THE GODS OF ASPHALT
Book One
By
H.E. ELLIS
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * *
Copyright 2011 by H.E. ELLIS
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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CHAPTER 1 - Don’t Fear the Reaper
CHAPTER 2 - Bell Bottom Blues
CHAPTER 3 - I’m Eighteen
CHAPTER 4 - Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers
CHAPTER 5 - Shotgun Blues
CHAPTER 6 - Sweet Emotion
CHAPTER 7 - My Hero
CHAPTER 8 - Bolero
CHAPTER 9 - Wonderful Tonight
CHAPTER 10 - Sara Smile
CHAPTER 11 - One Rainy Day
CHAPTER 12 - Reader’s Choice
CHAPTER 13 - Authority Song
CHAPTER 14 - Since I’ve Been Loving You
CHAPTER 15 - Know Your Enemy
CHAPTER 16 - Remember
CHAPTER 17 - Love-Hate-Sex-Pain
CHAPTER 18 - Hey Man, Nice Shot
CHAPTER 19 - Hollow
CHAPTER 20 - Can’t Find My Way Home
CHAPTER 21 - Good Enough
CHAPTER 22 - The Rain Song
CHAPTER 23 - Ave Maria
CHAPTER 24 - Born To Run
(Blue Oyster Cult)
There’s a moment that happens just before you crash that no one in driver’s ed tells you about. They don’t show it in movies. You won’t find it in any textbook or pamphlet or manual at the DMV. I guess it’s because very few people live to tell about it. What happens in that split, split, split second before the crash that ends your life is this:
You float.
You defy all laws of motherfucking gravity and you hover. It’s like your body wants to try on its ghost suit before it decides if it’s gonna buy it.
So unless ghost suits come covered in gravel and pre-soaked in blood I’m betting mine didn’t fit. At least I hope what I’m soaking in is blood, because I’ve been feeling something warm and wet running down my thigh since I hit the pavement (If I live to retell this story, I’m sticking with the bloody version of it). I’d know for sure if I could see overtop of the gas tank crushing my chest. I’d ask River to look but he’s no good to me unconscious.
“I’m calling now,” he says, trying not to panic. “It’s gonna be alright Sawyer, I promise.”
Shit.
He called me Sawyer. River never calls me Sawyer. Only dickweed or dillhole or any other stupid name he can think of but never Sawyer. Even “little brother” would have been better than Sawyer.
He looks at me, but not too closely. “Yeah, he’s got a helmet on.” I hear him say.
Of all the laws I broke tonight I’m glad I didn’t break that one. I take the helmet off so I can get a better look around. Leave it to me to dump a motorcycle under the only streetlight in Nebraska and still not be able to see what I did to myself. I prop up on an elbow to check out my leg through the spokes of the front wheel. I immediately regret it.
I can’t see my leg, but what I can see on the ground around me is blood. It seems like a lot, but still less than in any of those “Death on the Highway” movies I watched in driver’s ed. I run my hand down my thigh and stop when I get to my knee. It feels misshapen and swollen, with something like a splintered piece of wood sticking out of it. Without thinking I grab a hold of it (not smart, I know) and try to yank it out.
Yeah. That’s all I remember. Until the pain wakes me up, that is. Then it’s like every nerve in my knee is exploding at once. My only relief is the feeling of hot, sticky blood pumping out in a stream down my leg. I watch it ooze onto the pavement and pool where the road meets the grass, staining the green blades red.
My vision closes in on me as I lie down and struggle to focus on the night sky above. I pick the brightest star out of the millions, close my eyes and make a wish.
For the first time in my life I wish for my father.
The next best thing to him is shouting for me to answer. I shout back, “Make mine pepperoni.” A sad attempt at humor I know, but I had to give it a shot. River blames himself for everything that happens to me, whether or not it’s his fault. I’m not sure if all brothers do this, but mine does.
Racing up to me he skids to a stop and says, “They’re on their way.” Next he crouches down and puts his hand on top of my head, gripping it slightly. In River language this means “pay attention.”
“I’m gonna try and lift the bike so I need you to hold still.” He speaks to me like I’m a five year old. Normally this pisses me off but right now I don’t care. I nod “yes” and try not to puke.
He takes off his favorite leather jacket and covers me with it. I drag it down and try to hide the carnage that used to be my knee. I feel it swelling, crushing my dream of a basketball future into oblivion. I reach down to hold the edges of the bleeding gash together, only to feel my scholarship pour out between my fingers.
“Hey,” River says looking down at me. “There’s nothing to worry about. I got this.”
His face is as pale and scared as I imagine mine must be; the only difference is he’s smiling. Not just any smile either, it’s his River smile, the one he saves for arresting officers and reluctant virgins. His smile’s a lie, but I buy it.
He counts to three and starts to lift the bike. I close my eyes and think of Sarah. I wish she were here. She’d tell me to think of how lucky I am that it’s not raining, or that I finally remembered to wear a helmet, or that I have a brother like River who follows me everywhere making sure I don’t get hurt or in trouble, even if it means chasing me down a highway because I borrowed Gus’s motorcycle.
Ok, stole it.
So yeah, I guess I’m lucky to have River. Although I’d never admit it, especially not to him.
As soon as I feel the weight of the bike leave my chest I open my eyes and look up. I’m nearly half a foot taller than he is but I’m no where near as ripped (another fact I don’t like to admit). I watch as his muscles strain to lift eleven hundred pounds of twisted vintage motorcycle. It’s hard to believe only an hour ago he used those same muscles to beat the crap out of me. Two hours ago I deserved it.
“Hold on,” he says, setting the bike back down on my chest. “I need to change my footing. I think I’m slipping in oil or something.” He takes a giant step over the bike, straddling it. I make the mistake of looking up as he does and glimpse the bottom of his boot as it passes overhead. “There,” he says. “That ought a do it.”
It won’t, but I’m not about to tell my squeamish brother it’s not oil he’s slipping in.
He grabs hold of the handlebars and this time pulls the motorcycle completely off my chest. As he does I suck in a lungful of air as fast as I can but for some reason I can’t hold onto it and I gag/cough/spit up blood tinged air bubbles. They form a sick snowflake pattern as they splatter onto the bike’s cracked headlight.
River’s expression changes from curiosity to horror as it dawns on him what’s dripping from the lens. I watch his eyes roll back into his head, see his muscles go limp, then feel the weight of the bike, and him, come crashing down on top of me.
……I rub my eyes as I come to and see the glowing blue numbers on my watch change from 11:59 to 12:00 a.m. I watch as the date changes from April 29th to April 30th. I watch as I turn eighteen.
It takes lying in a pool of my own blood to convince me Gus is right.
I’m cursed.
He says it’s because I was born six weeks early and came out a Taurus instead of a Gemini. He says it’s the reason I’m bull-headed and why my father and I fight all the time. My father says it’s because I’m an idiot. I’m beginning to think he’s right too.
It’s not like Gus hasn’t been cramming stuff about the zodiac and curses down my throat since I bailed on my dad and moved in with him last Christmas, so somehow the idea that all of this could have been avoided if I’d just read my horoscope makes me sick. Even worse, it makes me wonder if it would’ve made a difference with what happened with Sarah. Maybe then she wouldn’t have left me.
But as usual I didn’t listen. Now here I am, flat on my back, searching the sky for a star to blame.
A sudden movement pulls my attention to my right. Out of the corner of my eye I see something blonde and shaggy begin to shake back and forth, slow at first, then fast, like a wet dog. River raises his head and gazes at me. “What happened?”
“You really have to ask?”
He looks around with bloodshot eyes, piecing events together as he goes, his memory stopping him just before he sees the headlight.
“That’s right, pal.” I say. “Take it all in.” I’m not about to let him live this down.
He hangs his head, unable to look at me. “Man….I’m so sorry.”
Damn it.
I hate when he doesn’t fight back. I start in again but stop when I notice his biceps pulsing. They remind me of the last time I pushed him too far.
“Don’t sweat it,” I say, and drop it.
After he pushes himself up to sitting he stands. Then he pukes. He staggers over to his car and sinks to the ground in front of it. I just barely see him, resting his head against the Chevy’s grill. His face is pale and gray and looks like a corpse above the headlights. I hear sirens in the distance and wonder when they get here who they’ll treat first.
“I told you they were coming.” he says, smiling for real this time.
Driver’s ed prepared me for a lot of things, like how to steer out of an icy skid or how not to hydroplane. What they didn’t prepare me for was how loud ambulance sirens are, or how metal doors crash when they get flung open, or how a stretcher sounds like nails on a chalkboard when it’s dragged across asphalt.
The first person who gets to me announces himself as “Officer Daniels of the Cherry County Highway Patrol.” He kind of looks like my dad, in a generic, military sort of way. Same hair cut, same super clean shave. Only the eyes are different. The only person I know who has brown, almost black eyes like my dad is me.
“Can you tell me what happened here?” I almost don’t hear him over the sound of his knee creaking. I look down to my own leg and wonder if that’s what I’m in for.
“I dumped it coming around the turn.”
“Aha.”
“Think I hit sand or something.”
“Ya’ don’t say.”
He’s hoping I’ll ramble. It’s the same trick my dad uses when he’s trying to trap me in a lie. I look down at my watch and decide not to say anymore. I’ve been a legal adult for almost ten minutes.
He takes the flashlight off his belt and shines it around, stopping on the helmet beside me. “You were wearing that, right?” It’s more statement than question.
“Yeah, but I took it off so I could look at my leg.”
He shines the light down toward the front of the bike. “How’s it feeling?”
“How’s what feeling?”
He stares at me for a second and then sweeps the light up to my eyes. “The leg, son. How’s the leg feeling?”
“My leg? Fine, I guess.” As the words leave my mouth it dawns on me—I haven’t felt pain, or anything, in my leg for a while now.
He motions over his shoulder to the ambulance crew and then turns back to me. “You got a name, kid?”
“Sawyer Hayden.”
“And where do you go to school, Sawyer Hayden?” He asks as he swings the light from eye to eye.
“Valentine High School.”
“Aha. You play football for Valentine?”
“Football? Hell no. Basketball.”
He huffs. “You got something against football?”
“Not really. I just thought one Hayden in football was enough.”
Daniels stops dead, raises his flashlight over my face and stares down at me—confused, as if he’s not sure where he’s seen me before.
“Hayden? You’re not Jimmy Hayden’s boy, are you?”
I’m not sure if I should say anything but I see EMTs gathering around me so I answer, confident I’ll have at least a few witnesses. “Uh…yeah. Why?”
“Well I’ll be damned. Your dad was the best linebacker Valentine’s ever seen. I didn’t know he was back in town.”
“He’s not. It’s just me. Oh, and now my brother.” I point over his shoulder to River.
Daniels does a subtle double take. “Ah…yeah, I see it now. It’s in the build.”
They must teach politeness at the Cherry County police academy. Officer Daniels is kind enough not to mention what no one else in this town can seem to keep to themselves; the reason why my blonde haired, blue eyed brother doesn’t look like our Spanish father.
Small town gossip is a bitch.
The EMTs move Daniels out of the way as they set up their equipment. He circles around me, still asking questions.
“Who are the two of you staying with?”
“My grandfather, Gus Turner.”
“Ha. I know Gus. He’s still out on route twenty?”
“Uh huh.”
“So if you’re staying with Gus then where’s your father?”
I’m not sure if the EMTs are as schooled in politeness as Officer Daniels so I answer him in code, hoping he remembers my dad well enough to pick up on it.
“Savannah,” I say.
Daniels thinks for a moment, then nods. He remembers.
Savannah is my mother’s name.
“I’m going to check on your brother now, but I’ll be back. You hang in there.”
He gives my shoulder a light squeeze before he walks away and I can’t decide what it is about him that makes me miss my dad. I lean away from the EMTs trying to work on me and look over to River. I’ve got to see his face when he finally notices a cop walking toward him.
I see River push himself up to standing…see him run the back of his hand across his mouth…he licks his lips…wait for it….yes. There it is. The River smile.
Sometimes I really love my big brother.
I hear a voice from behind me say, “Sawyer, I’m Emily, and I need you to lie back down so Lieutenant Shaw here can put this collar on you, alright?”
I do as she says. I lie back down and stare straight above me, afraid to blink.
You want to know what else driver’s ed doesn’t prepare you for? What to do when a hot EMT’s chest hovers inches above your face while someone else wraps a collar around your neck. I swear I could feel all the blood I lost suck back up into my leg and stop just below my belt.
Shaw sets the collar in place and then looks me up and down. “Geez kid, just how tall are ya’?”
“Six foot-five, last I checked.” I’ve gotten used to this question.
“I dunno,” he says, scratching his head. “We may have to drive with the rear doors open.” He looks at me and laughs. I’m glad he thinks it’s funny.
I finally work up the courage to ask how bad off I am.
“I’ll know more once we get the bike up off ya.’ Now listen, Emily’s gonna stay here while I tend to the kid at the car.”
“That’s my brother. Don’t mention blood.”
He barks a laugh. “That explains it.”
Just as I think he’s about to stand up, he bends down and whispers, “be a gentleman, ya’ hear?” He throws a quick glance up at Emily and she gestures back in some sort of secret EMT language. Then they laugh.
For the first time tonight I want to die.
There’s movement from somewhere around my feet. “Hand me that torch will ya’?” A new voice says to someone else I don’t see. The next sound I hear is like someone rooting through a toolbox. The one after that is a flashlight clicking on.
“Alright Hayden,” the voice begins. “My boys and I are gonna lift the bike, just a bit, so we can get a better look at what we’re dealing with. You stay put and behave for Emily.”
I say yes, making sure I do—not—look—up. I hear a creak and hope it’s the bike and not my knee.
“Lieutenant Shaw,” the voice calls out. “Come get a look at this.”
I hear River yell to Shaw but Shaw doesn’t answer him. By the time Shaw gets to me River is screaming.
“How you holdin’ up kid?”
“What’s going on with my brother?”
“Not to worry, not to worry.”
Shaw moves down to the front tire, out of sight. There’s a heavy, wet, dragging sound I can’t place until I see a giant red wad go flying through the air. River’s jacket splat lands on the ground beside me.
I hear grunting and groaning and shoes slipping in blood. There’s another creak, louder this time.
“Uh, kid?” Shaw’s voice is deeper than before.
“Yeah?”
“That was basketball you said?”
“Yeah….why?”
I hear the flashlight click off.
“Time to move, people.”
Suddenly there’s someone’s at my side, holding what looks like a bright orange surfboard.
I grab the tank to pull myself up. Emily tries to hold me down but I shrug her off. Shaw yells something but I don’t listen. I need to see my brother.
I pull myself up high enough to see River and Daniels struggling in front of the car.
Daniels fights to hold him back.
River drops his shoulder, shoves Daniels out of his way and charges forward.
Daniels tackles him and they hit the ground—hard.
Handcuffs fly in front of the headlights.
My hands shoot up to claw the collar off just as Shaw presses my shoulders to the ground. I growl at him and come off sounding about as intimidating as anyone pinned to the ground can. “You don’t get it. I don’t care about basketball or my knee or anything. I need to tell my brother to call my dad.”
“You will Sawyer, you will,” Emily says. “But it’s important for you to hold still right now.”
Her soothing voice just pisses me off more. I hear a car door slam and then Daniel’s knee creaking, faster this time.
“What have we got?” he says, winded.
At least River didn’t go down easy. It was more than I could say for me. Shaw and Daniels step away from me to speak but I barely notice. I’m too busy paying attention to the far off sound of a boot pounding against glass.
Daniels walks back to me and takes a knee. He puts his hand on top of my head and begins speaking very softly.
“They need to put you on the board Sawyer, so you can’t move or speak or react to anything you hear, do you understand?”
I hear myself say yes. Suddenly I’m too cold and tired to argue.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way, son.”
Son.
It sounded worse than Sawyer.
I look up at Daniels and say, “Tell my dad I’m sorry about Christmas. He’ll know what it means. You know, in case I don’t get to.”
Daniels looks down at me and smiles. “I will. I promise. Now let these people do their jobs and let me worry about the rest.” His smile’s a lie, but I buy it.
Daniels nods to Shaw who announces, “We’re a go on three,” just as I hear the far off sound of glass shattering…
“ONE…”
…just as a sensation of floating washes over me…
“TWO...”
…just as I drift off into darkness.
Bell Bottom Blues
(Derek and the Dominos)
“You know what dad? I’m not sorry. I’m glad Savannah’s not coming. I don’t give a shit if it is Christmas.”
The sound of the Mack’s engine screaming as my father hammered down on the gears told me I probably shouldn’t have mentioned my mother. Grinding down hard into fifth told me I definitely shouldn’t have called her “Savannah.”
Well my father can beat his truck to death for all I care. All the angry driving in the world won’t get me to apologize for how I see her; not as my mother but as a woman who bails on us every chance she gets. I don’t know why he thought this Christmas would be any different. But apparently he did, because a broken Savannah promise is the only thing that can get him pissed enough to abuse his truck (a close second being any nation other than Spain to win the World’s Cup). It’s a shame too, since his truck’s treated him better and lasted longer than she ever did. Although nothing less than torture would get him to admit it.
And since my favorite method of torture is a cold, silent glare I turned in my seat and fixed my eyes on his face, determined to stare him down until he cracked and started swearing. On a good day I can get him to do it in Spanish. Christmas Eve must not be a good day because the longer I glared the more he made a point of ignoring me, pretending a little too hard to be distracted by snowflakes whipping in and out of the headlights.
Yeah. This is my dad thinking he’s clever. But what he doesn’t know (and what River and I do), is that his face screams louder than his truck most days. All it took was one look at his super clean shave to know he honestly thought this time would be different. This time she’d show. It’s only been a few hours but I’m sure if I looked close enough I’d see a jaw already covered in a mass of thick black stubble. I don’t know why he bothered.
Not wanting a repeat of the Thanksgiving Day Migraine of 2010 I decided to drop the glare and flat out push him. “So how many Christmases does this make now? River says it’s three but I say it’s four because I count the one where she brought the boyfriend. So which is it? Do we count the boyfriend or what?”
From the way he tore across three lanes of traffic and nearly plowed overtop a minivan (which I’m not entirely sure wasn’t on purpose) I’d say that last comment brought me dangerously close to his line.
Every father has a line that every kid knows not to cross. Most kids learn where that line is early on. Most of them, like River, are smart enough to live on the right side of it. The ones like me carry passports. I suppose if I were a good son I could have let it go; let him pretend to ignore me as I pretended not to notice the pathetic, jilted expression on his face. But I wouldn’t be me if I did. So what I chose to do instead was say, “Ah, yes. I can see it now, ‘Massive Christmas Eve Pile-up Due To Even More Massive Trucker’s Road Rage.’” When all that got me was a twitch of his jaw I added, “So she ditched us. Big Deal. Stop moping and get over it.”
Right on cue his good son leaned out of the truck’s sleeper cab behind me and smacked me hard upside the head. “You better shut the hell up before you get us killed.”
River. My father’s personal border patrol.
I rubbed the back of my head and came away with a wet palm. My brother spits when he whispers. “What do you want me to do? Lie to him?”
“Of course not but you could try being nice once in a while.”
“Screw nice. I’m being honest.”
“All honesty’s gonna get you is a face full of windshield. So unless you’re ready to die a virgin I suggest you shut your cakehole.”
“How about this; I honestly don’t give a shit how the truth makes him feel or how this makes you feel!” I punctuated my sentence with a classic Hayden charlie horse.
He worked the knot out of his muscle as he grit his teeth and said, “You wouldn’t be you if you did.”
“You know what River? Fine.” I reached up, turned on the overhead light and said, “Dad, I am very sorry Savannah ditched us. AGAIN.”
A look of confusion spread across his face and I could tell he wasn’t sure how to answer me. My father speaks two languages and sarcasm isn’t one of them.
Instead of a response from our father I got River punching me in the arm and then pointing down to our dad’s massive hands clamped around the steering wheel, strangling it with so much force the bones of his knuckles shown white through his skin.
It was all I could do not to smile.
“You proud of yourself?” River asked in spit.
“Yeah, I am actually. Someone had to say it. At least I had the balls.”
“Damn lot of good your balls did. Look.”
He nodded his head toward the windshield and I looked out in time to see us barreling into the lane for the next southbound exit ramp.
“Uh dad…where are we going?” I asked.
My father reached up, snapped off the light, and said nothing.
He didn’t have to. I knew exactly where we were going. Southbound meant Florida. Florida meant Miami. Miami meant my mother and her not so secret boyfriend, Jackson LeBrock.
But worst of all, Miami meant not Nebraska.
I folded my arms across my chest and slammed back against the seat. I was sick of feeling sorry when I wasn’t or hopeful when I wasn’t but most of all I was sick of keeping my father’s happy family fantasy alive.
“You knew this was gonna happen, dipshit. I warned you not to push him.”
I flicked my brother off my ear like a fly.
He swatted me instead. “You need to get your damn anger issues under control.”
I said, “I don’t give a shit.” probably louder than I should have. It made River flinch.
Yeah, my brother’s twitchy. People who don’t know us well take one look at the size of our dad and assume he beats him. Fact is he never laid a hand on us. It was a fact I counted on often. River, however, rarely passed up an opportunity to belt me. “You’re gonna give a shit if you keep on pushing.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I said as I dried my ear off on my sleeve.
He didn’t answer, he just raised his eyes and stared at the visor packed full of junk above our father’s head. I had no idea what he was getting at.
Yet.
I flipped him off without knowing why and started in on our dad again. “Savannah doesn’t own you, dad. You don’t need her permission to spend Christmas with Gus. We were practically to Nebraska as it was.”
My father made a few pathetic attempts at a reply, stopping and starting before he eventually spoke. “Permission has nothing to do with it, Sawyer.”
“Then why aren’t we going?”
“Because.”
“Ok, because why?”
He exhaled hard through his nose and for a moment I could have sworn I saw steam. “Because Gus wants to spend Christmas with his daughter and I’m not about to show up without her. That’s why.”
Every instinct I had told me to roll my eyes. Instead I asked myself what River would do and then said, “Come on, dad. You’re more like his kid than she is. He even said so. Gus didn’t even know he had a daughter until she was eighteen.”
“Nineteen.” He corrected me as if it mattered somehow.
“The point is you lived with him for years before Savannah bothered to show up.”
“That’s because my mother worked for him. It’s not like we were family.”
“Then why did he let you stay after your mom got sick? Huh? Who does that?”
I heard River gasp behind me so I gave him a subtle “settle down” motion with my hand. The subject of our dad’s dead mother is a line even I won’t cross.
My father lowered his voice to a growl. “Make your point, Sawyer.”
“My point is we’re the only family Gus has got and that includes you. Calling Savannah his daughter is bullshit. You’re just too blind to see it.”
“You know everything, don’t you? It must be nice to be so smart all the time.”
“It is actually, now that you mention it.” I knew it wasn’t really a question but I answered him anyway. There was no way in hell I was letting him get the last word.
He muttered something in Spanish I couldn’t quite make out and continued to take his frustration out on the steering wheel, wrenching down on it hard enough to make it shake inside the dash.
I just sat there and cracked my knuckles, waiting for him to blow. Life with my father is like living on the edge of a volcano. After a while the pressure of waiting for the blast gets to you, so you figure out ways to set it off before it catches you off guard. I’ve been burned enough to know that when my father’s volcano erupts, it spews in Spanish.
“I know this doesn’t seem fair, but I need you to trust me. You’ll understand all this when you’re older, I promise.” (Sé que esto no parece justo, pero tiene que confiar en mí. Tú lo entenderás todo esto cuando tenga más edad. Te lo prometo).
As far as I was concerned, seventeen was old enough. “What’s there to understand? You’re whipped, easy as that.” (¿Qué hay que entender? Usted está montada, fácil como eso).
Yeah. That one did it.
The truck suddenly came to a screeching halt and I realized my father was using the brake pedal to push himself up and over toward me. I threw myself back away from him, slamming against the door and smacking my head against the glass.
“Dad! What are you—?”
“NOT NOW RIVER.”
He reached past the spot where I’d just been to the rig’s CD player, ejected ‘White Christmas’ and whipped it at me. It hit me in the head hard enough to knock my favorite Huskers ball cap off and send it spinning to the floor.
I watched my father’s hand scramble around the cab, searching for something he wasn’t finding and not stopping until he reached the driver’s side visor. He paused for a moment then dug in and began to pull trash out by the handful, throwing it down into a pile on the seat between us.
“So help me God,” River threatened under his breath.
My dad slowly pulled out a beat up CD case right where River must have hidden it, tucked away between an old pair of sunglasses and a wadded up stack of fuel receipts. He slid the CD into the deck and pressed play.
I figured it out by the fourth chord. Bell Bottom Blues. We were in for a five minute, four second pity party.
“The second we stop, you’re dead.” River hissed in my ear.
I didn’t bother to argue. I had it coming.
River and I knew where we stood with our father (or in my case how far I could push him), based on the song at hand. Bell Bottom Blues was his favorite for when he missed Savannah the most and began to doubt whether or not our latest road trip might convince her to take him back.
I put my palms behind my head and leaned back against the seat, hoping to get a nap in before my beating from River began. The whirring sound of eighteen wheels on the road might have lulled me to sleep if it weren’t for the sound of River chomping his fingernails down to a grisly nub. When he finished mutilating his hand he reached forward and nudged my shoulder with it.
“What?!”
He didn’t answer; he just kept nodding his head toward our father, each time shaking another piece of shaggy blonde hair into his eyes.
I knew what he was getting at but I didn’t care. I had no intention of apologizing. Even if it meant spending the next three and a half minutes getting smacked around to the tune of ‘I Shot the Sheriff.’
River shot me a deadly look and then tapped our father on the shoulder. “Hey dad, can we make a quick pit stop before everything closes up for Christmas?”
My father pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch. “Make it quick.” He ran his hand slowly back and forth over his forearm before he pulled his sleeve down, hiding a faded tattoo of the name “Savannah.”
River’s hand wrapped around my neck and dragged me backward. “You better tell me what the hell your problem is when we stop.”
I croaked out the word “fine” and began scanning road signs for an exit. The combination of ice and snow made it almost impossible to read through the wipers. I’d nearly given up when I heard a yell from behind my head.
“Quick! Dad! There!”
River pointed out the right side of the windshield to a small but growing blue light just off the next exit ramp. From the road I could see what began to look like a giant gingerbread house. A large wooden sign came into view. It wasn’t lit and River struggled to read it out loud.
“The Dodson Family Diner, Market and Fuel – Voted best pecan cornbread in the state of Kansas.” He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, rattling my brain. “We’ve GOT to stop there!”
Food makes my brother happy.
My father down shifted and eased the rig off the interstate, pulling through the parking lot up to a dimly lit set of diesel pumps on the far side of the building. He hadn’t even set the parking brake before River climbed up and over top of me on his way out of the truck, slapping me hard upside my head as he went. “Outta my way little brother!”
If I get a brain tumor someday I’ll know who to blame. I took a moment to stretch my legs before I got out. The growth spurt that hit me last fall had been a son of a bitch. I barely fit into the cab anymore. I eventually caught up with River as he stood at the front door, talking to a woman who shivered and smoked.
“Hurry up kid, I haven’t got all night.” She blew the last of the smoke out her nostrils then snuffed the butt out under a heavy, lace less boot. River rushed ahead to the door, stepped to the side and held it open. I followed her in, keeping a safe distance from her as she shook snowflakes out of her bushy, ketchup colored hair.
She waddled behind the counter and hung her sweater on a hook. I noticed a blue name tag with “Bernice” printed in gold and pinned sideways to her shirt. “Market’s open but the diner’s closed, boys,” Bernice said before either one of us could speak. River asked for directions to the restroom. “For paying customers only. You boys buyin’ something or what?”
“Yes Ma’am.” River’s always polite to women. He looked around and grabbed the first thing he saw off the shelves behind him, a package of pink snowballs, and tossed them onto the counter.
“So who’s payin’ for this?”
“My dad is. He’ll be in after he fills his truck,” River said as he willed his eyes to see through a thick black barrier that hid the top row of magazines.
Bernice eyed him doubtfully.
Without breaking his gaze he pointed to a window and said, “Honest. You can even look. It’s the white one with ‘El Toro’ on the door.”
She stepped over to a window that looked out onto the pumps, peered through the glass and spotted our father. “Well, well, would you look at that.”
River finally looked over to Bernice but only to raise an eyebrow at the word that.
“He’s a BIG one, isn’t he? All that dark hair and skin—is he Italian?”
“Spanish,” I said.
“Aha.” Her smile made my skin crawl. She turned from the window and jerked her thumb toward River. “You said he’s your dad?”
River stiffened, bracing himself. He knew what was coming.
“No, no, no.” Bernice waved her hand in my brother’s face, erasing him. Then she looked over to me. “Now you I see. You’re the spittin’ image of him. Except you’re…uh…”
“Pretty?” River offered.
“No, he’s…what?”
“Sassy? Spunky? Perky?”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Diluted,” I said finally. It was a word I’d used before.
Bernice nodded in approval, obviously pleased with my take on the resemblance to my father. “Now this one over here…
Oh God please don’t say it.
…I’m bettin’ this one’s the mailman’s kid.”
The vein in River’s forehead twitched. I sure as shit knew what that meant in River language.
Bernice had no idea how lucky she was to be a woman. Most people think my brother is all charming and sweet, and he is, to a point. But I’ve witnessed his temper in action and believe me; you did not want to be on the wrong end of a beat down from River Hayden.
“Where are the restrooms again please, Ma’am?” River said through clenched teeth. I swear the smile he forced across his face actually hurt him.
Her mouth screwed up into a dingy yellow pucker. “Straight back, past the cooler.”
He raised his hand to his forehead and tipped an imaginary hat. The gesture caught Bernice off guard and she smiled despite herself.
River took off ahead of me, making a point of tearing down the wrong aisle. Bernice called out to correct him. I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t about to rob my brother of the joy that comes with petty rebellion.
I started down the correct aisle and passed a small stairwell on my left. There were books, boots, hats and gloves stacked up on the treads and I assumed they led to an apartment upstairs. I heard a sound behind me and turned to see a girl about my age stop dead on the landing. She had on pink pajamas and furry white slippers. She was cute. Real cute. She noticed me and smiled.
As I walked over to her I quickly ran down all the moves I’ve seen River use on girls. I threw my shoulders back like he did, ran my hands through my hair like he did, and smiled like he did—almost.
“Hey there,” I said.
“Hey yourself.” She giggled more than spoke as she tossed her light blonde hair off her shoulders.
The closer I got to her the more I noticed her hair smelled like something I knew, something familiar, like vanilla, I think. She had freckles across her nose and a really great set of lips. But best of all were her eyes; a pale mix of blue and green that sparkled under the Christmas lights strung above the staircase.
“Are you the one who makes the famous pecan cornbread?” I asked, totally aware of how lame I sounded.
“Maybe…” That time she giggled and blushed.
What can I say? Lame works for me. At least it’s how I explain why I’ve never had a problem getting girls. It’s keeping them that’s the problem. It’s not easy getting past first base when your brother is king of the cock blockers.
She tilted her head to the side, twirled her hair around her finger and smiled up at me, pretending to be shy. I prayed to God River would stay gone for like, five more minutes.
Yeah. God doesn’t work on Christmas Eve.
“Hey dipshit! Where’d you...” River rounded the corner and just like every other girl in existence, her eyes wandered over and locked onto him. “Well where’d you come from?” he said as he flashed his River Smile.
I promised myself the second I got him alone I was going to punch him right in the mouth.
“I’m River...” He reached over, grabbed me by the elbow and stood me right in front her. “…and this is my brother Sawyer. He’s seventeen and a sucker for freckles.” River stood behind me, his hands locking my arms to my sides, pushing me closer to the stairs.
“Hi...Uh...” I stuttered or stammered or both.
“Smooth,” River whispered behind my ear.
My face felt hot and I knew I was beginning to blush, which of course just made me blush more.
“Missy! Get back upstairs now!” Bernice bellowed from the front of the store.
Missy turned and started back up the stairs, stopping briefly to wave goodbye. River’s eyes followed her exit up the staircase. Once Missy was out of sight he looked up at me and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you even like girls?”
I yanked myself out of his grip and headed for the restroom, trying as fast as I could to think of something smart to say. “Shut up River” was all I came up with.
“Brilliant,” he said as he clamped a hand on my shoulder.
I pushed open the restroom door and gagged. It smelled like gingerbread and bleach. River shoved past me to the urinal and answered nature’s call, with sound effects, of course. After he finished his business he joined me at the sink to wash up.
“Don’t sweat it, little brother. Maybe girls just aren’t your thing.”
“Screw you River.”
“I’m just saying flirting isn’t for everyone. No need to get all embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
He stopped mid-scrub and nodded his head toward the mirror.
I didn’t need to look to know how red my face was. “Yeah, well, I was doing fine ‘til you showed up.”
He handed me a wad of paper towels and then got to work tossing his hair into shaggy layers. My brother put a lot of effort into looking as though he couldn’t be bothered. “Suit yourself. I was just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help, River. I’m fine on my own.”
He licked his thumb and tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”
“Whatever, man. Just wait. You’ll see.”
Sure enough River folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side. This is how my brother says, “choose your next words wisely.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“It means I’m through with dad and Savannah and their pathetic excuse for a relationship. I’m finding a way to Valentine and I’m moving in with Gus.”
He snapped his arms to his sides and stepped forward.
I stepped back.
“So that’s why you’re pushing for Nebraska? So you can ditch him and live with Gus?”
“Save it, River. You know as well as I do he’s never gonna change. He takes her back and she better deals him. If he hasn’t gotten it in ten years he’s never going to.”
“So what? Now you’re on her side?”
“What are you talking about? I’m not on her side.”
“Sure sounds like it.”
“The only side I’m on is mine. I don’t give a shit what she does. She wants to be a singer? Fine. Let her go be a singer. It doesn’t mean he’s gotta drag us along after her. Coach said I’m never going to get a scholarship that way. He said I need to stay in the same school more than a few months for any kind of shot at college ball. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
He relaxed, but only a bit. “Look, I get it. But there’s got to be a better way than just walking out. It’s too much like mom.”
“What do you want me to do? Basketball season’s already started. I don’t have time to wait for him to wise up.”
“I know, but—”
“But we’re supposed to act like we believe her when she says she wants him back? Is that it?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what we’re supposed to do,” he said, raising his voice.
I lowered mine to make my point. “Fine. You stick around and lie to him. But count me out. I’m done.” I balled up the paper towels and shot them one at a time into the basket. This is how I say, “Conversation over.”
Nervous energy sent River pacing around the room picking up trash and pausing every so often to think while he scuffed his boots across the floor. Finally he stopped and said, “You have no idea what this is going to do to him.”
I did know. I just didn’t care. “He’ll get over it.”
“And what if Gus says no, huh? Did you ever think of that? What then?”
I chose my next words wisely. “I’ll leave anyway. I don’t care. I’m old enough, I can get around.” I secretly hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Well you better start warming up that thumb of yours, smart ass, ‘cause dad hates Valentine. He won’t go back if he doesn’t have to.”
“Dad loves Gus. He’ll go back for him.”
“Not without mom he won’t. Gus isn’t his dad, remember?”
“Then why does he call him ‘Pop’? Huh? Might as well be.”
“It doesn’t matter what he calls him. It’s not the same.” Something about the way he spoke made me think he wasn’t talking about our father anymore.
“Oh yeah? Well I look just like dad and we hate each other. Figure that one out,” I said.
“Dad doesn’t hate you. You get on his nerves sometimes, that’s all.”
His devotion to our dad was exhausting. “So not the point, River.”
“How about this for a point. You’re trying so hard to prove you’re not like dad you don’t even notice you’re just like mom.”
“Like mom? Really? So I’m the one who bailed on my family for—”
The vein in River’s head rocketed past twitch to full on pulse. “Don’t you dare say it.”
It took every last ounce of self control I had not to finish that sentence. Even I knew enough not to start shit about us getting ditched for LeBrock without backup.
River stepped toward me and I thought for sure he was going to take a swing or at the very least shove me into something but instead he walked past me to the sink and splashed water over his face. I thought for a moment he might be crying but then thought better of it. My brother never cried a single day in his life.
He let the water run down his face into the sink and then raised his eyes to the mirror. “I look like him you know.”
Oh. Shit.
“I know where you’re going with this, so don’t.”
He grabbed a stack of paper towels and dried his face, rubbing so hard I thought for sure he’d rip his skin clean off. “I’m just stating a fact, that’s all.”
I snatched the towels from him before he hit bone. “Don’t be stupid, River. It’s not a fact because you don’t know anything for sure.”
He whipped around to the mirror and waved his hands wildly in front of it, erasing his reflection the way Bernice had erased him earlier. “ISN’T IT OBVIOUS?”
I opened and closed my mouth, like fifty times, but nothing came out. The older River got the harder LeBrock’s shaggy blonde hair and sad blue eyes were for any of us to ignore. There was no way I was going to be able to lie convincingly. I had no choice but to tell him the truth.
“Yeah. It’s obvious.” I wanted to sound all matter of fact, but I didn’t. I sounded like a judge handing down a sentence.
River looked up at me and stared, wide eyed, searching for my face for something but for what I had no idea. In one fraction of a second his expression changed from desperately hopeful to painfully aware. Whatever it was he was looking for, he found.
“You blinked,” he said.
“Uh…Ok…”
“When you lie you stare. It’s your tell.”
“I never even knew I had a tell.”
“Well, you do.”
“And I blinked?”
“You blinked.” River ran his hand through his hair, roughing it up, as if this would somehow make it less shaggy or blonde. He turned back to the mirror and glared, disappointed.
It’s true what guys say, you know. We really can’t tell if another guy is good-looking or not. But I’d have to be blind not to notice all the girls, hell, all the women who threw themselves at my brother on a daily basis. It was a shame that a guy who everyone thought was so attractive could hate his looks so much. It seemed like a waste to me.
I wanted to say something to let him know that whoever his father really was couldn’t possibly matter to anyone, least of all to me. But in the end I decided not to say anything. If there’s one thing I learned from my father it’s that sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is just shut the hell up.
Turning his back on his reflection he said, “You know what? It’s not too much to ask. Fuck it. You’re right.”
I nodded and thanked him as I stared at the floor, tracing the top of my boot around a chipped piece of tile. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Somehow my plan to leave hadn’t seemed real until the moment my brother gave it his blessing. It never occurred to me that I’d want or even need it. And as usual, now that I had something I wanted I asked for more. “I know this is a shitty time to ask, but do you think you could convince dad to go to Nebraska for me?”
He rubbed a knot out of his neck as he said, “Yeah, yeah. I can get him to take you there.” He stared at me for a moment before he added, “You know this is gonna end bad, right?”
I saw an opening. I took a shot.
I grinned and said, “I wouldn’t be me if it didn’t.”
At least I got him to smile. It wasn’t his River smile or even one of his everyday smiles but a jagged, sort of half smile that made him look a hell of a lot older than eighteen.
He ran his hands up and down his face, collecting himself. “Alright. Enough of this bullshit. Let’s get the hell out of here and eat.” My big brother put his hand on my shoulder and led me out the restroom door.
River wandered up and down the aisles grabbing bags of barbeque flavored chips and sour cream and onion flavored chips and something I never heard of called salt and vinegar flavored chips and every brand of cookie known to man off the shelves and piled them up against his chest. He didn’t seem to need my help so I left him to find the pop.
“Hey, grab some Moxie, will ya’ little brother?” he called out over top of the aisles.
“Only if you stop calling me that.”
“Whatever you say, dumb ass.” I heard him chuckle somewhere between canned goods and antifreeze.
I grabbed a case of orange for me, a case of root beer for my dad and something called Moxie for River (I don’t think he actually likes this stuff, I think he gets it because he knows I don’t and won’t bum any off him). I walked up to the counter just as River dumped an enormous armful of junk food right on top of the original package of snowballs.
Bernice stared at our haul with disapproval. “Your father lets you eat like that?”
“Ask him yourself,” River said as he glanced through the door at our father walking toward us.
Bernice nearly crawled overtop of the counter to get a better look at our dad. As I listened to her panting I wondered if she would have had the same reaction to him yesterday when he still had his beard and wore his favorite plaid flannel instead of all clean shaven and wearing some totally lame dress shirt. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference if she told me. I never understood the reaction women had to my father. Something about the way he looked always made me think of mobsters or hit men. In trucker’s hats.
Picking up on Bernice’s heavy breathing River smacked me on the arm and whispered, “Maybe we ought a send this chick a Christmas card.”
“Oh God please don’t,” I begged.
Forget mobsters or hit men, River is convinced our dad looks like those shirtless guys on the covers of paperback romance books they sell in drug stores. So much so in fact that last year he shoplifted a bunch of them (well he wasn’t going to let anyone see him buy any), tore off the covers and then mailed them out as family portrait Christmas cards. Talk about a day that ended badly.
A bell rang as my dad stepped through the door and stopped—quick. His eyes darted between Bernice, River and I and it occurred to me that all three of us were staring at him.
“What’s going on here?” My dad asked.
My father’s voice is naturally a growl and this seemed to work for Bernice. She grabbed a small paper bag out from under the counter and began to fan herself with it. This was all too perfect for River, who pounded my back over and over making sure I saw what he saw.
Oh I saw it, alright. But unlike him, I wanted to bolt from the room screaming.
My father focused on me and said, “Sawyer, I asked you a question.”
“Huh? What?”
“Never mind.” He pulled his brows together and stared at me, hard. My father has a way of making his voice tell you to do one thing while his face tells you to do another.
He stepped forward to drop his credit card on the counter but with no open counter space left was forced to hand it to Bernice directly. She threw her shoulders back, ran her hands through her hair and then took the card from my dad; intentionally running her fingers over the back of his hand as she did.
River leaned in over my shoulder and whispered, “The old chick’s got more game than you!”
I snagged a Slim Jim off the counter and whipped it behind me. River mumbled something that sounded like “tip” before he hit the ground. I went back to watching The Jim and Bernice Show.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Mister, uh?” A look of confusion washed over Bernice’s face as she read the card aloud. “Mister R. James Hayden. ‘R’? What does the ‘R’ stand for?”
River crawled up the counter and blurted out, “Raphael” before our father had a chance to lie.
“Oooh, how exotic!” Bernice squealed.
“Yes, yes, thank you.” My father’s voice sounded polite but I could tell by the look on his face that I probably shouldn’t leave him alone with my brother any time soon.
River’s greatest joy in life (besides motorcycles and redheads), is teasing our uber serious father to the point of torture. He jabbed me in the ribs and whispered, “Watch and learn, little brother. This is how I’ll get you to Valentine.” Despite the fact that our father stood only three feet away River cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “HEY DAD!”
Every muscle on the right side of my dad’s neck tightened instantly, drawing his ear painfully down to his shoulder. “What—is—it—River?”
“SHE THINKS YOU’RE HOT, DAD!” (ELLA PIENSA QUE ERES PAPA CALIENTE!)
My father closed his eyes, dropped his head and sighed.
“Oooh, do you speak Spanish, R-R-R-Raphael?” Bernice asked as she attempted, and then failed, to roll her “R”.
My father slowly wiped the spittle off his face. “I do not have occasion to speak much Spanish anymore.”
River giggled like an idiot behind me, so naturally I had to join in. “Is this my new mommy?” (Este es mi nueva mamá?)
River smacked me and shook his head. “No, not this time. Only me.” Then he pointed at our dad. “Oh my God, he’s blushing! He does look like you!” (¡Oh, Dios mío, que es sonrojarse! Él se parece a ti!)
The teasing was more than our father could take. He composed himself before he spoke, making an effort to smile and keep his voice steady. “Boys, take this stuff out to the truck right now. Sawyer, you take the bed and let River sit up front. Your brother and I need quality time.” (Muchachos, tomar estas cosas a la camioneta en este momento. Sawyer, se toma el lecho River y dejar sentado en la delantera. Su hermano y yo necesito un tiempo de calidad.)
Oh man, if I ever learned to smile like my dad I’d never have to throw another punch.
River took one look at that smile and whispered, “You owe me. BIG.”
Sometimes I really love my big brother.