The Bleeding Season (9 page)

At only seven, I’d seen some cruelty and brutality in the world, but not much, and nothing quite like what I witnessed that day.  Bernard was so innocent, so small and weak and trusting.  A little boy in a special tiger costume his mother had made, playing in his yard, minding his own business, the new kid in town totally unaware what the local bullies had in store for him.  Welcome to the neighborhood.  And even years later, I was still unable to understand what joy the Berringer twins derived from stopping and terrorizing a little boy who had done nothing to provoke them, a boy they didn’t even know.  And yet, the concept that they had so quickly determined Bernard was somehow less human, less important and thereby expendable was both repugnant and curious.    

Bernard’s voice interrupted my thoughts.  “The next day you introduced me to Tommy and Rick and Donald,” he said, “and we spent the day playing in the tree house in Tommy’s yard.  If it hadn’t been for you, Alan, I don’t know if I’d have had any friends at all.  Probably not.”

I wanted to let the emotion go, but I kept it bound and under control.  He was letting me off the hook for some reason, praising me while he’d torn the others to shreds, and fond reminiscence had again given way to morbid uneasiness and confusion.

“I probably should’ve just mentioned that day,” Bernard continued, “and let you tell the story, Alan.  You were always so good at telling stories.  As long as I can remember all you ever wanted to do was write.”

When he mentioned my writing I knew I’d been wrong.  He wasn’t going to spare me after all.

“You were always scribbling in those little notebooks you used to carry around.  Man, some of those stories were really good.  You had a natural talent for it, no question about it.  My favorite was the one you wrote—oh, I want to say it was around fourth, fifth grade, somewhere in there—about the jet and the UFO.  Remember that one?  The UFO stopped time and altered it or something and took everyone onboard away then replaced them, only they didn’t remember any of it.  Then they realized there was twenty minutes no one could account for, the exact amount of time radio communication had been cut off—shit, that was so good.  Just like on
The Twilight Zone
or an episode of
The Outer Limits
 on TV.  All that talent at such a young age, what a shame that just like Rick and Donald you threw it away.”

“Fuck this,” Donald said suddenly.  “Shut it off.”

“Let it go,” I said.

Neither of us moved.

“What the hell happened, Alan?” Bernard asked in a nearly tender tone.  “You were going to be Steinbeck, man.  What was it all the teachers said?  If only that Chance kid would show up for school and stay out of trouble and study and use his talents…yeah, if only.  But you knew better—and you really did.”  Brief, ironic laughter.  “You were so cool back then, God I idolized you.  It was like you knew who you were and what you wanted and how your life would be, and you didn’t need all the bullshit at school and all the stupid social crap.  You always walked your own path, man, and I respected the hell out of you for that.

“I never would’ve guessed you’d fucking blow it by getting married instead.  Christ, man, you were going to New York, you were going to write and live in Greenwich Village and hang with artists and date hippie chicks and write great novels and be the coolest guy since Kerouac or James Dean or…Tell me, man, was Toni worth it?
Was
 she?  She’s a great gal—I always liked her—but like I said before, when you’re lying in bed at night, alone with God, and you ask yourself that question—and you know you do—what answer echoes through your mind?

“Toni’s a small town girl.  Always was, always will be.  She wasn’t cut out for all that.  She was thinking more along the lines of a nice little house with the picket fence, the two-point-five kids, the dog and a Volvo in the driveway.  Nothing wrong with that, but it was never you, was it, Alan?  You gave up all you wanted because you knew she could never be a part of the world you’d envisioned and dreamed of creating for yourself your entire fucking life.”  Bernard’s volume had increased again, and he stopped and drew a series of deep breaths before continuing.  “The only way you two could be together was for you to give up what you wanted and stay here.  Get a job, make a life.
A life
?  In Potter’s Cove?  Fuck, good luck.  How’s that security guard position working out?  Making more than minimum wage yet?  Never did get that house, or the babies or the picket fence or the Volvo.  Shit, you didn’t even get the dog, so what the hell was the point?  Do you resent Toni now, all these years later?  Every time you look in the mirror and see you’re another year older, a few pounds heavier, a bit more miserable than the year before.  Every time you put that uniform on and spend the shift wondering
what if
instead of doing one of the few things that made you happy, that made you who you were, do you resent her then?  And does she resent you, too, Alan?  She never realized you really weren’t that good at anything
but
 writing, did she?  Bet she realizes it now.  Bet she realizes she should’ve picked someone else to spend her life with.  But it’s the way it is, and it’s easier than tearing it down and starting over, right?

“Do you ever go through your old stories?  Shit, do you even still have them?  Do you ever think about what might have been?”

As he paused I could almost see him smiling, lying on the cot in that basement, the recorder in hand, just inches from his lips.

“Why is he doing this?”  Donald asked.  “
Why
?  What the hell did he do that was so wonderful with his goddamn life?  What right does he have to—”

“And what about me?”  Bernard said, as if in response.  “Yeah, what about me.  Christ, we’re all a bunch of stereotypes and we don’t even realize it.  But you know what?  Most people are, fellas.  Most of us have no idea how fucked up we really are, much less those around us, and even given the chance, we’re not sure we want to know.  You know, the day Tommy was killed I saw him coming down the staircase at school.  He was headed for the exit and the bus, and I was going the other way.  We saw each other and smiled then I gave him a playful punch in the arm and told him I’d see him later.  Well, I didn’t see him later.  The next fucking time I saw him he was in a casket.  What I’d really wanted to do when I saw him was just smile, maybe even give him a hug, tell him thank you for being my friend.  But, hey,
men
 don’t do shit like that.  So here’s a punch in the arm instead and a too cool ‘Seeya later’ mumble.  Bunch of goddamn hypocrites, all of us.   Hell, I’m as guilty as the rest of you—some might say more so—but I never had the potential you guys did.  I couldn’t play sports; I wasn’t tough or good-looking or highly intelligent or talented.  All I could do was talk.  Always been a decent talker; that’s why sales worked out for me for so long.  It was a safe place to hide for a while…but the truth always catches up to us, fellas.  None of us can hold out forever.  Eventually truth finds all of us and forces us into the light, whether we want to be there or not.  Reality’s a bitch, ain’t it?  Scary shit, man.

“Almost as scary as being ignored.  Not that you guys would know anything about that, you’ve all spent your lives scratching and clawing at the edge of the cliffs you’re hanging off of to make certain of that.  That’s what the rebel routine with you was all about, Alan, and it was even one of the reasons why you stepped in and tried to defend me from the Berringer twins that day.  Even taking a beating was somehow preferable to being ignored.  But, Christ, I’d have given my balls to be ignored just once.  To be left the fuck alone by bullies and kids giving me a hard time and girls laughing at me for this or that.  Not you guys, though.  Our lives may be complete dog shit, but please God, just don’t let us be ignored.  Anything but that.

“Rick, that’s why you still dress like a high school kid and go to the gym and try to act like you’re eighteen instead of thirty-eight.  Donald, it’s why you drink yourself into oblivion, and Alan, it’s why you stay with Toni and endure.  Without all of the window dressing you’d all just fade away, and that’s what terrifies you.  I know, because I did it.  I faded; I took the fall just to see what was down in that pit, and guess what, fellas?  There
is
 something down there in the dark.

“You know what else I realized?  The dark’s not so bad.  As a matter of fact, I
like
 it.”  His breathing rate became a bit heavier.  “It’s where I belong, it’s safer here for me.”

Donald pulled his cigarettes from his shirt pocket and stabbed one between his lips without lighting it.  “What the hell is he babbling about?”

I shrugged and stared at the tape deck, waiting for Bernard to continue.

“But every road comes to an end,” he said, “and mine’s almost there.  I tried, man, I really fucking did, but the shit was already decided—preordained, you know what I mean?  Think real hard—try to remember, and you will.”

Rick turned from the window, faced us, his mouth set firmly shut, jaw working as he ground his teeth.

“The point is,” Bernard went on, “I’m not the harmless little loser-boy you thought I was.  Outside of our group I never had a social life really.  Girls never paid any attention to me, and when they did it was to laugh at me or give me one of those looks to let me know there was no chance in hell they’d ever have anything to do with me.  The friendships and bonds I had with you guys only went so far…but when you went off and did your own thing, well, so did I.  I stopped running from the rage, man.  I faced it, grabbed it; used it.

“Quick confession…I was never in the Marines, but I did take off not long after graduation, I mean, I had to do something, right?  You all had shit going on and I had nothing—no life, no plans, no girlfriend-soon-to-be-wife, not even a jail cell to sit in and pass the time.”

“Sonofabitch,” Rick muttered.

“My mother’s lifestyle had started to catch up to her and her health wasn’t the best.  All that booze was starting to rot through her system, but she was still relatively young and I knew that I’d probably spend years caring for her, so I started to set things up a few months before graduation.  I decided on the Marines because I knew it would blow everybody’s mind.  Who’d ever think scrawny little Bernard with the coke-bottle glasses could be a Marine?  I told everyone that’s where I was headed, but what I really did was save almost every dime I earned at work after school.  I remember the last night I spent in Potter’s Cove.  It was a while after graduation, and Rick, you were already serving your sentence, had been for a few months, but Donny and Alan, you guys took me out to dinner at Brannigan’s, remember?  We had steaks and potatoes and beer and…Christ, we laughed our asses off that night.  For a couple hours life was almost fucking bearable.  It was quite a sendoff, only the next morning when you guys drove me to the bus station, I wasn’t headed for boot camp.”

I saw Donald shake his head, draw on the still unlit cigarette and run his hands through his hair.  “This is madness.”

“It was a new beginning, though.  I went away to begin what I was finally able to admit was my destiny.”  Bernard was quiet for a time, but the tape kept rolling.  “See, we all have the rage, fellas, but so few of us ever figure out what to do with it, how to love it and nurture it—like a loyal pet.  I went to New York City, got a room and lived there until my money ran out.  Less than a year later I was back in Potter’s Cove telling you how I’d fallen off a training platform and wrecked my knee.  Well I did hurt my knee but it wasn’t from any training platform.  I fell chasing somebody, if you want the truth.  People run really fast when they’re afraid.  When they’re terrified.

“New York was incredible.  I had no idea how perfect a setting it was for me to begin my journey, but within a few days it was so obvious.  A human zoo, that’s how I saw it, with me as the warden.  See, here’s what I figured out down in the dark, fellas…the power I’d lacked my whole life was right there in front of me all along.  When you step back and separate yourself from the herd it changes everything.  That’s when I figured out I could do whatever I wanted.  And that’s when I changed the world around me from a zoo to a slaughterhouse.”

I felt my heart sink and I looked quickly to Rick, who was staring back at me with an
I-told-you-so
 scowl.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”  I asked.

“Think back through the years, fellas,” Bernard continued.  “Think about the things deep inside you can’t remember, don’t want to remember.  Think about all the times things with me just didn’t add up, how things seemed just a bit off, just a little strange.  Then think about how you reacted, how you dismissed it the same way you choose to ignore an unusual sound in the middle of the night.  Ever do that?  Have you ever been lying in bed, darkness all around, when suddenly there’s an odd sound?  You know you weren’t dreaming; you know you heard it for sure and you know it’s not commonplace. You know it’s an intrusive sound, a sound that doesn’t belong there, and even though it makes no sense, even though it might be an intruder or God knows what, you roll over and forget it…but have you ever wondered what you’d find if you didn’t?

“I’m so tired,” he said through a heavy sigh.  “I’m so tired, fellas.  I had it under control for a long time—or I thought I did—but it got away from me.  I couldn’t concentrate on my job, I knew my mother was dying, I…I knew without her my life would spiral down into nothingness.  The only way the mortgage could be paid was through her savings and the disability checks she got every month.  Without that income, even when I was working, I couldn’t maintain the house and I knew I’d lose it.  I couldn’t hang on anymore, I…things were all confused.  I couldn’t think anymore, I…I just couldn’t think clearly, you know?  Too many goddamn voices at once, and…

“I couldn’t do my job, lost that, then when Mom died and they took the house, I…Christ, how that woman suffered.  For what?  For what!”

He screamed the same phrase three times more, the volume and savagery of his voice such that it distorted through the large speakers and became indecipherable.  I felt a chill burst through me.  Bernard sounded completely, hopelessly insane.