Poster Boy (14 page)

“We have to stop polluting so much,” she said, spooning her Blizzard into her mouth with its red plastic spoon and disposable cup. “Like why can't they make tailpipes for cars that clean the exhaust? I've read about these scrubbers they put inside factory chimneys to clean up their smoke. Why can't we put scrubbers in tailpipes?”

“I don't know.”

She spooned up her Blizzard.

“Tastes like heaven,” she groaned.

She didn't seem aware of what she'd said. I took another picture, ice cream dribbling off her lip, a guilty smile, scraggly witch hair. Just another kid pigging out on junk food.

After the show was over and the Blizzard gone, Maggie said she was tired and was going to take a nap before dinner.

“Probably the Blizzard, you know, drained your energy,” I said, tucking the empty cup and plastic spoon under my shirt to recycle somehow without Mom noticing.

“It was worth it,” she said, smiling.

I went and made a file on my computer named Maggie and downloaded all the pictures I'd taken of her.

It was only me, Mom and Dad for dinner. Maggie hadn't woken up from her nap.

“I've checked on her,” Mom said as she placed a beige-colored casserole on the table. “Her breathing's normal and no temperature. Just a nap. It's only a nap.”

“What's this?” asked Dad, just sounding curious, really, but I felt Mom bristle.

“Tofu quiche with a buckwheat crust,” she said. “And I've made onion rice patties and some beet greens.”

“Sounds good,” I said, looking hard at Dad.

Though it was Saturday and his day off, Dad had spent the day at the office and had just arrived home as we sat down to eat. He asked how my week went. I answered him in as few words as possible, though I did slip in that some magazine wanted to come out and interview me. He didn't respond.

“That should be interesting,” said Mom.

I asked him how his week was and he said, “Fine. Busy.” He'd turned into some humorless goon. He and I ate in silence after that, Mom filling the space with not very interesting stories about today's silkscreen disasters. Then she announced that the bank opening was in less than two weeks and she was going to “finish those banners if it kills me.”

I said no to carrot tofu pudding and headed over to Davis's. Hoped he had some bud. Getting high sounded awfully good.

His dad and Mom Two were out, though one of his half-brothers and friends were there, drinking beer and watching the game, the smell of hot wings spicing the air.

“You gotta see my girls,” Davis said, pulling me into his room. He opened the cabinet and I couldn't even see the peat pots for all the greenery. They were bushy, a foot tall and one mass of fluttering green leaves. The hole in the back had been made bigger and a little fan was blowing on them.

“I need a place to plant them real fast or they're toast.”

“I'd say. What's the fan for?”

“To strengthen the stalks so once they're outside the wind won't destroy them. I read about it online.”

“Makes sense.”

“Had to Chuck Norris two of them.”

“Why?”

“Turned out to be male. The females get these pre-flowers, see? The males get little balls and a piston.”

“No way.”

“So, Gray?”

“Yeah?”

“What about where you're staying?”

“What about it?”

“For my girls. On that giant property, the owners wouldn't even notice a few more green things along one edge of — ”

“Are you kidding?”

“Well, then what about in the woods behind your tent? That's not their property, it's parkland. When I came to see you there was this nice little clearing not — ”

“That would be pretty sketchy.”

“They'd never know. And you wouldn't have to do anything. Maybe throw some water on them if it like hasn't rained for a while. And I'll give you half. We could sell it to those guys out there in the living room in like a minute. You and I'd make some serious cash.”

“Now we're dealing?”

“No. Just to my brothers and their friends. That's not dealing. That's sharing. We share our bud and they share their money.”

I was pretty strapped for cash. And I wasn't about to ask Dad for any money.

“Being Mr. Clean and all, I thought you'd appreciate some organic weed.” Davis smiled hopefully. “We'll know what we're smoking, at least. And we won't like ever have to go without.”

That was a nice thought.

“You got any tonight?” I asked.

“Nope. Nada.”

Shit. I really felt like getting ripped.

“So, all I'd have to do is water them once in a while?”

“That's it, I swear.” Davis perked up. “I'll plant them, come and feed them their hula food every week. Sing to them. You only have to water them. And that's only if there's no rain. If it rains, you do nothing, just reap the rewards.” He looked at me all eager.

“Okay, but only if you get me wrecked tonight.”

“Yes.” Davis pumped his fist.

“Organic, eh? We should charge extra for that.”

“Double,” said Davis, leaning over his plants. “You're going to have a new home, girls. Pack your buds, we're hitting the road.”

Davis bought a sliver of a joint off one of the guys in the living room. We got ripped and did some gaming, chowing down on the half a pepperoni pizza and garlic dip Davis's brother threw our way. I wasn't going to eat any but Mom's macro dinner wasn't very filling, and being stoned I was messed up hungry.

When I got home that night, the house was dark. I popped on my laptop to check my messages, forgetting I'd vowed not to. Also forgetting that nobody was sending me messages these days.

But tonight there was something. From Ciel.

hi. just wanted to apologize for today. I don't mean to come off like a jerk, it's just some weird defense thing. Being new here and all, I'm not really myself. Anyway, I'm so sorry about Maggie and what I said. Friends I hope. Ciel

I was about to write back to say no problem. Tell her that I did stupid things all the time.

But then I thought no. I'd play it cool for a change. Let her hang a little.

17
Skunkweed

Davis grabbed a shovel and put on his backpack, which held a bag of organic compost/peat moss, a Baggie full of lime to sweeten the soil, and his girls. I grabbed my water jug and camera. I'd started using the D.s' electricity to recharge my camera, too. Hoped they didn't mind. Was still waiting to hear from that solar company.

We hiked up into the woods. I had just finished work, digging and more digging around the base of the plum and cherry trees. Something to do with root rot. I think I pulled a groin muscle.

“I'm not digging the holes,” I told Davis.

“That's fine. Leave it to me. Hey, my dad has a bet going with my brother Sam over how long you'll last out here.”

“What's the bet?”

“My dad says a month. Sam's giving you till the end of June.”

“How much on the table?”

“Fifty.”

“Ask if they'll give me the money if I last past June.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I might just live out here forever.” My tent had survived the weekend's rain no problem. My sleeping bag was wet and I had to hang it out in the sun, but the trees kept the rest pretty dry.

“Forever's a long feckin' time. What, are they going to adopt you?”

While Davis hunted for a hidden clearing to plant his girls, I hunted mushrooms for dinner. Puffballs, that is, those stemless ball-shaped things that shot out brown smoke when you stepped on them. You had to pick puffballs before the spores developed. Fried up in olive oil with a little garlic and salt, they were delicious. And if I came across some stinging nettle I'd throw those in with it.

Nothing, I'd decided, tasted better than fresh-picked food. Especially if it was wild. You could taste wildness. It tasted like pulsing color in your mouth. Like your mouth was stoned or something.

I found nearly half a dozen puffballs but no nettle, and Davis found his clearing. It was dangerously close to the D.s' property, only ten yards behind my tent. But then I wouldn't have to haul water very far, I thought, and went ahead and helped him remove some of the ferns and dead leaves.

I watched as he dug and prepared four holes.

“Okay, girls,” said Davis as he wiped the dirt from his hands and stood back admiring his work. “I'd like something strong enough to make me see God. Or Chuck Norris. I want to see Chuck Norris. No, I want to
be
Chuck Norris.”

Then, because the sun was now reflecting off these gray storm clouds that had rolled in over the valley and the light was all silvery, I took some pictures.

I made Davis climb up an oak and hide among the leaves, showing only part of an arm and one foot. Then had him show only his nose and chin. Then an ear and one hand. We did similar shots under this ground cover of spiny yellow flowers, like sea anenomes, and then again in the rye grass field.

“Hey, what do you think of Ciel?” I asked as I helped him up off the ground.

He studied me for a second. “I think she's all right. A lot higher up the food chain than your last one. In fact, you might be shooting a little high there, Gray.”

“Just because she gets As in school doesn't mean she's smarter than me.”

“Now that was a dumb thing to say.”

“Forget it.”

“I'll ask her at school tomorrow if she wants to screw you.”

“Go ahead and I'll rip your girls out by their tender little roots.”

“Ooh. I think you like her.”

I shoved him.

“Ciel and Gray,” he said, trotting backwards and away from me. “Her name means sky, right? So together you'd be Gray Sky. Sounds like one cheerful couple.”

Wanting to try out my new muscle, I ran at him and wrestled him to the ground. But he was laughing so hard, it was all too easy.

Davis didn't stay for dinner, but I collected four eggs from a nest I'd seen earlier behind the compost, a hothouse tomato, fresh basil and parsley.

Back at my tent, I set a pot of water to boil for noodles. The bullfrogs had begun their evening croakfest down at the pond. Mincing garlic, I started to count their croaks. By the time the pasta was ready, I was up to two hundred and six. Nacie told me those frogs were an alien species that were taking over and killing off smaller frogs. And that they were the type of frog the French used to make their famous frog legs, which are supposed to taste just like chicken. She said I was more than welcome to catch them and cook them up. Yeah, right.

After the sun went down, I hit the outhouse, came back and watched the bats flit around in their silent bat way catching their dinner. The mosquitoes were bad and a few wouldn't leave me alone. Inside my tent, I kept swatting at them until I decided it was easier to let them suck on me already and go feed their babies. My bag, still damp on one side, was cold in the night air.

I masturbated to get to sleep. Started out picturing Natalie and her excellent breasts but she suddenly turned into a slender figure with pale brown hair, coppery eyes, palm-sized breasts…

Gray Sky was my last thought before the world disappeared.

* * *

In the middle of the night, I woke not knowing where I was. It took a panicky minute to remember. There was no moon or stars so it was seriously black. If I closed my eyes there was more light.

Sometimes it was the cold that woke me or a sound, but tonight I think it was the silence. Nothing was louder than black silence.

Because there was dick-nada to hear, I moved my leg just to prove I wasn't some disembodied thought floating in space.

Just as I turned over to go back to sleep, I did hear something — a rattle, then a crunching in the underbrush. Bears were the first thing that came to mind. Psychopaths a close second. My heart was playing my eardrums like bongos.

Nobody would hear me if I screamed. The neighbors were too far away, the D.s' place was a hundred yards down the hill.

More crunching and rattling, louder and therefore coming closer. My breathing was as small as I could make it without passing out. The dark could fool a person but not an animal. A bear would smell me, not to mention the dirty frying pan I'd left on the table. Could bears see in the dark?

When the noise was right outside my tent, I imagined a man on the other side of the net wall standing beside my bed. He could lift that net, reach out and…

Real quietly I reached for my hand-crank flashlight, praying the light still had juice in it.

I pointed it at the sound, muscles primed to bolt, and pressed it on.

Nothing. Just netting and blackness beyond. Then something was moving again on the left, close to the ground. I swung the light over.

Big as a raccoon, this skunk stood on its hind legs staring into the beam. Its pointy nose sniffed the air and my lungs collapsed in relief. Then three baby skunks appeared from behind it and, copying their mother, tried to stand up, too.

Maggie would be too excited to see this, I thought. One little runt tried to use his brothers' backs as support and ending up knocking them all over like fluffy black bowling pins.

I grabbed my camera and turned it on. When the flash popped, they all froze, the mother especially, her tail now sticking up in the air.

Shit. Afraid my house might never smell the same again, I clicked off my flashlight and lay back down.

Don't spray my tent, please, please, please.

Hoped I got a decent picture for Maggie.

18
Poster Boy

The magazine lady showed up the next day.

Poured into her tight black clothes, her black hair was cut like Cleopatra, exposing a scary-white forehead. She wore pointy cowboy boots and smoked clove cigarettes. She looked depressed. Her name was Harry, for Harriet. Her mirrored sunglasses never came off and I could see two of me in their reflection as I answered her questions.