A to Z - 35. Chapter 35: Disaster

November 21

It was all too good to last. Knew it would happen sometime. Feel shaky and shitty, and scared. Don't want to think about it.

(***)

A little better now, if that means I can sit up, think straight, and stop shaking.

I’ve been waiting for the whole, great, wonderful adventure to collapse in a heap of dust, and that’s exactly what happened this weekend. The worst thing is that it wasn’t anything I did. Well, nothing that I did since getting to Blackburn.

Everything was going great on Saturday. The sun was shining, even. Mrs. M. gave me a whole bunch of little chores to do – ‘closing up shop,” as she put it. It seemed as if she was making work for me. When it was time for me to go, she sat me down at the kitchen table.

“Now, listen young man, I’ll be back for Christmas, so you’d better keep up the good work,” she instructed me, looking at me severely.

I nodded meekly. I knew now to let her give some orders.

“If it snows, I’ll want you to clear the walks, either first thing in the morning or in the evening. I can pay you to do that, if you keep a record of the time you spend, is that clear?”

I nodded again.

Her tone softened.

“You’ve been a real marvel, Andrew, and a blessing to an old woman. Thank you for all your hard work this fall.”

“You paid me for all of it, Mrs. Marjorie,” I said quietly.

“Yes, but the thing is, you did it all well. You didn’t cut corners, and you took pride in the work you did. I can’t say that for all of the people I’ve hired over the years.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to hide. I didn’t deserve all this praise. Hell, Dad would have kicked my ass from here to next week and back to last Thursday over some of the stuff I called finished. I shifted uncomfortably.

“Thanks, ma’am. I’d better get on over to the Abbotts’. I have to finish early there. I’m headed to the movies tonight.”

“Really?” suddenly she took an interest. “What are you going to go see?”

“I don’t know. My friend Terry is choosing the movie.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you. But wait a second, I need to write out a check for today.”

So I got to wait a few more minutes while she filled out the check. It wasn’t until later that I found out she’d added an extra twenty dollars this week.

The Abbotts just had the usual light work for me to do, and I was out of there fairly quickly. I should have known that everything was going too well, too smoothly.

After the Abbott’s, everything went according to plan. Back to school. Slip inside and shower. Dress. For once, I left my pack behind at school. I wanted to be normal. Walked to the grocery store and cashed my checks. Ambled on over to the movie theaters, past the TGI Friday’s, past the Wal-Mart, past some other chain restaurant. Waited around, because I was early. All checked off.

Kaz, Terry and Zander arrived in a big SUV driven by Kaz’s mom a few minutes later. She was dropping them off, and Kaz agreed to call when they were ready to be picked up.

I was excited to see a movie in a real theater. I hung back while Terry chose the movie. I can’t even remember the name of it. We bought our tickets – shit, they were expensive! – and we wandered in. Apparently, we had to hurry, because the movie was about to start.

We got to sit in these fantastically comfortable chairs about halfway back from the biggest screen I’ve ever seen. I mean, we had movies in school back in Carlsberg, when someone would wheel in a big TV and a disc player. But this was enormous – three times my own height, maybe, in both directions.

I sat next to Zander, with a seat on the aisle. Terry sat between Zander and Kaz. I have to admit, it was very hard to concentrate on the movie, first because of the newness of the experience – the sound just seemed to come from everywhere at once – and also because Zander was so close, sitting right next to me the whole time.

I’m not sure Zander enjoyed the movie as much as I did. He frequently whispered sharp, funny comments about the actress, or the predictability of the plot, or the scriptwriting into my ear. I couldn’t help laughing at least a little. I don’t think he was talking to Terry on his other side much – she and Kaz had their heads together most of the time.

The movie itself wasn’t bad. It was about a woman in some kind of college, who writes a story for a class. Her teacher – professor? – likes it so much, he steals the story and sells it as his own. The editor, played by a handsome young guy, figures it all out, forces the professor to admit his guilt, and the young woman and her editor fall in love. Happy ending.

For a while, we hung out in the lobby of the movie theaters. Tons of people flowed through the big open space. Kaz saw someone he knew and chatted with her for a bit while Terry excused herself to use the ladies’ room. Eventually, though, we emerged into the glare of the parking lot lights about two hours after going in.

“Anybody hungry besides me?” asked Kaz.

Zander and Terry put up their hands like they would in class.

“There’s a Denny’s across the way,” he pointed across the parking lot and down the street. “We could get something there, if you don’t mind walking.”

“Fine, I’ll walk, Kaz – you run,” said Zander. We all laughed at that. Everything was great.

There’s something called Karma, I’ve learned. Basically, I think it means the fate you’re going to get, no matter what you do to escape it. It’s the fate you deserve because of what you’ve done. I must have screwed up royally because I can’t seem to get a break from it.

Kaz and Terry led the way, hand in hand. Zander walked beside me. We loafed along the sidewalk between the Wal-Mart and the theaters. I hardly noticed the person following us. Then, I heard footsteps coming up rapidly behind.

My hat was whipped off my head – I think some of my hair went with it – and I was turned roughly around.

“You!” a voice snarled at me.

I stood there in shock.

There before me was Green Hat – Roger, the trucker - still wearing his feed store hat. Roger from Petersburg, the trucker who just about raped me and sold me to his buddy T.J. back at Merle’s Diner. Where the hell had he come from? I took a step back.

“You little shit! What the hell are you doin’ here?” Roger Green Hat shouted with rage.

I couldn’t do anything but stare, wide-eyed. Here was my past, on glaring display for my new friends to see. I was suddenly sick to my stomach, light headed.

“Who the hell are you?” I heard Zander, as if from far, far away.

“Who am I? Who the hell am I?” Roger’s voice sounded thick and a little indistinct. I realized he’d been drinking. Believe me, I know what an angry drunk sounds like.

He stepped up close to Zander and poked a finger in his chest. He paused a second, thinking.

“I’m this boy’s daddy,” he growled, with a big, nasty grin growing across his face. He cackled at the joke. He found it hilarious.

"You're Andy's father?" Kaz asked.

“I’m. This. Boy’s. Daddy!” Roger repeated himself, yelling, turning to me. Why the hell didn't I run?

In a flash, he’d put an arm around my neck, pulling me in a close headlock. God, he reeked of booze and beer. But at least the action cleared my head a little.

“And he’s supposed to be at home with me!” Green Hat bellowed, trying to drag me away.

“Jesus, you’re drunk! Get off me!” I tried to yell, but the words got muffled as I tried to twist out of his grip. Roger was a pretty strong drunk. I’d gotten better at wrestling this summer, but Roger wasn’t a sheep. We wrestled to a stand, and he hung on tight. We were separated from my friends, now.

“Hey, mister, wait a second. You can’t just take Andy away,” I heard Kaz speaking.

“Oh, yes I can! He's my boy!” he hollered, slurring the words. He got one elbow under my arm and his hand behind my neck, gripping it. The other one choked off my windpipe.

Roger forced me to face the trio, who stood motionless, stunned.

“I told him!” Roger panted, “I told him he couldn’t go out! Told him he had work to do for me!”

He paused to chuckle at his own stupid inside joke. I swear, I could feel him sway for a second. I suppose if I were one of those action heroes, I would have thought to kick Roger in the balls with my heel or something. Right then, I was getting dizzy and trying to breathe.

“Tussle with me anymore, and I’m gonna break you’re fuckin neck, kid, got that?” Roger spoke low and close to my ear. Then he addressed the world at large again. Not that there were many people anywhere near to hear.

“And you know what my boy did? He hollered into the night. “You know what my own son did? My boy run off!” He shook me, and pushed my head down painfully.

“He run off! That’s what he did, leaving his daddy high and dry!” Roger dragged me a step or two farther back.

“Look, you’re hurting him…” the voice of Zander, more distant; I couldn’t see him.

“Now you all get away from here!” Roger roared out, stepping backwards some more. “He’s my boy, and he’s comin’ home with me! My boy’s comin’ home with me, you hear? Because you know what he is?”

Roger’s question boomed out into the parking lot.

“You know what he is?” he pulled me away another step or two and gave me another shake. I squirmed, but his grip on my throat stopped that. Roger spoke low for a second.

“He’s a fuckin’ whore. That’s right! A stinkin’ fuckin’ cheatin’ lyin’ whore!” his voice rose to a scream.

He started dragging me backwards into the parking lot again, away from my friends. Well, they wouldn't be my friends anymore, even if I ever saw them again.

Roger was still yelling, his voice echoing across the rows of cars.

“How much you pay him tonight? Huh? How much? You’re fuckin’ fools you think you’re gettin’ anything back! A fuckin’ whore! I’m gonna get him home and teach him a lesson!”

Terry, Kaz and Zander stood frozen on the sidewalk, as I got hauled back toward the far side of the parking lot. I think they watched as I got dragged out of sight behind the big blue eighteen wheeler I barely recognized from last summer.

I hadn’t even noticed it parked in the lot.

Out of sight of my friends, Roger started talking to me. “I been haulin’ loads all over the state, up and down every highway, and guess what? You turned up here! In this little shit town!” Roger hissed in my ear. “Never thought you’d see me again, did you, you little fucker! Little sumbitch cost me fifty dollars!”

I felt my face get mashed into the driver’s side of the truck as he pushed me up against it. I felt something hard and cold press up against the back of my head.

It’s funny how when you realize there’s a gun to your head – literally – and you’ve just lost just about everything you thought was worth anything, you can just detach yourself and let go of reality. Like I used to do when Dad really started to get serious about beating on me. Like I did when – the other really bad shit happened.

I somehow heard Green Hat tell me to get in the truck slowly. Heard him tell me to kneel in front of the bed in the cabin. Heard him standing behind me, breathing heavily. But I never heard the whack to the head that knocked me out cold.

(***)

I woke up on the floor of the smelly cabin. My head throbbing. Naked. Shit, what happened? I tried to feel my head, and discovered my hands were bound behind my back, and my feet wrapped up together with duct tape. Then I realized my mouth had been taped, too. I don’t think Roger had – no he can’t have – I’d have known, wouldn’t I? I’d sure as hell feel it now if he had, right?

Ugh, the smell. God, the confined space reeked of whiskey and beer. I heard loud snoring from the bed.

I tried to look up and saw an empty bottle lying next to the inert form of Green Hat. His shirt was off, and his jeans were down around his ankles. Fuck. What the hell had he done with me? Stripped me, taped me up, and then left me there, too drunk to do anything else? I really didn’t want to know. Not ever. Why didn’t he just kill me and get it over with?

No. He wouldn’t do that. Not yet. First, he was going to teach me a lesson. Shit. Dad and Ray already taught me a bunch of those lessons. I knew what Roger had in mind. He was going to wake up with a nice hard on, and fuck me in the ass. He’d make sure it hurt. He’d make sure I screamed. He’d laugh about it. Then, when he’d had enough, he’d beat me to a pulp. Then, with a gun to my head, he’d sell me to his friends.

I pulled against the tape holding my wrists together. Nothing.

I tried again, panic rising. And again. And again. I spent a long time straining against the bond, frantically trying to get something to give.

In between panicky bouts of trying to get the tape off, I prayed. I begged whatever deity was out there for a miracle. I'd have even welcomed Ambrose Whitley at that moment.

So maybe what happened after wasn't a miracle.

You know, the one thing about drunks is that they’re not very nimble. They can be mean, powerful, ugly, aggressive, loud, abusive – all those things – but they are often clumsy, in my experience.

Sure enough, Roger was no less inept than Dad sometimes was. I caught a small break. Hope battled with panic. There was a loose end of tape that I could just manage to move with my fingers. I tried to work it back off.

I froze. The snoring on the bed stopped for a moment, then started up again.

I resumed my efforts. I pulled at it, tugged at it, moved it patiently with the ends of my fingers until I thought the muscles in my hands were going snap. And then, glory be, I felt the tape give way. Roger was a nasty and very strong drunk, but a clumsy one with tape. Thank God.

Slowly, slowly, I worked the tape back, then got it peeled off. Every time Roger's breathing changed, my heart stopped. With my hands free, I quickly, quietly, pulled the tape off my ankles. Still snoring.

Ouch! Try slowly yanking tape off your face someday.

Come on, think, I told myself. Chop it up into small steps. I stood. Shit, I was naked. Naked in this man’s truck. Where the hell were my clothes?

Then I spotted them. He had my clothes in a bundle on the bed with him, holding them like a teddy bear, for God’s sake. Right next to the shiny gun. The good news was that, in sleep, he'd let the gun fall from his grip. Bad news, I’d have to reach in next to him and very, very carefully grab it.

Still, the snoring continued.

I crept closer, slowly, slowly, heart racing. God, how did the sound of it not wake him up? Further, further, reach a little further. Hell, I couldn’t keep this up forever. Decision time. With one swift movement, I reached in and swiped up the gun. It was heavier than I thought it would be.

Roger snuffled, and I froze, pointing the weapon at him. I was scared to death, but if I had to, I was going to kill him. I really was. No kidding. He didn’t wake. It took me a second to register this-- then relief. I took a deep breath. I spotted my boots at the foot of the bed.

I lifted them up, set them down softly, and slipped them on.

But I still needed my clothes, and Roger had them in a tight grip. I could have waited until he woke up, or I could have tried to and reach in and take them like I did the pistol. Or I could have woken him up and made him give them back. God knows why, I choose the last option.

Shaking, I tapped him on the skull with the barrel of the pistol.

Roger snuffled again, eyes shut. I tapped him again, harder.

His eyes opened, trying to focus. Suddenly, he realized something wasn’t quite right. He looked up at me, and his eyes suddenly widened when he noticed the gun pointed right at him.

“Hey kid,” he growled, “give that here.” Then he squinted. “Shit. My head.”

Yeah, I bet he had a headache right about then.

“No. You listen. I want my clothes. Now.”

I did my best to sound like a cop. The quaver in my voice gave it all away.

Unfortunately, Roger grinned slowly. He eyed my body up and down. I wasn’t being modest right at that moment. I felt ridiculous being naked and holding a gun on him. But still, at least I had the gun.

“Shit, but you’re a great piece of ass, you know that, kid? I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you yell for mercy.”

I stood there, silent, trembling. Could he see that?

He tried again. “How about this? You give me the gun, and I’ll give you your clothes.”

He was still drunk.

“No, how about this? You give me my clothes, and I don’t kill you right now.”

“You won’t kill me.”

“How do you know?”

“Two things – the safety’s on, and the gun ain’t loaded.” He was so calm, but I didn’t waver.

“Liar.”

“Give me the gun, now, kid.” The menacing tone rose in his voice. But he made no move, either. Who was bluffing?

“No. Give me my clothes, or I put a bullet in your head.” I was tense, twitchy with anxiety.

“You little shit,” he growled, and he tried to sit up.

At that moment several things happened. Roger sat up quick, reaching for the gun. However, he’d forgotten where he was, because his head smashed into an overhead storage bin, really, really hard. At the moment he moved, I pulled the trigger, and the tight cabin exploded in noise. And then big, bad Roger started to shriek.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! I’M HIT! I’M HIT! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

He tried to press himself into the back of the cabin and held his hands to his head. But I don’t think I hit him, because I found myself staring at a neat hole in the mattress where his head was an instant earlier.

“SHIIIIIIIIIT! I’M HIT! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!”

On the other hand, he'd tossed my clothes onto the floor. I scooped them up and backed out of the cabin. I didn’t really give a crap about being naked or anything else right then. I just wanted out. And when Roger realized he wasn’t really hurt, well, he might have second thoughts about coming after me if I took the gun.

I backed right out of the truck and down to the parking lot, buck naked except for my boots. The parking lot was deserted and dark – but the streetlights glared a bright orange, and I was totally exposed. I couldn’t hear any sirens yet. That pistol shot still rang in my ears. It must have alerted someone, even at this hour in the morning.

I could still hear Roger screaming. I slipped off my boots, picked them up, and started to run. The ground was cold on my bare feet. I’d like to say here that it’s tough to run barefoot, juggling a bundle of your clothes, your heavy boots, and a live pistol. I don’t recommend it. I guess I’m lucky I didn’t shoot off any body parts.

I dashed right across the street and behind one of the restaurants on the other side. A car approached in the distance, but I doubt the driver spotted me clearly.

I found a spot behind the dumpster – fortunately there wasn’t anyone foraging there – and got dressed, fast. I was totally focused on getting away, now. I used my jacket to wipe the gun off, and then threw it into the dumpster. What happened began to sink in.

And then I ran. I ran faster than Kaz ever did at States. I headed straight for Blackburn High School, which I never should have left.

There, I found a door I’d left jammed open and clattered down the halls and into the Library. Usually, I try to be quiet when I think I’m alone in the building, but not this time. I yanked open the door to my closet and slid into my hidey-hole. And there, there, I finally let myself go.

I curled up into a tight little ball, shuddering, shaking, hyperventilating. I started crying and I just couldn’t stop. I was a soggy, quivering, whimpering mess. I really don’t remember much. I think I spent all of the next day and most of Sunday night just balled up, too frightened to move, panicked and crying.

I finally became conscious of waking and being able to breathe somewhat normally. I remember looking at my watch. I still had my watch. And somehow, the tiny glow of the watch reconnected me to life. My life, shitty as it is. Five-thirty on a Monday morning. Past time to get up and run with Kaz.

No. I wasn’t running this morning. No way.

I wanted to wrap myself up under the covers and hide from the world. But there weren’t any covers; I have no blanket, no bed, none of that. I did a little self exploration. My head really hurt. Feeling the back of my head, I discovered a great big knot, and a bunch of matted hair. Roger must have hit me hard enough to bleed. Later, I found that I must have cut my foot someplace as I ran away from the truck.

I tried to think about my experience. I can’t be sure, but I don’t think he did it to me. I mean, I don’t believe he got his thing in me. I think he might have tried, but maybe my body wouldn’t cooperate, or maybe he was just too damn drunk. I don’t know, because I wasn’t exactly there. Thinking about it makes me want to vomit.

One thing I do know. I pulled the trigger. If he hadn’t tried to sit up, I’d have spattered Roger’s brains all over that damn truck. I would have killed someone for real. Does that make me a killer, now?

As I lay there, trying to put myself back together, I wondered: what should I do now? What about my friends? Who was I kidding? They wouldn't be my friends anymore. Anyway, I didn’t want to face them. Not Kaz and Terry. And not Zander. They know who I am, now. They know what I am now. I remembered them staring after me in the parking lot, being dragged away by a man they thought was my father. They must have been disgusted. Repelled. Nauseated. By me. By my lies. By my pretending to be one of them. Normal.

Normal. What the hell is normal, anyhow? Damned if I’ll ever know.

So I just lay there in the closet, thinking about it, sometimes calmly, sometimes with tears streaming down my face. I'd lost pretty much everything.

All today, I heard the routine school bells and periods and everything outside my closet door. Technically, I was in school all day today. I just didn’t make any of my classes. Anyhow, I couldn’t face them. Any of them. I don’t know how I’m going to manage it in the morning tomorrow. And yet, I’m going to have to come out and rejoin the world, tomorrow, because my stomach is telling me so. My rations are low, because I missed going to the store. I can write all night if I want to, but I’ll still be hungry.

And though he didn’t get my ass, or whore me out, there was one thing Roger did get from me. He took what was left of my work money.