Unknown (8 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Before I went home, I needed to see creepy Jim.
 
Since he didn’t work, there was a good chance he’d be home.
 
If he wasn’t, he probably was downtown at Judy’s, likely drinking with my father.
 
And there was no way I was going there.

But Jim was home.
 

He was sitting outside his trailer in a metal chair on his dirt lawn.
 
All around him were his cats, who were rubbing up against his legs and purring.
 
They loved him.
 
He was kind to them.
 
Watching him like this gave me a different view of him.
 
Was Jim so creepy?
 
I took a long look at his weathered, sunken face and decided that at least on the surface he was.

He looked up at me as I approached and took it all in—my face and my hair.
 
He couldn’t see the new tooth, but I’d tell him about it.
 

“Couldn’t even wait an hour, huh?”

I shook my head.

“Well, if you had to do it, at least your face and your hair look better.
 
What else did you do to yourself.”

“The tooth Dad knocked out?
 
It’s back.”

He ran his hand up the length of one of the cat’s tails.
 
“Probably smart about the tooth.
 
Not sure about the rest.”

“It was stupid,” I said.
 
“People noticed.
 
I shouldn’t have done it.”

“They’ll forget.”

“No, they won’t.
 
I’ve had that face since puberty.”

“Maybe you’re no longer in puberty.”

I hadn’t thought of that, but I still should have been more subtle with the changes.
 

“Why are you out of school?
 
They kick you out?”

“They didn’t.”
 
I told him the story.
 
And then I told him what had just happened with Hastings.

“You flew?”

“I kind of hovered.”

“Shit.
 
Even I never tried that.
 
It’s a powerful kick, isn’t it?”

“Too powerful.”
 
I told him about killing the flowers.

“Well, at least you didn’t knock off Hastings.
 
That could have been a real mess.
 
The red eyes were a nice touch, though—he won’t soon forget that.
 
I like the leaves and the pine needles and the wind, too.”
 
He reached down for the beer at his side and finished it.
 
“Want one?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“So, what?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Jesus, you’re uptight.”

“When the world is coming after you, you think there’s an option?”

“Probably not.”
 
He eyed me.
 
“But already you’re different.”

“How so?”

“You’re standing up straight.
 
Got some confidence.
 
You don’t look like such a pussy.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s a compliment.
 
Take it.
 
With those pimples gone, you’re actually not a bad good looking boy.
 
And that’s what the amulet is for—provided you don’t become one of them.”

“What does that mean?”

He lifted one of the cats into his arms.
 
It was a fat, happy cat, probably loaded with flees and filled with all the mice it could eat.
 
The cat batted at creepy Jim’s nose and then it licked it.
 
“You know what I mean.
 
You’ve got to control that thing.
 
You’ve got to pick your battles.
 
Not everyone should go down just because you have the power to bring them down.
 
You can use it for good, too, you know?”

“I’ve thought about that.”

“That’s the thing,” he said.
 
“How you use it is up to you.
 
Some situations call for violence and they’ll be necessary.
 
But if you’re a thinking person—and I’m pretty sure you’re probably one of those—most situations can be dealt with without anyone getting hurt.”
 
He scratched beneath the cat’s chin and flicked his eyes up to meet mine.
 
“And without you turning into a bully yourself.”

“Isn’t being a bully going after someone for no reason?”

“I’d agree with that.”

“Then I wouldn’t do that.
 
It’s not me.”

“Hope not.
 
You’ve always been a good kid.
 
It’s why I gave it to you.
 
I was tired of seeing you get beat up.
 
But people change, Seth.
 
There’s light and darkness in that amulet.
 
The darkness is stronger—it will come for you.
 
And you’ll like what it does for you.
 
You’ll get a rush out of it.
 
You’ll feel invincible.
 
Power is intoxicating.
 
Power also corrupts.
 
You need to be careful with it.”

“How?”

“By not giving into it.
 
By controlling it.
 
You need to decide how to use it best.”
 
The cat jumped off his lap and another leaped up to take its place.
 
This one was small and white, with a black mark between its eyes and dainty feet.

“What if I can’t?
 
You know how they’ve been to me.
 
You know what I’ve been through—at least part of it.
 
I think I’ve taken care of Hastings, but there are dozens more like him.
 
My biggest fear is that someone is going to jump me and my reflex will be what it’s always been.
 
I’ll wish they were dead.
 
And it’ll happen.
 
How am I supposed to make sure that won’t happen?”

“Through training.
 
Over and over in your head, you’re going to have to imagine that scenario happening and then figure out your go-to response for it.
 
Needs to be like second nature.
 
You’re going to have to train yourself to think of something else when that happens.
 
And you need to start today.
 
You’re going to have to train yourself for every situation you can think of—kids spitting on you, someone punching you when you’re not expecting it, someone calling you a name.
 
You’re going to have to master how you behave within the element of surprise.
 
Does that make sense?”

“I still could kill someone.”

He nudged the cat down and leaned back in his chair.
 
He studied me.
 
“The bitch of it all is that you probably will.”

“Then I don’t want anything to do with this.”

“Don’t be stupid—you need it.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You won’t get through this year without it.”

“I’ve managed so far without it.”

“And had what kind of life?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Look, Seth.
 
You wouldn’t be the first person to accidentally kill someone with that thing.
 
It happened to me when I was your age and it’s happened with others.
 
It’ll probably happen to you—and then we’re just going to have to deal with it.
 
We’ll clean up the mess and move on.
 
You’ll learn from it.”

“You’re saying I’ll learn from killing someone?”

“I’m saying you’ll learn what not to do so it won’t happen again.
 
That’s why I want you to train.
 
Today, you’ve had a taste.
 
He’ll, you’ve had a damn meal.
 
Now, you need to find time to train.
 
If you don’t, then you’re screwed.”

“Alright,” I said.

“And one other thing.
 
I know how you’re tapping into it, but there are other ways.
 
You don’t have to get all pissed off for it to work.
 
You can actually be in a good mood and it will work.
 
You need to create a relationship with it so it responds quickly to your needs.
 
Remember, I told you to use it with your heart and with your head.
 
I never said that you need to be ready to chop off someone’s head for it to work.
 
When you master it, it will work as an extension of your thoughts.”

“How?”

Jim reached down to pick up another cat.
 
“Figure it out.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

But I didn’t want to figure it out that day.
 
I went home, had a quick bite to eat, which in this case meant finishing off the bag of chips I found in my parents’ booze-ridden pantry, and then I went to my room and stayed there.
 
As day stretched into night, I could hear my parents pass by my door as if I didn’t exist.

Sometime after nightfall, they turned on the television and cranked the volume to the point that it was blaring.
 

They were watching “Dancing with the Stars,” likely at the demand of my mother, who once thought she’d have a career as a dancer even though she couldn’t dance to save her ass.
 

Sometimes, when I was bored and watched the show with them, I’d see on her face a sense of excitement clouded by a kind of longing for what never was.
 
My mother once worked at as a bank manager and she was good at it—fastidious, polite, accurate.
 
But when the recession hit, she lost her job and somehow found a way to claim disability in an effort to keep the money coming in.
 

I will give her this—there isn’t a week that goes by when she doesn’t call her old boss at the bank to see if they are hiring again.
 
At least there is a part of her that knows she can’t live like this forever.
 
But as for my father?
 
Ever since he lost his job and gave himself over to the lower calling of the bottle, I’ve never held out much hope for him.
 
Maybe he’d prove me wrong one day, but I doubted it.

I went to my door, locked it and then stood in front of the cheap full-length mirror that hung on the wall next to my closet.
 

I took off my shirt, my pants, everything but my underwear, and just stood there, looking at my joke of a body.
 

I was like a piece of thread, only thinner.
 
There was nothing to me.
 
I turned in front of the mirror and hated what I saw.
 
I wondered what I’d look like if I had even a trace of muscle on me.
 
If I had abs, stronger legs, bigger arms.
 
I wore loose-fitting hoodies at school, so no one really knew what I looked like beneath the folds of fabric, though there was no question that I was skinny.

Still, if I was subtle enough over the next several days, I might be able to create a positive change.
 

In my mind’s eye, I pictured what that body might look like.
 
I never wore T-shirts because they really showed how slight I was, but the idea of filling out one like so many of the other guys at school was tempting.

I looked at my chest and remembered what creepy Jim told me.
 
I didn’t need to be angry for the amulet to work.
 
I just needed to feel what I wanted, see it and then channel it.
 

I went to my computer and brought up the website for Abercrombie & Fitch.
 
There, I knew I’d find somebody I’d like to resemble.
 
I clicked through the links and found a guy who was tall like me, had the same angular face as me, but who was built a hell of a lot better than me.
 
He probably lived his life at the gym, working out for hours each day to get a build I’d never be able to achieve without a little help.

I looked at him and wondered if he was Jennifer’s type.
 
Looking at the guy, I had to face it—he was pretty flawless.
 
Strong chest, toned arms, an eight-pack.
 
I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t be her type.
 
He was paid to be perfect.
 
And guess what?
 
He had achieved something close to it.

I stood in front of the mirror and thought hard of what I wanted.
 
When I could picture it in my head and in my heart, I went to work.

*
  
*
  
*

Next morning, I did something I’d never done.
 
I pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
 
No hoodie.
 
No clothes that would conceal my body.

Now, there was no need to.

I showered and looked at my face in the bathroom mirror.
 
It still was something of a shock.
 
I had no acne and no scars—they were gone.
 

I ran the palm of my hand over my face and was surprised by how sharp my jaw line was in the absence of the boulders that once consumed my skin.
 
And my complexion was different—my face didn’t look raw.
 
It was no longer red but instead reminded me of my father’s olive complexion.
 

When I shaved, I did something different and left a line of stubble from my lower lip to my chin.
 
I stared at it for a moment and decided to make it a bit fuller, like one of the guys did on the Abercrombie site I saw.
 
It worked.
 
It gave me an edge.

I shook my wet hair and watched it fall naturally into place.
 
I dried it with a towel and ran my fingers through it.

When I was finished, I dressed and stood in front of the mirror again.
 
I looked the same but not the same, if that makes sense.
 
The change was just enough.
 
I filled out my clothes but not ridiculously so.
 
I hadn’t gone too far.
 
People would notice and they might mention it, but I had a plan for that, and over the next several weeks the changes would continue to be subtle.

I left my bedroom and was met by my father in the kitchen.
 
He was brewing a cup of coffee.
 
His lower back was pressed against the countertop and his eyes were bloodshot.
 
One look at me and they widened.
 
“What the hell happened to you?”

I wasn’t staying long.
 
I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulder.
 
“What do you mean?”

“You working out or something?”

“Trying to.”

“Huh.”

No criticism?
 
No caustic judgment?
 
That was new.
 
I wonder if he knew it was my eighteenth birthday today.
 
I doubted it.
 
“See you tonight,” I said.

“I’ll probably be out.”

Of course, you’ll be out.
 
You’ll be at Judy’s drinking it up with creepy Jim.

“Time to find work.”

And that stopped me.

“What kind of work?”

“Doesn’t matter.
 
Just time to find work.”

“That’s great, Dad.”

“Nobody’s going to want a washed-up drunk, kid.
 
Don’t fool yourself.
 
But I’ll give it a shot.
 
I have to.
 
They’re cutting off our disability.”

“I can get a job.”

“You might have to.”

“I can flip burgers or something.”

“What you need to do is do better in school so you won’t have to when you’re my age.”

I walked outside, surprised by what had just taken place and glad that it was another sunny day.
 
I started walking up the incline that led to the street, where a group of other students were waiting for the bus to arrive.
 
I hoped he could find a job.
 
I hoped they could turn their lives around.
 
I felt that if they could get back into their routine, the drinking would stop and it would be better at home.

As usual, I hung back from the other kids, not wanting to draw their attention, but when a car rounded the corner and stopped beside me, that changed.
 
It was Jennifer and she was smiling.
 
I felt a little rush and couldn’t help smiling back.

The passenger-side window was open.
 
“Want a ride?” she asked.

“You’re picking me up?”

“Maybe.”

I slipped off my backpack and was aware that she was looking at me.

“No hoodie,” she said.
 
“That’s a change.”

I got in the car, aware of the others watching and likely wondering why this girl of all girls had swung by to give me a ride.
 
“Change is good.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without one.”
 
She looked over at me.
 
I could almost feel her eyes on me as I tucked the backpack between my legs.
 
“You should wear a T-shirt more often.”

“I had nothing else to wear.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Was she flirting with me?
 
Nobody ever flirted with me.

She put the car into gear and moved forward to turn around.
 
And then we saw it.
 
She stopped the car and put her hand over her mouth.
 
I stared at it and felt shame, embarrassment and anger.
 

It was our trailer.
 

Sometime in the night, somebody had spray-painted the words “A FAGGOT LIVES HERE” in huge black letters that took up almost the entire side of our home.
 
Behind us, the kids at the street corner started to laugh because they knew we had just seen it.
 
I stared at the words and while I knew I could make them disappear, I obviously couldn’t do anything about them with Jennifer or the other kids here.
 

I looked at her and saw genuine concern in her eyes.
 
Behind us, the bus arrived in a rush of squealing brakes.

“Would you mind if I walked to school?” I asked.
 
“I need to take care of that.”

“Let me help.”
 

“No,” I said.
 
“I appreciate it, but I need to do something about it quickly now before my parents see it.
 
They’ll freak and I don’t want you to see that if it happens.”

I grabbed my backpack, opened the door and stepped out.
 
“Would you mind telling Principal Roberts that I’ll be a little late.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t worry about this,” I said as I shut the door.
 
“I’m used to it.
 
I can handle it.
 
I’m stronger than they think I am.”
 
I smiled at her.
 
“See you in class.”

*
  
*
  
*

I watched her drive off and made sure she was well down the street before I turned to look at that the trailer and the words someone had scrawled across it.
 
Would I never get a break?
 
Is this how I always would be seen?
 

Happy fucking birthday.
 
My chance to have a moment alone with Jennifer, who for some reason had gone out of her way to offer me a lift, was now driving away.