Deadweight
Overcoming
No Matter the Ransom
Heath Miller laid the nine millimeter handgun, provided to him by his employer, in the empty blade of his shovel. He looked up at the luminous edges of low hanging clouds that arranged themselves around a waxing moon. He was hoping for light rain, tonight, to help conceal his tracks. He wore a pair of canvas “All Star” shoes, intentionally purchased two sizes too small from a secondhand store downtown. He was also driving a rental car on loan under a false name and a company credit card.
He looked down into the open crate he had buried in the ground over the weekend. He looked at the shovel and gun that laid next to the pit. And then he looked at the seven year old boy who sat blindfolded on a rock a few yards away. The boy was finishing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Are you just about done?” Heath asked the boy. He could see the boy’s head nodding up and down. “Good.” Heath mumbled.
He walked over and grabbed the boys puny hand, which seemed to collapse in his grip. He led the boy to the pit and grabbed him just below the shoulder of one arm. He lowered the boy into the box. The boy stood with his head just high enough to come over the top of the box frame. Heath picked up the gun and let his arm dangle at his side. He flipped the safety switch.
Heath thought for a moment, picturing his own son. He should have been just around the same age as this boy. He knew his son’s name was Robert and roughly when he was born. That was all.
Heath had met Robert’s mother at a party eight years ago and the evening had led to a fling. Soon, they were regularly finding each other at parties. It was at one such party when she told Heath she was pregnant and that he was the only one she had been with. She dropped out of college and moved home to Wisconsin. She was engaged and married to her high school boyfriend before the birth took place.
To this day, he wished she had afforded him the opportunity to be a part of their future. He couldn’t blame her, though. He knew almost nothing of her past and the odds were slim that they would have been compatible. It was all a heavy burden for Heath but he had no intention of stirring up trouble. For all he knew, she could have divorced her high school sweetheart by now. But it was just as likely that Robert loved his replacement father very much.
After college Heath began sending money to Robert via his grandparents in Wisconsin. The checks were cashed. Heath sent a little at first but soon it became more and more. It was Heath’s aim to send enough that Robert’s mother would never have to work. It was his aim that his son would never be in a position like the boy blindfolded in the wooden crate.
This boy was named John. John’s father was in a position much like Heath. They both owed Heath’s employer upwards of one hundred thousand dollars. Heath was just bad at finance. He worked an honest job at a desk but he also tried, as many do, to ride the stock market to financial independence.
Heath’s employer was a powerful man. He had a floor in the Sears Tower. He had many business ventures; most were legal but many were not. His employer also had a massive bankroll which he extended to promising underlings. These were investments on which he fully expected a valuable return.
By putting John in this hole, it was Heath’s chance to get out. These acts would cancel his debt with his employer. John’s father was a popular Baptist pastor in the Chicago area. With the assistance of Heath’s employer, John’s father was also an up-and-coming politician. Heath’s employer had an interest in creating politicians who could influence his legal concerns and promote any questionable business practices.
But once the pastor sampled the power of Heath’s employer, it became a lifestyle that consumed him. Money to burn. Private “consultations” with gorgeous women. Soon, his title of “Man of God” seemed backwards to him and Heath’s employer took it upon himself to bring the man back down to earth. It was a common pattern with these pet projects. The lord giveth, then taketh away.
The pastor was losing favor quickly. He had been unresponsive to the requests of Heath’s employer. Heath had become disgusted with the man, too. Weeks ago, Heath had met the man in a parking garage. He had greeted the pastor with a solid elbow to the base of his neck. The pastor had crumpled and made no attempt to defend himself or fight back. If he had done anything but lay whimpering on the ground with his hands over his face, Heath would not have broken his ribs with his foot. Heath had taken the pastor’s credit cards and threw the wallet back to the wretch, as instructed. Heath had no idea what his employer had seen in the man. He would have been eaten alive in the political arena. That night, Heath sat at his kitchen table and combined his own credit cards with the pastors. Then he used a pair of scissors to turn them all into confetti.
Heath knew the names of the pastor’s favorite female “associates.” He knew of four bank accounts the pastor controlled; each empty or nearly so. Heath knew the pastor’s house and he knew what time his son, John, came outside to feed their yellow Labrador.
Once Heath had pulled John into the rental car, he had taken him home and left him gagged and handcuffed to the frame of a hide-away couch for days. During that time, he had even gone out with a coworker. Heath was often struck by pretty girls and hopeful he could fall in love, but they inevitably opened their mouths and the illusion would disintegrate. Heath took this to mean he had not met the right girl. Still, he had moments of weakness. When he sat on the couch in the apartment of his coworker, he wanted to tell her everything. She knew their employer. If anyone could understand, she could.
But Heath was not careless, foolish, nor suicidal. He was also not a murderer. As he stood there in the moonlight, staring at the blindfolded boy in the crate, he tried to force himself to raise the gun. He couldn’t. He had known that from the outset. Heath took a canteen from his shoulder and handed it to the boy.
“Drink this,” he said, “Drink as much as you can.”
The boy did so.
“Now sit down,” said Heath. “When I get you closed in, you can take off the blindfold. Don’t try to get out. You won’t be able to. The best thing to do is to lay down and go to sleep. Someone will come and get you in the morning. Do you understand?”
The boy was on the verge of crying but nodded his head.
“Okay. Sit down.” Heath jumped across the hole and dragged the top of the crate into place. He used a cordless screwdriver to lock the lid into place. He was confident air could get between the cracks. He threw a shovel or two of dirt across the lid and pulled over some weeds and debris to help camouflage the crater.
Heath drove back to the city and threw the gun into the Chicago River. He went war-driving through a few promising neighborhoods to find an unrestricted wireless network and booted up the outdated laptop he had purchased for two hundred dollars from a local pawn shop. He took a few steps to bury his internet address under a tangle of proxy servers and sent an email to the pastor at an address which he knew to be checked on a daily basis. He informed John’s father of the mile marker on highway 61 as well as the other landmarks he would need to locate the pit where his son was buried. Then Heath removed the hard drive and smashed the laptop against the back wall of a craft store, throwing the remains in a garbage bin. He returned the rental car to the lot and dropped the keys in the night return.
Tomorrow, he would run for his life. All of Heath’s own acts were a testament to the propensity of his employer to exact revenge. He could only assume that nobody knew of his son. If Heath’s son graced him as some benevolent, check-writing mystery man then he may even have to relinquish that for awhile. He wondered that, through it all, he should be in such envy of the pastor.
Overcoming (by Emmett Chase, 11.16.2005)
“Who do I consider to be my personal heroes? Well… my dad. No doubt about that. I would love to be compared to Joe Montana. And I would never have made it this far if it wasn’t for my high school coach and history teacher, Mr. Gimcrack.”
The reporter was wrapped tightly in his double-breasted Armani trench coat. Was the palm-sized notepad that dominated the reporter's gaze a gimmick? He held his microphone steady at the keel of Bismarck’s chin. He never seemed to make eye contact but still smiled as he said, “Montana was a third round pick. He never won a Heisman. No one is going to compare you to that. You’re ahead of the game. Still, do you feel that the odds may be against your success, being the top draft choice for the Lions?”
“It’s perfect that I’m here in Detroit. We’ll have home field advantage for the Big Bowl in February. I have every reason to believe that fate is on my side. Interview’s over. We’re taking the field.”
Bismarck reached up and pulled the mask of his helmet down to his mouth. He left the chin strap dangling. Amid the rest of the team jumping and pumping their fists in their pre-game psych out, he raised his pointer finger as high into the air as he could reach. With long strides, he glided out of the tunnel and into the dazzling floodlights of Ford Field.
“Yes, the name is Gunther Bismarck. I’m here to pick up my Viper. You guys were installing an LCD screen and a premium sound package.”
“The Big Gun for the Lions. You don’t need to tell us who you are. The techs are finishing your car up, right now. Just take a seat for a few minutes and I’ll let them know you’re here. Thanks, Champ.” Said the man in the polyester shirt. “Kim,” according to the patch on the breast.
The waiting area was not appealing; a few chairs with random tattered magazines and a television with the sound muted. Gunther decided to walk back to the showroom floor instead. His wallet and a CD were tucked in his hand and locked against his hip as if he expected someone to try and strip them out of his clutch. He stared at the latest line of Dodges and wondered if he had any good reason to buy a truck, aside from the fact that they offered a “Viper” model. He didn’t want to feel pressured into completing the set.
He took a seat in front of a window near the glass doors that served as the main entrance to the building. He wondered about driving the three hours to his father’s place. Maybe he finally had something worthy enough to barter for a test drive in his father’s ‘64 ‘vette. But his dad had never let him drive it before. His dad would probably expect to get the keys to the Viper without offering anything in return. And his father never went to the garage without a long necked beer in his hand. Gunther was certain Uncle Brewskie would be along for his father’s test ride, too. If there wasn’t a cupholder, the bottle would ride right in his father’s lap; even as he worked his leg, shifting wildly through the six gears with the tach swinging through the red lines.
Gunther’s cell phone vibrated. He unclipped it from his belt and flipped it open. The Caller ID revealed it to be his wife. “Hi Gayle. I’m just down at the dealership. Yeah, they said it’s ready. Well, I was thinking of cruising for a little while. I brought that CD. I wanted to check out the new sound system.”
He hadn’t noticed that two men had entered the showroom and were now standing before him. He glanced up at them for half a moment. The first man was dark skinned with a flannel shirt tucked behind a belt buckle brandishing a swooping eagle. His hair came down past his shoulders in two braids and he held a clipboard in his hands. The second man had mussed red hair and looked as though he hadn’t seen himself in a mirror for days. The dark man cleared his throat intently.
“Look, Hun. I’ve gotta go. There’s a couple of Mexicans here for me. Okay.” He clapped his phone shut and straightened his posture so he could clip it back on his belt.
“Excuse us, sir…”
When Gunther realized they were not with the dealership he looked around for a real attendant. “Uh, look guys. I’m not doing autographs today.”
The dark man looked at him for a moment, sizing him up, “No, I’m with the Red Cross…”
“Oh. Look, my accountant handles all my charity contributions. Let me see if I have his office number.” Gunther quickly patted his pockets and shrugged that the men were out of luck.
“No, sir. This man’s daughter has a serious condition and needs a blood transfusion immediately. We have a Blood Bus across the street. The entire process takes less than half an hour…”
“Oh no. You see, anything like that, I have to get approved by my physical therapist, my trainer. I can’t without… and I’m already late. I really should have eaten an hour ago. I wish I could.”
“Sir, this could be life or death. It’s a six year old girl. We need a rare blood type. Do you know your type?”
“No. No, I don’t know. You see, you’d have to do all this through my specialists. I’m a pro athlete. I just can’t. You understand?”
The dark man nodded and looked at the redhead. “Let’s see what’s next door,” he said quietly.
Gunther stared after them as they left. Then shook his head and sighed. Some people had a lot of nerve. It’s never enough, he thought. He almost always signed autographs. He visited a lot of schools. He didn’t hide from people. He was a high profile celebrity. In a way, everything he did was for the public. But apparently they needed all of that and the very blood out of his veins, too. Besides, those people always say they need blood even when they have plenty. He sighed again and drummed his CD against his leg. He imagined the surround sound and sang to himself, under his breath, “This monkey’s gone to heaven.”
Gayle sat in the spot where she spent most of her time: In her pink oversized bathroom wearing her pajamas. She sat on her fuzzy acrylic toilet seat lid with her feet propped on the edge of the tub. For a minute she tried to paint her toenails but her trembling hand wouldn’t cooperate and she washed it off. She lit some aromatherapy candles and dimmed the lights. She watched the leaves of a red maple tree moving back and forth through her window. It must have been blustery outside.
Luckily, most of the fall fashion shows had past. Even under the worst scenario, she could still do winter and probably spring runway work. The pros and cons: no more cigarettes. What if she got a pooch? Was she willing to go through liposuction? Would she be ridiculed out of the business for being under one hundred and fifteen pounds (very light for someone who is five feet, eight inches tall) and having lipo? She knew enough about makeup and air brushing that stretch marks shouldn’t pose any real threat. And it could mean a shapelier body. An hourglass figure. Fuller breasts. Maybe her parents would let her come home and stay in her old room for a while. She was alone in her house most the time anyway.
Most of all, she was tired of being in trouble with her husband. Sick of lectures about losing her purse or her keys. Every woman does that. If the computer does strange things or gets a virus, why is that necessarily her fault? Maybe a lot of non-food items in their household ended up burning on the stove top, but at least she made an attempt to cook for her husband. Most the people she worked with couldn’t have operated a can opener if their lives depended on it. Gunther even told her he was first attracted to her because they were both from the Midwest and that, while gorgeous, she still seemed like a “down home” kind of girl. He said she would be just as comfortable at a country picnic as she would at a cosmopolitan mixer.
To this day, he regularly brought up the botched trip to Aspen. They never made it to Colorado, but it was still worth the effort. She had shopped with her friends for weeks for everything from the right winter beanies, sunglasses and Gortex to the actual snowboarding equipment. It was all coordinated so well. He should have been able to get away for one week during the winter, but they never boarded the plane and all of the gear sat unused in their basement for months until she sold it at a loss through online auctions. She was tired of being yelled at to stop wasting money on fantasies. If you can’t envision it, then it will never come to be. Her industry was full of warnings like that. Excuse her for taking good advice. That is what she would say the next time he mentioned Aspen.
And then there was the pill. She seemed to forget at least once a week. She always tried to catch up but they wreaked havoc on her stomach. She didn’t need a lecture, too. She was punished abdominally every time. She took a deep breath and decided it was time to look.
“Oh, Jesus Christ!” She cried, as she slapped the pregnancy tester down next to the sink and pressed her emaciated fingers deep into her dripping eye sockets.
Gunther rolled smoothly into their circular driveway and stopped the car at the front door. He lowered the volume on the stereo and tapped the horn. He didn’t understand why Gayle had made him come all the way home just so they could go to lunch together. The front door opened and out she stepped, dressed like someone who lived in Beverly Hills rather than Michigan. She wore big Jackie O. sunglasses on a day where the sun was lost behind a solid gray sky. Her shoes clicked down the walkway and she said “Hi” as she hunched down to put her head and her foot into the car at the same time.
She closed the door and the car sped back towards the street. “Where do you want to eat?” asked Gunther. Before she could answer, he stepped hard on the brake and stared dumbly at a bare post at the boundary of their property. “What the hell? That’s it. No more fancy mail boxes. If idiots are going to keep taking them, we’re just going to get plain, ordinary mail boxes from now on. No more putting our name on it. No more mail boxes that look like other things. Plain and ordinary! That’s all they’re getting out of me.”
My hands were stiff and swollen from hanging at my sides. I was slumped on the couch in front of the television but a ring from the doorbell brought me to. I realized I was watching the world’s largest mass-wedding of Elvis impersonators; programming I would not normally endorse.
Leaving the sofa was like the dentist cutting off the flow of laughing gas and I got to my feet with much the same grogginess. The front door creaked open at the guidance of my hand and Terry Riemann was standing on our front stoop. “Hey, Melon,” I said. Melon was shorter than me with a stout build and a lot of wave in his tawny hair. He had the highest grade point average at Palo Verde High School and the nickname was a reference to his ruddy cranium. Plus, nobody liked the name “Terry.”
“Hey, Jimmy.”
“James.” I corrected, though I had gone by Jimmy all my life until this school year.
“Oh…. sorry, James. I came by to drop off your trig notebook.”
“Thanks. I forgot they were due tomorrow,” I said, intending to put him at ease. I really hadn’t forgotten but it was an easy thing to say and seemed to flow out of my mouth without any thought.
I turned through the pages, “Melon? How is it that you always copy my homework assignments, yet you always get better grades than me?”
Melon tapped his temple to credit the intricate workings of his mind. “I borrow notebooks from four or five people and take the most popular answers. I never miss any. And you would be surprised how much you actually learn just copying homework assignments.”
I smiled and nodded, “You deserve those golden ropes. Mr. Valedictorian.”
My praise lifted the corners of his mouth. “Is Henry here? Do you guys want to cruise down to the park?”
“He’s in the garage, as usual.” I said, leading the way.
My cousin Henry was like a brother. He had lived with dad and I since I was eight. These days he was constantly in the garage, trying to convert his Pontiac Fiero into a replica Ferrari.
He peered at Melon and I from the far side of the car as we entered garage. Dust clung to the yellow tennis ball fuzz of his shaved head. We asked, “You wanna go to the park?”
“Arbors? Who’s down there?” he asked, “Lance Olson?”
“I don’t know,” said Melon, “I have no idea. Why? Are you scared of Lance?”
“I’m not scared of Lance Olson. He’s just a total jerk.”
I couldn’t resist filling in the details, “Lance beat Henry up at the end of last year.”
“He stole my Rolex,” said Henry, “He’s a schmuck.”
“You had a Rolex?” asked Melon.
“Well…. it was a fake Rolex. But even a fake Rolex is more expensive than a regular watch.” He explained. “Besides, haven’t you heard about that spoon he stole from the school cafeteria and sharpened into a shiv in his shop class. He’s crazy. He would use it if he had the chance.”
“Man, it would be embarrassing to get taken out with a spoon.” said Melon.
“Well if he wants to make trouble with his spoon,” said Henry, “He’ll have to face me and my spackler.” He picked up a spackle knife from his tool bench and used it to slice the air before him. “Let’s go.”
“Cool.” said Melon, “Are we taking the Ferraro? The Fiari? Whatever you call it.”
“No,” said Henry, “I ordered all the kit pieces from some Chinese distributor a month ago but I only got half of them. My car looks funny right now.”
Newton surveyed the vehicle, “It looks like a peppermint.” Noting its red core with white fiberglass additions.
I left a note for dad on the counter and grabbed my windbreaker. It wasn’t cold but I felt it added variety to the plain white shirts I always wore. We ducked under the garage door as it descended. The sun had already fallen below the horizon and what was left of the fading light seemed to drain the color out of everything.
I realized my blond hair was sticking up in the front in a way that couldn’t be attractive and so I licked my hand to try and smooth it out. We drove in Melon’s car toward Summerlin where we all attended school. Henry and I actually lived downtown but were bussed from our neighborhood with several others to Palo Verde High School. The county said it was to “add diversity” but climbing off our bus was the simplest way to announce your destitute living conditions to the student body.
Arbors Park was still crawling with people. Some girls were moseying past on their horses and there were some uncoordinated people, hunched over at the waist with their arms out to their sides as they went roller blading along the sidewalks. It looked like the basketball games were winding down. A local “News” helicopter flew low overhead. I thought of it as a futuristic kitchen appliance used for spying on regular people. I imagined people at home in front of their televisions, vicariously living out my boredom for their own entertainment. We found our friends sitting on a picnic table, drinking beer from bottles marked as non-alcoholic. When there was nothing else to do, this is what we did. I didn’t care much for the beer, though.
It was strange. I kept catching myself staring at Amy Morris. She usually annoyed the hell out of me. Finally, I just decided to talk with her. I had known her most of my life so I wasn’t nervous. I always knew her eyes to be pale blue but tonight they were as green as any emerald. I also knew she had cut her hair above the shoulder last week but tonight she had a golden ponytail past the middle of her back. I don’t know the exact reason, but I was captivated and couldn’t take my eyes away.
“You look nice,” I said. She smiled. “Am I rude to ask if you’re wearing fake eyelashes?”
“They’re fake,” she said, grinning like a fool.
“I like your dot,” I said, referencing the red sparkling glob on her forehead. “Just like Gwen Stefani.”
Her smile parted to show two rows of bleached teeth and her eyes squinted closed like spines on a flytrap. Tilting her head, she said, “Thank you, James.”
For a moment I thought she may kiss me. My disapproval of her mannerisms made it maddening that she considered herself too good for me and even more so that the jurisprudence of teenage popularity meant everyone we knew was inclined to agree with her.
“What I love about her is that… she isn’t afraid to be herself. She doesn’t care what people think about her, or how she dresses or what she does. She’s so awesome.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “She’s cool.” Then I said, “Hey. A bunch of us are planning a trip up to Crater Lake over Memorial Day weekend. You should get some friends and come up, too.”
“What’s at Crater Lake?” She asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s there to do there? Why do people go?” She asked.
“It’s just Crater Lake. In a National Park.” I said. “The deepest natural lake in the continental United States? A volcanic crater filled with water? It’s not like a Spring Break party place or anything.”
“Oh. Who’s going?” She asked.
“I’m not sure. Me, Henry, Melon, Jeff Jones and Sam Mitchell. Maybe more.”
She did not look enthused and I don’t believe she cared for the company I kept. “Oh. Yeah, maybe. Are you excited for graduation?”
“Uh, sure.” I said.
“You have to make sure and stay in touch. Come see me at work this summer at Coconut Smoothie. You’ll be going to UNLV next year, won’t you?”
I said, “Well, I got accepted…”
“Good,” she said and grabbed my hand. “I’m glad. Oh, I think my friends are leaving. I have to go now.”
I stared at her as she slid off the table and hurried towards her friends. I watched her synthetic pony tail sway from side to side. Henry and Melon had found Sam. They said they wanted to run and get some tacos. We piled into Melon’s car.
“So are you going to UNLV next year, James?” Asked Melon.
I hesitated. “I want to say ‘yes,’ but I don’t know. I got accepted.”
“You need to go.” Said Melon. “We’d have fun.”
Henry said, “You’re going to piss him off. Don’t talk to him about it.”
“I don’t care.” I said, “ I want to go but it seems like it would be a big waste of money. I don’t know what the hell I want to do for the rest of my life.”
“Just go and get any degree.” Melon said, “It’ll set you up for a better job and you’ll make a lot more money before you die.”
“Nah.” I said, “I just know my heart won’t be in it and I’ll flunk a bunch of classes. I’m not ready.”
Sam made his eyes intense and grimaced at me.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked in a deadpan.
“Dude. You have to come to school. You’re gonna miss all the parties. I’m not gonna let you do it. It’s gonna be a good time and you’re a prick if you won’t come.” Sam said.
“I don’t care about parties. If I wanted to hang out with a bunch of date-raping frat boys I’d be just as well off here with you jack asses.” I said. “I think the bottom line is… I’m sick of being poor. I’ve been poor all my life and I’m not going to do it anymore. I need a break from it.”
“Nobody cares that you live downtown in the lettered streets, man.” Sam said, “You’re cool.”
“So what will you do then?” Asked Melon.
“I don’t know. Chris is always trying to talk me into working up in Yellowstone at the lodge. But it’s strange. It’s like there’s this subculture of people… the seasonal workers who roam around at resorts and lodges across the country.”
“What do you mean?” Asked Melon.
“It sounds like they’re all a bunch of drifters who sit around drinking, smoking pot and shacking up with each other.”
Sam smiled and laughed. “Okay, okay. You talked me into it.”
We laughed but I said, “I just can’t see myself doing that. I can’t get into that scene.”
“Yeah, but what are you going to do? You’ve gotta do something.” Melon said.
“I don’t know, asshole!” I shouted.
Henry laughed, “I told you… you’re just going to piss him off.”
“Okay, shut up. I’ve gotta order.” Melon said. “What do you guys want?”
A voice crackled at us through the menu board, “Do you wanna buy a talking Chihuahua?”
“What? No!” Melon said.
“Go ahead when you’re ready.” The sign buzzed.
Sam leaned over from the back seat, “I’d like a double-dicker taco and some cinnamon tits!”
Henry shouted, “And one large cock!”
“Shut up!” Melon shouted. “Eight tacos and a bean and cheese burrito, please!”
The sign did not answer.
Melon said, “I swear, if there is anything at all in my food that resembles jiz, I’m going to break your damn jaw, Sam.”
“Me? What about Henry?” Sam protested.
“Nobody can stay mad at Henry.” Melon said, patting Henry on the shoulder.
I laughed.
“Jeff might have something different to say about that.” Sam said.
“What?” Henry asked in complete surprise.
“Nothin’.” Sam said.
“What? This girl isn’t taking my order any more?” Melon asked. The sign remained silent. Melon pulled the car up to the window.
After a minute or two a girl opened the window and stuck her head out. “What?” she asked.
Melon took a deep breath. “What do you mean ‘what’? I ordered some food.”
“Why were you being a jerk?” She asked.
“It wasn’t me. It was these guys. Just get my food please.” Melon said.
“Apologize.” The girl said.
“What? Tell it to these guys. I’m not their mommy. I don’t give a shit.” Said Melon. “Can I just have my food, please, before I talk to your manager and get you fired?”
The girl smirked. “They can’t fire me. I’m the only one here who can run and clean the slicer.”
“Fine, Taco Bitch. Have fun ruling your pathetic little universe.” Melon drove the car away.
“That was awesome!” Sam hollered, with a burst of laughter.
“Shut up, fool. Now we don’t have any tacos.” Melon scowled.
“Holy crap!” Sam said with a feigned cringe, “Now we’ll have to drive half a mile to the next taco hut. Chill out, Melon.”
“Hey!” Said Henry. “Why did you say that Jeff doesn’t like me?
“What are you talking about?” Asked Sam.
Melon and I kept quiet.
“I’m serious.” Said Henry, “What the hell did I ever do to Jeff?”
“You’ve really never noticed?” Asked Sam.
“What?” Asked Henry.
Sam looked to Melon and I but we were concentrating on other things. Sam said, “Jeff totally likes Emily. He’s been talking smack about you ever since you started dating her a year ago.”
Henry didn’t say anything.
Sam said, “Don’t worry, man. I’m always telling him to shut the hell up and stuff. You don’t need to get bent up about it. He’s jealous.”
Henry was chewing on his lip. Then suddenly he laughed. “I guess that makes sense when you think about it. God.” He shook his head and laughed some more. “The first time I ever really made out with Emily, I was at Jeff’s house, in Jeff’s room, on Jeff’s bed.” He laughed even harder, “In fact, I came out of the room that night and told Jeff that if we had been at my house we probably would have gone all the way!”
We all laughed.
“Good. That must have drove him nuts.” Said Henry, “Good. He deserves that. Now I wish Emily could come with us up to Crater Lake.”
“Stupid cop!” Said Melon, staring in his rear-view mirror. “He just totally cut in behind us. Screw that.” Melon signaled and switched over a lane. I saw blue and red lights flashing into the car and knew the cop had followed us.
“Shit!” Melon shook his head and pulled the car to the curb. “You all better be wearing your seatbelts.” By some strange happenstance, we all were. It was probably Henry’s doing. He preached to everyone about seatbelts ever since his family’s accident years ago. He had been the only one wearing a seatbelt that time.
A spotlight shown into the car for a long time before the cop approached. He shined a flashlight down to the floorboards along the way.
“License and registration, please.” The man said.
“Why did you pull me over?” Asked Melon.
“License and registration.” He said again.
“Tell me why you pulled me over.” Melon said.
Sam said, “Why you bugging us, ociffer? We’re all white kids. And Mel’s uncle is the mayor’s pool-man. You better watch it.”
“You made an aggressive lane change.” The man said.
“You’re lane change was more aggressive than mine.” Melon protested, but he handed him his papers.
“You’re required to signal for three seconds before you change lanes. Are you familiar with the law? Is this your car?”
“Yes,” said Melon.
The officer returned to his cruiser. Melon turned to Sam, “Keep quiet.”
“No way,” said Sam. “This guy’s asking for it.”
After a few minutes the cop returned. “Alright, it all checks out. I’m only going to give you a verbal warning. Just drive carefully.”
“Okay.” Said Melon.
“You got it!” Sam blurted. “Thanks for shaking down the aggressive lane changers. Hey! Did you guys ever catch that guy who broke into my house and raped my sister when I was seven? How’s that case going?”
The cop was already walking away.
“Keep up the good work, Sherlock!” Sam shouted.
“Why do you have to be such an ass?” Melon asked him.
“He started it.” Sam mumbled. “What a loser. He probably makes like ten bucks an hour. And someone’s going to shoot him someday. Dumb ass.”
Melon dropped us off at our dark and lifeless house. I turned on some lights and went to my room and counted my money for the trip and felt like the weekend would never come. I had quit my job washing dishes a couple weeks prior. I spent my paychecks (mostly on food, sometimes toilet paper) but had kept all my tips from the servers in a fancy tin can in my room. I kept reminding myself to go to the bank and trade all my coins for bills but always forgot.
I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water and saw the note I had left for my father on the counter. I picked it up and stared at it. There was a pile of them in the trash can, too. I pulled them out and organized them into a neat stack.
My father was a truck driver. He was always gone for weeks at a time. When he did come home, he mostly slept. The only thing he seemed to love was the grass in the backyard. He would stand on the back stoop, spraying the hose and paying close attention to the brown spots. Henry and I tried to keep it nice for him. Alive, at the very least. When we went out, I left notes for him out of principle. I knew he would never read them. I read through some of the notes for the week in the pile before me:
Dad, We’re out with the gang. We’re going to play smoking games. James
Dad, We’re going hot-tubbing at Emily’s. We may not be home tonight. James
Dad, Comin’ home loaded! James
I laughed at the messages as if someone else had written them. Of course I would have been in trouble if my father had actually read them. In a way, I wished he would. I always left them in the garbage can. I didn’t tear them or crumple them. I left it to chance.
The next day I turned in my notebook at school. When I thought about it, I was a little resentful of Melon. At the same time I knew all of my answers were right, so he couldn’t get a better grade than me on this assignment. I figured it must come down to who wants it more. Priorities. I have never given a second thought to being valedictorian. And a couple weeks before graduation is the wrong time to start considering the prospect. I thought hard about what I wanted to be best at in the world. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I would never be rich. I tried not to think about anything until the weekend came.
We cut school on Friday morning. Jeff’s Chevy Cavalier pulled up in our cracked and oil-stained driveway a little before noon.
“Let’s go, Henry!” I shouted. I grabbed my bag and ran outside. Jeff, Melon and Sam were all in the car. I put my bag in the trunk.
Jeff put the car’s front seat forward so I could climb into the back. “How’s it going, you ugly lot lizards?” I said. Henry came out a moment later. I made him sit in the middle.
“What’s that smell?” I asked.
“Sex Appeal.” Said Jeff. “Mel sprayed Sam with perfume.”
Melon swiveled back toward us, “He kept pointing the remote to the television at my testicles when he was changing the channel. I told him to stop but he wouldn’t.”
“They’re just radio waves, aren’t they?” I asked, “They’re all around us.”
“I doubt anyone has done any studies on it. And there’s no sense in risking it.” Said Melon.
When the car got moving, I said, “Hey Jeff? Do you want to put your seat back a little further? I can almost get my legs around you.”
Jeff just turned his head and flashed a smirk at me.
I said, “Well, if you turn on the music I won’t be able to stop my pelvis from thrusting around. Just thought you should know.”
Sam didn’t wait for the music. He grabbed the shoulders of Melon’s chair and the gyrations began. “Wait!” he exclaimed. He pulled an orange from a bag on the floor and inserted it into the crotch of his shorts and continued the motion with renewed vigor.
Melon elbowed the seat from his side, “Knock it off, sicko.”
Jeff wheeled around to face us, “Damn it, Sam. Don’t defile my car.”
“Funny you should say that, Jeff.” Sam rebutted, “Didn’t I see you in here with Four Fingers Simpson last weekend?”
“What?” I asked. “Four Fingers? Alright, Jeff!” I punched his arm.
“Shut up. I just hung out with her for one night.” He said.
“Every guy does,” laughed Melon.
“I fell asleep at her house. I had the worst stomach ache on Saturday from holding my farts in all night.” Jeff said. We all laughed. “The worst part, though, is that when I woke up in the morning I went in the bathroom and saw the biggest turd of my life in her toilet.”
“How do you know it was hers? Maybe it was her dad’s.” Melon suggested.
“No.” Said Jeff. “She has her own bathroom. I’m never going over there again. I mean, how hard is it to flush? So that’s the end. ”
“Nasty,” Said Henry.
“But I think she’s misunderstood. She’s actually really nice.” Jeff said.
“That’s what they say about the people at my grandma’s nursing home,” Said Sam, “But it doesn’t mean I spend the night there.”
“She has a big house,” Said Jeff.
“Rumor is, she has a lot of big things.” Said Sam. “You know who I like though? Her friend, Mandy.”
“Yeah,” Said Melon, “She’s been starting to look pretty good lately.”
“I know.” Said Sam, “If she lost twenty more pounds I would probably let her blow me.”
“God. That’s so wrong.” Said Melon, covering his eyes.
“Hey, let’s stop and get some drinks.” Said Henry, pointing out a grocery store.
We loaded up with beef jerky, chips and drinks. In line at the register, an old lady stood ahead of us, waiting for her items to be scanned. It took a while and Jeff’s patience seemed to be exhausted before our trip even started. The lady waited for the total before she searched her purse for her coupons. When the new total of $64.28 was calculated, the lady handed the cashier a fifty dollar bill, asking if it was enough.
“Holy shit!” Blurted Jeff.
The lady handed her change purse to the cashier and, after some hesitation, the cashier reached in for the balance. Once she walked away, Jeff graced us with an impassioned tirade.
“I swear. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to leave their homes. There are those of us who keep society moving and everyone else is just deadweight for us to drag along. Holy shit.” He said. He talked all the way into the parking lot, when he suddenly stopped and whirled around. “Where the hell did we park?”
“Don’t ask me,” I said, “I’m deadweight. But I’m confident that a society mover will show me the way.”
Just at that moment the elderly lady from the store drove past us. “Look at her,” I said, “She’s doing alright. Better than us, anyway.”
“Over here, you stiff peters.” Called Sam, leading the way to the car. Sam got distracted and I was able to claim the front seat for the first leg of our journey.
We made one more stop for gas. In classic fashion, Jeff demanded gas money before we could offer it to him. There were no hard feelings. It was just part of hanging out with him.
While the tank filled, Henry was rummaging in his plastic grocery sack.
“What did you get, Henry?” Sam asked.
“Do you remember when we were fourteen and went down…” he started.
I cut him off, “God damn. Just tell him what you bought, Henry. Why does every simple question turn into a long ass story with you?”
“I bought some Fun Dip,” said Henry.
“Thank you,” I said. “We don’t need your entire life story if the grand finale is that you bought some Fun Dip.”
“Oh yeah,” said Sam. He unzipped a CD case and pulled out a watch. “I got this for you, Henry.”
Henry took the watch. “Where did you get this.”
“From Lance Olson. I remembered he stole yours last year.” Said Sam. “He got in my face in the locker room after gym the other day.”
“Did you guys fight?” asked Henry.
“Not really,” said Sam. “He was naked and wet. I didn’t want to touch him so I pushed him down. You should have seen how far he slipped. It was funny as hell. But I looked in his locker and saw the watch, so I took it for you.”
“Sweet.” Said Henry, “Except this isn’t my watch. Mine was a Rolexia. This is a Folex. I’ll keep it anyway.”
Jeff got into the car and we struck out for the highway. I looked at the map. I said, “Man, every highway in Nevada is a lost highway.”
Melon said, “I thought the adage was: All roads lead to Reno.”
“Just drive until we’re out of the desolation. That’s when you know you’re out of Nevada.” I said. “We live in the city of dreams. We drive on this highway of fire. Highway 95, I mean.”
Jeff didn’t want to use the air conditioning so I let my hand drag in the wind through the open window.
“Knock it off!” Jeff said, when I began drumming my hand against the outside of the door.
“What?” I asked.
“Stop hitting my car.” He said.
“Why,” I said, still tapping to the music.
“You’re gonna mess up the paint. And I know you don’t have the money to fix it, so knock it off, you homo.”
“I’m going to mess up the paint?” I laughed. “What’s this car made of? Rice cakes?”
“Just knock it off!” Jeff shouted.
“Fine,” I said, drumming on my lap instead. “Ow! Oh, shit! My legs. I think I crushed the bones.” I twisted in agony.
“Shut up,” said Jeff, giving me a charlie horse in my thigh.
“Didn’t hurt, you pansy.” I said. I didn’t rub it, even though it was probably bruised. “You hit like a little bitch.”
“There’s no reason to bring your mother into this,” said Jeff.
“Witty, Jeff. You’re witty.” I said.
“Don’t talk about his mom,” said Henry.
“What?” Jeff was surprised. “Is your mom dead, Jimmy?”
“No, no.” I said, “Haven’t I ever told you anything about my mom?”
“No,” said Jeff. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Probably either rehab or at her sister’s place. Somewhere in Ohio.” I explained.
“No shit?” said Jeff, “Is she a crack-head or something?”
“No,” I said. “She’s having problems. She’s had back problems her whole life. I think she got dropped doing cheerleading or something when she was little. That’s why she became a physical therapist. But she’s always been on pills for her back and a while ago it turned into… like a prescription drug addiction.”
“Whoa,” said Jeff.
“Yeah.” I said, “When I was ten she started jogging a lot. I guess she would stop at neighbors’ houses and ask if she could use their bathroom and then raid their medicine cabinets. Then she got busted for it and its been downhill since then.” I did the motion of a plane in a nosedive with my hand.
“Do you hate her?” asked Jeff.
“No.” I said, “But it’s almost like it’s two different people. I remember her being a really good mom. She would teach me Spanish and read to me and buy me art stuff. Then the drug problems started and her and my dad split up and she went to Ohio. Now she’s just kind of crazy. She’s a drama queen. Everything is about her. She messes everything up now. I even asked her not to come to graduation.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Melon.
“Yeah. She’s like a completely different person now. I call her The Momposter. It sucks, but what can you do?” I said. “But that’s actually why I want to go to Crater Lake. I’ve been asking her my whole life to take me up there and she always said ‘someday,’ but it never happened so now I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
“Hey,” said Sam. “Me and Melon have enough money to rent a boat when we get up there.”
I thought for a moment, “Uh. I don’t think you can rent boats at Crater Lake. You can take a tour.”
“What?” asked Sam. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. It’s too cold to swim and there’s pretty much just a lodge there. I don’t want you to be surprised when you get there.” I said.
“See. This is all stuff you could have told me before I agreed to come along.” Said Sam.
“I didn’t know that either,” Said Jeff. “Screw that. Did you know about this, Mel?”
“I wasn’t sure,” said Mel.
“Sorry, guys.” I said, “I promise it’ll still be cool.”
Jeff said, “I think maybe we’ll go to Lake Tahoe instead.”
“Yes!” Said Sam. “Casinos. Beaches. Babes. Let’s go to Lake Tahoe! You’ve been overruled, James. It’s our duty as your friends.”
“I’d like to see Crater Lake, but I don’t know what we would do there for a whole weekend,” said Melon.
“We should have brought our fishing rods,” I said. “I still want to go.”
“Nope,” said Jeff.
“Fine.” I said. “Go to Lake Tahoe then. I guess I expect too much out of life.”
“We’ll do Crater Lake another time,” said Sam.
“Right,” I said. “Someday. I know. Maybe I’ll just move to Crater Lake after graduation. Why couldn’t I? I’ll move to Crater Lake and I won’t have to worry about college or answering telephones or sitting in cubicles or financing a car or any of that other shallow bullshit everyone worries about so much.”
“You know why.” Said Melon. “People are in the middle of the scale. We’re not the best and we’re not the worst. People can take a piece of dried up wasteland and create Las Vegas and suddenly it’s a shining jewel. It’s an improvement and now people fly there from all over the world. Then people look at a place like Crater Lake and we know it’s too good for us. So we charge money just to drive to it and we don’t let people boat or swim without permission and build just one lodge so people can come look then leave. You can’t live at Crater Lake because people don’t want you fucking it up.”
“Sounds like Hell to me,” said Sam.
“Of course,” said Melon. “I’m sure a lot of people agree with you. Pristine forests, extinct volcanoes and sapphire lakes are all overrated. Nothing says paradise like sixty god damned golf courses.” He held up a bottle of lemonade, “Here’s to Las Vegas. May the Colorado River be forever drank and pissed and drank and pissed and never leave the city.”
“We’ll all chip in and get you some golf clubs for your birthday, James.” Said Sam. “Or I’ll just swipe my dad’s old set. He’d never notice.”
“Why do you always have to be such a downer, James. We’re going to Lake Tahoe. You can worry about your retirement fifty years from now.” Said Sam.
I said, “I keep having this dream that my mom is standing in a hospital gown and some old bald guy in a suit is putting a catcher’s mitt between her legs and catching babies as they drop out. Then he puts the babies in a fast food kid’s meal box and piles them all up until there’s an entire city of them. And then a country of them. And then a world of them.”
“You’ve got problems,” said Jeff.
“You don’t have to work fast food. Pick a career. Any career, and then go out and work hard till you get there.,” said Melon.
“Easy for you to say,” I grumbled. “And the sooner I can work myself to death at a meaningless job, the better.”
“You can’t think of a single job?” Asked Melon. “You could be a doctor or a lawyer if you really wanted.”
“Yeah,” I laughed, “I could be one of those miracle workers like the guys who screwed up my mom. Sign me up for that.”
“You shouldn’t complain about something if you’re not willing to do anything to fix it,” said Melon.
“You’re right. Wait just a second while I get my medical degree just so I don’t have to take crap from you when I say society blows.”
Nobody seemed to speak after that. So when the CD we were listening to ended, I said, “Why did the caterpillar cross the road?”
Still, nobody said anything. But they all looked at me expectantly. “I don’t have an answer,” I said, “But I saw a caterpillar crossing the street a second ago.”
“How could you see a caterpillar crossing the highway?” Jeff asked, “I’m doing ninety.”
“Look!” I said, “There’s another one right there!”
“He’s right,” said Melon, “There’s a whole bunch of them crawling on the road.”
There were too many to dodge and we also became aware of the great number of butterflies fluttering in the air and splattering across the windshield in large yellow streaks. So many, we had to raise the windows.
“Because the chicken stole his ghetto blaster?” I suggested.
“Sure,” said Henry. “Or maybe just because it was the next logical step.”
When we ascended the Sierra Nevada slope to South Lake Tahoe there was the familiar electricity of activity inherent in resorts and tourist traps. We were lucky enough to find a vacant hotel room with two queen beds. I volunteered to sleep on the floor.
“Did you guys all bring your fake ID’s?” Sam asked. “I want to go play that giant slot machine on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.”
“Buster Hymen never leaves home without it,” said Henry, drawing his fake driver’s license from his pocket.
We walked around the casinos till after midnight. I didn’t feel like losing any of my money so I sat on a stool trying to mask the misery of being submerged in people’s cigarette smoke and dying enthusiasm. The coins kept going in till the machines kept them all. I went back to the hotel early and went to sleep in one of the beds. When I woke up in the morning and saw Melon sleeping on the floor I told him he should have woken me to trade him places. He said he didn’t care.
We filled breakfast plates at a buffet and then scoped the lake. Most of the shore was fastened with fences or hampered with houses. We rented a large pontoon boat and tried to distance ourselves from civilization. Other boats and wave runners were constantly buzzing past us. One boat sped by with a girl at the bow waving her bikini top above her head. Her breasts seemed to be exempt from the laws of nature; they did not seem to be affected by gravity, the skittish path of the boat, or the swivel of her torso. Sam cheered.
We stopped the boat to swim for a while. We started climbing the metal canopy on the party barge and jumping into the water. Sam climbed up close behind me. I was about to jump but Sam said, “Hey, James.”
I hesitated and looked him in the face. A moment later I felt warm liquid running down my leg. I looked down to see a yellow stream projecting from the leg opening of his swimsuit.
“Bastard!” I said, trying to push him off the canopy. Sam was strong and he grabbed me, dragging me into the water with him. He tried to yank off my swimsuit but I was able to get a foot against his chest and push away.
Later, we got showered and changed our clothes. The rest of the guys wanted to head back to the casinos but I told them I’d rather swim some more. I didn’t go swimming. I did sit at the foot of the bed contemplating drowning myself in the hotel hot tub, but not seriously. I was tired from the day on the lake so I laid down on the floor and went to sleep.
I felt someone nudging my shoulder in the dark hotel room. I saw Henry’s face in the light of the window. He motioned for me to follow him. We went outside and I asked, “What time is it?”
“It’s one in the morning. We better get going.” He said.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Where do you think? Crater Lake.” Henry smiled. “I put your bag in the car and I’ve got Jeff’s keys.”
“Are you kidding me?” I asked in disbelief.
“No,” said Henry, “I’m sure you came up with the idea before I did, but I wanted to be the one to steal Jeff’s car. So tell him it was all my doing when we get back.”
“Okay.” I said and hopped into Jeff’s car. I drummed on the door for at least an hour.
We made it to Crater Lake by morning and watched the entire sunrise in silence from the crater’s rim. I thought that if I believed in destiny then the future would be like the lake and all I would have to do was fall in and sink way down to the bottom. Life would be easy and it’s a shame that I couldn’t convince myself to take the plunge. Sitting above the lake, high in the mountains, gives the sense of being on top of the world. I wondered if there was a sadistic power at work that when you reached the world’s greatest height, instead of an ultimate pinnacle jutting into an ethereal sky there’s a two thousand foot pit filled with icy water that taps down into the Earth’s molten core.
Time was short and we’d have to get Jeff back his car. We hoped he would give us a ride home. I bought a disposable camera and took a picture of Henry and I in front of the lake to send to my mother. We had made it, and we would leave her to wonder how.
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