Creeps (17 page)

No one says anything.

Then Pete says, “I asked you a question, Pumphrey.”

“Yeah,” goes Bobby, “Pete asked you something.”

“Yes,” Wayne says, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes, what?” goes The Meat.

“I like Bobby's car.”

Pete smiles. “Yeah, it's not too shabby, eh? Lots of leg room. You should see the trunk.” After a while he says, “You didn't think I'd let you get away with it, did you, Pumphrey? Sorry if you got that impression.” He turns to the others. “Like I told you boys: he was sitting in my kitchen, eating my Rice Krispie squares. Fucker.”

Bobby shakes his head and revs the engine and says, “Pretty stupid thing you did, Pumphrey, going to Pete The Meat's house.”

“Should have been there, boys … his father smiling at me and saying that Wayne here's weaker than the rest of us.” Pete laughs. “His own
dad
thinks he's a pussy.”

Bobby laughs and repeats: pussy.

“Had his old man shaking my hand by the end, I did.” Pete looks into Wayne's eyes and says, “Bet your father wishes you weren't such a faggot, eh, Pumphrey?”

“Yeah,” Bobby says, “bet that's what he wishes.”

Pete opens the car door and gets out and goes
right up to Wayne and pushes him, and although Wayne goes flying back, he's able to stay on his feet. Pete pushes him again and this time Wayne goes down and when he tries to get up The Meat knocks him over, so Wayne stays where he is, melting snow soaking his pants.

Pete looks up and down the street, then says, “We're going to take a little spin, Pumphrey. Nowhere far, don't worry. Then we'll drop you off at your house or at Maple Leaf's or wherever.”

Harvey and Bobby exchange glances and Kenny says, “How is she, by the way?” and Wayne goes to speak, but Pete says, “Tell her that Dominion is pissed about all their wieners going missing.”

“Yeah,” Bobby says, “tell her that.”

“The cops are going to investigate, what I hear. She'll have to open her snatch and show 'em the goods,” says The Meat.

Bobby, seemingly enjoying the thought of that too much, repeats: “Show 'em the goods.”

After what feels like ages, The Meat tosses a look over his shoulder at Kenny, then back at Wayne, and says, “A snowball's not gonna cut it this time. And eating yellow snow is starting to get old, don't you think?”

Wayne stays quiet. His underwear, because of the wet snow, is soaked now, too.

Pete smooths his almost-a-moustache for a while
and then turns to the car and nods and suddenly doors open and there are slick footsteps pounding in Wayne's direction and he's at once lifted and carried. Kenny's got his feet, Bobby and Harvey each shoulder. Heavy breathing coming from all around him. His insides shaking. Pete's shouting orders: “Hurry up, dickwads! Before anyone sees.”

Wayne stares up at the sky, at that middle place between day and night. Always in the middle, he thinks, the land of upside downs and misplaced steps and pointed fingers.

A key fob and a pressed button and the trunk opening like a mouth.

He's airborne for a moment.

He lands.

The world goes black.

It's like being under water. Like he's here, but not, too. Lost somewhere. Muffled voices and he can't breathe and he wishes there was something to latch on to. It's having no legs, being in this trunk, or arms. No means of getting to the surface.

Bobby makes a sharp turn and Wayne rolls and something sharp digs into his back and it's booster cables. Another turn and this time all of Wayne's insides drop into his feet. Now the car's in the air
and so is Wayne and he lands hard and his wind is knocked out of him. Hoots and hollers from the front. Someone is smacking the roof with a palm or fist. Now the radio's blaring.

Wayne thinks of what Marjorie said:
Each day when the train passes through, I see myself hopping on and it never stops and I never need it to.
He imagines grabbing her hand and running through snow and iron ore dust, past soot-stained miners with tipped hard hats and unlaced workboots and convenience stores advertising cheap beer and scratch tickets and Coca-Cola, and along the Trans-Labrador Highway into Quebec and then the Trans-Canada down through Ontario and across the border into New York, to Broadway. Maybe they'd run even farther, all the way to Hollywood where Marjorie's better than most of that crowd anyway. They'd rent a place and talk about everything they'd left behind and never go back. No more Pete The Meat and wiener jokes, closed drapes and Bacardi Dark, packed suitcases and feeling bad about things that can't be changed.

The car stops and the radio dies and doors open and close and Pete's laughing and shouting, “Guess who I got in here! Just guess!” Pounding on the roof and more voices—too many to be just Pete and his posse—coming from all directions.

“Not scared in there, are ya?” The Meat says.

Kenny goes, “Bawling like a baby, I bet.”

A girl's voice goes, “Who's in there, Pete?”

“Patience, patience,” says The Meat. “Gather round everyone.” Then, “Hurry on.”

“It's not an animal is it?” someone says.

“I hope not,” says another.

Pete goes, “It's worse than an animal.”

“Is it dead, whatever you got in there?”

“No, but it may as well be.”

“Open the trunk!” shouts someone.

“What are you waiting for!” cries another.

Then someone says, “He's bluffing.”

Bobby's voice: “You'll see if he's
bluffing
.”

“Give you a hint,” Wayne hears The Meat say. “It's short and skinny.”

“Bobby's dick!” someone blurts out.

Laughter.

“Shut up!” Bobby says.

The Meat asks the crowd if they'd like another clue and someone tells him to pop the Jesus trunk already, but Pete gives one more hint, saying, “His girlfriend likes to stick wieners in her you know what.”

Quiet for a moment, then someone—a girl— says, “You're gross, Pete.”

“That's rude,” says another.

Pete says, “Rude or no, it's the truth.”

Wayne feels a sharp pain in his toes, then realizes it's because he's just kicked the trunk.

The Meat's voice sounds closer, as if his mouth were in the place where the key goes in. “That's a touchy spot for you, isn't it, buddy? Perhaps we oughtta go over and pick her up too, eh?”

Wayne kicks the trunk again.

“She could teach you how she does it—”

Bobby shouts, “That's my father's car!”

Wayne isn't stopping, even using his fists now, too.

“Pop the trunk!” Kenny screams.

“Let him out!” someone else shouts.

A shrill, high-pitched voice goes, “Is there any air in there?”

The sound of a key in the lock and Bobby opens the trunk and Wayne's suddenly kicking the air, punching the wind. He expects hands to reach in and grab him, but none do, so he stops and sits up. Fifty or more pale faces staring at him—big eyes and hanging-open mouths and running noses and Treena Cobb with the belly button ring and Paulette King (five months pregnant) with her boyfriend Perry who doesn't care that he's not the father and some members of the volleyball team and some of the alternative crowd and his used-to-be-friend Corey Parrot standing beside Monica and Monica's right: Corey's not too bad looking now that his braces are off.

“It's Wayne Pumphrey,” someone at the back says.

A girl cups her mouth.

A fat boy laughs.

Wayne says nothing.

Someone says, “He's going to cry.”

“What did I tell you?” Bobby says.

From somewhere to Wayne's left, a voice says, “What a sin.”

But Wayne doesn't cry; instead he climbs out of the trunk and adjusts his knapsack and sees that he's right back where he started: the school parking lot.

Pete The Meat steps forward and faces the crowd and says, “Wayne Pumphrey's a rat.”

Wayne breathes so deeply he warms his feet.

“And a pussy,” Harvey says.

“That's right,” Pete agrees. “And he needs his drunk daddy to fight his battles.”

“And he pisses his pants, too,” Bobby says, laughing.

“And eats yellow snow,” Harvey adds.

A few laugh and then it goes quiet and Wayne thinks he understands loneliness. He lifts his chin and starts to walk away, but Pete's there. When
isn't
he?

“We're not done yet, Pumphrey,” The Meat says. “The trunk was only half of it.”

“Only half of it,” Bobby repeats.

Wayne stays where he is, Marjorie's words in his ears:
Same reason he hates me: because we don't fit
.
Because you're odd and small and your eyes are too far apart and you like to write.

Pete walks right up to Wayne and says, “Now you have to admit it to everyone, Pumphrey. Stand right there and say you're a pussy and a rat and you piss your pants and eat yellow snow and need your drunk daddy to fight your battles.”

Wayne doesn't say anything.

“Go on, Pumphrey—say it.”

“Say it, Pumphrey,” Bobby says.

Harvey flicks his cigarette into the air.

“Then I'll let you go,” Pete says.

Still Wayne doesn't speak.

“Jesus, Pumphrey, do you want it to get worse?” Kenny says. “Just say it why dontcha.”

Pete grabs Wayne by the collar and shakes him. “
Say it,
Pumphrey!”

“Leave him alone!” someone shouts.

Harvey faces the crowd. “Who opened their gob?”

No one answers.

“Was it you, Parrot?” Harvey says to Corey. Corey looks from Harvey to Wayne then to Pete. The Meat says, “Harvey asked you a question, Parrot—”

“I'm a pussy,” Wayne says.

Silence.

The Meat lets go of Wayne's jacket. “Don't tell
me
, Pumphrey, tell
them
.”

Wayne turns and faces everybody and tries looking past them but can't, so he goes to that place in his head where yellow snow tastes like creamsicle and whipped snowballs feel like beads of rain, where drawings taped to his locker are works of art and insults are compliments and the faces looking back at him are all Marjorie's face and Wanda's and Mr. Rollie's and whoever else might have his back.

“Nice and loud now, Pumphrey,” Pete says. “So everyone can hear.”

Wayne takes a half step forward and says, “I'm a pussy.”

“Thatta boy,” Pete says. “You hear that, everybody? Pumphrey said he's a pussy. Okay, go on.”

Wayne tries to swallow but his mouth's gone dry.

“What else, Pumphrey?” says The Meat.

“And I'm a rat.”

“Exactly,” says Pete. “Little fucker came to my house—I told you. Keep going, Pumphrey … almost there.”

Wayne catches Corey's eye and Corey looks away.

A long silence.

“Pumphrey …”

“And I piss … look, I didn't want my dad to go to your place and I wish I could take it back but I can't and I'm sorry.”

Someone shuts off their car engine.

The Meat moves so close to Wayne they could touch noses. “This is your last chance, Pumphrey. Say the rest or else.”

“You do bad things, but you're not a bad person,” Wayne says.

A hush falls over the crowd.

“What the fuck did you say, Pumphrey?” says The Meat.

“That's what your mom told me. When I was sitting in your kitchen. That and your dad left but you don't miss him.”

Someone laughs, then shuts up.

A gust of wind.

Bobby says, “I'd zip it Pumphrey if I were you.”

Pete can't seem to move and there's something in his eyes and Wayne figures it's
being stuck
—stuck and torn and perhaps the difference between him and The Meat is not so great after all.

Then Wayne's falling and Pete's falling with him and he imagines an end to things—going into something and then coming out different somehow for better or worse. All of Pete's weight is on top of him and an elbow grazes Wayne's chin and a punch glides across his temple. Then suddenly Pete's hauled
off by Bobby and Harvey and Kenny's shouting that someone's coming and it looks like the principal, so Pete and his posse take off and everyone else scatters too, save for Treena Cobb—who's helping Wayne to his feet and wondering if he was scared in the trunk because she would have been and Pete should be stuffed in his own trunk so he knows how it feels—and Corey Parrot who's wiping the snow from Wayne's knapsack and saying how he wanted to help but what could
he
do against the likes of Pete The Meat?

Wayne says nothing.

Then the principal, Mr. Inkwell, is standing there in a suit and tie and his shoes are soaked and he wants to know what happened and Wayne says that nothing had, except a bit of fun.