Trigger (10 page)

Big Larry. Huge Larry. Linebacker Larry. Don’t yell about Larry. Larry looked like Frankenstein with a blank stare and his mouth hanging open. His right arm hung in a sling pulled tight against his chest. I could see his swollen, curled Frankenstein fingers poking over the sling’s white edge. The right side of his lips drooped, just like his right eye.

Big Larry the Frankenstein Linebacker on his silver-flame scooter couldn’t talk. He lost his words. He lost the strength on his right side just like I’d lost the strength on my
left side, but Big Larry could drive, at least on his scooter. He whizzed past us again. Every time he got closer.

“Can’t talk.” I watched him wind up for another loop. “One, two, three, four. Larry the Frankenstein Linebacker can’t talk. Five, six, seven. He’s not doing so good. Eight, nine, ten. Frankenstein nutcase. Don’t yell about nutcases.”

Mama Rush glanced up from the book. “He can’t talk, but he
can
hear. Quit pissing him off or he’ll run over your toes.”

She went back to reading.

I shut my mouth, tried to wiggle my toes down into my tennis shoes and scoot my feet all the way under the table. When would I remember that stupid sock? It was a good idea even if Leza thought it would taste fuzzy.

Big Larry motored by, no sign of brakes. Did that scooter have brakes? I mean, it had to have brakes or people would snap their legs and arms and heads when they slammed into stuff to stop. They’d all be brain-damaged turtles. And Mama Rush would have used a few people as slamming targets on purpose by now and been arrested. So Big Larry the Linebacker’s brakes had to be broken.

“A-B-C-D-E-F-G—”

“Just another minute.” Mama Rush tapped her fingers on my memory book. The pen on the string kept rhythm. “I’m trying to think.”

Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, don’t yell, I had to be quiet. A-B-C-one-two-three. Be quiet. Why wasn’t Mama Rush worrying about Big Larry and the silver scooter? Could she see him? Big Larry had lost his words. Maybe Mama Rush had lost her eyesight? Be quiet.

“Did you have a stroke?” I blurted.

She didn’t even look at me.

Lost words. Lost eyesight. Lost pragmatics. I had stupid-marks on my head. I was scared Big Larry would find a way to get my toes and leave a few stupid-marks on my feet, too. What if he hit Mama Rush on her scooter and hurt her?

My stomach twisted.

I couldn’t stand it if she got hurt. And she was old so she would probably break really easy. Ashtray glue wouldn’t fix her. Brain-damaged turtles. If Big Larry hit Mama Rush, I might have to punch him. At least he only had one good side like me. I might have a chance.

“You ruled out drugs,” Mama Rush finally announced.

Trying to stop the turtle–Big Larry chatter in my head, I met her gaze. In the background, Big Larry clipped a wire-mesh chair with his scooter. The chair fell over. He was only a few tables away. Then next time he looped, he’d probably hit us.

“Bad Frankenstein driving,” I muttered. “Turtles.” Then, “We ruled out drugs. We, Leza and me. Leza helped. The notes—she had a point about testing. And another point about rumors she didn’t hear.”

Mama Rush nodded. “I read her notes on the list a few times, and I agree. I’m glad, too, even if it’s a shame. Drugs would have been an easy answer to the ‘why’ you’re looking to find. But I got a feeling nothing about this is easy. This whole list thing might be too simple, but at least it’s a starting point.”

She pushed the memory book back to me. “You hearing voices and all that silly stuff about your parents, those were useless from the get-go.”

Big Larry get-go’ed around the far side of the patio.

The click of a lighter told me Mama Rush still wasn’t concerned.

“Two, three, six,” I said, calling out the numbers on the list as I looked down at the book. “B-C-F.”

1. Maybe on drugs
.

2. Did something awful I felt guilty
.

3. My life sucked
.

4. Heard voices telling me to off myself
.

5. Parents really brother and sister/aliens/abusive
.

6. Elana Arroyo—ask Todd
.

“B-C-F. Hmmm.” Mama Rush tapped the ashtray three times with her cigarette. “Two, three, six. Did you work that out before you said it?”

I shrugged and closed the book. “I still have some smarts.”

That got me a laugh.

She took a deep drag off her cigarette as Big Larry rumbled by, inches from her scooter. His face was all red now, and he looked like he was crying. I squirmed in my chair. My brain filled up with things I could yell at him. My head was starting to hurt again, maybe because I was clenching my fist and my teeth so tight.

Frankenstein, go home!

You’re bothering me!

Don’t you hit Mama Rush!

The voice inside my brain sounded like J.B. and me, too.

“Whether or not you were happy, that might be the next thing we want to consider.” Mama Rush seemed far away,
and a little quiet against the sudden thunder of blood in my ears. “Any thoughts on what might have made your life suck?”

Get away from us!

Frankenstein idiot
—
who let you drive, anyway?

Brain-damaged turtles aren’t allowed to drive
.

Go inside!

My eyes wouldn’t leave Big Larry and his silver scooter and his shaking shoulders. I could only see his face from the side.

“Boy, you’re supposed to be considering what made your life suck.”

I jumped. Oh, yeah. It was my turn to talk. “What sucked my consider?”

Mama Rush tapped her cigarette in the brain-damaged turtle. “Number Three, isn’t it? Or C. Whatever you want to call it. ‘My life sucked.’”

The roar in my ears cut down a little. I managed to drag my eyes back to Mama Rush. She was sitting in a thin veil of smoke, sunlight reflecting off her glasses and her purple shirt.

“My life sucked,” I echoed, wishing Big Larry would stop, just shut it all down right now.

He barreled straight at Mama Rush.

She didn’t look at him.

My tongue tangled up with my teeth and I couldn’t even yell.

Mama Rush still didn’t look at Big Larry, but she stuck out her cigarette hand and waved it up and down.

Big Larry grunted. The silver-flame scooter geared down all of a sudden. He stopped right in front of her outstretched
hand. My mouth was hanging open just like his now. As I sat there like a stupid Frankenstein, Big Larry’s big shoulders shook even harder and he sobbed really loud. His face went so red it almost turned purple like Mama Rush’s shirt.

“Just a minute,” she said to me. She stamped out her cigarette in the brain-damaged turtle and turned to the crying man. “What is it? Did Attila the Red talk ugly to you again?”

Big Larry’s face puffed up.

Was he going to yell? Probably he would yell. And then I would want to yell.

He opened his mouth wider and squeaked a word. More like half a word. Half of a very bad word.

Mama Rush eased off her scooter, took a stiff step, then wrapped her purple-shirt arms around his purple head and hugged him.

Big Larry reached up and touched one of her elbows. His sobs got loud, then quiet. After a while, he just shook without making any sound at all. Watching him cry made me feel like I had a hot clamp around my throat.

How long would this last?

My headache picked up enough to make me wince.

Go away, Frankenstein!

Go inside!

I tick-tacked the pen against the table, then poked at the brain-damaged turtle. Ashes shifted inside.

If I didn’t get home before Dad got back from his “short” Saturday makeup day, he’d be worried. I think Mom knew where I was because she left me money, just enough for a cab ride. It was on my dresser when I got back inside from
talking to Leza. Dad could have left it, but Dad told me to stay away from the Rush house. That didn’t mean Mama Rush, did it? Because she lived in The Palace with the credit card blue rug, not the Rush house. Besides, I’d never stay away from her unless she told me to.

God, my head was throbbing. Stay away. Go away. Go inside. Go. Just go. Away, away, away. The pen bounced off my memory book. The sound was really loud. It took me a few seconds to realize I was the one moving the pen and making all the noise. So I stopped.

Were they
ever
going to quit hugging?

Boyfriends and girlfriends hug all the time, and—oh, jeez. Was Big Larry the boyfriend Mama Rush had been talking about? I’d never asked the guy’s name, probably because I didn’t want her to brain-damage my turtle head any worse than it already was. Please, please don’t let Mama Rush be dating Frankenstein.

“You done?” Mama Rush asked. I jumped, then realized she wasn’t talking to me.

Big Larry on his silver-flame scooter sniffed in response. He leaned away from her and mopped his wet eyes on one of her sleeves. She didn’t even make a face like I did.

Without another sound, Big Larry slowly backed up his scooter, edged around Mama Rush, and left the patio. The automatic door into The Palace whooshed open, then closed firmly behind him. By that time, Mama Rush was back on her own scooter and already digging out a new cigarette.

I tapped the pen again and she slapped my hand. The edge of her lighter caught the back of my knuckle.

“Ouch!” I dropped the pen and got my hand out of her way. The sudden movement made the pain in my head flare up even worse.

“You can be rude, did you know that?” She glared at me as she lifted the yellow hammer-lighter and flicked it until a flame shot out.

Was she going to throw it at me when she was done? I tried to stay alert just in case. “Don’t throw it! I mean, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” She pointed her now-lit cigarette at the patio door. “That man can’t talk. He can think, he has all his smarts, he knows what he wants to say, but he can’t force out a single thing except words his mama would smack him for saying. Do you have any idea how that rips at the man’s insides?”

Like an idiot, I started to open my mouth, then pressed my lips closed when she continued.

“Of course you don’t. Well you didn’t until you did all that to yourself.” She gestured to my scars. “Spoiled and selfish. You, Todd, Leza—none of you faced much real hardship in life until you went and pulled that trigger.”

My scars tightened as I ground my teeth. The throb in my head felt like knives jabbing, jabbing, jabbing. I wanted to grab for the pen so much that my good hand, the one with the tiny lighter-mark on one knuckle, actually shook.

Selfish. Did she think I shot myself in the head because I was selfish?

Mama Rush leaned toward me, bringing her cloud of smoke with her. She still looked like a djinni, but a really mad djinni in a purple shirt, about to turn me into a braindamaged turtle and send me off to the Sahara with no water.

“Your life didn’t suck, but you found reasons to think it did.” She was snarling more than talking. And looking at the patio door like Big Larry might pop back out again. “Stacked up things to make yourself nervous, then blamed everybody but yourself for making the stack.”

I counted to ten and said the alphabet and closed my eyes so I couldn’t see the stupid pen I wanted to grab. When I got enough courage up to open them again, Mama Rush’s fire had turned into little sparks. No thrown lighters. No ashtrays bashing my head. She was calming down.

I watched as she settled back on her purple scooter. Her lips were moving. I got a weird feeling she was counting to ten and saying the alphabet. Wondered if she wanted to yell it.

“Sorry,” I whispered through my still-crammed-together teeth. I didn’t really know what I was sorry for, except I didn’t want her to be mad. And I didn’t want her to think I was selfish.

I wasn’t selfish, was I? Selfish people were mean. Selfish people never thought about how other people might feel.

You’re so self-centered I bet you think I’m mad at you
.

My pounding head shook “no.” But that voice I just heard shouting … what the hell? Was it a girl? If it was, it definitely wasn’t Mom or Mama Rush. It sounded a little like Leza.

“Selfish,” I said out loud, then rubbed the stupid-mark on my temple. “Self-centered.”

Mama Rush took a slow breath, then focused on her cigarette for a whole minute, maybe more. Somehow, I managed not to repeat “selfish,” “self-centered,” the alphabet, or any of the numbers between one and one hundred.

When Mama Rush spoke, her voice was normal again, and I stopped worrying she might start throwing things.

“That was … harsh, what I said.” She shifted on her scooter, then nodded toward the patio door. “But you should know in case it happens again—a man can only stand his own silence so long. Big Larry gets frustrated, then he breaks down. A little listening and a little kindness sets him right, and he goes on his way.”

That made sense to me. Selfish. Self-centered. I could still get the basics. Big Larry took all he could take, then blew off steam. An image of my mom popped into my head. I imagined her throwing a fit at the bank, tearing up a bunch of money and screaming and hurling complementary ballpoint pens at the customers and employees. Maybe a woman could only stand her own silence so long, too.

Why was I thinking about my mother?

I had to stop. If I smiled at the freaky pictures of Mom having a bank tantrum, Mama Rush might do something drastic. Selfish, selfish, selfish. I said the words to myself, keeping time with the throb of my headache.

“He bothered you, didn’t he, Jersey?”

Unable to stop myself, I looked at the patio door, hoping Big Larry wouldn’t come sailing back out. “Yes.”

“Did he scare you?”

“A little.”

“Because you didn’t understand him.”

“I guess.” The shrug was automatic, and her glare made me regret it. I needed a sock
and
weights to tie down my good shoulder if I was going to survive my Palace chats with Mama Rush. At least she didn’t climb all over me for twitching my shoulder.