged upstairs to his room and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Then he went to the kitchen and stood in the middle of the room drinking a Coke.


“What are you doing?” asked Justine from the doorway.


“Drinking a coke.”


“You’re so funny,” she said sarcastically.


“Well, what do you want me to say?” Billy finished the bottle and then grabbed another from the fridge. He waited for the next question.


“What are you going to do after you finish drinking?”


“I don’t know, Justine. I just got home from work. Mom will be home soon and then we’ll have dinner.”


“And then you’ll go out again?”


“Probably.”


“To be with you friends?”


“I guess.” He knew what was coming next.


“Can I come, too?”


“Justine, my friends are a lot older than you.”


“So what? I’ll be in the high school next year.”


“I know that. Believe me, I know that.”


“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said, getting a little defensive.


“I just know that, Justine. Look, we’ve been through this before. They are my friends.”
“Can’t they be my friends, too?”


‘No! Get your own damn friends’ he thought. Then he stopped. She didn’t have any friends. That was awful, he knew, but, still, he couldn’t take her hanging around his. He’d have no life.


“Look, Justine. I’m sorry, OK. I need to be able to get away from the family, all right? Besides, if you come…” He stopped.


“What?”


“Nothing.”


“No, what? What were you going to say?” She started getting more agitated, and gave him an accusatory stare.


“Come on, Justine, you know we always get into fights.”


“What do you mean, fights?”


“Like we are about to get into right now. If you come, then I’ll spend most of my time dealing with you and I won’t get to be with my friends.”


“So you have to deal with me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”


‘Brilliant,’ he thought. ‘Fucking brilliant.’


“Well, what do you mean?” she asked.


“Like what we’re doing right now. Arguing over every little word. God forbid I say ‘deal’ instead of ‘talk’”


Justine started speaking rapidly and with more emotion. “No, no, really. I want to understand. You said ‘deal’. You have to deal with me. I’m just curious. I just want to know exactly what you mean by that. You said it for a reason, right? I mean, there must have been a reason you said deal.”


“Oh, come on Justine. Can’t we just drop it. Let’s go watch TV or something and talk about this later.”


“Oh, but later you’ll be with your friends and I’ll be stuck home with Mom and Dad, right?”


Billy couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead he looked down at his feet. He didn’t know how to respond. What was he supposed to say? She had nothing, but he knew he couldn’t let her come with him. It would be a disaster. She wouldn’t end up having a good time anyway, and she’d only ruin things for him. Just then, he heard his mother’s car pull up in the driveway. The relief was palpable.


“Mom’s home, OK? Let’s not fight in front of mom.”


Justine walked over to the kitchen table and sat down in the chair, with her arms crossed in front of her. Billy dumped the last few swallows of his Coke in the sink and leaned up against the counter. They both heard their mother slide the key into the lock, and then watched as the side door opened.


“And how are my lovely children?” she asked. She was carrying a bag of groceries with Food Town written across it in big red letters. “I must have just missed you at the store, Billy.”
Carol put the groceries down on the table and let out a sigh. Then she closed the door, and re-locked it. She plucked a package of Oreos from the top of the bag and held them up in the air.
“I picked up a few treats,” she said. Then she looked up and saw Justine with teeth clenched and arms crossed at the table and Billy burrowing a hole into the floor with his eyes. She paused for half a second and then walked over to the cabinets to take out some pans. They were in a lower cabinet, way in the back so she got down on one knee and grunted.


“Um, are you all right?” asked Billy, moving to help her.


“Wonderful,” said his mom, standing up. “Billy, do me a favor and unpack those groceries, will you? I’ve got to fix dinner for your father.” She wiped a few strands of damp hair from her forehead. “ Justine, you can set the table.”


“You’re always asking me to do something,” said Justine. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”


Carol put the pan on the stove, steadied herself, and then gave her children her full and deliberate attention. Justine was obviously miffed about something, and Billy looked like he was having a root canal.


“I don’t know what’s going on with you two, and I don’t want to know. I’ve had a long day, too, and I don’t need any back talk right now.”


“Fine, then do it yourself,” said Justine.


She got up and stormed out of the room. Billy waited for an explosion from his mother, but it didn’t materialize. She merely said, “Billy, set the table,” and went back to her pans.


“What about her? Are you going to let her get away with that?” he asked.


“Billy. I can’t deal with that right now, OK? Just finish unpacking those groceries, set the table, and then leave me alone so I can cook.”


“How is she ever going to learn responsibility?”


Carol slammed a can of tomato sauce down onto the stove. “I don’t need a lecture from you, OK? It’s complicated. I …I just need a few minutes of peace. You want me to set the table? Fine. I’ll set the damn table.”


Billy backed off. “I’ll set the table,” he said.


“No, really, I don’t need any favors.” Her voice reeked of sarcasm. “I work all day in that hell hole, just dreaming about coming home and waiting on everybody hand and foot.”


“Mom, I said I was sorry. I’ll set the table.”


“Your father will be home in less than an hour. The man deserves a freakin’ meal.”


“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and unpacked the groceries. She was always complaining about her job and her bosses. When he asked her why she didn’t quit and look for a new job she brushed him off like he was a child.


“You tell me some place where they’re actually hiring,” she had said. “And I could never earn as much someplace else. I’ve been there forever, and I don’t have a degree. I’m trapped.”


“Have you looked?” he had asked.


“Please, Billy. I know what I’m talking about.”


He set the table. ‘She should’ve made Justine do this,’ he thought, as he was finishing. ‘They treat her like a spoiled brat.’


His mom emptied a jar of Ragu into a pot to simmer on the stove and started peeling some carrots. Billy had told her that all the vitamins were in the peel, but she obviously hadn’t listened.


“So Billy,” she said. “How was your day?”


“I’m done with the table,” he said curtly, and went to his room.







Chapter 5

When Billy was ten years old and Justine was in first grade, his mother reluctantly went back to work. She had put it off as long as she could, but with Justine in school for a full day, even she had to admit that they could use the extra money.


“I hate not being here for them when they get home from school,” she said.


“I know, Carol. I don’t feel good about it either. I wish you didn’t have to, but a second income will really help us get on our feet,” Frank had replied.


Carol knew that Frank took their modest mountain of debt as a failure on his part, so she didn’t press her case too strongly. She hadn’t worked for over a decade and the economy wasn’t particularly strong, so finding a new job had taken most of the summer. She found employment a few towns over as an administrative assistant for the Fluffy ‘N Fresh Diaper Service. Before long she rose to the rank of office manager, but she always joked that she just got promoted from dealing with her own kids’ dirty diapers to somebody else’s.


Her day started early – 7:00 AM, in order to get out the morning deliveries – but at least she was able to leave for home at 3:30. Billy came home and was by himself for an hour. Justine spent the afternoon with Mrs. Modigliani, an older woman who lived in the big gray house on the corner. Her hair was shocking white, and she always wore cotton dresses with small flower prints and sat out on her porch with her poodle in the evenings. Her poodle was reportedly even older than her, at least in dog-years.


Billy thought her house smelled like the inside of a closet, but Justine was happy there because Mrs. Modigliani let her do messy activities like working with Play Doh or painting with finger paints. Justine was always well-behaved with Mrs. Modigliani. Billy’s mother was relieved about that, but it got her goat a little bit, too. At school, Justine was a terror, alternating between tantrums and totally zoning out. When she was at home, she wasn’t much better. Frank always said Justine was so good with Mrs. Modigliani because she was so glad to be home from school.


“I suppose you’re right,” Carol had said. “And Rosa just feeds her, gives her finger paints, and leaves her to herself. What’s to rebel against? Still, I wish we could have one day like that.”
Frank and Carol attempted to dutifully follow the behavior modification rules laid out by Justine’s therapist – a young, recently minted psychologist whose name was also Justine – a chubby woman who always appeared as if she were trying to remove something from her teeth with her tongue. The results were disappointing. They blamed themselves, though, because although they tried to be faithful to the regimen, Justine so routinely broke the rules – and in such a dramatic fashion – that they would have to spend every waking hour doling out punishments, and pretending to do so in a calm and consistent manner.


Billy thought his sister was simply a brat.


“No, honey,” said his Mom. “Justine is sick.”


“Like with chicken pox?”


“It’s a different kind of sick. It’s hard to explain and it’s harder to make better. She has thoughts in her head that make her act out and she can’t get rid of them.”


“I don’t understand.”


“It’s hard to explain.”


“What’s it called?”


“Her sickness? Well, the doctors don’t really know what it is called. They are trying to figure that out.”


“Then how do they know she’s sick?”


“Like I said, Billy, it’s hard to explain.”


Billy had not been receptive to staying home alone when Carol went back to work. He was loathe to admit it, but he had been a little scared at first. Slowly, though he grew to accept it. Especially since his mom would always call him, timing it almost perfectly so he heard the phone ringing as he was opening the door at 3:15.


“Hi, sweetie. How was your day?”


“Good.”


“Did you learn anything new today?”


“I guess so. Mabel had her babies today, and we saw them come out.”


“Mabel is the class gerbil, right?”


“Right. It was my table’s turn to feed her this morning and when we opened the lid we saw her baby coming out.”


“Wow!”


“It didn’t have any hair, but Miss Westin says that when they’re born they’re not supposed to have any hair. Not when they’re babies.”


“That’s right. Boy, that sounds like fun. Look, Billy, I have to get back to work. We can talk about it when I get home, OK? There’s some pudding in the refrigerator. Do you have any homework?


“No. Well, a little.”


“Have some pudding, do your homework, and then you can watch TV until I get home with Justine, OK?”


“OK.”


A week after Mabel’s labor and delivery, Billy and his table had the honor of cleaning out her cage. They carefully moved Mabel and her babies to a smaller cage, emptied the soiled wood shavings and paper, and freshened up her abode. They had just transferred Mabel and her brood back to the big cage and were affixing the screened lid, when Miss Davis, one of the resource room teachers, hurried into their class and started whispering to Miss Westin. The two of them conferred in hush tones for a minute, and then Miss Westin gingerly approached Billy.


“Billy, honey.”


“Yes, Miss Westin.”


“Come here a minute.”


She put her arm around him and led him to a corner where they were erecting a Halloween display. Miss Davis trailed after them at a distance.


“There seems to be a problem with your sister. Miss Davis wants to know if you can help her out.”


Billy didn’t respond.


“Could you do that?”


Billy stayed silent. He stared at a Jack-o-Lantern cutout lying on a table next to some rolled up crepe paper. Black and orange, for Halloween.


“Billy?” asked Miss Davis. “Justine is acting a little strangely.”


Miss Westin started to interrupt.


“I’m sorry,” said Miss Davis. “I mean, she is upset. And we thought maybe you could help.”


“Can you help Miss Davis, Billy?” asked his teacher.


“I dunno. I guess so.”


“Good boy, Billy. You go with Miss Davis.”


They walked together the length of the hall and down one flight of steps. Billy made it clear that he did not want to speak. Miss Davis opened the door to the resource room. There were a few students in a group at one end of the room, laughing. Another kid who had obviously been crying sat at a desk. The principal, Mr. Lippman, was squatting on the floor with the other resource room teacher, Mrs. Miller. In the corner, on all fours and practically foaming at the mouth was Justine. Her eyes were wide and she snarled through her teeth. Her head darted from side to side in response to any movements the teachers tried to make, and her rear end was pressed into the corner of the room. Billy saw some books and supplies she had obviously knocked over – a cup filled with pencils, a yellow plastic ruler that measured things in centimeters as well as inches, and a cardboard polyhedron that looked to be a calendar of some sort. Mr. Lippman grunted with the effort of crouching so low to the ground.


“Justine,” he said. He had one hand on the base of his back. His shirt tail was about to come out, and his tie hung stiffly – straight down – away from his body. With his other he hand he reached out to Justine. She literally snapped at it, and he jerked his hand back. She barked.


“I think she things that she’s a dog,” said Miss Davis.


‘Duh,’ thought Billy. But you had to admit she was damned good at it. He hadn’t seen her like this since kindergarten, but that had been at the church. These teachers had never seen it before.


Billy couldn’t believe how scared they were of her. It was only Justine. Although, he had to admit that the first time you saw her in dog mode it could be somewhat imposing. Last year she had spent a fair amount of time on the playground sniffing a stray dog that hung around the church. He was nicknamed Scruffy by the kids. She would get down on her hands and knees and play with him in the dirt. Scruffy, himself, seemed confused at times over which species she belonged to. Justine’s teachers had put an end to that, and sent Scruffy off to the pound. But Justine spent hours at home living her dog life until summer came when it mysteriously – and thankfully – went away.


“Justine,” said Billy. He tried to pretend the other children were not in the room. He spoke very softly and avoided eye contact with anyone but his sister. “Justine.”


Carol burst into the room, followed by Mr. Lippman’s secretary.


“Justine!”


She strode past the crouching teachers and swept Justine into her arms. Justine licked her cheek.


“Stop that!”


Justine started pawing at her face, but Carol held down her hands with one arm and held her against her hip with the other.


“It’s OK, baby.” She kissed Justine on the forehead. “It’s OK, baby. Mommy’s here.” Then she saw Billy and her face went white. “What is he doing here?”


“We thought –“ started Miss Davis.


“You thought what? Why are you dragging him into this? If you can’t control her, you call in a ten-year old boy? This isn’t his problem.”


She re-arranged Justine’s weight on her hip. “Billy,” she snapped. “You go back to class.”


He stood there. Mr. Lippman shoved his shirt back into his pants and the other teachers looked at each other. Carol regained her composure and went to her son.


“I’m sorry I yelled. I wasn’t yelling at you. I’m not angry with you. I’m upset. OK, sweetie? Go on back to class and I’ll be home when you get there, OK?”


“OK.”


“That’s a good boy.”







Chapter 6

Dinner that night was mostly a silent affair. Billy wolfed down his spaghetti and meatballs as fast as he could, and then excused himself. The sun had yet to set but the temperature had already begun to fall as he made his way to the football field. From all across town his friends started arriving, some alone and others in twos and threes.


“We’ve got enough for a game,” said Kyle. “Let’s choose up sides. Me and Rooster on one side, Dwight and Darren on the other. Billy you be opposite from Roger. Margaret and Kerry split up. Susan and Joel.”


Kyle looked over the two groups of kids. “That looks fair,” he pronounced. “Anybody else who comes can sub in wherever. We’ll throw off.”


Kyle grabbed the frisbee and lead his team to one end of the field. The other team lined up across the opposite goal line. Kyle took two steps and launched the frisbee into the air, while the rest of his team raced after it, setting up their defense.


“I’ve got it!” yelled Susan. She positioned herself under the floating Frisbee, and caught it with two hands.


The rest of her team spread out, trying to break free for a pass. She tossed the disc to Darren before anyone could cover her, and he immediately flicked it over to Billy, who had freed himself momentarily with a head fake. Dwight was speeding up the side of the field a step ahead of Rooster so Billy let the disc fly down the sideline. It curved out of bounds, though, so it went over to the other team.


“My bad!” said Billy.


Without any break in the action, Rooster picked up the frisbee and tried tossing it sidearm to Kerry, but Billy intercepted it. This time Billy’s pass was perfect and Dwight snatched it out of the air with one hand for a goal.


“Yes!” cried Billy.


“Losers walk,” said Susan.


The opposing team traversed the length of the field to get ready for the next throw off. After they were lined up at about the ten-yard line, Dwight took a few steps and sent the disc soaring over their heads.


They continued playing until the frisbee was nearly invisible. Someone called the game and they all collapsed in the end zone to plan that night’s activity.


“What’s up for tonight?” asked Kerry.


“Same old, same old,” sighed Susan. She was the most athletic of the girls, with well-defined calves and biceps. Her thin brown hair fell to her shoulders, and her face had a few faint freckles. She wore a purple tank top without any bra.


“All revved up with no place to go?” asked Rooster.


“Meatloaf! Uck!” said Susan.


“What?” asked Rooster.


“All revved up with no place to go? Isn’t that a Meatloaf song?”


“Yeah, I guess,” said Rooster defensively. “Look, it’s on the radio all the time. That shit infiltrates your brain.”


“Hey, Meatloaf’s cool,” said Kyle.


Billy thought Meatloaf wasn’t really all that bad either, but he’d never admit it.


“Are you kidding?” asked Susan. “Meatloaf is a Springsteen wannabee.”


“Now, Springsteen is cool,” said Joel. He as lying on his back, still trying to catch his breath. “Springsteen is the Boss!”


“He was in Rocky Horror, you know,” said Kyle. “Meatloaf, I mean.”


“I know,” said Susan. Rocky Horror was undeniably cool.


“How about we go to Quickcheck for Slurpees and ice cream?” suggested Kerry.


“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Rooster.


They got up and moved in a somewhat organized mass in the direction of Quickcheck. Billy was feeling good. He hadn’t played that well in awhile. Rooster had been somewhat off his game, so Billy was feeling more magnanimous towards him than usual. He walked up ahead with Rooster and Kyle while the rest of the gang stretched out behind them. They arrived at the Quickcheck, made their purchases, and then took up positions in the parking lot. The air was cooler now, and the night was young. Billy sucked on his ice pop and leaned back against the side of the building. They enviously watched as some jocks pulled out of the lot in a Camaro.


“I see you went for the multi-colored pop,” said Susan. “Me, I’m a purist. Direct and to the point.” She sucked on her pop with a touch of mock eroticism.


“You gotta go for the jet pop,” said Billy, missing her tone completely. “Red, white, and blue. I mean, what’s more patriotic than that?”


“Ice pops and politics don’t mix,” said Susan.


“Au contraire,” said Rooster. “Everything is political.”


“Even sex?” asked Susan.


“Even sex,” said Rooster.


Kerry let out a snort.


“Listen up,” said Kyle. “We’ve got to discuss this legacy thing some more.”


“Right,” said Kerry, undoing her ponytail. She brushed it through a few times and then did it up again, stuffing her brush into her rear pants pocket. “What about some sort of statue?”


“Of what?” asked Joel, taking a pause from gulping a grape Slurpee the size of his head, just long enough to get the words out.


“No, no. Listen to me,” said Kyle. He turned from person to person, making sure that he had everyone’s attention and trying to build some dramatic tension. “The dome.”


“What?” asked Billy.


“I thought we were talking about your class gift?” asked Joel.


“No, Joelly boy. We’re talking about a legacy,” said Kyle.


“What about the dome?” asked Kerry.


“Rooster?” Kyle motioned to his pal. “It was your idea.”


“The dome, compadres. We paint the dome.”


“Radical!” said Joel, simultaneously bobbing his head, finishing his Slurpee, and staining his shirt. “Damn,” he hissed.


“How in the world are we going to paint the dome? Do you know how big that thing is?” asked Kerry.


“Ahhh, my children. You are forgetting something,” said Rooster.


“The scaffolding!” cried Susan with delight.


A general murmur of excitement spread across the group. Even Darren and Dwight leaned forward.


“The scaffolding,” said Rooster.


“But how much longer will it be up?” asked Billy.


“And what color should we paint it?” asked Joel.


“Not a color,” said Kerry. “Some sort of message or symbol or something. Am I right?”


“Exactly, my dear,” said Rooster.


Everyone started throwing out ideas. Kyle raised his hands. “Slow down, folks,” he said. “That scaffolding is going to be up until at least Thanksgiving. I read that in the Gazette after Rooster told me his idea. There’s some sort of ventilation thing they’re trying to fix.”


“You actually read the Gazette?” asked Susan incredulously, as the last of her ice pop fell off its stick and into her orange-stained mouth.


“Normally, no. But when the headline says ‘Fairfield High Dome to Remain Under Construction until Winter’, well, one gets ideas.”


“OK, then,” asked Susan. “So what’s your big idea?”


“Well, we haven’t worked that out yet,” said Kyle, uncharacteristically shielding some mild embarrassment. “That’s why we came to you.”


“Our esteemed council of freaks,” said Rooster.


“Why, thank you,” said Kerry.


“Yes, we’re very honored, oh biggest freak of all,” said Susan, making an elaborate bow.
“I say we retire to somewhere more…shall we say, private, so we can consult Professor Weed,” suggested Rooster.


“Excellent,” said Kyle, and the group headed off towards the park.


“I’ve got to go home,” said Joel, turning red. “My parents are home and I’ve got a curfew.”


“The dreaded ‘C’ word!” gasped Rooster in mock horror.


“Yeah, my mom says I stay out too late.”


“I hear that one,” said Billy.


“Sorry, old man,” said Rooster. “You really have to go?”



“She’ll kill me if I don’t.”


“Ahh, the painful price of actually having parents who give a damn about you,” said Rooster. He patted Joel on the head. “Run home, son, and we’ll fill you in later.”


Billy and Kerry glanced at each other and then looked away. Billy knew there was lots of unpleasant stuff going on with Rooster and his parents. The few times he had actually been in Rooster’s house there had been weird innuendo in the air and icy looks. One morning on the way to Little League practice years ago, Billy had seen Mr. Matlin’s clothes strewn across the lawn. Rooster and his brother, Ernie, who was now away at college, were picking them up and putting them into a laundry basket to take back into the house.


“What’s going on?” Billy had asked.


“Just can it, Rogers!” said Rooster, angrily.


“Cool it, Miles,” said Ernie. Miles was Rooster’s real name.


“It’s nothing, Billy,” continued Ernie. “We’re just cleaning up. Go on ahead.” Then he went immediately back to picking up clothes.


Rooster often made dysfunctional family jokes. Billy figured Kerry knew more of what went on, but, of course she never said anything and Billy never asked.


Joel sighed. “Fuckin’ ‘rents.” Then he took off.


“The man hasn’t trained his parents properly,” said Rooster.


“He’s the oldest,” said Susan. “He hasn’t had any one to break them in…like you and me.”


“Right,” said Rooster. He slapped his thighs. “Off to consult with Professor Weed?”


They headed down towards the park.