Written By: Robert Kornhiser
— That the boy?
They were off the road, the muddied Ram pick-up hid behind a stand of cottonwoods.
— Ahhuh.
— Best put out that cigarette.
— Got it cupped.
— Still. He squeezed the burnt end out, wetting his fingers. He tossed the butt out.
— Toldya.
— What?
— I see’d the boy run out here at night.
He nodded.
— Suits us. Too hot to run with the sun up. No moon, too. How far he go?
— ‘bout to the church. Doubles back then after.
— We’ll give him time then go out to the road like we planned. Run pretty good.
He spit out the window.
— Not good enough, and he took out another cigarette waiting to light it.
The boy was near a man. 17. A senior at Carter. The end of junior year he got a part-time after-school job at Walmart. He stocked and sometimes helped customers to their cars out in the lot. It was a courtesy, and on occasion he even got a small tip. He always tried to give it back, but most made sure he took it, though they surely appreciated the gesture.
That’s how he met her.
“I’m Darla. These are my kids. Joshua an’ Samuel. Named them out of the bible.” They were three and six, sitting in the back of her faded Dart. Joshua was fair and fair-haired, and with blue eyes. His brother next to him was dark, with dark nappy hair tight to his scalp.
He helped put the groceries in noticing that the three year-old’s car seat wasn’t tight.
“I fixed my nephew’s, ma’am.”
“Thank you. And you don’t have to call me ma’am. You’re makin’ me sound way too old. What’s yours?”
“What?”
“Your name?” He pointed to his Walmart name-tag. DAMON.
“Day-man?”
“Duh-mon.”
“Duh-mon?”
“That’s not in the bible.” They both smiled at that. “My mom’s liked the sound of it.”
“Well, you tell your mom she is right, Duh-mon. You still in high school?”
“Be a senior.”
“I dropped out. Got pregnant but I lost that one.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But I got these now.”
That was in May, the first of the month, when Darla got her check and the food stamps. He saw her again the first of June. And again that first of July.
“Was that you runnin’ the other night out Davis Road? ‘bout midnight I’d guess.”
“You seen me?”
“I left the kids sleep and went down the 7Eleven for milk.”
“Always run at night in the heat.”
“Thought it was you.” Darla touched Damon on the wrist. “You ought to run by me one night.”
“Ma’am?”
They were outside her car. Darla had the keys in her hand. She tapped them against her palm. “No ma’am — Darla. You know the trailer park other side of Glory Baptist?”
“’bout a mile or two from me.”
“Number 16.” She stood there a while tapping the keys. “Damon? You’re not saying anything.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You just run by me.” She got in the car and rolled down her window. “I live by myself. The kids go off early by eight”
He shifted and looked around Walmart lot. They were off by themselves. “No man about?” Damon kinda stumbled that out. She shook her head.
“Got rid of both of them. Black and white. Tell you something. I liked the Black one better.” She rolled up the window and backed off, Damon having to move out of the way.
“Tell you somethin’—”
They were sitting on rusting lawn chairs on some patchy grass outside Darla’s peeling Sporstman. This was after their first night together, and Darla poured some Colt 45 into a couple of mismatched glasses. “You drink beer, don’t you? I know you’re trainin’ for the team but —”
“A little can’t hurt. And I’ll run it off on the way home anyhows.”
“You think I’m fat?” Darla got up and stood in front of him, the light from the trailer window falling on her. She opened her wrapper. She was just wearing the panties she’d slipped on after underneath.
“No.” Damon lied.
“Yes I am. You are quite the liar, Damon.” She cinched the fraying pink belt and sat next to him. “Aren’t you? God this beer feels good. You wouldn’t think it’d be so hot this late. I’m gonna have to change those sheets. Only have two pair — Was I your first? Come on. No lies now.”
“Yes —an’ no.”
“Well, tell me the no.”
He said there was this white girl who waited for the team after practice. “Kind of a dummy, you know?”
“And she does the team?” He nodded. “Hand or mouth?”
He lied. “Just hand.”
“Then I am your first. Tell you somethin’. Know what attracted me?” He shook his head. “The time in the Walmart you pushed away the quarter I gave you for he’pin’ me. I took that as sincere.”
“Momma?” The fair-haired boy stood in the doorway of the Sportsman, the weak kitchenette light behind him “Momma? Who you talkin’ to?” He only had some Spider-Man draws on. His pale stomach rounded way out over his draws the way skinny little kids’ bellies do.
“Just a friend. You go back inside.”
“I heard a noise before. Woke me up.”
“Most like you were dreamin’. We all dream.” She didn’t move. “Now you get. You don’t want me out of this chair.”
— Musta been hellacious for ya.
— What were?
They were sitting still in the rusting Ram waiting back of the cottonwoods stand.
— Seein’ ‘em like that in broad daylight.
— Hellacious ain’t even the word for it.
His balled fist pound at the steering wheel hard enough for the dark ring to vibrate.
— She sittin’ there out by the swing set smokin’ like nothin a‘tall. La-di-da. You know?
And the nigger pushin’ Josh on the swing. An’ he’s laughin’.
—Nigger?
— No Josh.
— Makes it worsen. You get the name outta the bible? Joshua?
— She did. An’ she don’t even go to church. That’s the way she’s raisin’ him. With a nigger baby besides. And he’s laughin’. Imagine you seein’ that.
— That is the worse.
They sat there watching down the road towards the direction of the church. One of them looked at his watch.
— Ain’t late enough yet.
— She’s tosst me out for a nigger now twice.
He looked over.
— An’ you know why?
— Know? No. Why?
Again he smashes at the wheel.
— Don’t want to break it. Why she—?
— Bitch. She wants to cut off my balls. That’s all them bitches do. Cut off a man’s balls, and laugh, and like it with a cigarette in their whore mouth.
The road was still quiet.
— Amen.
“I don’t like the relationship. Not so much that she’s white —always had some of that — but she’s what? 30?”
“One.”
“31. What does she want with you? Damon?” He couldn’t say anything to his mother. Partly because he didn’t know. One thing was Darla made him feel free and equal in some way. But he couldn’t put that into the right words.
“I don’t know, momma.”
“It’s not natural, she wanting a boy.”
“17.”
“That’s still a child. She’s already got—what? two?”
“Yes.”
“You know it’s all over the town.”
“Maybe we’ll move —”
“We’ll? Now it’s we’ll? You’re not even graduated and it’s we’ll?”
“I didn’t mean —”
“I wish your father were here. A woman can twist you, Damon.”
“I know.”
“Look at your brother. Dropped out of State.”
“I know, momma. I know.”
“I want a college boy. Come here, baby.” She was sitting at the table in the kitchen. It had all the years’ scratches on it. “Damon?” He came away from the fridge he was leaning up on. She took his hand which was still soft brown with baby fat.
“Foolin’ with some 31 year-old white woman can’t lead to anything good. Damon?”
“It’s not like that today.”
“Today is still yesterday in North Carolina. You hear me?”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Don’t you get fresh with me.”
“I wasn’t.” And she took his hand and put it to her cheek. He could see she almost wanted to tear up —something he’d only seen her do the once when her brother was killed in the accident at the sawmill — but she didn’t. And he was glad of that.
He wanted to say something but didn’t know what. All he could think about was later tonight at Darla’s, and how she made him feel laying his head on those flat titties of hers. Almost like he was betraying something at the same time she was moaning and hugging him to her in that woman-child way of hers.
LeSean, Damon’s best friend on the team came from behind the equipment shed out behind the football bleachers. They’d practiced late and the sun was almost down. They were the last two.
“Gawon, she’s waitin’.” He stood there. Damon. “What’s wrong with you, man? You don’t want your knob shined? Gawon, Damon. Says you’re her favorite.” And he laughed, giving him a shove.
Damon just stood there.
“Fuck off, man. Tell her go home.”
“You sure? Ain’t it better by a white girl?”
“Yeah I’m sure.” LeSean shrugged and went back of the shed for a minute then came right back. “You already got a white girl.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re bonin’ that bitch over the trailer park. Everybody knows it.”
“So? An’ don’t go callin’ her no bitch.”
LeSean stepped back and sat on the bleacher wood slat. He didn’t say anything. He watched his friend stand twisting back and forth in the fading sun.
“You want me to say something?”
“Say what you want.”
Again LeSean waited. The sky was red behind Damon. “I’m tellin’ you this as a friend? right?” Damon said nothing. “Let’s say she ain’t a bitch. An’ you got yourself a steady piece. Get that anywheres —but, I know your momma and brother want you to go off to State —”
“I’m still goin’.”
“Okay. Okay. You say. But too many guys give it up for — ya know? That’s all I’m sayin’, Damon. We’re friends?”
Damon put out his fist, and LeSean got up and bumped it with his. They picked up their equipment bags and walked from the field without saying anything.
LeSean was uneasy, not sure if what he said meant a thing because he knew what a girl could do. And Damon said nothing just thinking of Darla later that night, and how crazy soft she held him to her body before she went outside for a smoke.
“Gonna get dirty in the rain.” His mother hollered from her room. She had the door open and could see into the kitchen where Damon was putting on his Jordans, size 12.
He went over to the window. “Stopped, momma.”
“Still, there’s mud.”
“I’’m runnin’ on pavement.”
“Not too late.” She raised her voice some. It was almost 11. “I can’t sleep when you’re not home.”
“Gonna be 18.”
“That’s what a mother does. No matter how old you get.”
He pulled the chain on the kitchen light, going out the side door and started down Davis. The air was saturated with the passing rain and steam came off the asphalt under the street lights near his house. Once he passed out of the development the light poles thinned out considerably, but by then a moon came out between wispy clouds that were running apart from one another fast. The sky behind was a deep black.
It was a weeknight and there were few cars on Davis. About halfway to the church he thought he saw a light off in the woods and maybe the shadow of a vehicle and the thought passed through him that it was probably somebody with his girl, or a hunter spotlighting deer out of season. No matter. He was feeling strong, lopping now, up on his toes, sprinting a 100 then easing off, then all out again. On and off to Glory Baptist and Carla who was waiting for him in the doorway of her Sportsman, in her wrapper with a cigarette lit.
“Shit.” He stepped right in a deep mud puddle on the path to the trailer, right up to his ankles. “Damn. Bran’ new Jordans. Cost me —”
“You ruin them? You take’em off and take a shower. See what I can do.”
When he came out of the tiny shower, he was drippin’ on the floor. “No towel, Carla.”
“Wait a —” She was sitting in the kitchen, a cheap fan blowing and the door open. She was cleaning the Jordans, a new cigarette in her mouth. She got up and went to where the kids were sleeping and found a Spider-Man towel under some dirty clothes. “Here. Best I can do.”
Damon dried as best he could in the heat.
“Not gonna work.”
“What?”
“These Jordans. They are soaked through. Have to lay them out in the sun tomorrow.”
“How am I gonna run home?”
“Don’t you worry. Come on to momma.” Carla put out her hand. “My very own big black thing.” She smiled, putting the cigarette out in the empty Colt.45 bottle. “You know,” she laughed, “you look god-awful funny in the Spider-Man, Damon.” And she drew the towel off o’ him, leaving it fall to the kitchenette floor.
________________________________
— Put the jack under but don’t pump’er up. Just a ways to make it look good.
They had the Ram off on the shoulder of Davis now.
— Moon come up.
— Make no difference.
They had the flashers on and for good measure put a mangy orange traffic cone on the edge of the road a few feet back from the Ram bed. One of them stood near the front driver-side tire with the lug wrench.
— Get the hub cap off. Got to be along soon. Make it look good.
He moved to the other side of the fender and bent low, and looked back down the road for the boy running. He took out a cigarette but daren’t light it, just sticking it behind his ear for later.
— Shit.
— You say somethin’?
— No.
He reached in the passenger window, opened the glove box and took out the black ski-masks he sent away for on the net. They still had a tag. He ripped them off and tossed them into the woods. Then he got the dog leash off the seat-back and the soaked rag and got back into position near the fender, looking on back down the road.
He balled his fist and wrapped the leash around it tight, not thinking. He looks at his watch.
— You know where that boy went.
— Damn sure I do — he got his — now he’ll get his — nigger —
He sat on the edge of the bed, just a piece of wood on the frame. There wasn’t that much room for two. He found his drawers on top of the teensy vanity.
“Watch my creams, Damon.” He put his drawers and running shorts on, and sat back down.
“You goin’?”
“Promised my moms.”
She rolled over, pushing him aside. “Sincere. I like that —” And she went outside grabbing the pack off the kitchen table.
“Shit.” He remembered the Jordans. He went and stood in the doorway. Carla had lit up and was looking up at the sky.
“Nice after the rain.”
“How am I gettin’ home?”
“The Dart’s on EMPTY. Wait a min — I think I — Hold this.” She handed Damon the cigarette and went inside, coming out a minute or two later with a pair of sneakers with some holes in the uppers. “Don’t know why but I saved these. Were the white one’s. Have to do.”
“Damn.” Damon gave her back the cigarette and sat on the lip of the kitchenette door. “No socks?”
“Socks? You won’t fit in Josh’s. No —only thing I got from him.”
“These are 10s.” He squeezed the pair on.
“Keep the laces loose.”
“Yeah.” He got up.
“I’ll put your Jordans out tomorrow. They’ll be okay.”
“Yeah.”
“I wisht you smoked.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. We could share a cigarette before you went. Only thing I did with him that was good ‘cept for Josh.”
“T’morrow?”
“You run this way.”
— Here he is. Comin’ now. Put your face down to the wheel case somethin’ goes wrong.
—You ready?
—Hell, yeah. I’ll come up, yoke the son of a bitch from behin’ like we said.
—Toss me a mask. He ran ‘round and laid the black mask on the dirt.
—Don’t put it on till I yoke ‘im.
—Keep your head to the wheel. Keep it the fuck down, man.
—You got the rag?
—Yeah I got the rag. And he ran back ‘round.
The borrowed sneaks bit into him each stride, but it was late and his momma wasn’t asleep and he wouldn’t give in. He thought of Darla and how she made him feel and didn’t care she was 31 and even the kids were okay when they were out playin’ and he threw them a ball or pushed them on the swing. Didn’t feel like a father but like some older brother and they asked him questions like Samuel asking how come the slide was hot and he made him put his hand on the teeter-totter so he’d know wood hot from metal hot.
When he come up on the pick-up, he’d seen the flashers way ahead and the cone out in the road.
—Need some help?
Just like that the leash slipped over his head, pulled taut and yanked him to the ground blowing out his breath. A cloth went over his face that made him wooze, and he heard the clang of some metal and they drug him and pushed him up in the Ram bed and he lay on his stomach, the knot on his neck making him wheeze for breathing.
—Shut the fuck up, nigger.
—Why? It was the last word he was able to squeeze out.
—These are my shoes. And the leash was pulled tight, a foot on his back.
“Momma?”
“Momma?”
“Oh, God. What time is it?” Darla saw the light coming in the Sportsman window. “Jesus Christ, Josh? Sam? what time is it?”
Sam climbed into her bed with his Spider-Man blanket and sat on her. For a second she flashed on Damon.
“Sam. I haveta get Josh ready for school?” But she didn’t move.
“Saturday.”
“Is it? That’s good then. I forgot. You’re right, Josh. Can’t you two let momma sleep? Maybe go out to the swing set? Your momma’s tired, Josh, Sam. You go out an’ play, and momma’ll get up and make you waffles or somethin’ in a little. Okay?”
Josh pulled at Sam’s Spider-Man and he climbed down.
“I’m hungry.”
“Just a little, Sam —waffles, honey. I promise. Momma needs just a little more sleep.”
“C’mon, Sam. Leave momma be.”
“And mind you don’t trip on them sneakers ‘side the door.”
Josh took a box of Kellogs. They were kind of stale but Sam took them out trailing his Spider-Man blanket. They had to step over the Jordans.
They went across the grass over toward the slide and teeter-totter and swings. The sun was just above the woods on the other side and was coming into their eyes, so the tiny play-yard was just a few slashes of black metal and wood against the morning red sky.
Josh was out in front of the two. When they got nearer the play-yard, Josh saw it. Something dark that got in the way of the sun hanging from the swing set. Something dark against that morning sun, dark and big, and no shoes, something dark, just twisting gently from the swing set. twisting ever so slowly, back and forth, back and forth, back —
“Josh?”
“What?”
Sam was ‘bout ready to cry. “I want to swing.” His teeny voice broke. “Can’t we swing? Josh?” It was gonna be a scorcher again. There wasn’t much air moving.
“We can’t, Sam.” He grabbed at his brother’s hand spilling some of the Kellogs. “We just can’t now.”