FITS
Mark Silverman
Spotted her out on the road. Man, dumbest thing you ever saw in the middle of the night, headed nowhere, coming at us on that goddamn bike, just to piss the hell out of me. Dress flapping in the wind. Couldn't believe it so I pulled over to watch her pass.
Me and Rick had gotten pretty burnt and we went looking for pussy. But Rick couldn't hold his goddamn beer and he curled up in the back seat as I headed out of Nazareth, racing up and down all those big hills. We stopped at that apple store and Rick chased me down the rows hunting donuts. He hit on the chick at the register, but she pushed him away: hands off, sleazebucket. So we split.
Turned at the light cause Rick wanted to go trash those fancy stores up at the mall. But after a couple of miles, down near the airport -- there she was. I slammed the brakes and skidded up the shoulder, cause man, she was in the wrong place. Dumb old woman on a bike.
Rick grabbed my shirt and clunked our heads together. Can't let her pull this shit on us. No way. He rolled down the window to see better, gotta bounce that damn bike. Want me to do it? I felt real dizzy, like maybe it was my turn to puke. I watched in the dark. Reminded me of when we would sneak out at night and ride on the road. My sister Becky would whine, here he comes. And Pop would stumble out and drag us back to the trailer. I pushed Rick away and made a fast U turn, spinning wheels. I'll show ya how to do it.
I
dug my sneaks into the floor and leaned back, rocking their crummy wooden
bench till it creaked like an old bed. Felt like crap. Pulled the pack of
Marlboros they let me keep, lit up, took a drag, and closed my eyes to block
the light shining off the cinder blocks. But the pigs wouldn't let me sleep.
No. They stood near the door with their coffees and watched like hawks, like
old Mr. Otto at school used to.
Mr. Otto would stop me in the hall and if he didn't like my reason for being there, I had to follow him down to the office. I'd sit all morning listening to the secretaries open letters and squawk on the phone, and then Mr. Otto would come out, bend down and stare in my eyes with his foggy glasses. Ready to behave yourself? I didn't have to answer. He just took me back to my class and if I missed lunch -- tough.
One of cops said, let's go through it again. I opened my eyes. They had pulled metal stools and circled me. Three times they made me tell the story, but I was too smart to change anything. My hands got real sweaty as I looked at the chick who came with them, behind the desk, typing questions and answers. I watched her because she looked a little like Becky.
She would take me to Burger King and sometimes get her friends to take me to the mall. And she would crawl in bed with me at night. I was nine when Becky went out with her boyfriend and never came back. Maybe Mom and Pop knew what happened, but they never let on and never said her name again. One day a kid at school said Becky got knocked up. I pounded the shit out of him and got a week's suspension. The cops kept asking, Tell us again about you and your pal. Sure.
I picked up Rick at his grandmother's, got a couple of forty ouncers and headed for Shar's house. I watched my smoke go straight up and get sucked up through the grate over my head. One of the pigs poked my arm, Too bad you can't fly out that way, kid. I wanted to spring like a tiger. I wanted to smash his face and spill his guts on the floor. But I just shut up. And who sold you the beer? Told ya. I got a friend who drives a truck and sometimes he gives us a few forties. The blond mustache leaned at me, the one in a suit. And yesterday your friend came up with a case? Yeah, maybe. But you didn't stay at Shar's. Nope, we drove to North Ave and hung out waitin' for some chicks who didn't show. Then we chased spit, and drove to my cousin's house but she wasn't there, and we got more beers and . . . Then what?
I always knew the state cops had a place up here near the college, but never checked it out. Nobody did. We called it pig farm road. Now they had me and I had to listen to their questions. But that damn humming in the wall drilled into my head, and my eyes burned like charcoal. I wondered what those guys would do if I fell on the floor and swallowed my tongue.
* * * * * * * *
The first time it happened was in kindergarten, Mrs. Grady's class. Cory Shider told me that one minute I was racing around trying to pull her braids, and the next minute I was on the floor rolling around like a snake. She said Mrs. Grady took all the kids to Mrs. Roe's room. I woke up in the nurse's office and there was mom and a doctor. Back home mom said I would have lots of fits if I didn't take pills all the time. Without pills I would fall down again and die and they would put me in a box and bury me. She said dandelions would grow out of my face. So I ate the goddam pills and they worked, except for a couple of times when I forgot. One time I had a fit at a party and some asshole kicked me in the head. I woke up with blood in my hair. So I stopped taking the pills. Anyway, they mess me up when I get wasted.
This sure was a crock. They should let me go home and sleep and come back for their fucking questions. I wish I could just crash out of their pig barracks, drive out past the high school and onto Lanyard Road. The oil is still fresh so I take it slow for the first three miles, then open up and wheel through the curves, past those mowed fields, then through the state forest. Pop would be sitting on the steps with his six pack, waiting for someone to get back from town. He's always there.
Pop served time up at Auburn for robbery. He said things went great till the day he got caught by an off duty cop who wasn't supposed to be around. Pop can be nasty and when I was little I learned to keep away cause he'd kick my butt when he got drunk. He hit Becky, too, but most of the time he just beat up mom. When I got older, big enough to fight back, he lay off me. And I started coming home late.
Pop gets some kind of social security, so he sits around watching TV, waiting for his checks. I don't talk to him much, but when he feels good he starts in with his numbers. He says he has a system for the Lotto and he's gonna make us rich. He begins with our birthdays and he adds and takes away till he gets the right combo. He hasn't won yet, but he says it's just a matter of time. He spends lots of time adding the supermarket tapes too. But the big number game is baseball. Mom found him a baseball encyclopedia at a garage sale and it must have a thousand pages with numbers about the players that goes back a hundred years. Pop goes over those numbers every day. And during baseball season he watches games on TV with a notebook Pop uses the numbers on me when I mess up. He always says when your number is up and you're in the wrong place it's all over, just like when he got caught. So when I lifted a pizza at A-Plus or when I hit that shithead art teacher Mr. Jones or all the times the cops grabbed me -- along comes Pop with his numbers. He says I was in the wrong place and I deserve what I got. My number was up.
* * * * * * * *
The bald cop shook his head and leaned all over me. I know your kind real well. Your folks let you run wild and now we have to deal with their mess. You live out there in Newton, don't you? I just smiled. But you come to town, huh. No job, you just wait to make trouble. We know you hang out with the high school kids at the pit, smoking. And we know about all the times they picked you up for fighting, drinking, stealing, bothering the little kids. Well little man, this time you really bought it.
I didn't hit nobody! You can't prove a fucking thing. He
pushed me against the wall.
Listen cocksucker, your friend already told us everything, how he tried to
talk you out of it. But you wouldn't listen. And you kept yelling 'bounce
the bike, bounce the bike.'
Ain't true. Cops lied all the time. The thin cop grabbed my arm but I yanked
away.
You saw that woman on the bike, you turned your car around, you sped up and
caught her on the shoulder. Then you didn't try to help her. Just drove away.
But you got a brilliant idea to head back to see if see had any money in her
purse. Bad idea. Cause we caught you on Route 12.
I should have taken 488.
So you admit it? The cop didn't wait for an answer. He just smiled at the
other pigs. I guess we're finished for now. He's another kid who spends his
spare time getting drunk and killing women who ride their bikes to work.
I looked at the big yellow water stain on the wall. It had been a hell of a night except for getting busted. What's the big deal? DWI. Big fucking deal. Maybe they take your license for six months. But that damn bike. Who the hell rides on 12 at five in the morning? I can still hear Rick yelling at that crazy bike. And those empty beer bottles kept rattling around on the floor of the back seat.
Can you tell us why you did it?
Look man, I don't know nothin' about it. All of a sudden my mouth was real dry. I tossed my butt. If Rick narced on me it was all over. Look, bring him in here now and I'll kick the shit out of him and then you'll see the truth. Okay? Maybe I wasn't drivin' when she got hit. The thin cop came back at me.
You didn't even know her.
I put my hand over my eyes to block him out. Cops always chew your ass. They push you around and they pull their tricks. They haul you to court and then they lock you up in their damn jail. But they're all creeps, too stupid to understand the truth. Pop should be here now, he'd tell them plenty, all about the numbers game. She was in the wrong place, her number was up, and when you're in the wrong place you deserve to get hit. That's all.
THE END