Stories

“I want Susie DeSalvo,” Dusty screamed as he crawled across our gym teacher’s lawn. Mr. McKinley was a mean motherfucker who just returned from ‘Nam convinced that us suburban Jersey boys were sissies. McKinley’s solution to any disobedience in class was to pull out the gloves and stage an impromptu boxing match, always with predictable results.

“Shut the fuck up, and let’s get out of here,” I shout as I pull Dusty by the collar. My parents were away and Dusty, Billy and I had raided the liquor cabinet and drank a quart of Old Granddad. Billy was already in the hospital. At Bedford Park, we saw a couple sitting on a bench. Billy sat down between them and started kissing the girl, Rose who was in our Personal Development class. Personal Development was an “optional class” for intelligent misfits, miscreants and general fuck-ups. The guy, Frankie, one of Dumont’s greasers took an immediate dislike to Billy and punched him straight in the throat. Billy fell to the ground making gurgling noises. Frankie took Rose by the hand and stepped over Billy’s body pausing to step on his head with his Durangos. By this point Billy’s Adams apple had disappeared and lodged itself in his throat. He turned pale blue. Dusty ran to a house near the park and an ambulance was called. Billy was taken to Holy Name Hospital clutching his throat. Dusty and I went back to the basement to drink more whiskey.

Now Dusty was acting up, kneeling on our gym teacher’s lawn, arms outstretched to the heavens yelling obscenities. “Come on out McKinley and fight like a man, you shell-shocked bastard.” Bring your wife out because when I’m done with you, I’m going to fuck her right here on your front lawn.” Every light in every house on Barbara Road was lit except for McKinley’s. Dusty kept at it with a suicidal determination.

“What’d you do in Nam, give blowjobs behind the barracks? Why’d my brother have to die so a bastard like you could return to make our lives miserable?” 

McKinley’s bedroom light went on. I dragged a garbage can from the curb and brought it down on Dusty’s head as hard as I could. Dusty looked at me with a crooked smile and then slumped to the ground. Sirens were wailing in the distance. McKinley was at the door in his underwear. I dragged Dusty into the Bedford Park woods and left him to sleep it off.

2. 

“The sun always shines at night when you’re high,” I said to Dusty as we took another pill. “Don’t stare at it or it will burn your retinas,” I warned.

Dusty lowered his eyes. “You know man, I want to get out of this shithole town with its little people. I feel so damn big sometimes,” he said with conviction.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “soon we’ll be out of school and free of Dumont forever.”

“No man, you don’t understand, I mean that little town down there.” Dusty stopped and pointed with his toe to a tiny anthill in the parking lot. “The little ones don’t like me because I’m different. Well fuck them man!” With that Dusty lowered his foot on the anthill and kicked sand about in a psychedelic frenzy. “Wow man, I showed them.”   To Read More, buy NIGHT BIRD FLYING from Roadside Press

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