Erik Handy (13 page)

Buckles was a lucky man.

***

There was a local homeless man, Conrad, who was batshit crazy. Throwing his arms up in the air and yelling at the voices he heard.

One day, Buckles called the cops on Conrad because apparently the nut was openly masturbating to a nudie magazine right outside Buckles' office window.

Word among the staff was that it was Buckles doing the fiddling while looking at kiddie porn on his work computer and Conrad looked in on him.

It sucks to be homeless and crazy.

***

"You're a team player, Off," Buckles told the graying Asian man at the front desk. He bounced as he piled on the accolades. "You're a real asset to this library."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. It's my pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine. Listen." Buckles leaned in closer to Off. Any other man would have backed away but Off wasn't a man. "I want you to keep an eye on Eddie. Let me know if he acts up."

"Sure thing. I do the job for you. I do good job."

***

Buckles didn't really like Asians. Or blacks. Or Hispanics. But he had a staff quota he had to keep. So despite their abilities -- in Off's case, none -- he hired anyone who was needed for the quota.

Buckles was a company man who always wanted to please his bosses.

***

Buckles' first wife used to beat him. At first, he thought there was something wrong with her. But after the fourth black eye, he realized it was his fault -- he had lousy taste in women. He wanted a woman like the mother he never had, loving, present. Instead he found himself with girlfriends who were more masculine than him with the testosterone to boot.

His first wife was a bank teller, not an Amazonian bodybuilder, but she managed to kick Buckles' butt on a regular basis. He never thought to defend himself. He never thought he could.

He once saw a movie on TV about a physically abused husband. Buckles immediately felt a kinship with the overly dramatic character.

"I'm not alone," he said as watched the thing.

Buckles was always delusional.

By the way, his first wife left him for another woman.

***

7:30 in the morning. In front of an elementary school.

Buckles pulled himself closer to the steering wheel. He wondered how much crossing guards got paid. Maybe he could take his hour lunch break when school let out so he could watch the kids walk home.

He was soon distracted by thoughts of that damn Eddie and he hated him more for it. The punk just couldn't follow orders. He had no respect for Buckles' authority.

Buckles mentally noted to ask Off if Eddie was doing anything against the rules.
Anything
. Buckles waned to nail Eddie's ass. And hard.
 

***

That night Buckles finished another financial planning book. He had a job that paid more than it should have and a wife -- if you could call her that -- who made just as much money. The house and van were paid off. Buckles just wanted more money so he could buy a little boy.
Adopt
a little boy. Perhaps a baby, start a human being on the correct path early. 

His wife had no interest in raising a child. With him. She didn't let him know.

Buckles hoped that if he and his wife did adopt a boy -- it had to be a little boy -- then that would lead to something later. Not between him and his wife. Him and the boy.

Buckles was an optimist.

***

One night Buckles had a weird dream. Well, weird for us normal folk. It featured a conversation between him and a bad dude named The Skeleton Man. The guy was tall and dressed in a black suit. His face was a shifting mass of shadows. Buckles didn't know how, but he knew the guy's name and that he was bad news.

The conversation between the two went something like this:

"I have to kill you Buckles," The Skeleton Man said. "You even offend
me
."
 

Buckles woke up drenched in sweat. He quietly got out of bed and went into the living room where he looked at porn on his computer until dawn. Then he got dressed -- didn't even shower -- and "went to the doctor."

***

Darrell was a dolt, a big oaf with the mental capacity of a trash can. He was also a bit of trouble, loitering in front of the library, asking people for cigarette money. This was illegal and Buckles confronted him several times over it.

This time:

"Come on, man. I'm just broke."

"I'm trying to help you out by not calling the police," Buckles said, bouncing up and down, but not leaving the ground. "You don't want me to do that, do you?"

"Naw, man. I need a smoke."

"I can't help you there, but if you do this again, then I'll have to call the police."

"Okay. I promise I won't do it again."

He did it again and Buckles called the police and a scene was caused.

Buckles wrote up an incident report between an online chat session with
BryGuy12
and lunch.

A few weeks later, Darrell was back as if nothing happened. As far as anyone knew, nothing did happen. He was just escorted off the library property.

Undeterred by history, Darrell began asking people for money.

Buckles confronted him yet again.

"I'm trying to give you a break."

"I know, man. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I promise."

"I want to believe you." A lie.

"You can, man."

Buckles considered his next action.

Darrell said, "You like them, don't you?"

"What? Like who?"

"Little boys."

Buckles promptly walked away and called the police.

He took great pleasure in writing what happened in his report. He liked writing it all down because it was so close to the truth. It was almost as exciting as his doctor appointments.

Buckles didn't know why Darrell said what he said or why, after having the cops called on him before, he continued his panhandling behavior. Maybe he was just crazy.

***

Buckles didn't allow glue to be used in children's programs for crafts.

He didn't have a problem with people drinking and spilling coffee on the floor though.

***

Eight years old.

"Ma, Jocelyn glued me again."

"Bucky, just wash it off."

"Ma. I can't."

"Bucky."

"Ma. Look."

She didn't.

"Ma. Look."

"Do I have to spank you? Now go play with your sisters."

***

"That Eddie won't do anything," Off reported. "He's always on internet." He gravely shook his head. "He won't shelve DVD. He won't take person to self checkout."

"Well, thank you," Buckles replied. "I'll look into this and take it from there."

Buckles was thinking about this Saturday the whole time his lapdog was speaking.

Saturday.

First day of Little League.

***

Thirteen years old.

"You pick Buckles."

"That's not my name," Buckles said. Everyone ignored him.

"No. You pick him," the other boy said.

"One of us has to pick him."

"One of us will have more if we don't."

"Aw come on. This sucks."

Buckles looked so hurt with his soda bottle eyeglasses and bowl cut.

"How about this? I'll coach and won't play so neither of us has to pick him."

"Um, if it's okay with everybody, sure."

Buckles went home to his mother and sisters.

***

During the season, no one was allowed to park next to the outfield. So Buckles put on a baseball cap and sat in the bleachers. He cheered when everyone else did, careful to not draw attention to himself. Otherwise he took in the sights of the teams.

When one parent asked him which child was his, Buckles had wanted to respond "All of them."

Instead, Buckles turned to the field, pointed, and drew his cell phone from his fanny pack. "Sorry. It's my wife."

In countless years, no one ever talked to him here. Why now?

Times were tougher for people like him. People were more vigilant. He did everything he could to avoid trouble. Now, for the first time, he felt his world begin to slip away.

***

Twenty-three years old.

"Ma's dead."

Buckles' mind went blank. He was barely aware he was holding the telephone.

"Hello?"

"I'm here. When did she die?"

"Last night."

"How?"

"What the fuck does it matter now? I'm only calling you because our sisters told me to."

"Thank you. How did she die?"

"Bucky."

"Please."

"She took too many pills. Again."

Buckles thought his eyes were moistening.

"Hello?"

"I'm here. So I never have to see you guys again?"

"What?"

"So I never have to see you and the other bitches again?"

"You're a piece of shit, Bucky."

That was the last time he ever spoke to any of his sisters again.

***

Every so often a new book would take off for reasons known only to the cosmos. Sometimes the book would be a life-affirming treatise. Other times it would be a book that distorted history for its own gain, becoming a bestseller for years.

On this particular occasion, the book was a piece of smut about bondage and sex. It had the whole country aflutter. Housewives reevaluated their lives. Old women went into cardiac arrest. The uptight religious wanted it banned.

Being the pervert he prided in being, Buckles could not wait to talk to someone about the new sensation.

"Did you get to the part about the contract?" one of Buckles' employees asked another just as Buckles walked into the workroom.

"Yeah," Buckles interrupted as he often did. "Are you guys reading that?"

The two women nodded, wishing he had walked in on any conversation but this one.

"I'm not, but I've peeked and wow." Buckles shook his head. "Intense. Listen," he said as he slightly bounced. "Does that book turn you guys on?"

Buckles was always blunt.

***

The two employees filed a sexual harassment complaint against Buckles.

Buckles apologized to them and attended a "sensitivity training workshop." That was all.

Well, not all.

The story made the rounds to other local libraries. Buckles' reputation, or lack thereof, was firmly secured.

***

From age twenty-four to forty-nine, Buckles had a mustache. It made him look like a bigger dork than he was. It also made him look like a pervert. Not that not having one didn't.

Everyone he came into contact thought this and they would mention this whenever they spoke about him.

Except his wife. She never talked about him.

***

Ten years old.

"Buckles! Buckles!"

"That's not my name."

"Buckles! Buckles!"

"Don't call me that."

"Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Buckles kept walking.

"Buckles! Buckles!"

"Shut up."

"What? Have you touched any kids today?"

Buckles began to run, but the gang of boys kept pace.

"Hey, Buckles! Yer a faggot!"

***

Now.

Buckles sat in his blue van, staring out at the children filing through the elementary school gates. He was trying to figure out the last time his wife spoke to him. Or when they had sex? Did they ever have sex? He missed sex. The sweat. The mess. The simple touch of another human being.

Buckles came to and looked down at his lap. His hand was there, rubbing his penis.

He didn't stop.

He would get to work at 8:45 that day.

***

"I'd like to sit in on one of your storytimes," Buckles told Annabeth, the children's librarian. "It's been a while since I've seen one and I should know what goes on in case you call in."

Annabeth took one step away from him. He was too close as usual.

He didn't notice. He was too busy bouncing and looking at a mom and her two toddlers.

Buckles was always attentive.

***

Buckles tried to kiss his wife.