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PHOTOGRAPH BY B.D. DUNN
IT’S AFTER SCHOOL. Hot out. I’m in the backyard just hanging around. Not doing anything really. Too hot. My brother’s there, too. Bugging me. Being a jerk like usual. He goes
You’re not supposed to be drinking beer. I’m gonna tell mom!
Yeah, he’s gonna tell. Just because it’s hot and I’m thirsty. So what if it’s a brew? Fuck him.
Fuck you, Bobby. Mind your own business.
I’m gonna tell!
I’m like what the fuck. Getting pissed. I go
You tell an’ I’ll mess you up. I mean it, you little prick.
You’re gonna get in big trouble this time Stevie!
Jesus. This fuckin’ kid. It’s hot and I’m in no mood. I put the beer down on the edge of the deck and go for him. I’m like
I’m not kiddin’, Bobby! In a voice loud, angry. He goes
Leave me alone, you asshole! I’m gonna tell –
I lean in, drop down and slam him in the gut with a hard right. I’m surprised by the violence of it, but it feels good. A clean shot.
My kid brother falls backward. He’s on the ground, his mouth open, trying to breathe. Like a fish in the bottom of the boat. His face goes red, tears starting in his eyes. I watch, like what the fuck. I’m suddenly thinkin’ is he gonna be OK?
Then he sucks air like he’s doing a serious bowl. And coughs. Now he’s cryin’ between gasps. Oh yeah, he’s OK, the little prick. But then he gags and starts pukin’. I think I maybe see blood in his upchuck. Fuckin’ A!
I’m in for it now.
That’s it. I’m not staying around for weeks of being grounded, no TV, extra chores. The lecture. All that bullshit. Fuck it.
I’m outta here!
I go in the house and up to my room. I dump the school shit out of my backpack, put some clothes in, other stuff. I’m thinkin’ to hell with them. I’ve had enough of their shit. More than enough. Better off for everybody if I’m gone.
Back downstairs and it’s quiet. Nothing happening. Good. I’m out the front door with nobody the wiser. Maybe Bobby’s still in the backyard? Who cares. It’s his deal now. He ain’t gonna see me again. Punk.
I cross the front yard and slip through the gate to the sidewalk. The street’s quiet, no surprise. We live in what they call a bedroom community. I call it boring. Nothing to do but like get high and party. Even that gets boring around here. But that’s all gonna change. Like right fuckin’ now.
It’s hot in the spaces between the shade trees and the pack’s sticking to my back. But I’m walking fast. Putting distance between me and them. It feels good. Like a huge relief. Like no more rules, no more telling me what to do. I can do what I want.
That’s a new feeling.
I realize it’s freedom. Like I’m really free for the first time in my life. Free to do whatever I want. Up to me.
That’s a good feeling.
Good enough to keep me from thinking about my brother. About how he’s doing. Like if I fucked him up. Really hurt him bad. Damn!
Oh, well. He had it coming.
I go down a few blocks and then cut over to Atlantic Ave. Lots of cars now, the start of rush hour. I play chicken with them, making it to the other side of the big street as some asshole in a Camaro rides his horn. Can’t be bothered to flip him off. I’m thinking about my next move. It’s to go over to Marty’s.
Marty’s my best friend. He lives over on Puritan Rd. The other side of town. He lives in this tiny house with his old man. Last year his mom left for somewhere and never came back. I could see why. His old man even scares me and I don’t have to live there.
WHEN I PRESS the doorbell I can hear the bing-bong somewhere inside. Nothing at first and then the heavy door pulls back, making a sucking sound. Here’s Marty, his wavy brown hair cowlicked into a fright wig. Like he’s been out of it on the couch. His face comes into the light behind the screen door. He goes
Hey, man. What’re you doing here?
Is your dad home?
No, not yet. What’s up? He looks at my backpack. I go
Can I come in? It’s important.
Yeah, sure, OK. The screen door swings out and I step into the house. It’s cool and dark in the living room. A smell of stale cigarettes. I shrug the pack off and set it on the floor. After a moment he goes
What’s that for, dude? Where you goin’?
I’m running away. For good. When I say the words I see Marty’s eyes get big.
No fuckin’ way, Stevie! You’re shitting me. He smiles. I see his braces. Really?
Yeah, really. I’m done with them.
But what happened? I mean, what the fuck happened? He almost laughs when he says this.
I fucked Bobby up. He really pissed me off, you know? So I sorta sucker-punched him, and I’m not gonna hang around to get reamed. Screw them, right? So here I am. I look at Marty, he looks at me. He goes
I’m comin’ with you, man.
I didn’t expect that. I think for a moment and then I go
Yeah, but what about your dad? I mean, won’t he be pissed off? I don’t know why I say that. Marty just frowns.
I don’t care. I’m comin’ too. He don’t care what I do anyway.
OK, man, if you say so. But let’s go. Before your old man gets home.
Marty goes upstairs for his stuff while I palm a few cigarettes from a pack sitting on the table. His dad’s Kools. I hate menthol but take ‘em anyway. Freedom, right?
When Marty comes back downstairs, I see he’s got a sleeping bag tied to the top of his knapsack. I didn’t think of that. Shit. But whatever. Marty pats his pockets and looks at me.
You got any smokes?
No, just a few I took off your dad. Pointing to the table. Marty laughs.
Shit, man, take the whole damn pack. We’re running away, right? Fuck it. It don’t matter.
I slip the cigs into a pocket and heft the backpack. Marty pulls the front door open and we go out into the heat. He shoulders his pack and we start up the street, but he suddenly turns around and gives his house the finger. He looks at me and smiles.
We’re runnin’ away. Man, this is wicked cool!
WE STAND TOGETHER on Atlantic. I’m thumbing, Marty’s watching for cops. For his dad too. That would be worse than cops.
Pretty soon a guy pulls over, fucking up traffic. He’s driving a Caddy, not new but big. Like my granddad’s, only way older. The guy pops the door and we slide in on the front seat, Marty first. I dump the packs in back and pull the heavy door shut. The guy leans over and goes
Where you boys goin’? He’s got yellow teeth, one missing. Then he turns and waves the traffic to go around him.
I look at Marty. Where we goin’, man? He goes
Shit, I don’t care. Away from here, right?
Where’d you say you boys are goin’? The guy says over his shoulder. Boston? He starts to pull away from the curb.
Yeah, that’s right, goes Marty. We’re goin’ to Boston. The big car picks up speed, moving into the flow heading downtown.
Well, I ain’t goin’ that far. The man suddenly spits a stream of brown juice into a big Friendly’s cup between his legs. I can get you to Revere. That’s as far as I’m goin’. He pulls something out of his pocket.
You want a chaw? Holding the plug out to Marty.
No … no, man, I’m good. Marty elbows me. I cough to cover up a laugh. He goes
OK if me and my friend have a cigarette instead?
We light up a couple of Kools, and I roll down the window to let the smoke out. The guy focuses on driving, not saying much, only spitting now and then. Way too gross for me, so I’m lookin’ out the window. The big car rides low and sways, feels just like the swimming dock at Phillips Beach. It makes me drowsy. Then
You kids like country music? The guy looks at me, grinning half-assed. Hand me one of them eight tracks out of the glove box, sonny.
I pop the button, pick a tape and pass it over to the guy. I notice he’s missing part of his little finger. He goes
Damn, love that one! Merle frickin’ Haggard! He pushes the tape into the player bolted under the dash, hits the selector button and adjusts the volume up. Way up. Static, then
On a freight train leavin’ town
Not knowin’ where I’m bound
No one could change my mind
But Mama tried
Shit. I look at Marty. Marty’s lookin’ at the floor.
Story of my life, boys! The man grins bigger, shakes his head as he sings along. Mama tried! Mama tried! Marty goes
Yeah, that’s great, man. Then
What else you got? Shouting over the music.
What else? The driver turns the player down, looks at Marty. What you like, young fella?
Uh. How about Jefferson Airplane? You got any Jefferson Airplane? The guy goes
Jefferson – who? Never heard of him. What’s he sing?
We listen to Merle Haggard as the Cadillac rolls down 1A past Nahant, through Lynn and over the causeway into Revere Beach. Half a solid hour of country music. It goes by slow, but the breeze coming in through the open window feels good, cool in the heat. Smells like low tide. I like it even though it stinks.
We hit traffic at the first Parkway rotary. Stop and go for a while and then we see why. A kid in a juiced-up Charger rear-ended a delivery van. Cops wave us by, but our driver brakes, looking at the damage. He goes
Holy sufferin’ blue Jesus! That boy’s daddy gonna give him a talkin’ to. He spits, takes another chew. Then he puts on a blinker and moves into the right lane.
Well, boys, this is as far as I’m goin’. OK if I drop you here?
I’m like, Yeah, this is good. Thanks, man. I reach in back for the packs. The driver leans over and puts a hand on Marty’s arm.
Say, you young fellas wouldn’t have a few bucks for gas money, would you? This Caddy is a thirsty old gal and I’m a little shy of cash. He smiles, but his eyes get hard. Marty goes
I dunno, I … yeah, OK, I guess. He digs a few bills out of his pocket. This is all I got, man.
That’ll have to do, son. Much obliged. You boys take care now. I see he’s not happy.
We get out of the car, swing the door shut. The music starts up and the big ride pulls away, its brake lights bright red as it makes the turn. We head down the block toward Wonderland. The dog track, by the T stop.
Man, I couldn’t take much more of that twangy redneck shit. Jefferson who? Jesus! Marty squeezes his voice, making it rasp like the Caddy guy. What’s he sing? He laughs, drops his pack and sits on it. I go
Well, at least we got a ride. But what are we gonna do now, man? Go into Boston?
Naw. Let’s get somethin’ to eat. He pulls out a cigarette. That grotty fucker took all my money. You got anything?
Another thing I didn’t think of. After pulling out my pockets, I go
I got four bucks is all. Shit. We ain’t gonna get far on that. Marty looks at me for a minute, frowning. Then he laughs.
Gimme the money. I got an idea. He gets up and we walk over to the track entrance. It’s not too busy, but there’s plenty of people standing around the gate. Music comes over the loudspeakers under the big Wonderland sign, and every couple of minutes the announcer talks up the next race. Nobody’s paying any attention, but I see Marty’s checking them out. He goes
That guy over there. That’s the guy. I see he’s looking at some dude leaning up against the turnstile railing, reading a racing form. He’s wearing a straw hat pushed back on his head, a pencil behind one ear.
Yeah? Who’s he? What’re you talking about, man? Marty pushes me up against the wall. I feel the pack press into my back.
Not so loud, dude! He talks low, in my face. Here’s the deal. I’m gonna make us some money. We’re gonna bet on the dogs –
Bet? No way. You gotta be 21 to bet. We can’t even go in there without a grown-up, man. He looks at me like I’m some kid.
Yeah, yeah, I know. He does his smartass grin. That’s why this guy’s gonna bet for us.
But … how are you gonna – ? Shit, man, I don’t like this idea. Marty just laughs. He punches my shoulder.
Whadda pussy! Some runaway you are, motherfucker! C’mon, let’s make some money.
HEY, MISTER? Excuse me, sir. Sir? Marty’s next to the straw hat man, leaning in. I’m behind with our stuff. Hey, can I ask you a question?
The guy looks up. I see his eyes get narrow. He frowns, straightens. Not saying anything, just staring at us.
I’m sorry to bother you, sir. Marty makes his voice polite, like somebody different. Really, I’m sorry. But maybe you can help us? We kinda need help.
The guy says nothing, just looking. Then he goes
What kinda help? Sounding suspicious.
Me and my friend here, we’re trying to get back home. Marty talks faster, makes his eyes big. My dad was supposed to pick us up at the T stop a couple hours ago, but he hasn’t showed up. I don’t know what’s happened, but we gotta get home. My mom’s gonna be worried, and he’s gotta be home before dark or he’s gonna get it.
Straw Hat looks at me. He’s like, Oh, yeah, that so?
Yeah, it is. We spent almost all our money in Boston and now we don’t have enough for the bus. So maybe you could help us?
The guy folds the racing form and sticks it in his pocket. I see his sport coat’s missing a button. He looks like he’s gonna split. He goes
Lookin’ for a handout, kid? Forget it.
No, no, man! Marty moves in front of the guy, quick. No handouts! We just wanna place a bet. But we can’t ’cause we’re just kids. He looks at me and then back at the dude. But you could do it for us. Right?
Straw Hat looks like he’s gonna smile. I see he’s getting the idea. Place a bet? Yeah, I suppose I could do that.
Yeah, that’s right, sir. You could do that. And then me and my friend, we would have enough money to get home on. Marty makes a big grin, a thank-you face. Straw Hat smirks.
But you gotta pick a winner, right kid? If you wanna make money, I mean.
Like we didn’t know that. Marty’s ready for him. Yeah, right. But that’s where you come in, sir. I’m lookin’ at you and I see a guy who knows all about the dogs, which one’s gonna go for the rabbit an’ come in a winner. We don’t know shit about greyhounds, we’re kids. But you do, right? So you can help us.
The guy laughs. It sounds like a mean laugh. You little shit. You’re hustlin’ me, ain’t you?
No, no … Marty, sounding surprised. He holds his hands up, shrugs. We’re not bullshitting you, man. We just wanna get home. For real!
How much you got? Straw Hat holds out a palm. Lemme see it.
Marty gives him my four bucks. The guy looks at the crumpled bills. He goes
That’s it? That’s all you got? Sounding pissed. I hear the loudspeaker announce the next race. The crowd starts moving toward the gate. Marty goes
Yeah, that’s it. I’m really sorry, man. He looks like he’s gonna cry. I don’t remember ever seeing Marty cry. Marty, a real bullshitter.
Well, sonny, you’re in luck. This next race is a trifecta. So, I’ll tell you what I’ll do.
Straw Hat explains he’ll place bets for us win-place-show and get us enough to easily get back home. In time for dinner. Where you boys from? He wants to know.
We’re, uh, from Peabody, sir.
Peabody. That’s a hell of a ride. But I’ll get you enough cash so you can take a Yellow cab all the way and screw the bus. Straw Hat says we should wait for him by the gate. Marty says OK. I keep my mouth shut.
Gimme fifteen minutes and I’m back with your winner. I know the pups in this race real good. Can’t miss. He starts heading toward the gate, then turns. One thing, boys. I’ll need a little something for my trouble. OK with you if I pocket a five?
Yeah, sure, Marty goes. Straw Hat slips through the entrance and into the crowd. We find a bench and sit down. I take my pack off. Its straps are damp with sweat. I look at Marty. You trust that guy?
Yeah, sure. Why not? He shrugs. You got a better idea?
No, I go. Then, He looked to me like a real sleazeball.
Marty laughs. Man, we’re at the fuckin’ dog track. Everybody’s a sleazeball. Duh! He sees I don’t look happy.
Don’t worry, man. We’re gonna get us some spending money. We’re on the street now, Stevie boy!
IT’S STILL HOT even though the sun has pretty much set. We smoke the last of Marty’s dad’s Kools and the menthol burns my throat. My neck is sticky and I’m starting to feel hungry. It’s been twenty minutes since Straw Hat disappeared with my loot. Marty goes
Man, I could use a cold one right about now. He flicks his butt and it hits the asphalt in a burst of sparks. I see he’s not so juiced as he was. I’m starting to get pissed.
So where’s your guy, Marty? The frickin’ race is over. We heard it called over the loudspeakers ten minutes ago.
Take it easy, will ya? The guy’s comin’. Marty makes his don’t-blame-me face. He’s probably waitin’ in line at the payout window.
Yeah, right. Fuck.
He’s comin’ man.
People are coming through the gate now, mostly standing around by the entrance again, like there’s nothing happening. We watch, looking for Straw Hat. That’s why we don’t see the rent-a-cop until he’s right next to us.
What are you boys doing here? We turn, look. He’s holding a night stick in one hand. Marty’s surprised. He goes
What? We, we’re just waitin’ for a friend. Pouty, like he’s talking to a hall monitor at school.
You see that sign there? The security guy points with the stick. You know what “No Loitering” means?
Yeah, we know. But we aren’t loitering, we’re waiting. I see Marty’s getting an attitude. Not good.
The cop raps the edge of our bench with his stick. It makes a hard, clanky sound. He goes
This bench. It’s for Wonderland customers only. He moves in front of us. You kids been here for half an hour. Whoever you’re waiting for, he ain’t comin’. He hits the bench again, striking it in between his words.
Move. Along. Now!
We’re not movin’. I’m tellin’ you, man, we’re waiting for our fuckin’ friend – I grab Marty’s arm. He stops, looks at me hard. I go
No problem officer. We’ll just find somewhere else to wait. We don’t want any trouble. Sorry for the inconvenience. I grab the packs and yank Marty up. He looks sullen. The security cop just stares hard, watching us cross the plaza over to the sidewalk. I lead Marty into a bus shelter and drop the packs on a couple of empty seats. He sits, glares at me.Then sneers
Sorry for the inconvenience. Imitating my voice, whiny and high-pitched. Jesus, Stevie!
Fuck you, man. You wanna get us busted? That would be totally stupid, you know what I mean? Marty’s always getting in trouble because of his mouth.
Yeah, yeah, I guess. But he had no frickin’ right to hassle us. Asshole. Marty’s bummed out. But then
Keep an eye out for the dog guy, will ya? He might not see us over here.
I got a feelin’ we’re not gonna see him. Really, man, he just split with our bread. Ripped us off.
Marty says nothing. I watch the traffic stop at the light, wondering what we should do. A bus pulls up, people get off. A few get on. It says Malden in the slot over the front window. I start thinking about home. Marty goes
Listen, man, the guy’s still in Wonderland somewhere. We ain’t seen him come out, right? He brightens up, starts talking faster. So, he’s gotta come out, right? At some point, you know? So let’s keep watchin’, and when we see him, we’ll go get our money. He smiles wiseass. That old fucker can’t run faster than us, right Stevie?
IT TAKES TWENTY MINUTES, but then I think I see Straw Hat. He’s in with the crowd leaving after another race.
Hey, Marty – isn’t that the guy? I grab Marty’s arm. Over there, going across the parking lot? You see ’im?
Fuck! Where?
I point. You see his hat? That’s him, I think. Marty goes
C’mon, man! Let’s go!
He takes off across the plaza. I heft the packs and follow. More people are coming out of the gateway now. I can’t see Straw Hat, but Marty’s pushing through the crowd. Stevie! C’mon! He’s headin’ for the T!
I get to the curb just as the light changes. Marty’s already across, but there’s too much traffic for me to make it, so I wait for the cars to jam up in the intersection. I ease by a bus and around a truck, just as they start rolling again. I jog to the T station, but I don’t see Marty at first.Then I do. He’s inside the fence at one of the fare windows. Guys are pushing past, going through the turnstiles. Marty’s arguing with the lady. I wait outside, dropping the backpacks on the pavement. I hear Marty go
But that guy stole our money! All of it! You gotta let us through so we can get it back before the train comes! He whines, sounds desperate. The lady doesn’t even look at him.
Hey, kid! There’s other people here got money for their fares. A big guy in the growing line is getting impatient. Move out of the way, why don’tcha?
The lady in the booth flicks a hand. Move aside, please. Next! Her voice sounds muffled behind the glass. Marty goes
You don’t understand –
You heard the lady, the big guy goes. More people are joining the line. Marty spins around.
Fuck you an’ your family, fatso!
The big guy goes red, his mouth opens. I see him make a fist. He’s about to say something, but then the sound of an approaching train stops him. He shoves Marty out of the way, changes a bill at the booth and drops coins into the turnstile slot. As he runs up the steps to the platform, others follow, all hoping to make the train. It roars into the station and squeals to a stop, the doors thumping open. A loudspeaker crackles the next stop and a minute later the train jerks, starts to roll and pulls out. Marty goes
Shit. Shit, shit, shit! He looks furious.
Forget it, man. You did the best you could. Marty says nothing, just looking pissed. Sweaty from running. I go
That guy was never gonna give us the money. He probably picked a loser anyway. Didn’t want to tell us, you know what I mean? Marty, sullen again, goes
If it wasn’t for that bitch, I could have got that motherfucker! He stamps his foot. Jeez!
After a minute, I’m like, Now what? What do you wanna do?
Fuck! Get in somewhere cool where I can think!
WE HEAD OVER to Ocean Avenue, looking for an air-conditioned lemonade stand. People are coming off the beach, heading home for supper. Lots of kids with their moms, some teenagers in cut-offs, halter-tops and flip-flops.
Take your pack, man. I can’t carry your shit anymore. I hold out Marty’s knapsack while we wait for the light. The sleeping bag is shifted, one strap loose.
Aw, man, you fucked it all up! Now I gotta redo the whole thing. He kneels down on the sidewalk and unbuckles the straps. I go
Yeah, well, you try running with that thing. Or maybe you should try running with two of ’em! Now I’m pissed again. Marty says nothing.
We cross the street and head to the beach. Some of the dinkier stands are closing but a pizza place down the boardwalk has indoor tables and AC. It’s still open, and Marty heads there. A sign in the door says No shirt, No shoes, No service.
Man, we can’t go in there. I mean, how are we gonna buy anything? We don’t have any money.
Don’t need no money, dude. Didn’t you read “Steal This Book”? C’mon. He pulls the door and we go in. The cold air feels sweet. I suck it in. A few tables are occupied, most empty. We take one by the door. Nobody pays any attention to us.
Ahh! Man, that feels good! Marty drops his pack on the floor. The sleeping bag slips a strap. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. I’m watching the guy behind the service counter taking a couple of kids’ orders.
What’s the deal, man? If we don’t get something, the guy’s gonna kick us out. Marty goes
Yeah, well, we’re gonna get something. You’re hungry, aren’t you?
Yeah, I’m hungry. But … I look at Marty. He makes his wiseass smile. I see the table next to us has a few half-finished sodas and a plate of pizza crusts. I’m like
No … unh-uh, man. I’m not doing that! Shaking my head.
What, you’re afraid of germs? You’re a frickin’ wimp, Stevie. He reaches around quick and grabs the plate. He glances toward the counter, then snatches one of the sodas.
Here you go, Stevie-boy. Drink up!
Jeez, I don’t know. The cup has lipstick on the rim. I look into it. Fuck, man! There’s a butt in it!
OK, OK, maybe don’t drink that one.
Marty pushes back his chair so he can reach another soda from the far side of the table. When he turns, there’s a kid in an apron standing there. He’s got a dishrag in one hand and a greasy tray under his arm. Marty looks up, startled.
The kid isn’t much older than us. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then
You guys place an order? He knows we didn’t. Next, he’s like, Tables for customers only, see? Pointing with the dishrag at the sign above the counter.
Oh, yeah, we’re gonna order, man. Sure, we are. Marty sounds polite. We’re just deciding is all.
You can decide outside, kid. Now it’s the guy behind the counter. He sounds tired, hard.
Out!
But we’re customers, man! We didn’t do nothing! Marty’s attitude again. We’re gonna order. For real.
I said outside. Now! I mean it! The counter guy comes around and toward the table. Get the fuck out!
Uh … OK, OK. Marty stands up, grabbing his knapsack. It bumps the table as he jerks it up. The table rocks unsteadily and dumps the soda in my lap.
Shit!
The brown liquid drenches my jeans and pools between my legs, soaking up into my rump. When I stand up, I can feel dribbles run down my legs. The cigarette butt floats in the pool on my chair seat.
The counter guy goes nuts.
Get the fuck out of my store, you little shits! Before I call the cops!
We beat it out the door with him right behind. The other customers pretend not to notice, but the kid with the rag is at the window watching. Once we’re out, I see he flips us the bird. We move away quick, heading down the beach. My pants stick to my legs and one of my sneakers squishes. Marty goes
What an asshole! Fuck him. I mean, they’re just gonna throw that shit away! What’s the big deal?
You fuckin’ dumped soda all over me, that’s the big deal! Marty looks at my crotch. I go, that was a swift move, man.
Yeah, sorry, Stevie. It was an accident. But you saw! The fuckin’ guy was gonna jump me!
Well, I can’t blame him!
Marty stops, drops his pack. Real quiet he goes
Fuck you, man. I said I was sorry. What’re you getting’ all pissy for?
Why do you always have to act like an asshole?
He says nothing. I shake my head, then sit down on the sand. Pull off my shoe and sock. My foot’s sticky too.
Marty looks out at the ocean. The sky’s getting dark. A seagull drops down to peck at an empty bag of chips. I go
Marty.
Yeah, what?
I’m not into this. I pull my shoe back on, toss the sock away.
Into what?
This. Runnin’ away.
Whadda you mean?
I’m goin’ home. That’s what I mean.
Marty stares at me. He looks like he’s gonna cry. He never cries. He goes
No! Fuck, no, man!
Fuck yeah. I’m done. I stand up.
What about Bobby? What about being grounded, all that shit? His voice gets tight. What about you’re not gonna take it anymore?
I guess I’m gonna have to take it. But this – this shit I’m not gonna take. Not me.
Marty looks down, says nothing. He kicks sand, clears his throat. He goes
OK, Stevie. Do whatever you want. But you’re a fuckin’ pussy. You hear me? A righteous shithead. So fuck you, man. Fuck you, my friend. Run away? Yeah, sure!
I don’t say anything for a minute, letting him cool down. Then
So what’re you gonna do, Marty?
My friend suddenly smiles. Me? I’m on the road, dude. I’m runnin’ away from home!
IT’S AFTER DARK when I get home. I come in, drop the backpack by the door. It’s quiet but I can hear the TV in the living room. I head to the kitchen for something to eat. Before I have to face the shit.
The light’s on and I see Mom’s there at the sink. She turns as I come in, shakes her hands off and grabs a towel.
Steven!
Here we go. She goes
Where have you been? She sounds worried.
Uh, over at Marty’s. We went to the beach.
You went to the beach. Well, I think you know you’re in a lot of trouble, young man! She’s getting that tone.
I, uh, what do you mean? I didn’t do anything. Now I’m fucked.
Didn’t do anything? You know very well what you did!
I, well, I didn’t mean it. I just –
No excuses, Steven! You know what the rule is.
The rule? I do? She looks concerned. Now I’m confused.
You’re supposed to call so that I know where you are. That’s the rule. I’ve been worried sick, not knowing if you were hurt, lying in the street somewhere! She puts down the towel and takes my hand. Hers feels warm, damp.
Please don’t do that again, honey. Just let me know where you are, that’s all I ask.
Uh, sorry, mom. I guess I forgot. I won’t do it again, promise. She makes her soft smile, squeezes my hand. She goes
Have you eaten anything? You must be starving! I kept a plate for you in the oven. Wash your hands while I get it ready. She steps back, then goes, Oh, Steven, what did you do to your good school pants?
I wash up. The water feels good, getting rid of the sticky. Mom’s fried chicken tastes like the best thing I ever ate. But the whole time I’m like what the fuck? No lecture, no grounded, no chores. Everything’s cool.
Well. Bobby’s alright.
I see him later in the living room. The kid looks up at me, goes
Hi.
Hi. What’s on? He moves over on the couch.
Laugh-In’s next.
Cool.
We sit together and laugh.
ON MONDAY MORNING I see Marty in homeroom. One eye is swollen, all black and blue underneath. Later, in the hall, I stop him. He looks away, but I’m like
What the fuck happened, man? I thought you were runnin’ away. Are you OK? He goes
Yeah. I’m OK.
You get into a fight in Revere? Your eye looks really fucked up.
No. No fight.
Well, what then? Who did that to you? Marty looks down at his feet. He’s like
When I got home, my old man was kinda pissed off.
So he … ?
Yeah.
Jesus!
No big deal. Marty says nothing for a minute. Other kids push by, talking, going to class. The hall is noisy, but I’m listening to Marty. He looks at me, smiles wiseass. Then he goes
But, man, if you ever wanna run away again, I’m ready dude. Any time!