The Slow Moon (11 page)

Nineteen

F
OR SEVERAL DAYS
after the dance, Sophie hated the expression she saw on Lester’s face. She avoided him, and now he refused to look at her in the hallway at school or in the cafeteria. She wanted him to be nice to her, like before. When she finally tried to speak to him, he pulled her aside and whispered in a voice she barely recognized.

“Fuck off, Sophie. You made your choice. Now leave me alone.”

Sophie sat in her last class hearing his words like a mantra in her head. On her way home she decided to stop by Post Hardware, knowing her mother would be working until six. As she pushed open the door, a bell made Charlie look up to see who it was.

“Rita, your daughter’s here,” Charlie called. His head towered above the customers around the cash register. The store was filled with shiny coffeepots, piles of tools, shelves of weed killer and Miracle-Gro, light fixtures, fans, and cans of paint. Charlie winked at Sophie. He already felt affection for her mother and had come to their house for dinner several times. He pointed to the back of the store where her mother stacked boxes of nails and bolts. Rita came out from behind a shelf, looking like a gypsy in her long colorful skirt and white blouse. Her face brightened to see Sophie, but a closer look prompted her to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Lester just blasted me,” Sophie said.

“Why did he do that?”

“I hurt him. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

“How?” her mother said.

“Just not liking him. I mean, I like him, but not the way he wants.”

“What do you want me to say?” Rita asked.

“Just something that might help.”

“Well, Sophie, I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt him. You could call him, say you’re sorry.”

“Mom!”

“What!”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Well, I can’t help you then.”

“I’m going home,” said Sophie. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” She turned to leave. “What time is dinner?”

“Honey, I told you. I’m eating with Charlie tonight, remember?”

“Whatever,” she said.

As Sophie passed the Baileys’ house, she heard music coming from Bobby’s room but couldn’t see anyone. Sometimes Crow was there. Sometimes she saw him at Bobby’s window.

She walked across her yard, inhaling the early-spring air with its pale tinge of sulfur. She checked the mail and went into the stuffy house. She wanted somebody else to be there, for the windows to be already open. Sometimes she pretended her father was home. Sometimes she felt he was really there. But today Sophie felt alone, like something large had failed. She felt like a fraction of herself.

She turned on the hall lamp as well as the light in the kitchen, thinking how lights could not be expected to work indefinitely. Lights burned out, needed to be replaced. She supposed that even the yellow light of the sun might fade and grow dim. Surface dust that clung to the sill loosened as she opened the window.

Her jaw began to ache. Everything she expected to happen kept diminishing, and she felt skittish, like a horse. Could things diminish until she wouldn’t know what to expect at all? Lester’s curse, his flat refusal to talk to her, his lusterless gaze, his voice modulated and even, like a stranger on the radio—these things kept coming back in, confusing her picture of life.

Sophie heard footsteps outside, and something inside her gripped firmly. She jerked her head upright. She didn’t know if it was the sound or intuition that made her turn and see Crow at the kitchen window. He waved for her to come to the door.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“I was at Bobby’s and saw you go by,” he said. “I felt bad about what happened today. I mean, with Lester.”

“You heard about it?”

“Yeah.” Crow stood with his hands in his pockets. “It’s not like Lester. He’s really cool.” Crow’s T-shirt fit tight over his long chest, and she could see his pectoral muscles above his small waist. He was so tall. He was the tallest boy.

“Lester wouldn’t speak to me at all, then he…” She stopped.

“Yeah?”

“He told me to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” said Crow. “That was cold. I mean, it’s not like you did anything wrong.”

“Wanna come in?” Her voice grew shivery with excitement. At night Sophie dreamed about him, his arms around her. And she imagined him kissing her. When she opened the door, Crow ducked in under her arm. Everything they did seemed secretive.

They could hear cars whoosh by on the road. Sophie liked being alone with Crow. She’d seen him only in crowds, never by himself. She opened the refrigerator and offered him a cold drink. The red afternoon sun dwindled into evening, and light and shadow spilled across their clothes. She poured the soda into a glass with ice and handed it to him slowly, meaningfully—as she had seen women do in the movies.

Each night before she slept, she let wild thoughts roam around her mind, so that when she saw him at school she felt embarrassed enough to avoid him. When she handed him the glass she believed, she imagined, that he’d been having the same thoughts.

Sophie watched the way he sipped from the glass, his mouth, his tongue dipping onto the ice. When she suggested they sit down, he asked her out.

“You wanna do something Friday night? See a movie or something?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“We’ll get dinner somewhere first.”

“What time?” Her voice sounded squeaky, like a tiny girl’s.

Without answering, he leaned and kissed her on the cheek, then again, barely, on the lips.

It was over as quickly as it had started, so that when he left, Sophie wandered the house, not so alone now, glad that her mother wasn’t home. Later, she was afraid that maybe she’d dreamed Crow’s presence there, then she found the empty glass, the melted slivers of ice. She kept the glass in her room, so that her mother wouldn’t wash it.

Twenty

O
N THE LAST
Saturday in March, Bobby told the others to meet him by the river. He had something to tell them. Bobby got there first and built a fire. They often built a fire when they met near the quarry. Tom arrived irritated that he had to meet them. “This better be important,” he said. “I had to beg the old man for a couple hours off. He’s making me work construction the whole frigging weekend.” He sat on the ground. “Where is everybody?” Tom was skinny, lankier than the others.

Crow walked through the trees. He looked worried. Bobby was still his best friend, but a new quality had given him jagged edges; and even though Bobby looked excited, happy, Crow didn’t trust his friend’s moods anymore.

The fire was burning high when Antony and Lester walked up. Lester held a bag of marshmallows and an array of sticks to use for roasting.

“Look at those dickheads,” Bobby said in welcome. “Lester and Antony come in with marshmallows making us look like a bunch of fucking campfire boys. Here, give me that bag.” He opened the bag with his teeth, then handed it back to Lester, urging him to push marshmallows onto sticks and pass them around.

“That’s cool, Lester,” said Tom. “Somebody comes around, we’ll look innocent as hell.”

Tom kept looking toward the woods. “Where’s Casey?”

Antony took a stick with three marshmallows and held it over the fire. “What’s this about, Bobby?” Antony asked. “I don’t have all day.”

“Where’s Casey?” Tom asked again.

“He’ll come when he comes,” said Bobby. “He’ll get here when he gets here.” He took the stick Lester handed him and squatted beside the fire. “Look at that sucker bubble up.”

Tom’s eyes stayed intent on the woods behind them. He remained alert, his brows knitted. When he saw Casey come through the trees, he gave a slow smile. “You took your sweet time, you goddamn fucker.” He waved his stick in the flames. “Casey’s got some news,” he said.

“I thought Bobby called us out here,” Crow objected.

Casey took a piece of paper out of his pocket and held it up. “There’s this band in Johnson City,” said Casey. “The Mountain Boys. Anybody heard of them? I hear they’re damn good. They’ll be hard to beat in the competition. They just came out of nowhere, seems like.”

“How’d you know about them?”

“Got this flyer at the music store saying where they’re playing. Everybody’s talking about them. Say they’re gonna beat
us.
” He held up the flyer. “Next weekend they play in Chattanooga. I figured we could go hear them.”

Bobby took the flyer.

“They’re not gonna win,” said Crow. “Hell, I’ve written two new songs that really kick.”

“What’s going on?” said Bobby. “You not writing songs with me anymore?”

“Naw, man. Don’t get crazy. You can look at them anytime.”

“Jesus,” said Lester. “Let it go, Bobby.”

“I’d rather practice our own stuff than go hear some damn band from Johnson City.” Bobby grabbed the flyer and pitched it onto the ground. “Antony, you coming to Casey’s Friday night, right? You haven’t practiced with us in I don’t know how long.”

“I’m working Friday nights,” Antony told them.

“We can win this thing,” Tom said. “I know we can. But we gotta practice. We gotta be ready.”

“Antony?” Crow said. “You gotta come.”

“I don’t know.”

“You got to. Hell, you haven’t even heard some of the new stuff.”

“What’s the matter with you, Antony?” Bobby said. “Don’t you want to do this?”

“I like playing the gigs with y’all.” Antony shifted, uncomfortable. “But I don’t know about this competition thing. I mean, it’s hard enough. I mean, I get tired of taking shit about being the nigger in the white boys’ band.”

“C’mon, Antony,” Tom said. “We’ll be famous. You can take a lot of shit if you’re gonna be famous.”

They all nodded.

“Let Antony do what he wants,” Crow said. “We need you, man, but no pressure. Okay?” He looked at everyone else.

“Damn.” Bobby shook his head. “This whole thing, it’s our ticket out. You know that? Lester won’t need a ticket out, since he’s going to Yale or some Ivy League shit-hole school like that, but me and Tom and Casey—you too, Antony—we need a way out of this town.”

“What about me?” Crow said. “What am I? Dead?”

“You got the money to get out whenever you want to.” Bobby didn’t look at his friend. He stood and pulled a marshmallow off the stick with his teeth.

“I think we can win,” Casey told them.

Lester had picked up the flyer and was looking at it when they heard a sound like a gunshot.

“Holy shit!” Lester jumped.

Bobby laughed. He held a gun in his hand. “It’ll shoot,” he said, and passed it around. “It’s a Glock—nine-millimeter.”

“What are you doing, Bobby?” Crow yelled.

Tom took the gun. “Where’d you get it?”

“From the trunk of some guy’s car.”

“You steal it?” Casey asked, impressed.

“Hell, no, I bought it.”

“How much you pay?”

“Two-fifty.” Bobby lifted the gun. “Look.” He cocked it, sliding back the top part. “It has a slide.”

Casey reached for the gun. “Police aren’t using these so much anymore. They use a SigArms, like Special Forces. You can drop it in sand, drop it in water, it’ll still fire.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “But this one’s good. Just look at it.” Casey handed it to Tom.

Antony got up, stood a long moment, and said, “Listen, guys, I’m leaving. I can’t be found anywhere where somebody’s got a gun. You know what my grandma’d do to me?”

“Well, I hear
that,
” said Crow. He knew Louise Burden’s fierce tongue.

“I can’t be anywhere where there’s a gun,” Antony said again. “You didn’t tell me this was about no gun.”

“I didn’t know,” Tom said. “We were talking about the competition. We didn’t know Bobby was gonna pull this shit. But go on if you have to.”

“I’m leaving too,” Lester said. “Antony’s right.”

“
Puss-
sy,” Tom hissed. “Antony’s mama gonna come after you too?” Then he turned to Bobby. “Why’d you buy a gun anyway?”

“I just wanted it. Shit, I know about guns. I go hunting with Hollis and Coach every fall. I know about guns.”

“You hunt with a
pis
tol?” Lester said. “How many animals you kill with a pistol?” Lester began to walk backward.

“Here.” Bobby handed the gun to Lester. “You shoot it.”

But Casey took the gun. He grabbed it fast and shot at a squirrel, hitting it but not killing it.

“Shit, Casey.” Tom took the gun, walking up to the squirrel. It was screaming. He killed it by hitting its head with the butt.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Bobby reached to take it from Tom. “Casey Willig, you’re a sick bastard.”

“We better go,” Crow said. “That’s two shots fired. Somebody probably heard.”

“So what? We’re out here roasting marshmallows, that’s all.” Bobby stuffed the gun back into his jacket pocket.

“Yeah, then they pat you down and find a gun in your pocket,” Casey said. “Then what?”

“Then I call my dad,” Bobby said.

“What do you mean?” Casey turned to Bobby. “Call him from the dead?”

“He’s not dead,” Bobby said. “He lives in Kentucky.”

The moment was quiet before Tom said, “Bobby, you’ve been making up stories for about fourteen gazillion years. Vinny. Remember Vinny? Hell, Bobby.”

“Yeah, but this time it’s true.” Bobby lifted the letter from his back jeans pocket, and his friends hovered together to read, to realize altogether that Bobby’s words this time could be the truth.

They looked at him. “I’ll be damn,” Tom said. “Why didn’t he write you before now?”

“He was in jail, but he’s out now, and he wants to see me. I mean, I just found out.”

They all looked at Bobby in silence.

“Cool, man.”

“So why’d you buy the gun?” Crow asked.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to celebrate or something. Have something to show him. I’m gonna do some target practice with bottles and crap. Then I’ll be good at it when I see him.”

“You think he’s gonna care if you’re good at that?” Tom said.

“Hell yeah. He’ll care.
Your
dad would care.”

“Yeah, my dad would really
like
it if I bought a
gun.
” Tom roasted another marshmallow over the fire and ate it slowly, chewing even bites. He wiped the sticky sugar from his mouth with his sleeve, his eyes squinting into the fire. “We’d better bolt, before somebody shows up,” he said. “If somebody asks, we’ll say it was firecrackers.” A soft breeze eddied down the hill and blew the flames.

“Where’s Lester?”

“He left.”

“Did he hear me say about my old man?”

“I don’t think so.”

It was getting dark. Their faces in the firelight were dark and light and young, and for a moment a cord of affection ran between them.

“My brother did time once,” said Casey. Nobody knew much about Casey’s family. “He talks about it like he was proud of it. Said it taught him ways to take care of himself.”

“What’d he do?” Crow asked. “Rob somebody?”

“He beat a guy up in a bar in Alabama. Hit him with a board, broke his head wide open.”

“Man.”

“The guy lived, but my brother went to jail for about five years. Then the second time he robbed somebody.” Casey stared into the fire, his forehead shining white in the early-spring dark. Casey hardly ever spoke about anything personal. He never spoke of anything but playing the drums. He moved his stick now to beat a rhythm on the ground. “That’s where he learned how to fix motors and stuff, so he could be what he is now.”

“Rehab.” Bobby had heard his mother talk about rehabilitation programs often enough. “Goddamn rehab!” He laughed, and they all laughed with him. Their breath lingered in the air and mixed with the smoke. Leaves rustled around them and the fire flared.

Crow put the last of the marshmallows on a stick for himself. “Shit. I love these things,” he said.

They heard someone coming and saw three policemen step from a stand of bushes. “What’re you boys doing out here?”

Casey stepped backward. “We were roasting marshmallows, Officer.” Tom held up the empty bag, grateful to Lester and Antony.

“We heard gunshots,” one policeman said.

“That was us, Officer. We set off some firecrackers.” Casey sounded innocent. He pulled a firecracker from his backpack. Bobby dropped his gun behind him into the bushes.

“We’re celebrating because we think we’re gonna win that Battle of the Bands in Knoxville.”

“Celebrate after you win, boys,” said one officer. “Not before. Anyway it’s not until July, right?”

They checked each boy, searching jackets and backpacks until they were satisfied.

“It’s too dry out here for firecrackers, guys,” said one officer. “Go on home now.”

They kicked dirt over the fire until it was out, until the only light was starlight. The policemen waited for them to finish. Bobby couldn’t think of how to retrieve his gun. He’d have to come back later. The boys lifted their backpacks and began to leave the woods, the officers behind them.

They walked at arm’s length, unruly and faithful. As they came closer to town, darkness came down like a wing, and a stir of light troubled the streets and gave a charge to their mysterious bodies. They imagined that they were on a quest, and each boy wondered what the other was thinking about.

These eager boys who thought they were, but were not yet, men.