Chapter 21
The next morning Billy was in the back room at Food Town loading gallons of milk on to his cart. He left home early that morning in order to avoid Justine. He had half-expected to come downstairs and find her still sitting on the couch like a spaced-out victim from some teen horror movie. As much as he wanted to avoid her, though, he wished he knew the name of the boy who stood her up. There had to be a reason he didn’t show up. Hadn’t he called her only a couple hours earlier? There must have been some sort of misunderstanding. If not, Billy would love to give him a piece of his mind.
He was almost ready to wheel the cart out front when Mitchell and Margaret came crashing through the swinging double doors. Margaret appeared frantic.
“There he is!” shouted Mitchell.
Margaret rushed over to him. She was nearly hyperventilating.
“We found you. Thank God,” she gasped. Her manner scared Billy. Margaret was usually so self-composed. He tightened his grip on the milk cart and waited for the bomb to fall. It had to be bad news
“Billy,” Margaret panted, “you’ve got to come quickly.”
“What is it?”
“It’s your sister.”
“My sister?” Instantly, he wanted to pick up one of the gallons of milk and hurl it against the wall. Then he stopped. ‘But how can that be?’ he thought. Wasn’t she at camp?
“What about my sister?” he asked.
“She’s fighting with some boys. She’s swinging a broken bottle or something. It’s scary. You’ve got to come! It’s like she’s possessed”
“Where is she?” he asked, still in a half-daze. “She’s supposed to be at camp.”
“She’s over by the Quickcheck. Come on!” she said. “We’ve got to hurry. Somebody is going to get hurt.”
“I’ve got to tell Mr. Graves,” said Billy.
“Forget that! Come with me now!” insisted Margaret.
“I’ll tell him,” said Mitchell. “Go on ahead.” He, too, looked shaken.
“OK,” said Billy. “Look, Mitchell, put the cart back in the refrigerator, OK?”
“OK.”
“Will you come already?” Margaret shrieked.
She ran through the swinging doors, with Billy close behind. This whole summer was going to hell. One calamity after the other. Billy was sure that Margaret was overreacting. She had never seen Justine having a fit before. It was probably the usual screaming and flailing about. Clearly, last night must have set her off. Thinking about that, though, made Billy feel a little guilty about being annoyed. Her life was hell. He should cut her a break. They ran down the dairy aisle and made their way to the front door.
“Where’s the fire?” yelled Florence.
“Ask Mitchell,” said Billy, backpedaling. Then he followed Margaret out of the building and up the street towards Quickcheck.
The heat was searing. Billy started to sweat instantaneously and had to half-shield his eyes from the sun. There was a red light at the corner, which elicited a curse from Margaret.
“Come on!” she said, waiting for the traffic to clear. There was a break in the cars. Margaret grabbed Billy’s arm and yelled, “Let’s go!” They ran across the street. Billy heard a tire screech and someone honk at them but he didn’t bother looking. The flashing red lights of the patrol car in front of the Quickcheck absorbed all of his attention.
‘Jesus,’ thought Billy, ‘maybe this is serious.’
“Oh, thank God,” said Margaret, obviously relieved.
“Thank God?” asked Billy.
They stopped running but still walked briskly the last half-block until they reached the parking lot. Lieutenant Stephenson was speaking with a group of three teenage boys while another officer – who could’ve been a teenager himself, thought Billy – was putting Justine into the patrol car. She was handcuffed, and her face was streaked with dirt. Her bicycle lay on its side near the curb. She allowed herself to be put in the backseat without any kind of struggle but she never took her glare off of the three boys. Two of them withered under it, but the third was defiant. Billy recognized him. His name was Joe Bennet. He was on the tennis team, Billy thought. One of the other boys looked familiar but Billy didn’t know his name. The third boy was totally unfamiliar. Joe was very agitated, but was reveling in the attention of the crowd. The other two were more embarrassed than anything else.
Joe was rambling on excitedly and gesturing towards Justine. As Billy approached, Joe pointed towards him and sneered. “That’s the psycho’s brother,” he shouted. Lieutenant Stephenson said something sternly to Joe who appeared pissed off, and then came over to Billy.
“Billy Rogers, isn’t it? You’re Justine’s brother.”
Of course he knew Justine. All the cops in town knew Justine. They had brought her home a half-dozen times in the past few years after various episodes. They probably had her picture taped to their dashboards, for all Billy knew.
“Yeah,” said Billy. The eyes of the people gathering around the edges of the parking lot pressed in on him. A few people were looking out through the Quickcheck’s windows. A dog stood barking by the side of the building, its leash wrapped around the base of a payphone. Justine sat motionless in the car.
Margaret planted herself behind Billy. He could hear her breathing. She didn’t know that he’d been through this before, but this was the first time Justine had ever been handcuffed. And though she had scratched people before, she had never threatened them with a weapon. Billy felt a piece of glass crunch under his sneaker when he shifted his weight. It made him sick.
“Why don’t you call your parents,” said the lieutenant, “and tell them to meet us down at the station?” His voice was surprisingly soft.
“What happened?” asked Billy.
“We’ll talk about it down at the station. Don’t worry. Nobody was hurt.”
“Good thing!” shouted Joe, who had been eavesdropping.
Lt. Stephenson strode over to Joe, with his hand on his holster.
“Listen, son. I know you were scared but settle down.”
“Damn right I was scared. She’s a loony. Didn’t I tell you, Marty? Didn’t I tell you she was a nut?”
Billy recognized the younger boy now. It was Joe’s brother, Bobby. He was in Justine’s grade. But who was the third boy?
“This guy actually had a date with her!” said Joe, referring to the third boy with his thumb. “Do you believe that? It’s a good thing he told us before he went out with her. We filled him in. She’s probably a fucking vampire or something. She would’ve bit his head off.”
Lt. Stephenson plunged his finger into Joe’s chest.
“Clean up the language, pal, or I’m taking you in!” he snapped.
Joe backed off. “Yeah, well,” he said, shuffling a little, his voice not so loud. He huddled with his companions. “Let’s go,” he said. After walking a few steps, he faced the lieutenant. “We’re telling out parents,” he said. “They’re going to sue, or something. You’ll see. That girl is unbalanced.”
The three boys started walking away. Up until now Marty -- the third boy -- had consciously averted his eyes from Billy. As he left he gave Billy a quick glance only to find him standing perfectly still, oozing anger. Marty sheepishly looked away and followed Joe and his brother down a side street. Lt. Stephenson re-joined his partner in the patrol car. As they drove out of the lot, Billy stared at Justine in the backseat, small and deflated. The crowd began to disperse.
“What’s going on?” whispered Margaret. “Do you know them?”
“I’ll tell you later,” said Billy. “Now you tell me, what happened?”
Margaret backed up a step, collected herself, and held out her arms like she was re-creating the scene.
“I was walking down the street when I heard yelling,” she said.
“Yeah?”
The words poured out of Margaret like bullets from a machine gun. “I came over and I saw your sister wielding this broken bottle – like in a Western movie or something. She had all three of those guys cowering in the corner. She was screaming at them. I mean, she was out of control but she was totally in control, you know? On one level it was impressive, but it was terrifying, too. She was scary. I hate to say it, but she looked, like, crazy.”
Billy exhaled. Justine obviously had played hooky from camp. She had spent the morning prowling the street searching for Marty. Unfortunately for both of them, she had found him.
“This mom, she, like, pulled her kid into her car and sped off,” continued Margaret. “A few people were standing around frozen. I guess someone called the police, thank God. I ran for you. I knew you were right down the street.”
“What was she shouting?”
“Something like, ‘You think I’m crazy? I’ll show you crazy.’ Something like, ‘So I’m not good enough for you?’ Something like that.” She was practically hyperventilating.
Billy leaned against a car in the lot and ran his hands through his hair. She had never used a weapon before. And she was so stone-faced in the cop car.
“Do you know what’s going on?” asked Margaret, finally slowing down. “Is she all right? I know something is up with her, right? Shari said you told her that Justine has emotional problems.”
Billy was tired. He was also a little annoyed that Shari had spoken to Margaret about Justine. He hadn’t told her not to, but it still felt like a bit of a violation. Right now, though, it wasn’t that important. Anyway, Margaret had tried to help so he felt he owed her some kind of explanation.
“Yeah, she always had problems, ever since she was a little kid. She loses control sometimes. She’s been hospitalized before. But kids are cruel to her, and that makes it worse. She’s never hurt anybody. Well, I mean, seriously.”
“She was hospitalized? For what?”
“I don’t know. It’s difficult to explain. I’m sorry, Margaret, I can’t talk about it right now. I have to call my parents. If Justine didn’t show up at camp, they probably got a call from the counselors and my mom’s out looking for her.”
“But who were those boys?”
“The tall one – Marty, I guess – he’s new in town. He didn’t know her and he asked her out on a date. I suppose he met Joe that day, and Joe filled him in. He stood her up last night. She waited for hours. He didn’t even call.”
“The coward.”
“It crushed her. Like I said, she’s never had any friends. She loses it a lot and it puts people off. She must have found Marty, learned what happened, and then tried to get even.”
Margaret was very excited and way too into the whole scene, from Billy’s point of view. He was dying to leave her and get off by himself.
“Well, she really lost it this time,” said Margaret.
“Look, Margaret.” Billy started fishing in his pockets for change. Margaret stood in front of him, as if awaiting instructions. She seemed a lot younger, somehow. “I’ve got to call my parents.”
“Sure. Do you want me to tell your boss what happened?”
Billy didn’t relish the idea of Margaret relating this whole story to his co-workers, but he supposed it was necessary. Besides, there must have been a hundred witnesses.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
The people down at Foodtown would be gossiping about this one for weeks. He’d start to get a reputation, he was sure. The boy who had all the emergencies.
“Wow, you are so together. You know? I’m really impressed,” said Margaret.
“Right,” said Billy. He was surprised that it meant so little to him.
“Well, see you later,” said Margaret, but she just stood there.
Billy walked over to the payphone. He could feel the eyes of the few remaining passers-by upon him.
‘Mind your own damn business,’ he thought.
**********************************************************
“You can come in now,” said the officer -- the same one who had put Justine in the patrol car.
“You wait here,” said Carol to Billy.
Billy sat down on a chair and started leafing through a magazine as his mother was led back into the holding area. A woman officer with wide hips and a short haircut offered him a donut. He wasn’t hungry. He threw down the magazine -- he hadn’t even registered its name – and walked over to the mug shots on the “Most Wanted” wall. He imagined Justine’s face on that wall. A front shot and a profile. He hair and eyes wild, and her jaw set firmly. Wanted: for inflicting familial emotional stress in the first degree. Billy went back to his seat. His father would be here soon. He hoped it wouldn’t kill him.
Poor Justine. When Billy saw Marty he wanted to rip his eyes out. He could only imagine how she felt. But it was Joe who was the real culprit. What gave him the right to warn Marty about his sister? Let the guy make up his own mind. What did she ever do to him?
Billy pictured his sister sitting lifeless on the couch in that ridiculous get-up, all dressed to kill. It was such a big deal to her. He couldn’t imagine a life without friends, without an escape from his house. Yeah, his sister was nuts but if people would only be kind to her, she wouldn’t be so bad.
Billy leaned his head back and examined the cracks in the ceiling. She was sure to be put on medication now. Maybe that was a good thing. At least she wouldn’t flip out in the hallway at school – his school, no less. Needless to say, if this had happened during the school year it would’ve been the talk of Fairfield High. As it was, he probably had an enemy in Joe Bennet for the rest of the year.
Billy saw his father pause at the glass door leading into the station, then brace himself, and walk on through. He was gaunt. Billy couldn’t help thinking about his heart beating inside his chest. Justine would kill him yet.
“Billy, there you are,” said Frank. “Where’s your mother?”
Billy rose to meet him. “In the back with Justine,” he said. “They’re both OK.”
“Did you see what happened? Your mom told me you were there.”
“No, I got there after the cops.”
“Did she hurt anybody? Did she hurt herself?”
“Nah. She just scared the hell out of them.”
Frank nodded. He was lost in his own thoughts. Billy thought maybe he should offer him a glass of water or tell him to sit down.
“Why don’t you go on home,” said his Dad. “There’s nothing you can do here.”
“Yeah,” said Billy. Part of him felt as if he should stay, but he was relieved at the excuse to get out of there. “See ya, Dad,” he said. “If you need me, call.” That was stupid. What could he do?
Billy left the police station and headed home. It was a long walk, but he needed it.
Chapter 22
The police released Justine to her parents’ custody and said they wouldn’t press charges if Justine made an appointment with the University Mental Health Clinic, which of course the Rogers had fully intended to do, anyway. The next day, Carol stayed home from work and visited Dr. Chow with Justine. He spoke with her for awhile and prescribed tranquilizers. Justine still had two more days of camp, which Dr. Chow felt would be doable if she were medicated and the camp was notified. After that, Carol would take vacation time until school started.
As expected, Billy was grilled at Food Town the next day. He made it apparent that it was not an issue he wished to discuss, and people backed off. Margaret came by to learn more about what happened and the aftermath, but Billy said there was nothing to say. Thankfully, she didn’t press him.
On the walk home from work he counted the days until summer was over. Two days until the weekend, then one more week at Food Town. Then it was just the Labor Day weekend, followed by Tuesday was the first day of school. Shari would return this weekend, but he’d only be able to see her at Food Town until school began. She’d probably want to talk about Justine, too, but then what else was there? Justine dominated everything.
That night at dinner, however, he received a pleasant surprise.
“Billy,” said his father. “Your mother and I have been talking.” He cut his baked chicken as he spoke. “Could you pass the ketchup?”
Billy handed it to him, hanging on every word.
“Thanks. As I was saying, your mother and I have been talking and we’ve come to the decision that maybe one week of being grounded is enough.”
Billy was almost afraid to speak. He actually felt light-headed. Could it be true? He didn’t want to spoil the dream if it was a dream, or blow it by saying something stupid.
“Gee,” said his mother. “I expected more of a reaction.”
“No!” he spluttered. “I mean, thanks. That’s great. Thank you.”
“Slow down,” said his dad. “But if you ever leave town again without our permission we won’t be so easygoing.”
“No. Absolutely. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t know what I was thinking,” said Billy.
‘Shut up,’ he said to himself. ‘Let it go.’
Justine, indifferent to the whole exchange, rose from the table, the napkin on her lap dropping to the floor. Whatever Dr. Chow had put her on was clearly industrial strength. She was a walking zombie. Dr. Chow claimed it was only a mild dose, but it didn’t appear that way to Billy. Seeing Justine like that kept reminding him of the image of her sitting stone-like on the couch. But at least it meant a respite from the craziness. And now he was liberated.
“So, can I go out tonight?” he asked.
“No,” said his Dad. “But as of Saturday morning you are a free man.”
Carol picked up the napkin her daughter had dropped, and called after her.
“Where are you going, Justine?”
“To my room.”
“Are you going to listen to your music?”
Carol was trying to sound cheerful, but it sounded fake to Billy. As if Justine could actually be cheerful doped up the way she was. And how would these pills help her in the long run anyway? Some day she’d have to come off them, wouldn’t she? What then?
“I want to lie down,” she said.
They heard her door close. Frank and Carol exchanged glances. Frank went back to eating.
“Well, it has been a trying couple of days,” said Carol. “I don’t blame her for wanting to take a nap.”
They ate in silence for awhile, but soon heard the sounds of Carly Simon emanating softly from Justine’s room. That reassured Carol, who said, “Well, she’s not actually sleeping after all. She just needs to be by herself.”
Frank put down his fork, with some chicken still on it, making a hollow clinking sound on the plate. With his elbows on the table, he was carefully considering his next words.
“I know she needs it now, Carol, but this can’t be the solution.”
“Frank, we all need to catch our breath, OK? Billy, do you want some more corn?”
“Sure.”
He was ravenous. The thought of freedom gave him an enormous appetite. He wolfed down three more ears and a bowl full of applesauce and then excused himself from the table. Shari would be home on Saturday. Maybe there was a little bit of justice in the world after all.
**************************************************************
“Mr. Graves?” said Billy, tentatively. He hated having to speak to Mr. Graves, especially when he was the one who initiated the conversation.
“Yes, Billy, what is it?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but…”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, sir. I only wanted to let you know that I have to leave early today. My mother’s got a dentist’s appointment. Root canal or something. And she doesn’t want my sister to be home by herself. Graves nodded. “I wished you had told me this earlier,” he said. “When do you have to leave?”
“Two o’clock.”
His boss furrowed his eyebrows and clucked his tongue, but then said, “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. But make sure you are fully stocked before you leave.”
“Yes, sir,” said Billy. He hurried back to the dairy section.
The day flew by. Billy worked like a man possessed. He stocked. He scrubbed. He was even the first on the scene for several breakages. He spoke with Florence for the first time in days, and helped Mitchell with his coconut display. It was part of a tropical fruit promotion. They had gotten weird fruits like papayas and mangos for the first time. Some kind of gourmet store had opened in Pohasset and Food Town was feeling the need to compete.
Billy was so engrossed in his work that he was stunned when he checked the time to see that it was nearly a quarter after two. ‘For cryin’ out loud,’ he thought. ‘Just what I need, to be late.’
He ran over to the time clock, punched out, and sped out the door. If he ran the whole way home, he’d only be a few minutes late. The heat and humidity were their usual oppressive selves, so he rapidly became drenched. But each step was a step towards the weekend, a frisbee-filled, Shari-filled, party-filled -- and not a parent filled or Justine-filled – weekend. His pace was fast and his heart was light. He arrived home out of breath and found his mother on the porch holding her purse and her car keys. He scanned her face for any sign of annoyance or anger but thankfully found none.
“Oh good! There you are,” she said. “I was just starting to get worried.”
“Sorry.”
“No problem. I can make it in plenty of time. I left Justine listening to her music. I don’t think she’ll be any problem. Here’s a few dollars. If you want to walk her down to the Quickcheck for a Slurpee later, she’d probably like that. You know how much she loves Slurpees.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Billy, although there was a fat chance he’d actually do that. Return to the scene of the crime? What if he ran into Margaret or worse, Joe or Marty? What if the person working behind the counter recognized them?
“Goodbye, hon.”
“Bye, Mom.”
Billy waited for his mother to pull out of the driveway and then raided the refrigerator.
“I feel disgusting,” he mumbled, pulling his wet shirt away from his body. He heard the music from behind Justine’s door, but decided to leave well enough alone as far as she was concerned , and after stuffing his face, he hopped into the shower.
He stood under the shower for what felt like ages. The hot pressure of the water felt great on his body. He let it beat down on his neck and back, all the while singing along to the sounds of Springsteen and the E Street Band that were playing inside his head.
All day, you keep it locked on the inside,
But tonight, you’re gonna break on through to the outside,
And it’ll be right,
And it’ll be right,
And it’ll be TONIGHT!
‘Well, maybe not tonight,’ he thought. ‘But tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.’
The water started getting cool, so he turned it off, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around himself. He gathered up his dirty clothes and went out into the hallway. Justine’s music had stopped.
‘She’s probably deciding which dopey Carly Simon album to play next,’ he thought. ‘Will she ever get tired of that junk?’ He ran upstairs and got dressed in his cut-offs and a Rolling Stones concert T-shirt. Now that, he thought tracing the outline of the giant lips on the front of his shirt, had been one of the best nights of his life. He, Kyle, and Rooster had competed for weeks afterwards on who could do the best Mick Jagger impersonation, strutting across Kyle’s basement with protruding lips, one hand on their hip, and one holding an empty Coke bottle that doubled as a microphone. The only bad part was needing Kyle’s parents to drive them to the arena. But this year, they had licenses.
Billy went back downstairs. It was almost time for re-runs of Green Acres on channel eleven. On the way to the basement, though, he noticed that there was still no music coming from Justine’s room.
‘She probably fell asleep,’ he thought. ‘She’s half-asleep on her medication, anyway.”
He went into the kitchen and pulled a bag of Chips Ahoy down from the cabinet and grabbed a handful. He paused, though. Maybe he should check on her. At least turn her stereo off. She had the old kind that didn’t have an automatic arm return. He put his cookies on the table and quietly leaned up against her door.
“Justine?” he said softly. He didn’t want to wake her but he didn’t want to barge in, either. “Justine?” He knocked lightly and after getting no answer tried again, this time a little harder. “Justine?”
‘She must be asleep,’ he thought.
He cracked the door open. The only thing he heard was the faint hiss of the stereo. The record was over. She had obviously nodded off while listening to the music. He’d go in, reset the arm, and shut the stereo. He carefully opened the door enough for him to slip in the room and tip-toed over to the record player. There was Justine, splayed out on the carpet, lying on her stomach. ‘Geez,’ he thought. ‘She conked out on the floor.’ He dealt with the stereo, and then knelt down beside her and shook her shoulder.
“Hey, Justine. Wake up. Why don’t you get into bed?”
She didn’t budge.
“Hey, Justine? Man, you are out,” he said.
He tried to roll her over but she was dead weight.
“Justine?”
Something was wrong. With some effort, he flipped her over, tugging on her as he did so, but still she didn’t wake up.
“Justine!” he shouted.
His whole body went cold. It couldn’t be! His mind went into a whirl. Suddenly his eyes focused on the medicine bottle lying near the corner of the bed. It was empty.
“Oh my God!” he yelled. He wanted to flee the room but it was as if his legs were stuck in cement. His mind was in a haze. He couldn’t hold a coherent thought in his head. The world was fast and in slow motion at the same time. All he could do was stare at her. Gawk at her. But it wasn’t her. It was a lump of meat. Flesh. She was dead! Jesus fucking Christ! Dead!
It took all his strength to contain his panic. His hands flew up to the sides of his head and he pulled down on his hair. Some of it actually came out in his hands. His breathing was fast and shallow. He wanted to vomit.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, somehow, a voice told him to make sure she really was dead. With courage fueled by adrenaline he slowly put his hand on her neck. It was cold and clammy. He jerked it back in horror, but then forced himself to do it again. Yes! He could feel it. It was faint, but it was a pulse. He put his hand over her mouth. With concentration, he could feel her breath on his palm. He shook her with all his strength. Her arms flopped like a doll’s.
“Justine! Justine! Wake up! What did you do? Justine?”
It was no use. She was slipping away right in front of him.
“An ambulance! Get an ambulance!” he told himself. He hurried into the kitchen, banging his knee on the doorframe. “Shit!” he said, grabbing it. He yanked down the receiver and dialed the police. His mom had put a sticker on the phone with emergency numbers. If not, he didn’t know if he would’ve had the clarity of mind to figure out what number to call.
He must have spoken with someone, and he must have given his address, because somehow he found himself being pulled off of Justine’s body by one of the ambulance crew.
“Shaking her won’t help,” said the EMT. “Let us near her.”
Two other emergency medical technicians put Justine on a stretcher while the one who had pulled Billy away placed on oxygen mask over her face. They whisked her out to the ambulance.
“Are you coming, too?” one of them asked.
Billy shook his head no. They closed the ambulance door and drove off, sirens blaring. Billy stood alone on his front porch.
Chapter 23
“Damn her!” Billy cried. “To hell with you, Justine! To God damned hell with you!”
His body burned with energy. He strode around the house from one room to the next, walking so quickly he ran into the walls. Tears streamed down his face; his hands were clenched so hard his fingers ached.
“God fucking damn her!”
He thought his eyeballs would pop out from the pressure in his skull. It was like being on speed, or something. It was all he could do to hold himself together. He paced. He swore. He made quick jabs in the air with his fists. First a right, then a left, then an uppercut. He whirled about and went into Justine’s room, hurling stuffed animals everywhere, kicking the bed.
“You son of a bitch!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
He pounded the door and then gave it a sharp kick and punched it full on, splintering the wood and cutting a gash across his knuckles.
“Yeah, well fuck you!”
He grabbed a teddy bear and starting twisting it and yanking at it, desperately trying to tear off a limb or a head or anything. He couldn’t and it only added to his efforts and his frustration.
“Stupid God damn bear!”
A vision of her cold, nearly lifeless body appeared on the floor in front of him. He hurled the bear at it, and fought against crying.
“Fuck you!”
Billy ran from the room tugging at his hair. He didn’t know which way to turn. It was as if he was in some awful fun house maze with mirrors and fake doors and a big, eerie looking clown laughing at him. It was Justine. She had white paint on and thick red lips and a stupid clown nose and darkly made-up eyes and a hideous grin. She was laughing a mechanical laugh.
“Yuk. Yuk. Yuk. Bye-bye Billy”, she said. “Yuk. Yuk. Yuk. You’re next!”
“Well, fuck you!” he screamed.
She was dead. No, she wasn’t dead. He had thought she was dead. And she just lay there waiting for him to find her. How dare she? OK, she was sad. OK, she had been stood up, humiliated. OK, she had no friends. But she was thirteen, for God’s sake. Ending it is better? How could it be better? And how could she let him find her? And what about their mom and dad? They’d have to live with that. Didn’t she realize that? Didn’t she care about them? Didn’t she think about anybody but her own damned self?
He had thought she was dead. Just a lump of flesh on the floor. And he was alone with her. Alone with her dead, dead body.
“Yuk. Yuk. Yuk, Billy-boy.”
“Shut up!”
Suddenly he was violently ill. He ran into the bathroom and heaved into the toilet. His gut wrenched like a corkscrew was being driven through it. The bathroom seemed small. Too small.
‘Like a coffin?’ he thought.
“Damn!” he yelled at himself. “You’re sick!”
He was afraid. He was so afraid. The room spun. The walls expanded and contracted like they were breathing, and he couldn’t find the door. “Let me out!” he screamed. He collapsed in the corner, sobbing. His heart sounded like a railway car careening down the tracks.
“Please, God. Please, God. Please, God,” he muttered quickly underneath his breath. “I don’t want to die. Please, God. Please, God.” Then all at once he stopped muttering and screamed, “Shit! Damn you! Damn you, Justine!” By force of will he leapt up and sprang from the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
“I can’t believe her,” he said. “I can’t believe that spoiled, selfish, self-centered little bitch.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter in order to catch his breath. As he grew a little calmer, he noticed the searing pain across his knuckles where he had gashed himself.
‘The hell with it,’ he thought.
He had to get out of the house, away from her room, that floor, and those stupid Carly Simon albums. He exited through the front door and started walking at a rapid pace towards downtown. He didn’t know if he wanted to run into anyone. He’d leave that to fate. He would just walk. Walk. Yeah, he would just walk downtown where there were other people. People doing things. His heart actually slowed and his breathing became steadier.
“Damn her,” he said, but this time he said it softly, his energy almost spent. He couldn’t imagine things being so bad that you’d want to snuff yourself out. How could you give up life, however horrible? And were things for her really that bad? She wasn’t a junkie. She wasn’t homeless. She didn’t even live in a stupid tent. There were other kids without friends. And wasn’t that situation her own fault anyway? She acted so crazy, like she wanted to push people away. Was she sick or not? He didn’t know. Wasn’t she merely a spoiled brat? But she tried to kill herself. Kill herself.
“Damn her!” he yelled.
A woman pushing a stroller on the opposite side of the street gave him a worried look and pulled the blanket up over her little girl. ‘She probably thinks I’m a wild man,’ he thought, ‘Well, forget them.’ He kept moving, but now conscious of the scowl on his face.
What would this do to his parents? To his father’s heart?
‘Oh, shit,’ he thought. ‘They must be at the hospital.’
His dad must’ve been called by the police. The police would’ve tracked down his mom at the dentist. They were probably with her right at that moment
He had to get there. It would take him over an hour to reach the hospital by foot, even at the speed he was walking. He made a right on to Central Avenue and headed in that direction. The time went by in a blur. He vaguely remembered nearly getting hit by a bus when he crossed over Route 12 to get into Pohasset. And he thought maybe somebody had yelled at him, but he wasn’t sure. When he got to the hospital he went straight into the emergency room and rushed up to the reception desk.
“Can I help you young man?” asked the unit clerk. She was a black woman with light skin and a fair-sized Afro. She was probably only a few years older than Billy.
“Yeah, my sister, Justine Rogers, was brought in here awhile ago? Is she OK? Are her parents here?”
“Why don’t you have a seat in the waiting area,” said the woman, “and I’ll find out. We have lots of patients, you know.” She was leafing through a stack of folders with multi-colored tabs.
“Just tell me,” said Billy leaning over the counter, his voice rising. “Is she alive?”
The woman stopped what she was doing and put her hand on top of Billy’s. The tone in her voice got a little less business-like. “Have a seat, OK? I’ll find out.”
Then she went into through the swinging doors to where the patients were. Billy surveyed the waiting area. There were a several handfuls of people, some nursing injured limbs, a few shivering and coughing into handkerchiefs. Some seemed scared or nervous but most appeared mainly tired and annoyed. A man checked his watch. Billy didn’t even think about joining them. He stayed up at the counter, trying to get a peek into the back room.
‘What is taking her so long,’ he thought. He started fidgeting with a cup of paper clips on the counter.
“Young man, young man,” said one of the older nurses. “Leave that alone and take a seat.” Her gray hair was pulled back tight. On top of it was pinned one of those old-fashioned nursing hats.
“I just want to find out how my sister is doing,” Billy pleaded.
“Leave the desk alone,’ she said sternly. “Have you talked to the unit clerk? She’s the woman in the blue coat.”
“Yes, she said she would check, but…”
“Then have a seat.” The nurse dismissed him, picked up a folder and walked briskly into the back room. Some doctor was paged over the loudspeaker.
Billy reluctantly went over to the waiting area and perched on the edge of the chair nearest to the front desk. He sat hunched over with his toes tapping on the floor.
‘Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she died,’ he thought. ‘I mean, if she was really that miserable. Everyone would be sad but in the end life would be easier for everybody.’
“Oh, you stupid heartless moron,” he said aloud. He quickly looked around, aware that he could be overheard. Nobody seemed to pay him any attention. “You moron,” he said again. How could he think something like that? Maybe he was the selfish monster, not Justine. He just wanted to know. Was she alive or not? That wasn’t such a hard question.
“Mr. Rogers?” said a soft but firm voice.
Billy reacted with a delay. He wasn’t used to being called Mr. Rogers.
“That’s me!” he said, bouncing up from the chair and hurrying over to the desk. It was the unit clerk.
“Justine is resting comfortably. She’s going to be OK. They’ll be moving her to a room upstairs for observation. You could see her then.”
“What room?”
“You can find out at the information desk in probably another hour or so. Why don’t you go upstairs to the main waiting area and get a drink at the coffee shop.”
“So she’s alive.”
He noticed he was sweating, and even felt a little chilled by the air conditioning.
“Yes, she’s going to be fine.” The unit clerk smiled.
“Are my parents here?” asked Billy.
“Yes, they’re speaking with the doctors. I’ll tell them you’re waiting for them upstairs. Now, I have to get back to work.”
She was alive. He sat back down on the chair. His body felt like a block of lead. He could hardly imagine being able to stand up again. She was alive. ‘Thank God,’ he thought. But mostly he was relieved that he was relieved. That he wasn’t disappointed. He hadn’t been sure how he would react.
‘That little bitch of a sister,’ he thought.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Florence punched in the final item in the order and pushed the total button. The register rang out and Florence stifled a yawn. “Oh, excuse me,” she laughed. “It’s getting close to quitting time.“
The customer, a skinny woman in Jordache jeans and a halter-top raised her pencilled and razor thin eyebrows, and nodded in agreement. “Tell me about it,” she said. “By the way, what’s that come to?”
“That will be $54.78, please.”
The woman whistled, sending her eyebrows practically past her hairline, as she fished around in her purse for her checkbook. Florence handed her a pen.
“Don’t blame me,” said Florence. “I just work here. And believe me, my paycheck doesn’t go up nearly as fast as the prices. Oh, and could you turn that sign around for me? I am closed, closed, closed.”
“Sure thing.”
The customer relinquished her check after letting the total sink into her head one last time, and flipped the sign at the end of Florence’s aisle so that it read “Closed”. Billy finished bagging the order, and loaded the last of her groceries into her cart, being careful to keep the eggs on top. It was nearly 4:00 pm. Quitting time. Billy watched the woman wheel her cart away. Surely her jeans were tight enough to stop the flow of blood to her legs. Florence sat down on the stool she kept behind her register.
“Well, another day, another dollar,” said Florence. She popped a stick of gum into her mouth. “Peppermint,” she smiled, offering Billy a piece. He shook her off. “Lord, I can’t wait to get home,” she said. “Although I have to head right back out again.”
“Why?” asked Billy.
“Oh, Reggie’s got a birthday party to go to. Pizza and bowling. I’ll tell you, that boy’s got a better social life than me.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll sit in the back with the other moms, have a beer, and cheer my lungs out. How about you? Big plans?”
Billy just looked at her.
“Oh, that’s right. Your parents grounded your behind.”
“For the rest of the summer,” Billy moaned. Mr. Graves was busy in the back and it was nearly quitting time anyway so Billy sat down on the bagging area while Florence closed up her register.
“One lousy mistake,” he said, leaning back on his elbows.
“Oh, just one, huh?” asked Florence.
“We were trying to show Freddie a good time. We didn’t hurt anybody. We were only late because we were looking for him.”
Florence removed her cash drawer from the register and rested it on her hip. “I see. You’re supposed to receive a reward because you didn’t leave a poor retarded boy stranded down at the shore, where you weren’t supposed to be in the first place. At 2:00 in the morning, no less.”
“He was the one who wandered away,” said Billy defensively.
“Mmm, Hmm,” said Florence.
“And now I’m grounded for the rest of the summer.”
Billy collapsed backwards so now his back was on the bagging area and his legs were dangling over the side. He stared up into the florescent lights.
“Life sucks,” he said.
“Poor baby,” said Florence, dripping with sarcasm. “That’s only two weeks. I’ve had headaches that lasted longer than that.”
Billy sat up. “Yeah, but then there’s school, and…” He stopped.
“What?”
“Well, Shari gets back in a couple of days.”
Florence smiled knowingly. “She’s that pretty young thing that came by a few times, right? Your girlfriend?”
“Sort of,” he mumbled, regretting he said anything.
“Sort of?” she scoffed. “Honey, she is or she isn’t. The way you’re moping about it I’d say you got it bad.”
Billy hopped off the counter. “I’m not moping.” He bent down and gathered some receipts that shoppers had dropped in the aisle. “A lot of good it does me, anyway” he said.
He crumpled the receipts and tossed them, basketball style, into the trash receptacle behind Florence’s register. He looked to her for some reaction, but she just let out a “Hmph” and started heading for the office to deposit her cash.
“Maybe,” she said over her shoulder, “That will teach you a lesson.”
‘Adults, man,’ thought Billy. ‘They’re all the same. Even Florence. Like they never made a mistake.’
Billy sauntered over to rack that held the time cards. He still had four minutes before he could punch out. Getting off of work was anticlimactic, though, when the only thing in front of him was an evening with his family. He’d been hiding in his room the last couple of nights, and it was getting old. Last night he called Kyle on the phone and wasn’t at all pleased to find out that he was only grounded for one week.
“One week!” Billy had said. “Man, you got off easy.”
“No way,” said Kyle. “Your parents are just real hard asses, what can I tell you? Dwight and Darren had to just clean out the garage or something.”
“They didn’t get grounded at all?” asked Billy incredulously. He punched a pillow on the couch where he’d been sitting.
“Nope,” said Kyle.
“Well, I guess they weren’t the ones who lost Freddie.”
“We did not lose Freddie,” said Kyle sternly. Before he could get out any rationalization Billy just said, “Whatever” and there was silence for several seconds.
“Anyway,” said Billy, “I can’t believe I’m getting the worst of this.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Kyle. “Rooster had some big knockdown drag-out with his parents.”
“Really?”
“He came by last night and climbed up to the roof outside my bedroom window to tell me about it. He was pissed. And the side of his face was like all red. I think his Dad smacked him one.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s still living in the tent?” asked Billy.
“Yeah, he comes and goes as he pleases as long as he doesn’t kill the lawn.”
“I’d take that deal,” said Billy.
“You and me both.”
***********************************************************************
Billy replayed the conversation with Kyle in his head while waiting for the time clock to get to 4:00. It was a big gray, clunky clock. As each minute passed it make a large click as the display changed. It seemed to hang at 3:59 for half an hour as he and his co-workers waited in a long line stretching down the hallway. Finally, the clock signaled their release and they all punched out and said good-bye. In his head he knew that Rooster probably had the rawest deal, but still it didn’t feel that way.
Billy did not hurry home. He made a couple detours along the way, hoping to run into somebody but it wasn’t to be. He tried to stretch out the trip as long as he possibly could without annoying his mother. She worked until 3:00. Often, she ran errands and didn’t get home until dinnertime, but he knew that for this week, anyway, she’d be coming straight home to make sure that he was there.
“Hi, I’m home,” he said as he came into the kitchen. There was no response. Instead he heard laughing and a flurry of activity coming from Justine’s room. Carly Simon was playing on the stereo, softer than usual, though, for his mother’s benefit. The two of them were in there – his mom and Justine – and they were ebullient. Justine was laying clothes on the bed, alternately bouncing around or chewing a nail.
“How about this one, mom?”
“That’s cute, but I like that little yellow dress better.”
Justine started rummaging energetically through her drawers, down on her knees, throwing clothes behind her like a dog throws dirt when digging for a bone.
Her mom said, “Slow down, honey, I know you’re excited but we’ll find the perfect outfit.”
Billy stood dumbfounded in his sister’s doorway. He knocked on the door so they would notice him.
“Hello. Hello?” he said. No response. “Hello?”
“Oh, hi Billy,” said his mom. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Justine stood up and twirled around.
“How about the denim skirt?” she asked. She was practically giggling.
“You’ve outgrown that,” said her mom.
“Let me see,” said Justine.
She flew to the closet and pulled it out. Holding it in front of her, she alternately searched for her mother’s approval and then Billy’s. Before they could say anything, though, she said, “I’ll go in your room, mom, and try it on. You’ve got a better mirror.”
She brushed past Billy and slammed her parents’ door behind her. Carol plopped herself down on Justine’s bed and blew the hair out of her eyes.
“You’ll never guess what happened today, Billy.”
“What?” he asked.
“Some boy asked Justine out on a date!”
“You’re kidding.”
“Shush. She might hear you.”
Carol got up and closed Justine’s door until it was almost shut. As she spoke, she started putting Justine’s clothes back in her dresser. She radiated a nervous excitement.
“He’s a new boy in town,” she said. “He just moved here. They met buying Slurpees at the Quickcheck. Justine said that they got to talking and he asked her if she wanted to see a movie tonight. He called her just now and told her that his mom would drive them. They’ll be here at 6:45.”
Billy grimaced and walked over to the bed. He picked up one of Justine’s dresses, shaking his head, and held it out to his mother.
“Aren’t you happy for your sister?” asked his mother, taking the dress.
“Mom,” said Billy, not sure he should air his feelings and spoil the moment. “Do you think this is such a good idea?”
Carol’s face grew stern and questioning. She grabbed a hanger that was lying on the bed, and spoke in a whisper. “She’s a little young for dating but she has no friends, and how can I say no? Don’t you think Justine deserves a night out? I would think you’d be excited for her.”
“Mom, please,” said Billy. “It’s going to blow up. Can’t you see that? Do you think she can handle a date? It’s going to be a disaster.”
“For heaven’s sake, Billy,” said his mom. “Have a little more faith in your sister.” But Billy could see the doubt in her eyes. “Now here, hang up this dress.”
Justine rushed into the room, and threw the skirt on the bed. “You’re right. It’s too small. I’ll try this.”
She snatched the yellow dress Carol had handed Billy out of his hands – hanger and all -- and ran back into her parents’ room, closing the door. Billy had never seen her so happy. Part of him thought it was nice, but mostly he felt uneasy.
“He’s a new boy in town,” said Carol. “He knows nothing about her history. He only sees her as she is now. The other kids can’t get past some of the crazy things she used to do. This is like a brand new start.”
“The things she used to do?” asked Billy.
“She’s calmer now,” said Carol. “And she’s been on her best behavior lately. She’s really trying. Maybe the threat of going back on that medication was the kind of a slap that made her come to her senses.”
“Like at Big Charlie’s?”
“She’s been fine since then,” said his mother.
Billy rubbed the back of his neck. Clearly, his mom was trying to convince herself. Was she really that delusional?
“OK,” he said. “But why is she wearing a dress to go to a movie? Girls don’t wear dresses anymore.”
“Shouldn’t she look nice on a date?”
“Maybe in the 1950s,” said Billy, “but if she gets all dressed up, she’ll look, well, kind of dorky.”
Justine flew into the room wearing her yellow dress, and struck a few poses. She was clearly ecstatic. “It’s perfect, don’t you think?” she asked.
The dress was almost neon bright with shoulder straps and a hemline halfway to her knees. The fabric had tiny pink polka-dots that were barely visible. Billy was surprised to see what a good figure his sister had, but the dress just did not look like something a high school girl would wear.
“Oh, Justine,” her mom gasped.
“What?”
She stood in front of her mother with her knees slightly turned into each other, biting on the nails of fingers on both hands. Her eyebrows were raised halfway up her forehead, desperate for approval.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Put your hands down,” said Carol. “And straighten up.” She eyed her daughter lovingly. “You look beautiful, Justine. Simply beautiful.”
“Really?” she squealed.
“Radiant,” said her mother.
Justine ran back into her parents’ room to admire her reflection and than hurried back.
“Can I wear lipstick?” she asked.
Billy caught his mother’s attention with his eyes, and mouthed the word “no”.
“Well,” she hesitated. “Since it is your first date…OK, you can.”
“Thank you, mom, thank you!” She ran over and gave her mother a hug.
“Here,” said her mother. “You can use mine.”
“Justine,” said Billy, “Girls don’t wear lipstick anymore. It’s the 70s.”
“Well, I do,” said Justine.
‘Fine,’ thought Billy, as he climbed the steps to his room. “But he’s going to think she’s a nerd or a dork or a Barbie Doll or something,” he muttered to himself, plodding up the stairs.
Billy changed out of his work clothes and put The Riders of the Purple Sage on the stereo. He lay in bed listening to them sing ‘Mexicali Rose’. It was kid of a cross between rock and country music, but it wasn’t like that Loretta Lynn stuff.
‘What the hell am I going to do all night,’ he thought. He knew the gang was assembling down at the frisbee field, and he was missing it. For cryin’ out loud, even Mitchell was probably there. Billy thought about jerking off but he was too tired, or maybe too disinterested.
When his father got home, Billy was called down to dinner. At least he could eat. His mother was making scrambled eggs.
“Eggs?” he asked in disbelief.
“I didn’t have time to cook. I was helping Justine.”
His mother was at her usual place by the stove. His dad was sitting at the table beaming at Justine who was standing in the middle of the room, modeling her dress. She had lipstick on and her hair was piled up on top of her head. It was held in place by some kind of giant barrette that was the same color pink as the polka dots on her dress.
“You look lovely,” said her dad.
“You think so?” asked Justine, wringing her hands.
“Gorgeous. You’ll knock him dead,” he said. “You almost look too good, to tell you the truth.”
“Oh, Dad!” she giggled.
“Billy, set the table,” said his mom.
Billy thought about protesting the unfairness of her request. It would only seem like sour grapes on the night of Justine’s big date, though, so he went to the cabinet and started pulling down the plates.
“Excuse me,” he said, attempting to get around Justine. His tone was full of exasperation. “I’m trying to set the table.”
“Do you think I should eat?” asked Justine. “I don’t want to get my dress dirty.”
“Just be careful,” said her mom.
Billy got the cups, having to sidestep Justine yet again. She didn’t move and was still in his way when he went for the silverware.
“I said, excuse me. I’m trying to set the table.”
Justine ignored him. He sucked on his lip and noisily fished out the forks and knives, slamming the drawer.
“Time to eat!” said his mom. “Billy, you forgot the napkins.”
Billy dragged himself back to the cabinet as if he were carrying the weight of the world. He grabbed a handful of napkins and then folded them with exaggerated neatness. His parents ignored him, and Billy took his place with the others and started to eat. Justine was so happy she was almost manic.
“So do you like my dress, Daddy?”
“It’s lovely,” said Frank.
Billy stopped eating and poured himself a glass of Coke.
“Why is she wearing a dress to go to a movie, anyway?” he asked.
“Don’t you like my dress?” asked Justine, tensing up.
Frank shot his son a deadly gaze.
“It’s not that, Justine. It’s a great dress.”
She relaxed but kept her focus on Billy. He continued, all eyes upon him. “It’s just that, well, you’re really dressed up. Most kids who go to a movie don’t get all dressed up. They go in jeans and a T-shirt.”
“But I want to look nice.”
“Leave her alone,” said Frank. “She looks great.”
“I didn’t say she didn’t,” protested Billy.
They ate quickly and then Justine ran to the bathroom to check her hair. Billy cleared the table and his dad started washing the dishes. His mother swept the floor, while Justine sat perched by the front window, eagerly awaiting her date.
“Where is he, mom?” she asked, nervously.
“It’s only 6:30, Justine. Relax.”
They finished cleaning and joined Justine in the living room.
‘I have to see this guy,’ thought Billy. He sat on the edge of the couch. His mom was next to Justine, holding her hand. His dad assumed his usual position in the recliner.
Justine jumped up. “I’m going to fix my lipstick,” she said.
“Sit back down and relax,” said her mother. “You look fine.”
“I’m going to check it. Keep looking for him. His name is Marty. Don’t leave.”
She ran to the bathroom. Billy retrieved an apple from the kitchen and sat back down on the couch. He removed the little sticker which imparted the vital information confirming that what he held in his hand was indeed an apple, and took a bite.
“Do you think this is going to work?” he asked.
“Shush,” said his mother. “She’ll hear you.”
“They’ll be at the movies,” said his father. “It’ll be fine. They’ll hardly even talk. And the boy’s mother is driving, right? That means he doesn’t have a license. How old can he be? She’ll be all right.”
“Justine said he was going to be a sophomore,” said Carol.
“If he were any older I would think twice about letting her go,” said Frank.
“But he’s not,” said Carol. “And hush!”
Justine emerged from the bathroom with a wadded tissue in her hands. “Is he here? Is he here?”
“Not yet, honey,” said her mom.
“Why isn’t he here?”
“It’s only 6:45.”
“That’s when he was supposed to be here!”
Frank pulled himself out of his chair and walked over to his daughter. He put his arm around her, and lifter her chin with his index finger. She stayed tense and stiff.
“Nobody’s right on time,” he said. “Relax. He’ll be here. Sit down. We’ll all wait with you.”
Justine sat with her face pressed against the window. He parents exchanged nervous smiles. It was good to see her so excited. They hoped she would stay that way.
“Here comes a car!” she yelled.
Billy looked up. The beam from the headlights come down the street and for an instant shone directly in their front window. He actually felt a surge of excitement rise in himself, but then the lights passed the house and moved on. Frank went back to his chair.
“I guess that’s not him,” Justine said. Then she shot up. “Or maybe that is him and he missed the house. Should I go outside and run after him?”
“No, dear,” said Carol. “If that was them they’ll come back.”
“What time is it now?” asked Justine.
“It’s 6:51,” said Frank, “and forty-three seconds.”
He tried to sound amused but Billy sensed a hint of concern. A few more minutes went by. Another car passed the house but it was also a false alarm.
“Maybe he got in an accident,” said Justine.
She was pacing back and forth now. The wadded tissue was disintegrating in her hand. Carol bent over to pick up a few pieces that had fallen on the carpet.
“Where can he be? Why doesn’t he call?” She turned abruptly to her father. “Now what time is it?”
Frank leaned forward. “It’s 7:10. It’s not that late, Justine.”
“You’d think he’d call if he was going to be late,” mumbled Carol. She peered out the window up towards the intersection.
“What if we miss the movie?” asked Justine, starting to panic. “What then?”
“If you miss the movie,” said Billy. “You can get ice cream or something.”
“That’s not a real date,” yelled Justine.
“Sure it is,” said Billy.
“No it’s not!”
“Billy, please,” said Carol. “Justine, honey, come here and calm down. He’s not that late. Your dad kept me waiting by the window plenty of times when we were dating.”
“That’s because I had that wreck of a car,” said Frank with what Billy thought was a pathetic chuckle. He wasn’t fooling anybody.
Carol tried to physically comfort Justine by taking her hand and stroking her hair, but Justine only pushed her away and went back to the bathroom to adjust her barrette.
“Now, now,” said Carol, calling after her. “The important thing is not where you go but who you go with.”
“What time is it now?” asked Justine, coming back into the room. She walked past her mother to the other window and stared out.
“It’s 7:15,” said Frank. “Do you have the boy’s phone number?”
“No,” said Justine. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask him. Why didn’t I ask him?” She hit her thighs with her fists.
“Don’t worry,” said Carol. “He’ll come.”
“He damn well better,” said Frank.
“You mean you think he won’t?” asked Justine, horrified. “What time is it?”
“Stop asking the time every two minutes,” said Carol.
“What time is it?” Justine yelled. “I want to know what time it is!” Her arms flailed. Her eyes started to water.
“It’s 7:18,” said Frank. “Just calm down.”
Billy left the room. He couldn’t take it. He went upstairs and put on some more music, but he kept one eye on the window. After awhile, though, he stopped getting up when a pair of headlights came down the street. He sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes shut, praying that the boy would show up soon.
The clock on his dresser said 8:30. He braced himself and tramped down the stairs and into the living room. Justine sat on the couch next to her mother. She was very still. There were dried tear marks on her face, which was pale, and her hair was starting to become undone. Her eyes were vacant. She looked like a roughed up mannequin. A mannequin in a pretty yellow dress with faint pink polka dots and lipstick. The tissue – or what was left of it – was still in her hand. Carol stroked her back.
“I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation,” she said.
Billy felt sick. He knew it was going to end badly but not like this. He went looking for his father and found him sitting on Justine’s bed holding a unicorn. He, too, had been crying.
“I hope to hell,” said Frank, “That that boy – that little son of a bitch – got in an accident or lost her number or something. Did you see how happy she was? Damn! That child can’t get a break.”
Billy joined his father on the bed. They sat in silence for a few moments. Billy checked his watch.
“Don’t bother,” said his dad.
“It sucks,” said Billy.
“You’d think that girl deserves one happy night in her life.”
“I don’t get it,” said Billy. “Why did he ask her out and then not show up?”
“Because he’s a bastard.”
Billy returned to the living room. He stood by his sister. She seemed so frail. He couldn’t fathom how she dealt with the rejection and the humiliation that the other kids heaped upon her. And now this new boy.
“I’m sorry, Justine,” he said. “Look, either something happened to him or the guy is a big, fat jerk.”
“What time is it?” she asked. He voice was thin and weak. It quivered.
Carol looked at her watch. “It’s almost nine o’clock. Do you want to change out of your dress?”
“Maybe he’ll still come,” she said. She sounded like a ghost.
Carol and Billy waited with her. Billy didn’t know what else to say, and it seemed cruel, somehow, to leave her there, even if his mom was next to her.
At around 11 o’clock Carol fell asleep. Billy followed suit shortly thereafter. The last thing he saw before nodding off was Justine sitting motionless in her yellow dress, with her pink barrette and dried tears, staring out the window.
Florence punched in the final item in the order and pushed the total button. The register rang out and Florence stifled a yawn. “Oh, excuse me,” she laughed. “It’s getting close to quitting time.“
The customer, a skinny woman in Jordache jeans and a halter-top raised her pencilled and razor thin eyebrows, and nodded in agreement. “Tell me about it,” she said. “By the way, what’s that come to?”
“That will be $54.78, please.”
The woman whistled, sending her eyebrows practically past her hairline, as she fished around in her purse for her checkbook. Florence handed her a pen.
“Don’t blame me,” said Florence. “I just work here. And believe me, my paycheck doesn’t go up nearly as fast as the prices. Oh, and could you turn that sign around for me? I am closed, closed, closed.”
“Sure thing.”
The customer relinquished her check after letting the total sink into her head one last time, and flipped the sign at the end of Florence’s aisle so that it read “Closed”. Billy finished bagging the order, and loaded the last of her groceries into her cart, being careful to keep the eggs on top. It was nearly 4:00 pm. Quitting time. Billy watched the woman wheel her cart away. Surely her jeans were tight enough to stop the flow of blood to her legs. Florence sat down on the stool she kept behind her register.
“Well, another day, another dollar,” said Florence. She popped a stick of gum into her mouth. “Peppermint,” she smiled, offering Billy a piece. He shook her off. “Lord, I can’t wait to get home,” she said. “Although I have to head right back out again.”
“Why?” asked Billy.
“Oh, Reggie’s got a birthday party to go to. Pizza and bowling. I’ll tell you, that boy’s got a better social life than me.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll sit in the back with the other moms, have a beer, and cheer my lungs out. How about you? Big plans?”
Billy just looked at her.
“Oh, that’s right. Your parents grounded your behind.”
“For the rest of the summer,” Billy moaned. Mr. Graves was busy in the back and it was nearly quitting time anyway so Billy sat down on the bagging area while Florence closed up her register.
“One lousy mistake,” he said, leaning back on his elbows.
“Oh, just one, huh?” asked Florence.
“We were trying to show Freddie a good time. We didn’t hurt anybody. We were only late because we were looking for him.”
Florence removed her cash drawer from the register and rested it on her hip. “I see. You’re supposed to receive a reward because you didn’t leave a poor retarded boy stranded down at the shore, where you weren’t supposed to be in the first place. At 2:00 in the morning, no less.”
“He was the one who wandered away,” said Billy defensively.
“Mmm, Hmm,” said Florence.
“And now I’m grounded for the rest of the summer.”
Billy collapsed backwards so now his back was on the bagging area and his legs were dangling over the side. He stared up into the florescent lights.
“Life sucks,” he said.
“Poor baby,” said Florence, dripping with sarcasm. “That’s only two weeks. I’ve had headaches that lasted longer than that.”
Billy sat up. “Yeah, but then there’s school, and…” He stopped.
“What?”
“Well, Shari gets back in a couple of days.”
Florence smiled knowingly. “She’s that pretty young thing that came by a few times, right? Your girlfriend?”
“Sort of,” he mumbled, regretting he said anything.
“Sort of?” she scoffed. “Honey, she is or she isn’t. The way you’re moping about it I’d say you got it bad.”
Billy hopped off the counter. “I’m not moping.” He bent down and gathered some receipts that shoppers had dropped in the aisle. “A lot of good it does me, anyway” he said.
He crumpled the receipts and tossed them, basketball style, into the trash receptacle behind Florence’s register. He looked to her for some reaction, but she just let out a “Hmph” and started heading for the office to deposit her cash.
“Maybe,” she said over her shoulder, “That will teach you a lesson.”
‘Adults, man,’ thought Billy. ‘They’re all the same. Even Florence. Like they never made a mistake.’
Billy sauntered over to rack that held the time cards. He still had four minutes before he could punch out. Getting off of work was anticlimactic, though, when the only thing in front of him was an evening with his family. He’d been hiding in his room the last couple of nights, and it was getting old. Last night he called Kyle on the phone and wasn’t at all pleased to find out that he was only grounded for one week.
“One week!” Billy had said. “Man, you got off easy.”
“No way,” said Kyle. “Your parents are just real hard asses, what can I tell you? Dwight and Darren had to just clean out the garage or something.”
“They didn’t get grounded at all?” asked Billy incredulously. He punched a pillow on the couch where he’d been sitting.
“Nope,” said Kyle.
“Well, I guess they weren’t the ones who lost Freddie.”
“We did not lose Freddie,” said Kyle sternly. Before he could get out any rationalization Billy just said, “Whatever” and there was silence for several seconds.
“Anyway,” said Billy, “I can’t believe I’m getting the worst of this.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Kyle. “Rooster had some big knockdown drag-out with his parents.”
“Really?”
“He came by last night and climbed up to the roof outside my bedroom window to tell me about it. He was pissed. And the side of his face was like all red. I think his Dad smacked him one.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s still living in the tent?” asked Billy.
“Yeah, he comes and goes as he pleases as long as he doesn’t kill the lawn.”
“I’d take that deal,” said Billy.
“You and me both.”
***********************************************************************
Billy replayed the conversation with Kyle in his head while waiting for the time clock to get to 4:00. It was a big gray, clunky clock. As each minute passed it make a large click as the display changed. It seemed to hang at 3:59 for half an hour as he and his co-workers waited in a long line stretching down the hallway. Finally, the clock signaled their release and they all punched out and said good-bye. In his head he knew that Rooster probably had the rawest deal, but still it didn’t feel that way.
Billy did not hurry home. He made a couple detours along the way, hoping to run into somebody but it wasn’t to be. He tried to stretch out the trip as long as he possibly could without annoying his mother. She worked until 3:00. Often, she ran errands and didn’t get home until dinnertime, but he knew that for this week, anyway, she’d be coming straight home to make sure that he was there.
“Hi, I’m home,” he said as he came into the kitchen. There was no response. Instead he heard laughing and a flurry of activity coming from Justine’s room. Carly Simon was playing on the stereo, softer than usual, though, for his mother’s benefit. The two of them were in there – his mom and Justine – and they were ebullient. Justine was laying clothes on the bed, alternately bouncing around or chewing a nail.
“How about this one, mom?”
“That’s cute, but I like that little yellow dress better.”
Justine started rummaging energetically through her drawers, down on her knees, throwing clothes behind her like a dog throws dirt when digging for a bone.
Her mom said, “Slow down, honey, I know you’re excited but we’ll find the perfect outfit.”
Billy stood dumbfounded in his sister’s doorway. He knocked on the door so they would notice him.
“Hello. Hello?” he said. No response. “Hello?”
“Oh, hi Billy,” said his mom. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Justine stood up and twirled around.
“How about the denim skirt?” she asked. She was practically giggling.
“You’ve outgrown that,” said her mom.
“Let me see,” said Justine.
She flew to the closet and pulled it out. Holding it in front of her, she alternately searched for her mother’s approval and then Billy’s. Before they could say anything, though, she said, “I’ll go in your room, mom, and try it on. You’ve got a better mirror.”
She brushed past Billy and slammed her parents’ door behind her. Carol plopped herself down on Justine’s bed and blew the hair out of her eyes.
“You’ll never guess what happened today, Billy.”
“What?” he asked.
“Some boy asked Justine out on a date!”
“You’re kidding.”
“Shush. She might hear you.”
Carol got up and closed Justine’s door until it was almost shut. As she spoke, she started putting Justine’s clothes back in her dresser. She radiated a nervous excitement.
“He’s a new boy in town,” she said. “He just moved here. They met buying Slurpees at the Quickcheck. Justine said that they got to talking and he asked her if she wanted to see a movie tonight. He called her just now and told her that his mom would drive them. They’ll be here at 6:45.”
Billy grimaced and walked over to the bed. He picked up one of Justine’s dresses, shaking his head, and held it out to his mother.
“Aren’t you happy for your sister?” asked his mother, taking the dress.
“Mom,” said Billy, not sure he should air his feelings and spoil the moment. “Do you think this is such a good idea?”
Carol’s face grew stern and questioning. She grabbed a hanger that was lying on the bed, and spoke in a whisper. “She’s a little young for dating but she has no friends, and how can I say no? Don’t you think Justine deserves a night out? I would think you’d be excited for her.”
“Mom, please,” said Billy. “It’s going to blow up. Can’t you see that? Do you think she can handle a date? It’s going to be a disaster.”
“For heaven’s sake, Billy,” said his mom. “Have a little more faith in your sister.” But Billy could see the doubt in her eyes. “Now here, hang up this dress.”
Justine rushed into the room, and threw the skirt on the bed. “You’re right. It’s too small. I’ll try this.”
She snatched the yellow dress Carol had handed Billy out of his hands – hanger and all -- and ran back into her parents’ room, closing the door. Billy had never seen her so happy. Part of him thought it was nice, but mostly he felt uneasy.
“He’s a new boy in town,” said Carol. “He knows nothing about her history. He only sees her as she is now. The other kids can’t get past some of the crazy things she used to do. This is like a brand new start.”
“The things she used to do?” asked Billy.
“She’s calmer now,” said Carol. “And she’s been on her best behavior lately. She’s really trying. Maybe the threat of going back on that medication was the kind of a slap that made her come to her senses.”
“Like at Big Charlie’s?”
“She’s been fine since then,” said his mother.
Billy rubbed the back of his neck. Clearly, his mom was trying to convince herself. Was she really that delusional?
“OK,” he said. “But why is she wearing a dress to go to a movie? Girls don’t wear dresses anymore.”
“Shouldn’t she look nice on a date?”
“Maybe in the 1950s,” said Billy, “but if she gets all dressed up, she’ll look, well, kind of dorky.”
Justine flew into the room wearing her yellow dress, and struck a few poses. She was clearly ecstatic. “It’s perfect, don’t you think?” she asked.
The dress was almost neon bright with shoulder straps and a hemline halfway to her knees. The fabric had tiny pink polka-dots that were barely visible. Billy was surprised to see what a good figure his sister had, but the dress just did not look like something a high school girl would wear.
“Oh, Justine,” her mom gasped.
“What?”
She stood in front of her mother with her knees slightly turned into each other, biting on the nails of fingers on both hands. Her eyebrows were raised halfway up her forehead, desperate for approval.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Put your hands down,” said Carol. “And straighten up.” She eyed her daughter lovingly. “You look beautiful, Justine. Simply beautiful.”
“Really?” she squealed.
“Radiant,” said her mother.
Justine ran back into her parents’ room to admire her reflection and than hurried back.
“Can I wear lipstick?” she asked.
Billy caught his mother’s attention with his eyes, and mouthed the word “no”.
“Well,” she hesitated. “Since it is your first date…OK, you can.”
“Thank you, mom, thank you!” She ran over and gave her mother a hug.
“Here,” said her mother. “You can use mine.”
“Justine,” said Billy, “Girls don’t wear lipstick anymore. It’s the 70s.”
“Well, I do,” said Justine.
‘Fine,’ thought Billy, as he climbed the steps to his room. “But he’s going to think she’s a nerd or a dork or a Barbie Doll or something,” he muttered to himself, plodding up the stairs.
Billy changed out of his work clothes and put The Riders of the Purple Sage on the stereo. He lay in bed listening to them sing ‘Mexicali Rose’. It was kid of a cross between rock and country music, but it wasn’t like that Loretta Lynn stuff.
‘What the hell am I going to do all night,’ he thought. He knew the gang was assembling down at the frisbee field, and he was missing it. For cryin’ out loud, even Mitchell was probably there. Billy thought about jerking off but he was too tired, or maybe too disinterested.
When his father got home, Billy was called down to dinner. At least he could eat. His mother was making scrambled eggs.
“Eggs?” he asked in disbelief.
“I didn’t have time to cook. I was helping Justine.”
His mother was at her usual place by the stove. His dad was sitting at the table beaming at Justine who was standing in the middle of the room, modeling her dress. She had lipstick on and her hair was piled up on top of her head. It was held in place by some kind of giant barrette that was the same color pink as the polka dots on her dress.
“You look lovely,” said her dad.
“You think so?” asked Justine, wringing her hands.
“Gorgeous. You’ll knock him dead,” he said. “You almost look too good, to tell you the truth.”
“Oh, Dad!” she giggled.
“Billy, set the table,” said his mom.
Billy thought about protesting the unfairness of her request. It would only seem like sour grapes on the night of Justine’s big date, though, so he went to the cabinet and started pulling down the plates.
“Excuse me,” he said, attempting to get around Justine. His tone was full of exasperation. “I’m trying to set the table.”
“Do you think I should eat?” asked Justine. “I don’t want to get my dress dirty.”
“Just be careful,” said her mom.
Billy got the cups, having to sidestep Justine yet again. She didn’t move and was still in his way when he went for the silverware.
“I said, excuse me. I’m trying to set the table.”
Justine ignored him. He sucked on his lip and noisily fished out the forks and knives, slamming the drawer.
“Time to eat!” said his mom. “Billy, you forgot the napkins.”
Billy dragged himself back to the cabinet as if he were carrying the weight of the world. He grabbed a handful of napkins and then folded them with exaggerated neatness. His parents ignored him, and Billy took his place with the others and started to eat. Justine was so happy she was almost manic.
“So do you like my dress, Daddy?”
“It’s lovely,” said Frank.
Billy stopped eating and poured himself a glass of Coke.
“Why is she wearing a dress to go to a movie, anyway?” he asked.
“Don’t you like my dress?” asked Justine, tensing up.
Frank shot his son a deadly gaze.
“It’s not that, Justine. It’s a great dress.”
She relaxed but kept her focus on Billy. He continued, all eyes upon him. “It’s just that, well, you’re really dressed up. Most kids who go to a movie don’t get all dressed up. They go in jeans and a T-shirt.”
“But I want to look nice.”
“Leave her alone,” said Frank. “She looks great.”
“I didn’t say she didn’t,” protested Billy.
They ate quickly and then Justine ran to the bathroom to check her hair. Billy cleared the table and his dad started washing the dishes. His mother swept the floor, while Justine sat perched by the front window, eagerly awaiting her date.
“Where is he, mom?” she asked, nervously.
“It’s only 6:30, Justine. Relax.”
They finished cleaning and joined Justine in the living room.
‘I have to see this guy,’ thought Billy. He sat on the edge of the couch. His mom was next to Justine, holding her hand. His dad assumed his usual position in the recliner.
Justine jumped up. “I’m going to fix my lipstick,” she said.
“Sit back down and relax,” said her mother. “You look fine.”
“I’m going to check it. Keep looking for him. His name is Marty. Don’t leave.”
She ran to the bathroom. Billy retrieved an apple from the kitchen and sat back down on the couch. He removed the little sticker which imparted the vital information confirming that what he held in his hand was indeed an apple, and took a bite.
“Do you think this is going to work?” he asked.
“Shush,” said his mother. “She’ll hear you.”
“They’ll be at the movies,” said his father. “It’ll be fine. They’ll hardly even talk. And the boy’s mother is driving, right? That means he doesn’t have a license. How old can he be? She’ll be all right.”
“Justine said he was going to be a sophomore,” said Carol.
“If he were any older I would think twice about letting her go,” said Frank.
“But he’s not,” said Carol. “And hush!”
Justine emerged from the bathroom with a wadded tissue in her hands. “Is he here? Is he here?”
“Not yet, honey,” said her mom.
“Why isn’t he here?”
“It’s only 6:45.”
“That’s when he was supposed to be here!”
Frank pulled himself out of his chair and walked over to his daughter. He put his arm around her, and lifter her chin with his index finger. She stayed tense and stiff.
“Nobody’s right on time,” he said. “Relax. He’ll be here. Sit down. We’ll all wait with you.”
Justine sat with her face pressed against the window. He parents exchanged nervous smiles. It was good to see her so excited. They hoped she would stay that way.
“Here comes a car!” she yelled.
Billy looked up. The beam from the headlights come down the street and for an instant shone directly in their front window. He actually felt a surge of excitement rise in himself, but then the lights passed the house and moved on. Frank went back to his chair.
“I guess that’s not him,” Justine said. Then she shot up. “Or maybe that is him and he missed the house. Should I go outside and run after him?”
“No, dear,” said Carol. “If that was them they’ll come back.”
“What time is it now?” asked Justine.
“It’s 6:51,” said Frank, “and forty-three seconds.”
He tried to sound amused but Billy sensed a hint of concern. A few more minutes went by. Another car passed the house but it was also a false alarm.
“Maybe he got in an accident,” said Justine.
She was pacing back and forth now. The wadded tissue was disintegrating in her hand. Carol bent over to pick up a few pieces that had fallen on the carpet.
“Where can he be? Why doesn’t he call?” She turned abruptly to her father. “Now what time is it?”
Frank leaned forward. “It’s 7:10. It’s not that late, Justine.”
“You’d think he’d call if he was going to be late,” mumbled Carol. She peered out the window up towards the intersection.
“What if we miss the movie?” asked Justine, starting to panic. “What then?”
“If you miss the movie,” said Billy. “You can get ice cream or something.”
“That’s not a real date,” yelled Justine.
“Sure it is,” said Billy.
“No it’s not!”
“Billy, please,” said Carol. “Justine, honey, come here and calm down. He’s not that late. Your dad kept me waiting by the window plenty of times when we were dating.”
“That’s because I had that wreck of a car,” said Frank with what Billy thought was a pathetic chuckle. He wasn’t fooling anybody.
Carol tried to physically comfort Justine by taking her hand and stroking her hair, but Justine only pushed her away and went back to the bathroom to adjust her barrette.
“Now, now,” said Carol, calling after her. “The important thing is not where you go but who you go with.”
“What time is it now?” asked Justine, coming back into the room. She walked past her mother to the other window and stared out.
“It’s 7:15,” said Frank. “Do you have the boy’s phone number?”
“No,” said Justine. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask him. Why didn’t I ask him?” She hit her thighs with her fists.
“Don’t worry,” said Carol. “He’ll come.”
“He damn well better,” said Frank.
“You mean you think he won’t?” asked Justine, horrified. “What time is it?”
“Stop asking the time every two minutes,” said Carol.
“What time is it?” Justine yelled. “I want to know what time it is!” Her arms flailed. Her eyes started to water.
“It’s 7:18,” said Frank. “Just calm down.”
Billy left the room. He couldn’t take it. He went upstairs and put on some more music, but he kept one eye on the window. After awhile, though, he stopped getting up when a pair of headlights came down the street. He sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes shut, praying that the boy would show up soon.
The clock on his dresser said 8:30. He braced himself and tramped down the stairs and into the living room. Justine sat on the couch next to her mother. She was very still. There were dried tear marks on her face, which was pale, and her hair was starting to become undone. Her eyes were vacant. She looked like a roughed up mannequin. A mannequin in a pretty yellow dress with faint pink polka dots and lipstick. The tissue – or what was left of it – was still in her hand. Carol stroked her back.
“I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation,” she said.
Billy felt sick. He knew it was going to end badly but not like this. He went looking for his father and found him sitting on Justine’s bed holding a unicorn. He, too, had been crying.
“I hope to hell,” said Frank, “That that boy – that little son of a bitch – got in an accident or lost her number or something. Did you see how happy she was? Damn! That child can’t get a break.”
Billy joined his father on the bed. They sat in silence for a few moments. Billy checked his watch.
“Don’t bother,” said his dad.
“It sucks,” said Billy.
“You’d think that girl deserves one happy night in her life.”
“I don’t get it,” said Billy. “Why did he ask her out and then not show up?”
“Because he’s a bastard.”
Billy returned to the living room. He stood by his sister. She seemed so frail. He couldn’t fathom how she dealt with the rejection and the humiliation that the other kids heaped upon her. And now this new boy.
“I’m sorry, Justine,” he said. “Look, either something happened to him or the guy is a big, fat jerk.”
“What time is it?” she asked. He voice was thin and weak. It quivered.
Carol looked at her watch. “It’s almost nine o’clock. Do you want to change out of your dress?”
“Maybe he’ll still come,” she said. She sounded like a ghost.
Carol and Billy waited with her. Billy didn’t know what else to say, and it seemed cruel, somehow, to leave her there, even if his mom was next to her.
At around 11 o’clock Carol fell asleep. Billy followed suit shortly thereafter. The last thing he saw before nodding off was Justine sitting motionless in her yellow dress, with her pink barrette and dried tears, staring out the window.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Chapters 17, 18 and 19
Chapter 17
Billy took his time walking home. The sky was clear and there wasn’t a trace of humidity. It would’ve been a great night to drive out to the Watchung Reservation. He and his friends had found a spot on a hillside where on a clear night you could see the skyline of New York City. They’d bring a bottle of cold duck and some Doritos and talk about escaping from Fairfield. Billy actually thought the taste of cold duck was vile, but the idea of it was cool. The air would be filled with the smell of trees, and occasionally they’d hear a quick scampering of something running in the underbrush. Probably an opossum or a raccoon. They’d talk for hours. His mom would always ask him what he did with his friends, and he’d say, “Just talk.” She didn’t believe him.
“You can tell me,” she’d say. “When I was your age, sometimes kids would go to make-out parties. I’m not so innocent.”
Make-out parties. Billy could think of nothing more horrible than trying to make out with a girl and overhearing somebody else panting and moaning. Or worse, being walked in on, or feeling he was competing with someone in the next room.
“What do you talk about?” his mother would ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Just stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“I don’t know. Stuff.”
What would be the point of telling her? She wouldn’t believe him, anyway. Or worse, she’d get upset and tell him to get new friends.
By the time Billy got home, it was almost 11:30. He was surprised to see his mother on the porch, still awake. He had been counting on watching Johnny Carson by himself on the basement TV and then going to bed.
“The happy wanderer,” said his mom. She had a copy of People on her lap and a bowl of popcorn next to her that looked untouched. She opened the magazine and started riffling through the pages.
“I’m surprised you’re still up,” said Billy, opening the screen door and stepping on to the porch.
“I couldn’t sleep,” said his mom. She picked up the bowl of popcorn and put it down again, along with her magazine. “I couldn’t eat, either.”
“Where’s Justine?”
“She fell asleep listening to her music.”
Carol picked up her magazine and started leafing through it, too fast to actually be reading anything. “Well, goodnight,” she said off-handedly.
Instead of being relieved at the absence of questioning, Billy was unnerved. He took a step towards the kitchen door, but then stopped.
“Any news about Dad?”
“Nope.”
“Something wrong?” But he knew.
“I thought you’d be home when I got back from the hospital.”
“I needed to take a walk.”
Billy’s mom dropped the magazine back in her lap and stared out on to the street. “I thought maybe for one night you wouldn’t need to go see your friends.”
“Mom…”
“I thought maybe tonight you’d think that I needed company.”
He could see her jaw quiver. She inhaled deeply trying to contain herself.
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, still avoiding eye contact. “This is hard for you, too. I told myself I wouldn’t heap guilt on top of it. I know this isn’t pleasant for you. It isn’t pleasant for any of us. We’re a family, and I –“ She stopped in mid-sentence .
Billy moved towards her. “Mom, really, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t…”
She raised her hand to stop him. It was like she had put a dagger in him.
“Please, Billy,” she said. “Don’t defend yourself. If you don’t want to stay here with me, you don’t have to. You’re a big boy. You’re almost a man.” She wiped her eyes and looked away. Now he couldn’t see her face at all. “Damn,” she said. “I wasn’t going to cry.”
Billy started creeping closer to his mother, but then stopped. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t seem forced? He had been crying on Shari’s shoulder and his mother had been here all by herself. That was the truth of it. ‘I’m so fucked up,’ he thought, but he said nothing.
“It’s OK, Billy. Go on inside. I’m going to bed.” She rose from her chair.
“Mom.” His voice was high pitched and thin. “I really am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Forget it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
She put her hand on his shoulder and looked up at him. He noticed a few silver strands scattered through her hair, like tinsel.
“Goodnight, Billy,” she said. She turned away and then let her hand drop from his shoulder as she walked past him into the house.
Billy stood on the porch. It felt like there was a boa constrictor around his lungs. His eyes burned but they didn’t form any tears. He flung the screen door open, went out on to the step, and sat down abruptly, burying his face into his hands and pulling at his hair. He rocked back and forth slowly, detesting himself.
*********************************************************
His mom used to call him her little man. When he was four years old and it was Justine’s first birthday, he had helped his mother bake Justine’s cake. “You are such a big boy,” his mother had said. “And such a big help, too.”
He beamed. As a reward she had let him lick the batter off the spoon. At the time he thought how fortunate his mother was to have him around. All that measuring and stirring and decorating. His mother had even been at a loss as to what color the “Happy Birthday, Justine” should be written in until he had suggested the obvious purple and green. Not to mention all the hard work he had done cutting out the stars and hearts that needed to be hung up around the house in anticipation of the big day.
The party had been a rousing success. Aunt Kate and Uncle Stu had driven up from Philadelphia. All of Justine’s playgroup was there, and Mom and Dad had even let him invite his best friend, Joey, who was moving to Syracuse the next month. For a while, Billy had been confused. He thought Joey was moving to “see a moose”, and wondered why he just didn’t go to the zoo.
They sang songs and ate cake. His mom had let him unwrap all of Justine’s presents. She was too little to do it herself. Besides, she only liked playing with the ribbons, anyway. Later he and Joey went outside and played with the junior-sized football his parents had bought him for being such a big help.
That night his mother had come to tuck him into bed and say good night.
“That was some party, huh?” she said. “And you did such a great job with the cake.”
Billy smiled. “I like baking cakes.”
“Well, you’re very good at it.”
“On my birthday, Mommy, “ asked Billy, “Can I bake my own cake?”
“Of course you can.”
She pulled the covers up around him and gave him a kiss on the forehead.
“You’re getting to be such a big boy. Before you know it you’ll be all grown up.”
He couldn’t imagine it.
“Will I be as tall as Daddy?” he asked.
“Maybe taller! Now go to sleep.”
She gave him another kiss, and he rolled on to his side.
“Good-night, Mommy.”
“Good-night.”
She turned out the lights and stood in the doorway looking back at him. There was a full moon, and the light from the window washed over his face.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you more,” said Billy quickly, almost mischievously.
“No, I love you more.”
“No, I love you more,” he said, giggling.
“You couldn’t possibly love me more,” said his mother.
“Yes, I can.”
“Shhh. Good-night and go to sleep.”
He hugged his football and drifted off.
************************************************************
Billy stamped his foot on the step and exhaled through his teeth. One year. He’d be out of the house in one year. Then, he wouldn’t have to worry about anybody but himself. Every little thing he did wouldn’t be analyzed and blown out of proportion. No one would expect anything from him and he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else. Damn them all, anyway.
Chapter 18
The frisbee curved way out of bounds and hit the ground on its edge, rolling in a sharp arc until it flopped over near Billy’s feet. He had only just arrived at the field, and hadn’t yet been noticed. Kyle pulled himself out of the game and ran over to him. Rooster trotted behind.
“Hey, man,” said Kyle. His hair was pulled back with a red bandana with a faint black paisley design. “I haven’t seen you around much the last couple weeks. How’s your Dad?” Sweat ran in tiny trickles down his neck.
“He’s OK,” said Billy. They clearly wanted more. “He came home from the hospital yesterday.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah,” Billy mumbled.
“Is he going to be all right?” asked Kyle.
“I guess so,” offered Billy. “He’s been taking it easy.”
They stood in a circle for a moment. Billy rubbed the back of his head.
“So, you’ve been hanging out at home?” asked Rooster.
“Yeah…and with Shari,” he added.
“Cool,” said Rooster, obviously impressed. “And may I say, about time. Where’s she now?”
“She left for North Carolina with her family.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
Rooster swiped the disc from Kyle and started spinning it on his finger. “So now you’re back with the rest of the freaks, huh?” he said.
While they were talking, Susan had joined them. She was panting and sweaty from running. When she tried to grab the frisbee from Rooster, he held it over his head and laughed. She was not amused.
“If you guys are going to stand around and talk, give us the disc.”
She vainly jumped for it, and then gave Rooster a light poke in the gut.
“Yow!” he squealed. “All right. All right. Hey, Billy-boy, sorry about the old man.” Then, he took off towards the other kids with Susan matching him stride for stride.
“Thanks,” Billy called after him.
Kyle gave Billy a mock punch in the arm.
“Do you want to take my place?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Billy jogged over to the rest of the gang. He was greeted warmly with pats on the back and a few friendly insults. It felt great.
“Where’s our goal and whose on my team?” he asked.
Joel piped up. “It’s you, me, Darren, Jeff, Susan, and Mitchell. We’re going that way,” he said, pointing to the far end zone.
‘Mitchell?’ thought Billy. ‘What’s he doing here?’
He gave Mitchell a little nod. Mitchell answered with a big wave. Free of the hair net, his hair increased significantly in volume. He looked like a dandelion gone to seed.
‘Have I been out of it that long?’ he thought. “Mitchell?”
After one uncomfortable night at home with his mother, he had been spending nearly every waking second either at the Food Town or with Shari, talking or making out. Once they visited Rooster in his tent, but it had been really crowded, and for some reason Billy was getting tired of smoking dope. He and Shari had made what they laughingly called “The Great Escape” and went to Breyer’s for ice cream and then down to the park to throw rocks in the river. Later, they sneaked into some woods and made out with their shirts off. He had been almost overwhelmed at the sight of her breasts and the slightly salty taste of her skin as he had clumsily kissed them, not knowing whether he should avoid or concentrate on her nipples. In the end, they just lay hugging until their arms were numb. That night in bed he had jerked off, dreaming of being inside her, wondering how he would ever have the nerve.
“Next goal wins!” shouted Kyle. It was nearly dark.
Billy was guarding Dwight but he was always a step or two behind. Dwight caught a pass from Kerry and whipped the frisbee down the sideline. Mitchell, showing surprising speed, raced it down and slapped it, but the disc wobbled a few more feet through the air and into Kyle’s outstretched hands for the game winner. Rooster jumped on Kyle’s back and let out a scream, and started singing “We Are the Champions.”
As the kids coalesced at the end of the field, Kyle and Rooster approached Billy. “Hey, man,” said Rooster. “Up for an adventure?”
“What?” asked Billy.
“I’ve got the keys to my Dad’s Chevy,” said Kyle.
“How’d you wrangle that?” said Billy, obviously impressed.
“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. How about a run down to the shore tonight?”
“Tonight?” asked Billy.
“The night is young. We can be there in under an hour. Asbury Park, dude.” said Rooster. “Boardwalk, babes, greasy food, and roller coasters. Tell me that’s not heaven. Are you in?”
If his parents knew they’d kill him.
“Sure, I’m in,” said Billy. “Should we let the others know?”
“I can only fit five comfortably,” said Kyle. “Kerry, I guess, makes four.”
“Nah, she’s busy,” said Rooster. “This night is men only.”
“How about the twins?” asked Kyle.
“Sounds good to me,” said Rooster. “Billy?”
“Fine with me.”
They rounded up Dwight and Darren and casually separated themselves from the others. Once they were clear, they made a beeline to the other side of the high school to where Kyle’s car was parked. Rooster jumped up on the hood.
“Does this thing have a tape deck?” he asked.
“Take it easy, man. Yeah, of course. Four speakers,” said Kyle.
Rooster bellowed. “Four? Quadrophenia, man! Wild!”
Kyle opened the front door and pulled out a shoebox from under the seat. “I’ve got Elvis Costello, The Dead, Bob Marly, Springsteen…”
“Quite an eclectic collection, my man, but there is no question. We’re heading down the Jersey shore. It’s got to be The Boss!” said Rooster.
Dwight and Darren grunted their agreement.
“The Boss it is!” said Kyle.
As they were getting in the car, Billy spotted Freddie “The Slush Man” Schlossberg heading towards them. Freddie broke into an awkward run, waving his arms over his head.
“Hey, guys! What’s up? Where are you going?” he yelled, barely containing his exuberance.
They looked at each other. Rooster smiled and tilted his head, his eyebrows raised in a question. Freddie looked so excited. It would be hard to turn him away, but should they really bring him along?
Kyle asked, “You think so? You’ll be crammed in the back.”
“Fine with me,” said Billy.
“What?” asked Darren.
“Say, Slush Man,” said Kyle, walking up to Freddie. “We’re heading down to the shore. Do you want to come?”
“You mean you’re driving all the way to the boardwalk?” Freddie’s eyes widened.
“Do you want to come?” asked Kyle.
“I don’t know,” said Freddie, hesitantly. “That’s kind of far. I better ask my Mom.”
“Oh, come on, Freddie,” said Rooster. “You don’t have to ask your Mom. You’re almost seventeen. Just come with us. It’ll be cool.”
“Cool, huh?”
“The ultimate in cool,” said Rooster.
Billy could see Freddie working hard to come to a decision. His face screwed up with the effort. Then with a look of determination he said, “OK, I’ll come.”
“Way to go, Slush Man!” roared Rooster, pumping his fists.
“Yeah, let’s go!” said Freddie, nodding his head enthusiastically. He smiled broadly and raised one fist in the air. “I’m going!”
“Go, Slush Man!” cried Rooster.
Darren let out a whoop and Kyle slapped Freddie on the back. Freddie basked in their approval. “I’m going!” he repeated.
“Then let’s go,” said Kyle.
The boys piled into the car and headed for the Garden State Parkway. Kyle and Rooster were in the front seat and the other four boys were squeezed into the back, with Freddie on Dwight’s and Darren’s laps. Billy nabbed a window seat.
“You got Rosalita?” he asked.
“No, no, no,” said Rooster. “Born to Run!”
“Born to Run!” shouted Freddie, bouncing up and down.
“Hey, settle down a little, Freddie,” said Dwight. “we’re packed like sardines in here.”
They pulled on to the Parkway and Kyle pushed down heavily on the accelerator.
“Open all the windows,” yelled Rooster.
He put the cassette in the tape player and turned up the volume. The music blasted and the wind whipped their faces.
“We are on the road!” shouted Rooster. “Going mobile!” He drummed the roof of the car. “Wahoo!”
Darren and Dwight let out another whoop. They’d been in the car barely ten minutes, but already Billy’s cheeks ached from smiling. They zoomed down the Parkway, screaming along with the music. Rooster banged on the dashboard to the beat. Freddie bounced on Dwight’s and Darren’s laps, and the car practically pulsated as Kyle wove through traffic, changing lanes with aplomb.
Springsteen’s voice was raspy, hard-edged, and full of life.
Every day we sweat it out on the streets
Of a runaway American Dream.
The backstreet chorus sang, “Ba-Boom.”
At night we ride to mansions of glory in suicide machines.
“Ba-Boom”
Sprung from cages out on highway nine
Chrome wheeled, fuel-injected, and steppin’ our over the line.
“OH! OH!”
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It’s a death trap
It’s a suicide rap
We got to get out while we’re young
Because tramps like us
Baby we were…
“BORN TO RUN!”
Rooster put his head out the window and yelled, “Did you hear that world? You are not real, so just get the hell over it!”
“Oooh yeah,” croaked Billy, “Born to ru-uh-un.”
His cares flew out into the night. The speed. The music. His buddies. The shore. For this moment, anyway, the world was good. He didn’t have to worry if he was kissing anybody correctly, or doing what he was supposed to, or pissing anybody off. There was no Justine. There were no such things as heart attacks. There was music and driving and the night. And there was the Jersey shore hanging out in front of him like a Christmas tree ornament waiting to be plucked.
Too soon, they arrived at Asbury Park. As if magically blessed, they found a prime parking spot almost immediately. The smell of brine was sharp in their nostrils.
“Gentleman, we have arrived,” said Kyle.
They burst out of the car and on to the boardwalk.
“Where to first?” asked Rooster.
“The rides,” said Dwight.
“Yeah!” said Darren.
“The pier of paradise, it is,” cried Rooster, “But first I need a funnel cake.”
The boardwalk was pulsing with life. Families, teenagers in packs and on dates, fat men in Bermuda shorts and skinny old women in flower print bathing suits. And girls. Girls in bikini tops and shorts, their hair bleached by the sun and their skin various shades of bronze.
“One funnel cake,” repeated the vendor. “Anybody else?”
Billy checked his pockets. He only had about ten dollars, and he didn’t want to blow it all right away.
“No, I’m OK,” he said.
Darren and Dwight shook their heads.
“Oh, man, you don’t know what you’re missing,” said Rooster, sprinkling powdered sugar on top of the hot and greasy fried dough. “Nectar and ambrosia, baby, nectar and ambrosia.”
The boardwalk was lined with restaurants, beach shops, and arcades. And of course a wide collection of games designed to steal your money. Knock down the milk bottles. Throw darts at balloons. Test your strength. See the wheel of fortune spin, as the person behind the counter sweeps piles of quarters into his money box.
Music blared from each stand. Lights flashed, and the barkers teased, urged, and coaxed. Some muscle-bound jock strutted by with a girl on one arm and a giant Winnie-the-Pooh in the other, carrying it with the puffed up pride of a prehistoric hunter.
“Are we going to the rides now?” asked Darren.
“OK, let’s go,” said Rooster, stuffing the last of his funnel cake into his mouth and noisily licking his fingers.
“No, wait!” cried Kyle, stopping suddenly.
“What?” asked Billy.
“Look at the prizes on the water gun race.”
The water gun race was a game where a row of contestants had to shoot water pistols attached to hoses at their own individual target. Each target– the mouth of a plastic clown’s head – was connected to a balloon. The more water that hit a switch in the mouth, the more the balloon inflated. The winner was the first to pop his balloon.
“What prize?” asked Billy.
“A Springsteen album. Greetings from Asbury Park.”
“For what it would cost you to win it, you could buy it,” said Billy.
“No,” said Kyle. He grabbed Billy by the shoulders. “Don’t you get it? To actually win a Springsteen album on the New Jersey boardwalk? That would be so cool.”
“The pinnacle of Jerseydom,” agreed Rooster. “A must.”
Billy had to admit the beauty of it.
“We’re going to the rides,” said Darren.
“Go ahead, then,” said Kyle. “We’ll meet you at Lucky Leo’s.”
“When?” asked Dwight.
“The stroke of midnight,” said Rooster.
The twins headed off.
“Are you with me?” asked Kyle.
“We’re with you!” shouted Freddie.
They waited for the next game to end and then all took their positions.
“I don’t have any money,” said Freddie. “It costs a quarter.”
“Here’s a buck,” said Billy.
“Gee, thanks,” said Freddie. “You guys are the best friends ever. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it, Slush Man,” said Billy.
“Is everybody ready?” yelled the barker, a middle-aged man with a beer gut and two days of stubble. He raised his arm and then lowered it quickly while pressing a buzzer. “Shoot your clown!”
Billy missed the clown’s mouth at first, but then quickly started inflating his balloon. He knew it was hopeless, though. In this game, every half of a second counted.
“We have a winner! The fine looking gentleman in the Zeppelin T-shirt!”
“Damn!” said Rooster.
They each put another quarter down and tried again. They lost, but Kyle came close. The third time was about the same, as was the fourth.
“Let’s give up,” said Billy.
“No, way,” said Kyle. “I’ve got to do this. Go on ahead if you want.”
“I’m with you, man,” said Rooster. “We will not be denied.”
Billy didn’t want to go off by himself and he knew it was too late to catch up with Darren and Dwight. He pulled out another dollar.
“OK,” he said. “I’m in.”
“Ready?” cried the barker. He paused for effect. The contestants gripped their water pistols and honed in on their targets. “Shoot your clown!” he cried. Then his arm came down, the buzzer went off, and the jets of water sprayed.
“I won!” screamed Kyle.
“The boy with the mop of golden hair,” said the man behind the counter. “Name your prize.”
“The Springsteen CD!”
Rooster gave Kyle a high-five.
“Sorry, son, that’s a five-win prize. For one win you get a giant crayon bank or a beach ball.”
“What?” asked Kyle.
“What a rip-off,” moaned Rooster.
“Those are the prizes, son, or I can give you a win token and you can keep playing.”
“I’m going to keep playing,” said Kyle, slapping down another quarter.
“Onward!” cried Rooster, doing the same.
Billy slipped another bill out of his wallet to join them. They might pull this off, after all.
“Shoot your clown!” yelled the barker.
Kyle was on a roll. He won the next two games and then Billy won the game after that. That gave them four win tokens. The boys were electrified. Then, to their dismay, a veteran player stepped up to the counter and nabbed three successive wins. Kyle nervously eyed the album. Two more wins, and this guy could steal it from under their nose.
“Look at that guy,” mumbled Kyle. “He thinks he has a mustache.”
“I thought it was some dirt,” said Rooster.
The barker came over to their end of the row, and leaned into them. He smelled of pizza and garlic.
“You boys in or not?” he asked while stubbing his thick fingers at the empty space on the counter in front of them.
“We’re in,” said Kyle and slapped down another quarter. The other boys followed suit.
“OK then,” said the barker. He let out a belch. “Sorry about the delay folks. OK, are you ready? Well, then…shoot your clown!”
Kyle’s water jet went directly into the clown’s mouth, as did that of the guy with the pre-pubescent mustache. Their balloons filled in tandem, stretching to their limits. Their pops were almost simultaneous.
“We have a winner!” screamed the barker.
They held their breaths in anticipation.
“The mop head!”
“Ay-ay-aya-ya-ya-yay!” screamed Rooster.
“Springsteen, man, give me Springsteen,” said Kyle. You’d think he just won a gold medal at the Olympics.
Billy was relieved, but he eyed the album enviously. “I’ve got to admit. This is going to be a great story.”
“Something to tell his grandchildren!” said Rooster.
Kyle gazed at his album lovingly.
“Wait until the twins see this!” he said. “Let’s head over to Lucky Leo’s.”
Kyle looked at his friends and smiled. Then Billy saw his face go blank.
“Where’s Freddie?” asked Kyle.
Billy’s heart plunged to his feet. He spun around.
“Oh, shit,” he said.
“He’s got to be around here somewhere,” said Rooster.
“Shit, shit, shit,” said Billy.
“Don’t panic,” said Kyle.
“Freddie! Freddie! Hey, Slush Man!” cried Rooster.
Billy looked around. There were people everywhere, but no Freddie. The three of them kept screaming his name. Rooster darted about like a decapitated chicken. A woman who appeared to be in her forties -- deeply tanned and wearing too much sky blue eye-shadow -- hurried over to them. “Did you lose a little child?” she asked, nervously in a high-pitched Brooklyn accent.
“No, he’s about our age,” said Kyle.
Billy saw her relax.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be all right,” she said, and started walking away.
“You don’t understand,” cried Rooster. “He’s retarded.”
But she didn’t hear him over the hubub.
The three of them walked over to the railing and started pacing back and forth. The weight of responsibility made them nauseous.
“Tell me he wouldn’t go down to the water,” said Rooster. “Tell me he wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t think he would,” said Billy. “He probably got distracted by something, and wandered off. We can find him. I’m sure he’s OK.”
Rooster was on the verge of tears. He was hitting his palm with his fist.
“If someone fucked with him, man, I’ll rip his head off.”
“Calm down,” said Kyle. “He’s probably been gone ten minutes.”
“How do you know?” yelled Rooster.
“Hey, don’t yell at me!” said Kyle. “You’re the one who asked him to come.”
“Don’t blame me man!”
Billy stepped between them. “Listen to me guys.” They stopped squaring off and looked to Billy.
“He’s probably all right, but yelling at each other isn’t going to help. What time is it, Kyle?”
“Christ! It’s almost midnight!”
“OK, look. Let’s go to Lucky Leo’s and get the twins. It’s not that far. Then we’ll spread out and look for Freddie. No wait,” said Billy, changing his mind. “You two guys head the opposite way until you get to the end of the boardwalk. I’ll meet up with Dwight and Darren and start heading the other way. When we each get to the end, we can turn around and meet up at Lucky Leo’s, got it?”
“That sounds good,” said Kyle.
“OK, I’ll see you at Leo’s”
Kyle put his hands on Rooster’s shoulders. “You, OK, man?”
“Yeah, I’m OK.”
“I’ll search in all the stores and stuff, you scan the boardwalk and the beach.”
The two boys took off down the boardwalk. Billy started heading for Lucky Leo’s. He could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. Was this what a heart attack was like?
Freddie was so innocent and clueless. How could they forget about him? What if they couldn’t find him? What the hell were they going to tell his mother? What time were they going to get home even if they did find him? He was sure to be screwed.
When he told Darren and Dwight they barely said a word but he could tell they were shaken, too. They scoured every inch of the boardwalk from Lucky Leo’s on down, checking stores, the public rest rooms, every place they could think of. As they ran out of boardwalk they became more and more concerned.
“That’s it,” said Dwight. “That’s the end.”
“Should we go to the police?” asked Darren.
“No, no, “ said Billy. “Not yet. Maybe Kyle and Rooster found him. Let’s go back to Lucky Leo’s.”
They started walking back up the boardwalk, still keeping alert for any sign of Freddie. Billy looked out at the waves crashing into the shore. ‘He wouldn’t go swimming,’ thought Billy. ‘He didn’t have a bathing suit. Freddie wouldn’t go swimming without a bathing suit, would he?’
As they approached the arcade, Billy could see Kyle and Rooster coming from the other direction. One look at their faces and he knew they had come up empty handed. They read the same thing in his face so when they actually met up there was no need to explain.
“What the fuck are we going to do?” said Rooster.
The crowd on the boardwalk had thinned out significantly. Most of the shops were closed.
“What time is it?” said Billy.
“It’s 1:30,” said Kyle. “Bar time is 2:00. Then this place will be deserted.”
“Maybe we should go to the police,” said Darren.
“Oh, Christ, I can’t believe this,” said Rooster. He walked over to the railing and banged his fists. “Where the hell would he go?”
“I say we go to the police,” said Darren.
“Oh, right, then our parents will know everything,” said Kyle. “He’s probably just walking around.”
“That’s right!” shouted Billy. “He’s probably walking around. He loves walking around at night. I’m always running into him on my way home. He just goes up and down the streets.”
An expression of hope blossomed on Kyle’s face.
“OK, this is what we do,” he said. “We go back to the car. We drive up and down the streets looking for him. If we can’t find him in another hour, then we go to the police. Sound good?”
“That’s OK with me,” said Billy.
“Yeah, yeah” said Rooster, “He’s probably just walking around.”
The four boys raced back to the car.
“OK, everybody look out a window,’ said Kyle.
“Why don’t you go up and down the streets parallel to the boardwalk first?” asked Billy.
“Shit,” said Rooster.
“What’s the problem now?” asked Kyle.
“Cop alert. There are some cops in that car over there looking at us.”
The boys turned to see them.
“Don’t look at them!” shouted Rooster. “What are you? Idiots?”
“We’re not drunk and we don’t have any dope, so what’s the big deal? Wait! Do you have anything on you?” asked Kyle.
“No, I’m clean for once in my life.”
Billy sighed audibly. Thank God it wasn’t going to get even worse.
“We’re leaving. What’s the big deal with cops?” asked Dwight.
“I think we should go to the cops,” said Darren.
“Not yet!” said Kyle. “And don’t worry about the stupid cops.”
“You don’t think it will look suspicious, us driving up and down the streets?” asked Billy.
Kyle sat with his hands on the steering wheel. Billy could see the muscles tensing in his back. His knuckles were white from the strength of his grip.
“OK,” said Kyle, “Let me think.”
“For cryin’ out loud,” said Rooster. He kept twisting and turning in his seat, occasionally hitting the dash.
“Will you stop it!” yelled Kyle. His face was red. Billy thought he was about to slap Rooster in the head. Things were definitely breaking down.
“Cool it, man,” said Billy. “If they stop us, we’ll explain. We didn’t do anything wrong. What are you so worried about?”
“Right, right. We’re clean,” said Rooster.
Darren mumbled something but Billy couldn’t hear him. He was probably just repeating his desire to go directly to the police.
Kyle slowly pulled out of the parking space. Billy kept his eye on the police. There were two officers. One of them resembled an older version of a high school football player with the beginnings of a middle-aged paunch. His partner had a dark moustache and his foot up on the bumper of his patrol car. He was swinging something on a chain, and was chomping on some gum..
As they rounded the corner, Billy saw the smaller officer watching them leave, but thankfully they didn’t get in their car to come after them. He relaxed a little and started scanning the street for Freddie.
They drove until they reached the end of the boardwalk and then turned the car around and went to the other end, but found nothing. In doing so, however, they passed the parked cruiser. This time, Billy saw the shorter office point in their direction. The burly one looked up and then motioned for his partner to get into the patrol car. As Kyle turned the corner, Billy saw the officers get in their vehicle.
“Cop alert,” Billy whispered.
“Remember,” said Kyle, “We’re just looking for a friend.”
He made two left turns and started heading up the next street that was parallel to the beach. Billy saw the cops’ headlights about a block behind them.
“There!” screamed Darren.
“What?”
“On that bench. Sleeping. Is that Freddie?”
Kyle swerved over to the curb and leapt out of the car. The other boys followed. It was Freddie.
Billy almost collapsed to his knees. Dwight sat down on the fender, as Kyle and Rooster rushed over to Freddie and shook him awake.
“Freddie!” said Kyle. “Are you all right?”
Freddie slowly woke up. When he saw the boys he smiled. “Time to go?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Rooster. “Where the hell did you go?”
Freddie started crying. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” said Billy. “Leave him alone, Rooster. What good is yelling going to do?”
Billy went over to Freddie and sat down next to him. “What happened, Freddie?” he asked. Freddie spoke through his sobs as he twisted and untwisted the bottom of his shirt. “I ran out of quarters so I couldn’t play the game anymore.”
“Then what?” asked Billy.
“I thought I’d go for a walk and wait by the car, but…but…” He started weeping.
“It’s OK, man, what?” asked Billy.
“I couldn’t find it. I’m stupid, stupid, stupid!” He started hitting himself in the head. The other boys were taken aback. They had never seen anything resembling anger from Freddie before.
“Let’s go,” said Rooster.
Billy took hold of Freddie’s hands and put them in his lap. He stroked his hair. The other boys looked on in silence. Billy put his arm around Freddie. “You are not stupid. You are the ultimate in cool. You just got lost. People get lost.”
Freddie wiped his nose with his shirt and stood up. He dusted off his pants and took a few big gulps of air. “I just got lost. People get lost.”
“Yeah, that’s right. People get lost. No big deal,” said Billy, reassuringly.
“Yeah, no big deal,” said Rooster. “Sorry about the yelling.”
He looked over his shoulder for the cops. They were sitting in their patrol car down the street. The taller one was drinking coffee.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Kyle.
They got back in the car and headed towards home, coming to a complete stop at every stop sign and using their blinker at every turn. The boys said nothing but they were all were painfully aware of the cop car following them to the town line, and they all sighed audibly when it abandoned them as their car headed onto the entrance ramp to the Parkway.
Chapter 19
They barely spoke on the ride home. The Parkway was deserted so they made good time, but Kyle was too freaked by the cops following them in Seaside Heights Park to consider speeding. He stuck to five miles over the speed limit. That was safe, he said.
Freddie fell asleep in the back, but the other boys sat facing forward, fully alert, each alone in his own thoughts, imagining what lay ahead. The Grateful Dead played on the car stereo. It was a bootlegged concert tape. They listened as Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir traded long, circuitous riffs on their guitars. Then, the band segued seamlessly into a rendition of St. Stephen.
St. Stephen will remain
All he lost he shall regain
Seashore washed by the suds and the foam
Been so long he’s got to calling it home.
Kyle guided the car off the Parkway and on to Central Street. The town was empty. All the traffic lights flashed yellow. “I’m taking Freddie home first,” he said.
The rest of the boys didn’t respond. Rooster tried to rock to the music, and Darren shifted Freddie’s weight back on to his brother. As they rounded the corner they saw the worst possible sight – a police car parked in front of the Schlossberg’s house.
“These cops are everywhere,” complained Rooster.
Mrs. Schlossberg was in the front yard. The light from the open front door spread out across the lawn, backlighting her. One of Freddie’s younger brothers was hanging on her housedress as she spoke to a police officer. With one hand in her hair and one hugging her waist, she was shaking her head and talking excitedly. Then, she caught sight of Kyle’s car, and followed it with her eyes as it pulled up behind the patrol car. When Billy saw the terror in her face his nausea returned.
“Wake up, Freddie,” he said, shaking Freddie’s knee.
“Are we home already?” said a yawning Freddie.
“Yeah, you fell asleep.”
As Freddie came to, Billy saw the fear emerge on his face. His voice got all choked up. “I’m in trouble,” he said. Billy thought Freddie was about to start crying again, which is not what they needed.
“It’s our fault, Freddie,” he said. “Blame us.”
“But don’t tell your mom you were lost,” said Rooster. “Tell her we just lost track of time.”
Kyle turned off the engine and the headlights. The cop and Mrs. Schlossberg started towards their car. Mrs. Schlossberg was running, her little one trailing after her. The car door opened and Freddie stepped out. He was crying.
“Freddie! Oh my God! Thank God!”
Mrs. Schlossberg grabbed him and squeezed him with everything she had. Freddie broke out into full-fledged weeping.
“I’m…sorry I’m…so late,” he gasped. “I got lost.”
“Oh shit,” said Rooster under his breath.
Mrs. Schlossberg held on to Freddie, but glared at the other boys. Dwight and Darren were still in the car, but the others stood sheepishly next to it.
“What happened?” she asked. “Why didn’t you call?”
“We lost track of time,” said Kyle.
“Where were you?” asked the cop. He was Lt. Stephenson. He had given a lecture on drugs at the high school the year before. The kids had laughed at his crew cut. He reminded them of an army drill sergeant.
“Where?” demanded the lieutenant.
The boys looked at each other.
“We were down at the shore,” said Kyle.
“What?” shrieked Mrs. Schlossberg. “You took him to the shore? Freddie, who told you that you could go to the shore?” Her fear was gone, replaced with anger. Freddie whimpered, “I’m sorry.”
“Get in the house,” she said, releasing him. “As for you boys, I’ll be calling your parents.”
Freddie walked dejectedly into his house, holding his little brother’s hand. Billy took a deep breath, and Rooster shook his head, muttering some profanity. Kyle stared ahead. The twins remained seated in the car.
“Everybody OK?” asked Lt. Stephenson.
“Yes, sir,” said Kyle. “We were just hanging on the boardwalk.”
The lieutenant went up into the boys’ faces.
“I don’t smell any alcohol,” he said.
“No, sir,” said Kyle. “We were just hanging out on the boardwalk.”
Lt. Stephenson appraised them for a few seconds, and then said, “Go on home. Now!”
“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled, and got back in the car, relieved to be leaving. Mrs. Schlossberg went inside with a wave to Lt. Stephenson who watched the boys as they drove off.
“Who’s next?” asked Billy.
“I’ll take you home first. You’re the closest,” said Kyle.
“We are screwed,” said Rooster. “So screwed.”
“What are you talking about?” snapped Darren. “You live in a fucking tent!”
“The hell with you,” retorted Rooster.
“You’re being tough now?” asked Darren.
Billy saw Rooster blanch. He’d be no match for Darren in a fight. “Screw you,” said Rooster, facing forward.
“Shut up everybody,” said Kyle. “We all lost Freddie.”
“Hey, he was with you,” said Darren.
“OK, we lost Freddie, but fighting won’t fix anything. And Freddie’s safe, so the whole thing will blow over.”
Darren went back to his usual silence. Dwight stared out the window. The drive home, barely half of a mile, took forever. The way the night was going, there was no chance his parents would be asleep, and they weren’t. Billy saw the living room lights on and braced himself for the worst. It was almost 4:00 in the morning. He got out of the car and poked his head back in the window. “Catch you later,” he said.
The other boys nodded perfunctorily. Kyle stepped down gently on the accelerator and headed for the twins’ house. The air was still. The only sound Billy could hear was the fading engine of Kyle’s car. He walked to the side door of his house, praying for a miracle. When he stepped into the kitchen he saw his father standing in the middle of the room in his bathrobe, talking on the phone. His Dad glared in his direction and pointed toward the living room. Billy obligingly went in.
“Yes, Jean, yes,” Billy heard his father say. “I understand. I’m terribly sorry. He just got home. Yes, you better believe I’m going to talk to him about it.”
Billy sat down on the couch across from his mother. She sat upright in the recliner, her arms at her sides, tapping her feet. She didn’t acknowledge him.
“Good-bye Jean," said his father. "I’m glad to hear that Freddie is all right.”
Justine’s door opened and she stuck her head out of her room.
“Is Billy home?” she asked, reveling in the moment.
“Go back to bed,” said her mother.
“Oh, Mom,” she whined.
“Get back to bed!” her mother snapped.
Justine rolled her eyes and closed the door.
Billy’s heard his father hang up the phone and come into the living room, but he didn’t look up. It was like there were a pair of twenty pound weights suspended from his eyebrows.
“That was Mrs. Schlossberg,” said his Dad.
Billy winced and clasped his hands. He stared at the carpeting.
“I said,” his father repeated, “That was Mrs. Schlossberg.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that all you can say?” asked his father. “Yeah?”
His dad walked over to the window and looked outside. He came back and sat on the other end of the couch, and picked up one of the ceramic farm children. He banged it down on the table. Billy jumped.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” his father said firmly. His face was turning red.
“Dad…” Billy started.
“Shut up!” yelled Frank.
“I don’t understand, Billy.” His mother’s voice was soft but it was emotionless. Like ice. “I don’t understand what’s happened to you.”
“Your mother was worried sick about you.” His father writhed in anger.
“Calm down, Frank. It’s not good for you to get angry.”
“Tell me how I can help it!”
Frank picked up the ceramic farm boy again. If it were a lump of clay it would’ve been twisted and pulled into tiny pieces. Billy was actually worried it would shatter in his father’s hands and cut him.
“You talk to him, Carol. If I do it, I might have another heart attack.”
Billy’s mom looked at him for the first time since he came home. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair uncombed. Billy could see small varicose veins creeping out from under the hem of her nightgown. She was wearing tattered terry-cloth slippers.
“Look me in the eyes,” she said.
He tried, but he could only hold his head up for an instant before the pull of gravity drove his eyes to the floor.
“All these years, Billy, I relied on you. Through all the problems with Justine, through all the years of going to my crappy job…your father’s health. With all the things to worry about, I thought at least I’ve got Billy. He’s a good boy. He’s a smart boy. I don’t have to worry about him. Oh no. Not Billy. Whatever goes wrong at least I know I’ve done right in something. Raising my son.”
Billy shifted in his seat. The blood welled up in his face. It was like their was a thin layer of acid over his skin.
“And now this. You drive off God knows where doing God knows what…Drugs? Is it drugs? I don’t know what to believe.”
“Mom…”
His father shoved the knick-knack in his face. “Shut up and let your mother talk.”
“And taking poor little Freddie Schlossberg along?’ his mom continued. “For what? What were you doing? Making fun of him? Having a little fun at his expense? Pumping him up on drugs?”
“Mom, no!”
“And you, with Justine for a sister. I’d think you’d have more compassion.”
“It wasn’t like that!”
His mom looked away. “I can’t talk to you now. I’m too tired and upset. But believe me, this isn’t over.”
“Not by a long shot!” added his father.
“Now go upstairs.”
Billy stood and walked towards the doorway. “We were not making fun of Freddie,” he said.
“I’m going to sleep,” said his mother.
“Let me tell you something, Billy,” said his dad. “For the rest of the summer, you are up shit’s creek.”
Billy took his time walking home. The sky was clear and there wasn’t a trace of humidity. It would’ve been a great night to drive out to the Watchung Reservation. He and his friends had found a spot on a hillside where on a clear night you could see the skyline of New York City. They’d bring a bottle of cold duck and some Doritos and talk about escaping from Fairfield. Billy actually thought the taste of cold duck was vile, but the idea of it was cool. The air would be filled with the smell of trees, and occasionally they’d hear a quick scampering of something running in the underbrush. Probably an opossum or a raccoon. They’d talk for hours. His mom would always ask him what he did with his friends, and he’d say, “Just talk.” She didn’t believe him.
“You can tell me,” she’d say. “When I was your age, sometimes kids would go to make-out parties. I’m not so innocent.”
Make-out parties. Billy could think of nothing more horrible than trying to make out with a girl and overhearing somebody else panting and moaning. Or worse, being walked in on, or feeling he was competing with someone in the next room.
“What do you talk about?” his mother would ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Just stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“I don’t know. Stuff.”
What would be the point of telling her? She wouldn’t believe him, anyway. Or worse, she’d get upset and tell him to get new friends.
By the time Billy got home, it was almost 11:30. He was surprised to see his mother on the porch, still awake. He had been counting on watching Johnny Carson by himself on the basement TV and then going to bed.
“The happy wanderer,” said his mom. She had a copy of People on her lap and a bowl of popcorn next to her that looked untouched. She opened the magazine and started riffling through the pages.
“I’m surprised you’re still up,” said Billy, opening the screen door and stepping on to the porch.
“I couldn’t sleep,” said his mom. She picked up the bowl of popcorn and put it down again, along with her magazine. “I couldn’t eat, either.”
“Where’s Justine?”
“She fell asleep listening to her music.”
Carol picked up her magazine and started leafing through it, too fast to actually be reading anything. “Well, goodnight,” she said off-handedly.
Instead of being relieved at the absence of questioning, Billy was unnerved. He took a step towards the kitchen door, but then stopped.
“Any news about Dad?”
“Nope.”
“Something wrong?” But he knew.
“I thought you’d be home when I got back from the hospital.”
“I needed to take a walk.”
Billy’s mom dropped the magazine back in her lap and stared out on to the street. “I thought maybe for one night you wouldn’t need to go see your friends.”
“Mom…”
“I thought maybe tonight you’d think that I needed company.”
He could see her jaw quiver. She inhaled deeply trying to contain herself.
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, still avoiding eye contact. “This is hard for you, too. I told myself I wouldn’t heap guilt on top of it. I know this isn’t pleasant for you. It isn’t pleasant for any of us. We’re a family, and I –“ She stopped in mid-sentence .
Billy moved towards her. “Mom, really, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t…”
She raised her hand to stop him. It was like she had put a dagger in him.
“Please, Billy,” she said. “Don’t defend yourself. If you don’t want to stay here with me, you don’t have to. You’re a big boy. You’re almost a man.” She wiped her eyes and looked away. Now he couldn’t see her face at all. “Damn,” she said. “I wasn’t going to cry.”
Billy started creeping closer to his mother, but then stopped. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t seem forced? He had been crying on Shari’s shoulder and his mother had been here all by herself. That was the truth of it. ‘I’m so fucked up,’ he thought, but he said nothing.
“It’s OK, Billy. Go on inside. I’m going to bed.” She rose from her chair.
“Mom.” His voice was high pitched and thin. “I really am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Forget it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
She put her hand on his shoulder and looked up at him. He noticed a few silver strands scattered through her hair, like tinsel.
“Goodnight, Billy,” she said. She turned away and then let her hand drop from his shoulder as she walked past him into the house.
Billy stood on the porch. It felt like there was a boa constrictor around his lungs. His eyes burned but they didn’t form any tears. He flung the screen door open, went out on to the step, and sat down abruptly, burying his face into his hands and pulling at his hair. He rocked back and forth slowly, detesting himself.
*********************************************************
His mom used to call him her little man. When he was four years old and it was Justine’s first birthday, he had helped his mother bake Justine’s cake. “You are such a big boy,” his mother had said. “And such a big help, too.”
He beamed. As a reward she had let him lick the batter off the spoon. At the time he thought how fortunate his mother was to have him around. All that measuring and stirring and decorating. His mother had even been at a loss as to what color the “Happy Birthday, Justine” should be written in until he had suggested the obvious purple and green. Not to mention all the hard work he had done cutting out the stars and hearts that needed to be hung up around the house in anticipation of the big day.
The party had been a rousing success. Aunt Kate and Uncle Stu had driven up from Philadelphia. All of Justine’s playgroup was there, and Mom and Dad had even let him invite his best friend, Joey, who was moving to Syracuse the next month. For a while, Billy had been confused. He thought Joey was moving to “see a moose”, and wondered why he just didn’t go to the zoo.
They sang songs and ate cake. His mom had let him unwrap all of Justine’s presents. She was too little to do it herself. Besides, she only liked playing with the ribbons, anyway. Later he and Joey went outside and played with the junior-sized football his parents had bought him for being such a big help.
That night his mother had come to tuck him into bed and say good night.
“That was some party, huh?” she said. “And you did such a great job with the cake.”
Billy smiled. “I like baking cakes.”
“Well, you’re very good at it.”
“On my birthday, Mommy, “ asked Billy, “Can I bake my own cake?”
“Of course you can.”
She pulled the covers up around him and gave him a kiss on the forehead.
“You’re getting to be such a big boy. Before you know it you’ll be all grown up.”
He couldn’t imagine it.
“Will I be as tall as Daddy?” he asked.
“Maybe taller! Now go to sleep.”
She gave him another kiss, and he rolled on to his side.
“Good-night, Mommy.”
“Good-night.”
She turned out the lights and stood in the doorway looking back at him. There was a full moon, and the light from the window washed over his face.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you more,” said Billy quickly, almost mischievously.
“No, I love you more.”
“No, I love you more,” he said, giggling.
“You couldn’t possibly love me more,” said his mother.
“Yes, I can.”
“Shhh. Good-night and go to sleep.”
He hugged his football and drifted off.
************************************************************
Billy stamped his foot on the step and exhaled through his teeth. One year. He’d be out of the house in one year. Then, he wouldn’t have to worry about anybody but himself. Every little thing he did wouldn’t be analyzed and blown out of proportion. No one would expect anything from him and he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else. Damn them all, anyway.
Chapter 18
The frisbee curved way out of bounds and hit the ground on its edge, rolling in a sharp arc until it flopped over near Billy’s feet. He had only just arrived at the field, and hadn’t yet been noticed. Kyle pulled himself out of the game and ran over to him. Rooster trotted behind.
“Hey, man,” said Kyle. His hair was pulled back with a red bandana with a faint black paisley design. “I haven’t seen you around much the last couple weeks. How’s your Dad?” Sweat ran in tiny trickles down his neck.
“He’s OK,” said Billy. They clearly wanted more. “He came home from the hospital yesterday.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah,” Billy mumbled.
“Is he going to be all right?” asked Kyle.
“I guess so,” offered Billy. “He’s been taking it easy.”
They stood in a circle for a moment. Billy rubbed the back of his head.
“So, you’ve been hanging out at home?” asked Rooster.
“Yeah…and with Shari,” he added.
“Cool,” said Rooster, obviously impressed. “And may I say, about time. Where’s she now?”
“She left for North Carolina with her family.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
Rooster swiped the disc from Kyle and started spinning it on his finger. “So now you’re back with the rest of the freaks, huh?” he said.
While they were talking, Susan had joined them. She was panting and sweaty from running. When she tried to grab the frisbee from Rooster, he held it over his head and laughed. She was not amused.
“If you guys are going to stand around and talk, give us the disc.”
She vainly jumped for it, and then gave Rooster a light poke in the gut.
“Yow!” he squealed. “All right. All right. Hey, Billy-boy, sorry about the old man.” Then, he took off towards the other kids with Susan matching him stride for stride.
“Thanks,” Billy called after him.
Kyle gave Billy a mock punch in the arm.
“Do you want to take my place?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Billy jogged over to the rest of the gang. He was greeted warmly with pats on the back and a few friendly insults. It felt great.
“Where’s our goal and whose on my team?” he asked.
Joel piped up. “It’s you, me, Darren, Jeff, Susan, and Mitchell. We’re going that way,” he said, pointing to the far end zone.
‘Mitchell?’ thought Billy. ‘What’s he doing here?’
He gave Mitchell a little nod. Mitchell answered with a big wave. Free of the hair net, his hair increased significantly in volume. He looked like a dandelion gone to seed.
‘Have I been out of it that long?’ he thought. “Mitchell?”
After one uncomfortable night at home with his mother, he had been spending nearly every waking second either at the Food Town or with Shari, talking or making out. Once they visited Rooster in his tent, but it had been really crowded, and for some reason Billy was getting tired of smoking dope. He and Shari had made what they laughingly called “The Great Escape” and went to Breyer’s for ice cream and then down to the park to throw rocks in the river. Later, they sneaked into some woods and made out with their shirts off. He had been almost overwhelmed at the sight of her breasts and the slightly salty taste of her skin as he had clumsily kissed them, not knowing whether he should avoid or concentrate on her nipples. In the end, they just lay hugging until their arms were numb. That night in bed he had jerked off, dreaming of being inside her, wondering how he would ever have the nerve.
“Next goal wins!” shouted Kyle. It was nearly dark.
Billy was guarding Dwight but he was always a step or two behind. Dwight caught a pass from Kerry and whipped the frisbee down the sideline. Mitchell, showing surprising speed, raced it down and slapped it, but the disc wobbled a few more feet through the air and into Kyle’s outstretched hands for the game winner. Rooster jumped on Kyle’s back and let out a scream, and started singing “We Are the Champions.”
As the kids coalesced at the end of the field, Kyle and Rooster approached Billy. “Hey, man,” said Rooster. “Up for an adventure?”
“What?” asked Billy.
“I’ve got the keys to my Dad’s Chevy,” said Kyle.
“How’d you wrangle that?” said Billy, obviously impressed.
“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. How about a run down to the shore tonight?”
“Tonight?” asked Billy.
“The night is young. We can be there in under an hour. Asbury Park, dude.” said Rooster. “Boardwalk, babes, greasy food, and roller coasters. Tell me that’s not heaven. Are you in?”
If his parents knew they’d kill him.
“Sure, I’m in,” said Billy. “Should we let the others know?”
“I can only fit five comfortably,” said Kyle. “Kerry, I guess, makes four.”
“Nah, she’s busy,” said Rooster. “This night is men only.”
“How about the twins?” asked Kyle.
“Sounds good to me,” said Rooster. “Billy?”
“Fine with me.”
They rounded up Dwight and Darren and casually separated themselves from the others. Once they were clear, they made a beeline to the other side of the high school to where Kyle’s car was parked. Rooster jumped up on the hood.
“Does this thing have a tape deck?” he asked.
“Take it easy, man. Yeah, of course. Four speakers,” said Kyle.
Rooster bellowed. “Four? Quadrophenia, man! Wild!”
Kyle opened the front door and pulled out a shoebox from under the seat. “I’ve got Elvis Costello, The Dead, Bob Marly, Springsteen…”
“Quite an eclectic collection, my man, but there is no question. We’re heading down the Jersey shore. It’s got to be The Boss!” said Rooster.
Dwight and Darren grunted their agreement.
“The Boss it is!” said Kyle.
As they were getting in the car, Billy spotted Freddie “The Slush Man” Schlossberg heading towards them. Freddie broke into an awkward run, waving his arms over his head.
“Hey, guys! What’s up? Where are you going?” he yelled, barely containing his exuberance.
They looked at each other. Rooster smiled and tilted his head, his eyebrows raised in a question. Freddie looked so excited. It would be hard to turn him away, but should they really bring him along?
Kyle asked, “You think so? You’ll be crammed in the back.”
“Fine with me,” said Billy.
“What?” asked Darren.
“Say, Slush Man,” said Kyle, walking up to Freddie. “We’re heading down to the shore. Do you want to come?”
“You mean you’re driving all the way to the boardwalk?” Freddie’s eyes widened.
“Do you want to come?” asked Kyle.
“I don’t know,” said Freddie, hesitantly. “That’s kind of far. I better ask my Mom.”
“Oh, come on, Freddie,” said Rooster. “You don’t have to ask your Mom. You’re almost seventeen. Just come with us. It’ll be cool.”
“Cool, huh?”
“The ultimate in cool,” said Rooster.
Billy could see Freddie working hard to come to a decision. His face screwed up with the effort. Then with a look of determination he said, “OK, I’ll come.”
“Way to go, Slush Man!” roared Rooster, pumping his fists.
“Yeah, let’s go!” said Freddie, nodding his head enthusiastically. He smiled broadly and raised one fist in the air. “I’m going!”
“Go, Slush Man!” cried Rooster.
Darren let out a whoop and Kyle slapped Freddie on the back. Freddie basked in their approval. “I’m going!” he repeated.
“Then let’s go,” said Kyle.
The boys piled into the car and headed for the Garden State Parkway. Kyle and Rooster were in the front seat and the other four boys were squeezed into the back, with Freddie on Dwight’s and Darren’s laps. Billy nabbed a window seat.
“You got Rosalita?” he asked.
“No, no, no,” said Rooster. “Born to Run!”
“Born to Run!” shouted Freddie, bouncing up and down.
“Hey, settle down a little, Freddie,” said Dwight. “we’re packed like sardines in here.”
They pulled on to the Parkway and Kyle pushed down heavily on the accelerator.
“Open all the windows,” yelled Rooster.
He put the cassette in the tape player and turned up the volume. The music blasted and the wind whipped their faces.
“We are on the road!” shouted Rooster. “Going mobile!” He drummed the roof of the car. “Wahoo!”
Darren and Dwight let out another whoop. They’d been in the car barely ten minutes, but already Billy’s cheeks ached from smiling. They zoomed down the Parkway, screaming along with the music. Rooster banged on the dashboard to the beat. Freddie bounced on Dwight’s and Darren’s laps, and the car practically pulsated as Kyle wove through traffic, changing lanes with aplomb.
Springsteen’s voice was raspy, hard-edged, and full of life.
Every day we sweat it out on the streets
Of a runaway American Dream.
The backstreet chorus sang, “Ba-Boom.”
At night we ride to mansions of glory in suicide machines.
“Ba-Boom”
Sprung from cages out on highway nine
Chrome wheeled, fuel-injected, and steppin’ our over the line.
“OH! OH!”
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It’s a death trap
It’s a suicide rap
We got to get out while we’re young
Because tramps like us
Baby we were…
“BORN TO RUN!”
Rooster put his head out the window and yelled, “Did you hear that world? You are not real, so just get the hell over it!”
“Oooh yeah,” croaked Billy, “Born to ru-uh-un.”
His cares flew out into the night. The speed. The music. His buddies. The shore. For this moment, anyway, the world was good. He didn’t have to worry if he was kissing anybody correctly, or doing what he was supposed to, or pissing anybody off. There was no Justine. There were no such things as heart attacks. There was music and driving and the night. And there was the Jersey shore hanging out in front of him like a Christmas tree ornament waiting to be plucked.
Too soon, they arrived at Asbury Park. As if magically blessed, they found a prime parking spot almost immediately. The smell of brine was sharp in their nostrils.
“Gentleman, we have arrived,” said Kyle.
They burst out of the car and on to the boardwalk.
“Where to first?” asked Rooster.
“The rides,” said Dwight.
“Yeah!” said Darren.
“The pier of paradise, it is,” cried Rooster, “But first I need a funnel cake.”
The boardwalk was pulsing with life. Families, teenagers in packs and on dates, fat men in Bermuda shorts and skinny old women in flower print bathing suits. And girls. Girls in bikini tops and shorts, their hair bleached by the sun and their skin various shades of bronze.
“One funnel cake,” repeated the vendor. “Anybody else?”
Billy checked his pockets. He only had about ten dollars, and he didn’t want to blow it all right away.
“No, I’m OK,” he said.
Darren and Dwight shook their heads.
“Oh, man, you don’t know what you’re missing,” said Rooster, sprinkling powdered sugar on top of the hot and greasy fried dough. “Nectar and ambrosia, baby, nectar and ambrosia.”
The boardwalk was lined with restaurants, beach shops, and arcades. And of course a wide collection of games designed to steal your money. Knock down the milk bottles. Throw darts at balloons. Test your strength. See the wheel of fortune spin, as the person behind the counter sweeps piles of quarters into his money box.
Music blared from each stand. Lights flashed, and the barkers teased, urged, and coaxed. Some muscle-bound jock strutted by with a girl on one arm and a giant Winnie-the-Pooh in the other, carrying it with the puffed up pride of a prehistoric hunter.
“Are we going to the rides now?” asked Darren.
“OK, let’s go,” said Rooster, stuffing the last of his funnel cake into his mouth and noisily licking his fingers.
“No, wait!” cried Kyle, stopping suddenly.
“What?” asked Billy.
“Look at the prizes on the water gun race.”
The water gun race was a game where a row of contestants had to shoot water pistols attached to hoses at their own individual target. Each target– the mouth of a plastic clown’s head – was connected to a balloon. The more water that hit a switch in the mouth, the more the balloon inflated. The winner was the first to pop his balloon.
“What prize?” asked Billy.
“A Springsteen album. Greetings from Asbury Park.”
“For what it would cost you to win it, you could buy it,” said Billy.
“No,” said Kyle. He grabbed Billy by the shoulders. “Don’t you get it? To actually win a Springsteen album on the New Jersey boardwalk? That would be so cool.”
“The pinnacle of Jerseydom,” agreed Rooster. “A must.”
Billy had to admit the beauty of it.
“We’re going to the rides,” said Darren.
“Go ahead, then,” said Kyle. “We’ll meet you at Lucky Leo’s.”
“When?” asked Dwight.
“The stroke of midnight,” said Rooster.
The twins headed off.
“Are you with me?” asked Kyle.
“We’re with you!” shouted Freddie.
They waited for the next game to end and then all took their positions.
“I don’t have any money,” said Freddie. “It costs a quarter.”
“Here’s a buck,” said Billy.
“Gee, thanks,” said Freddie. “You guys are the best friends ever. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it, Slush Man,” said Billy.
“Is everybody ready?” yelled the barker, a middle-aged man with a beer gut and two days of stubble. He raised his arm and then lowered it quickly while pressing a buzzer. “Shoot your clown!”
Billy missed the clown’s mouth at first, but then quickly started inflating his balloon. He knew it was hopeless, though. In this game, every half of a second counted.
“We have a winner! The fine looking gentleman in the Zeppelin T-shirt!”
“Damn!” said Rooster.
They each put another quarter down and tried again. They lost, but Kyle came close. The third time was about the same, as was the fourth.
“Let’s give up,” said Billy.
“No, way,” said Kyle. “I’ve got to do this. Go on ahead if you want.”
“I’m with you, man,” said Rooster. “We will not be denied.”
Billy didn’t want to go off by himself and he knew it was too late to catch up with Darren and Dwight. He pulled out another dollar.
“OK,” he said. “I’m in.”
“Ready?” cried the barker. He paused for effect. The contestants gripped their water pistols and honed in on their targets. “Shoot your clown!” he cried. Then his arm came down, the buzzer went off, and the jets of water sprayed.
“I won!” screamed Kyle.
“The boy with the mop of golden hair,” said the man behind the counter. “Name your prize.”
“The Springsteen CD!”
Rooster gave Kyle a high-five.
“Sorry, son, that’s a five-win prize. For one win you get a giant crayon bank or a beach ball.”
“What?” asked Kyle.
“What a rip-off,” moaned Rooster.
“Those are the prizes, son, or I can give you a win token and you can keep playing.”
“I’m going to keep playing,” said Kyle, slapping down another quarter.
“Onward!” cried Rooster, doing the same.
Billy slipped another bill out of his wallet to join them. They might pull this off, after all.
“Shoot your clown!” yelled the barker.
Kyle was on a roll. He won the next two games and then Billy won the game after that. That gave them four win tokens. The boys were electrified. Then, to their dismay, a veteran player stepped up to the counter and nabbed three successive wins. Kyle nervously eyed the album. Two more wins, and this guy could steal it from under their nose.
“Look at that guy,” mumbled Kyle. “He thinks he has a mustache.”
“I thought it was some dirt,” said Rooster.
The barker came over to their end of the row, and leaned into them. He smelled of pizza and garlic.
“You boys in or not?” he asked while stubbing his thick fingers at the empty space on the counter in front of them.
“We’re in,” said Kyle and slapped down another quarter. The other boys followed suit.
“OK then,” said the barker. He let out a belch. “Sorry about the delay folks. OK, are you ready? Well, then…shoot your clown!”
Kyle’s water jet went directly into the clown’s mouth, as did that of the guy with the pre-pubescent mustache. Their balloons filled in tandem, stretching to their limits. Their pops were almost simultaneous.
“We have a winner!” screamed the barker.
They held their breaths in anticipation.
“The mop head!”
“Ay-ay-aya-ya-ya-yay!” screamed Rooster.
“Springsteen, man, give me Springsteen,” said Kyle. You’d think he just won a gold medal at the Olympics.
Billy was relieved, but he eyed the album enviously. “I’ve got to admit. This is going to be a great story.”
“Something to tell his grandchildren!” said Rooster.
Kyle gazed at his album lovingly.
“Wait until the twins see this!” he said. “Let’s head over to Lucky Leo’s.”
Kyle looked at his friends and smiled. Then Billy saw his face go blank.
“Where’s Freddie?” asked Kyle.
Billy’s heart plunged to his feet. He spun around.
“Oh, shit,” he said.
“He’s got to be around here somewhere,” said Rooster.
“Shit, shit, shit,” said Billy.
“Don’t panic,” said Kyle.
“Freddie! Freddie! Hey, Slush Man!” cried Rooster.
Billy looked around. There were people everywhere, but no Freddie. The three of them kept screaming his name. Rooster darted about like a decapitated chicken. A woman who appeared to be in her forties -- deeply tanned and wearing too much sky blue eye-shadow -- hurried over to them. “Did you lose a little child?” she asked, nervously in a high-pitched Brooklyn accent.
“No, he’s about our age,” said Kyle.
Billy saw her relax.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be all right,” she said, and started walking away.
“You don’t understand,” cried Rooster. “He’s retarded.”
But she didn’t hear him over the hubub.
The three of them walked over to the railing and started pacing back and forth. The weight of responsibility made them nauseous.
“Tell me he wouldn’t go down to the water,” said Rooster. “Tell me he wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t think he would,” said Billy. “He probably got distracted by something, and wandered off. We can find him. I’m sure he’s OK.”
Rooster was on the verge of tears. He was hitting his palm with his fist.
“If someone fucked with him, man, I’ll rip his head off.”
“Calm down,” said Kyle. “He’s probably been gone ten minutes.”
“How do you know?” yelled Rooster.
“Hey, don’t yell at me!” said Kyle. “You’re the one who asked him to come.”
“Don’t blame me man!”
Billy stepped between them. “Listen to me guys.” They stopped squaring off and looked to Billy.
“He’s probably all right, but yelling at each other isn’t going to help. What time is it, Kyle?”
“Christ! It’s almost midnight!”
“OK, look. Let’s go to Lucky Leo’s and get the twins. It’s not that far. Then we’ll spread out and look for Freddie. No wait,” said Billy, changing his mind. “You two guys head the opposite way until you get to the end of the boardwalk. I’ll meet up with Dwight and Darren and start heading the other way. When we each get to the end, we can turn around and meet up at Lucky Leo’s, got it?”
“That sounds good,” said Kyle.
“OK, I’ll see you at Leo’s”
Kyle put his hands on Rooster’s shoulders. “You, OK, man?”
“Yeah, I’m OK.”
“I’ll search in all the stores and stuff, you scan the boardwalk and the beach.”
The two boys took off down the boardwalk. Billy started heading for Lucky Leo’s. He could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. Was this what a heart attack was like?
Freddie was so innocent and clueless. How could they forget about him? What if they couldn’t find him? What the hell were they going to tell his mother? What time were they going to get home even if they did find him? He was sure to be screwed.
When he told Darren and Dwight they barely said a word but he could tell they were shaken, too. They scoured every inch of the boardwalk from Lucky Leo’s on down, checking stores, the public rest rooms, every place they could think of. As they ran out of boardwalk they became more and more concerned.
“That’s it,” said Dwight. “That’s the end.”
“Should we go to the police?” asked Darren.
“No, no, “ said Billy. “Not yet. Maybe Kyle and Rooster found him. Let’s go back to Lucky Leo’s.”
They started walking back up the boardwalk, still keeping alert for any sign of Freddie. Billy looked out at the waves crashing into the shore. ‘He wouldn’t go swimming,’ thought Billy. ‘He didn’t have a bathing suit. Freddie wouldn’t go swimming without a bathing suit, would he?’
As they approached the arcade, Billy could see Kyle and Rooster coming from the other direction. One look at their faces and he knew they had come up empty handed. They read the same thing in his face so when they actually met up there was no need to explain.
“What the fuck are we going to do?” said Rooster.
The crowd on the boardwalk had thinned out significantly. Most of the shops were closed.
“What time is it?” said Billy.
“It’s 1:30,” said Kyle. “Bar time is 2:00. Then this place will be deserted.”
“Maybe we should go to the police,” said Darren.
“Oh, Christ, I can’t believe this,” said Rooster. He walked over to the railing and banged his fists. “Where the hell would he go?”
“I say we go to the police,” said Darren.
“Oh, right, then our parents will know everything,” said Kyle. “He’s probably just walking around.”
“That’s right!” shouted Billy. “He’s probably walking around. He loves walking around at night. I’m always running into him on my way home. He just goes up and down the streets.”
An expression of hope blossomed on Kyle’s face.
“OK, this is what we do,” he said. “We go back to the car. We drive up and down the streets looking for him. If we can’t find him in another hour, then we go to the police. Sound good?”
“That’s OK with me,” said Billy.
“Yeah, yeah” said Rooster, “He’s probably just walking around.”
The four boys raced back to the car.
“OK, everybody look out a window,’ said Kyle.
“Why don’t you go up and down the streets parallel to the boardwalk first?” asked Billy.
“Shit,” said Rooster.
“What’s the problem now?” asked Kyle.
“Cop alert. There are some cops in that car over there looking at us.”
The boys turned to see them.
“Don’t look at them!” shouted Rooster. “What are you? Idiots?”
“We’re not drunk and we don’t have any dope, so what’s the big deal? Wait! Do you have anything on you?” asked Kyle.
“No, I’m clean for once in my life.”
Billy sighed audibly. Thank God it wasn’t going to get even worse.
“We’re leaving. What’s the big deal with cops?” asked Dwight.
“I think we should go to the cops,” said Darren.
“Not yet!” said Kyle. “And don’t worry about the stupid cops.”
“You don’t think it will look suspicious, us driving up and down the streets?” asked Billy.
Kyle sat with his hands on the steering wheel. Billy could see the muscles tensing in his back. His knuckles were white from the strength of his grip.
“OK,” said Kyle, “Let me think.”
“For cryin’ out loud,” said Rooster. He kept twisting and turning in his seat, occasionally hitting the dash.
“Will you stop it!” yelled Kyle. His face was red. Billy thought he was about to slap Rooster in the head. Things were definitely breaking down.
“Cool it, man,” said Billy. “If they stop us, we’ll explain. We didn’t do anything wrong. What are you so worried about?”
“Right, right. We’re clean,” said Rooster.
Darren mumbled something but Billy couldn’t hear him. He was probably just repeating his desire to go directly to the police.
Kyle slowly pulled out of the parking space. Billy kept his eye on the police. There were two officers. One of them resembled an older version of a high school football player with the beginnings of a middle-aged paunch. His partner had a dark moustache and his foot up on the bumper of his patrol car. He was swinging something on a chain, and was chomping on some gum..
As they rounded the corner, Billy saw the smaller officer watching them leave, but thankfully they didn’t get in their car to come after them. He relaxed a little and started scanning the street for Freddie.
They drove until they reached the end of the boardwalk and then turned the car around and went to the other end, but found nothing. In doing so, however, they passed the parked cruiser. This time, Billy saw the shorter office point in their direction. The burly one looked up and then motioned for his partner to get into the patrol car. As Kyle turned the corner, Billy saw the officers get in their vehicle.
“Cop alert,” Billy whispered.
“Remember,” said Kyle, “We’re just looking for a friend.”
He made two left turns and started heading up the next street that was parallel to the beach. Billy saw the cops’ headlights about a block behind them.
“There!” screamed Darren.
“What?”
“On that bench. Sleeping. Is that Freddie?”
Kyle swerved over to the curb and leapt out of the car. The other boys followed. It was Freddie.
Billy almost collapsed to his knees. Dwight sat down on the fender, as Kyle and Rooster rushed over to Freddie and shook him awake.
“Freddie!” said Kyle. “Are you all right?”
Freddie slowly woke up. When he saw the boys he smiled. “Time to go?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Rooster. “Where the hell did you go?”
Freddie started crying. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” said Billy. “Leave him alone, Rooster. What good is yelling going to do?”
Billy went over to Freddie and sat down next to him. “What happened, Freddie?” he asked. Freddie spoke through his sobs as he twisted and untwisted the bottom of his shirt. “I ran out of quarters so I couldn’t play the game anymore.”
“Then what?” asked Billy.
“I thought I’d go for a walk and wait by the car, but…but…” He started weeping.
“It’s OK, man, what?” asked Billy.
“I couldn’t find it. I’m stupid, stupid, stupid!” He started hitting himself in the head. The other boys were taken aback. They had never seen anything resembling anger from Freddie before.
“Let’s go,” said Rooster.
Billy took hold of Freddie’s hands and put them in his lap. He stroked his hair. The other boys looked on in silence. Billy put his arm around Freddie. “You are not stupid. You are the ultimate in cool. You just got lost. People get lost.”
Freddie wiped his nose with his shirt and stood up. He dusted off his pants and took a few big gulps of air. “I just got lost. People get lost.”
“Yeah, that’s right. People get lost. No big deal,” said Billy, reassuringly.
“Yeah, no big deal,” said Rooster. “Sorry about the yelling.”
He looked over his shoulder for the cops. They were sitting in their patrol car down the street. The taller one was drinking coffee.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Kyle.
They got back in the car and headed towards home, coming to a complete stop at every stop sign and using their blinker at every turn. The boys said nothing but they were all were painfully aware of the cop car following them to the town line, and they all sighed audibly when it abandoned them as their car headed onto the entrance ramp to the Parkway.
Chapter 19
They barely spoke on the ride home. The Parkway was deserted so they made good time, but Kyle was too freaked by the cops following them in Seaside Heights Park to consider speeding. He stuck to five miles over the speed limit. That was safe, he said.
Freddie fell asleep in the back, but the other boys sat facing forward, fully alert, each alone in his own thoughts, imagining what lay ahead. The Grateful Dead played on the car stereo. It was a bootlegged concert tape. They listened as Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir traded long, circuitous riffs on their guitars. Then, the band segued seamlessly into a rendition of St. Stephen.
St. Stephen will remain
All he lost he shall regain
Seashore washed by the suds and the foam
Been so long he’s got to calling it home.
Kyle guided the car off the Parkway and on to Central Street. The town was empty. All the traffic lights flashed yellow. “I’m taking Freddie home first,” he said.
The rest of the boys didn’t respond. Rooster tried to rock to the music, and Darren shifted Freddie’s weight back on to his brother. As they rounded the corner they saw the worst possible sight – a police car parked in front of the Schlossberg’s house.
“These cops are everywhere,” complained Rooster.
Mrs. Schlossberg was in the front yard. The light from the open front door spread out across the lawn, backlighting her. One of Freddie’s younger brothers was hanging on her housedress as she spoke to a police officer. With one hand in her hair and one hugging her waist, she was shaking her head and talking excitedly. Then, she caught sight of Kyle’s car, and followed it with her eyes as it pulled up behind the patrol car. When Billy saw the terror in her face his nausea returned.
“Wake up, Freddie,” he said, shaking Freddie’s knee.
“Are we home already?” said a yawning Freddie.
“Yeah, you fell asleep.”
As Freddie came to, Billy saw the fear emerge on his face. His voice got all choked up. “I’m in trouble,” he said. Billy thought Freddie was about to start crying again, which is not what they needed.
“It’s our fault, Freddie,” he said. “Blame us.”
“But don’t tell your mom you were lost,” said Rooster. “Tell her we just lost track of time.”
Kyle turned off the engine and the headlights. The cop and Mrs. Schlossberg started towards their car. Mrs. Schlossberg was running, her little one trailing after her. The car door opened and Freddie stepped out. He was crying.
“Freddie! Oh my God! Thank God!”
Mrs. Schlossberg grabbed him and squeezed him with everything she had. Freddie broke out into full-fledged weeping.
“I’m…sorry I’m…so late,” he gasped. “I got lost.”
“Oh shit,” said Rooster under his breath.
Mrs. Schlossberg held on to Freddie, but glared at the other boys. Dwight and Darren were still in the car, but the others stood sheepishly next to it.
“What happened?” she asked. “Why didn’t you call?”
“We lost track of time,” said Kyle.
“Where were you?” asked the cop. He was Lt. Stephenson. He had given a lecture on drugs at the high school the year before. The kids had laughed at his crew cut. He reminded them of an army drill sergeant.
“Where?” demanded the lieutenant.
The boys looked at each other.
“We were down at the shore,” said Kyle.
“What?” shrieked Mrs. Schlossberg. “You took him to the shore? Freddie, who told you that you could go to the shore?” Her fear was gone, replaced with anger. Freddie whimpered, “I’m sorry.”
“Get in the house,” she said, releasing him. “As for you boys, I’ll be calling your parents.”
Freddie walked dejectedly into his house, holding his little brother’s hand. Billy took a deep breath, and Rooster shook his head, muttering some profanity. Kyle stared ahead. The twins remained seated in the car.
“Everybody OK?” asked Lt. Stephenson.
“Yes, sir,” said Kyle. “We were just hanging on the boardwalk.”
The lieutenant went up into the boys’ faces.
“I don’t smell any alcohol,” he said.
“No, sir,” said Kyle. “We were just hanging out on the boardwalk.”
Lt. Stephenson appraised them for a few seconds, and then said, “Go on home. Now!”
“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled, and got back in the car, relieved to be leaving. Mrs. Schlossberg went inside with a wave to Lt. Stephenson who watched the boys as they drove off.
“Who’s next?” asked Billy.
“I’ll take you home first. You’re the closest,” said Kyle.
“We are screwed,” said Rooster. “So screwed.”
“What are you talking about?” snapped Darren. “You live in a fucking tent!”
“The hell with you,” retorted Rooster.
“You’re being tough now?” asked Darren.
Billy saw Rooster blanch. He’d be no match for Darren in a fight. “Screw you,” said Rooster, facing forward.
“Shut up everybody,” said Kyle. “We all lost Freddie.”
“Hey, he was with you,” said Darren.
“OK, we lost Freddie, but fighting won’t fix anything. And Freddie’s safe, so the whole thing will blow over.”
Darren went back to his usual silence. Dwight stared out the window. The drive home, barely half of a mile, took forever. The way the night was going, there was no chance his parents would be asleep, and they weren’t. Billy saw the living room lights on and braced himself for the worst. It was almost 4:00 in the morning. He got out of the car and poked his head back in the window. “Catch you later,” he said.
The other boys nodded perfunctorily. Kyle stepped down gently on the accelerator and headed for the twins’ house. The air was still. The only sound Billy could hear was the fading engine of Kyle’s car. He walked to the side door of his house, praying for a miracle. When he stepped into the kitchen he saw his father standing in the middle of the room in his bathrobe, talking on the phone. His Dad glared in his direction and pointed toward the living room. Billy obligingly went in.
“Yes, Jean, yes,” Billy heard his father say. “I understand. I’m terribly sorry. He just got home. Yes, you better believe I’m going to talk to him about it.”
Billy sat down on the couch across from his mother. She sat upright in the recliner, her arms at her sides, tapping her feet. She didn’t acknowledge him.
“Good-bye Jean," said his father. "I’m glad to hear that Freddie is all right.”
Justine’s door opened and she stuck her head out of her room.
“Is Billy home?” she asked, reveling in the moment.
“Go back to bed,” said her mother.
“Oh, Mom,” she whined.
“Get back to bed!” her mother snapped.
Justine rolled her eyes and closed the door.
Billy’s heard his father hang up the phone and come into the living room, but he didn’t look up. It was like there were a pair of twenty pound weights suspended from his eyebrows.
“That was Mrs. Schlossberg,” said his Dad.
Billy winced and clasped his hands. He stared at the carpeting.
“I said,” his father repeated, “That was Mrs. Schlossberg.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that all you can say?” asked his father. “Yeah?”
His dad walked over to the window and looked outside. He came back and sat on the other end of the couch, and picked up one of the ceramic farm children. He banged it down on the table. Billy jumped.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” his father said firmly. His face was turning red.
“Dad…” Billy started.
“Shut up!” yelled Frank.
“I don’t understand, Billy.” His mother’s voice was soft but it was emotionless. Like ice. “I don’t understand what’s happened to you.”
“Your mother was worried sick about you.” His father writhed in anger.
“Calm down, Frank. It’s not good for you to get angry.”
“Tell me how I can help it!”
Frank picked up the ceramic farm boy again. If it were a lump of clay it would’ve been twisted and pulled into tiny pieces. Billy was actually worried it would shatter in his father’s hands and cut him.
“You talk to him, Carol. If I do it, I might have another heart attack.”
Billy’s mom looked at him for the first time since he came home. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair uncombed. Billy could see small varicose veins creeping out from under the hem of her nightgown. She was wearing tattered terry-cloth slippers.
“Look me in the eyes,” she said.
He tried, but he could only hold his head up for an instant before the pull of gravity drove his eyes to the floor.
“All these years, Billy, I relied on you. Through all the problems with Justine, through all the years of going to my crappy job…your father’s health. With all the things to worry about, I thought at least I’ve got Billy. He’s a good boy. He’s a smart boy. I don’t have to worry about him. Oh no. Not Billy. Whatever goes wrong at least I know I’ve done right in something. Raising my son.”
Billy shifted in his seat. The blood welled up in his face. It was like their was a thin layer of acid over his skin.
“And now this. You drive off God knows where doing God knows what…Drugs? Is it drugs? I don’t know what to believe.”
“Mom…”
His father shoved the knick-knack in his face. “Shut up and let your mother talk.”
“And taking poor little Freddie Schlossberg along?’ his mom continued. “For what? What were you doing? Making fun of him? Having a little fun at his expense? Pumping him up on drugs?”
“Mom, no!”
“And you, with Justine for a sister. I’d think you’d have more compassion.”
“It wasn’t like that!”
His mom looked away. “I can’t talk to you now. I’m too tired and upset. But believe me, this isn’t over.”
“Not by a long shot!” added his father.
“Now go upstairs.”
Billy stood and walked towards the doorway. “We were not making fun of Freddie,” he said.
“I’m going to sleep,” said his mother.
“Let me tell you something, Billy,” said his dad. “For the rest of the summer, you are up shit’s creek.”
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