Preston Allen - Las Vegas Noir

“He hit me at recess,” James said. He looked at me. “In the stomach.”

“Now, son, you need to take responsibility,” the dean said. “Regardless of what Kevin did, it’s you who violated his property. If you’re going to become a good young man, you need to not make excuses for your actions.”

“Bullshit,” I said. They both stared at me. I grabbed my purse. “Do you see my son’s face? That’s from Kevin. And he’s sitting in math class right now with no repercussions.” I looked at James, threateningly, then back at the dean. “It won’t happen again. But do me a favor and make sure that other kid keeps his hands off my son at recess or we are going to have a problem.”

I had to sign something. James needed his backpack. Soon we were outside again, James at my heels, making our way to the car.

“That guy’s a schmuck,” I said as I started the engine.

James didn’t say anything.

“I’m not mad at you,” I said.

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Actually, I’m a little proud of you,” I smiled. We pulled onto the street.

“Why?” he asked. He pushed hair out of his face.

“Because you stood up for yourself.”

“But all I did was pee on his ball.”

I shrugged. “You didn’t let him push you around.”

“So I’m not in trouble?”

“When I was little, my dad always told me that no matter what I did, he would stick up for me, even if I was wrong. He’d always be on my side. And he always was.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, even when I didn’t always do the best stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like when I threw a container of coleslaw at a boy because he was picking on me. Or when I punched a guy in the stomach because he called my friend Pimple Puss.”

“You did that?”

“Yeah. Don’t think I want you to go around picking fights, but I want you to feel like you can stick up for yourself if you have to. Whatever happens, good or bad, I’ll be on your side.”

He smiled down at his knees. I finally felt like I had gotten through to my son. “You up for ice cream?” I asked.

At home, James was quiet. Lights were off, books were closed. Drapes were drawn. We kept looking at each other and shrugging. Neither one of us knew what to do in the wake of his offense. James had never been in trouble before; I’d never been more proud. Casey would be pissed, though. He was going to blame me for this and probably want to ground James for a month. I just couldn’t let him.

When Casey finally got home, the sky already turning purple like the fading marks around James’s eyes, he stared at us suspiciously. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He sat on the couch.

“Everything’s okay,” I said. “But James has to tell you something.”

James looked at me. I nodded. “It was P.E. and we were playing soccer,” he said. He sat up straighter. “I ended up on Kevin’s team, but he kept pushing me away from the ball. Then he said that it was his ball so I couldn’t play.”

“That little asshole,” I said. I couldn’t help feel triumphant. I bounced in my seat.

“Keep going,” Casey said to James. He looked confused.

“So I started to walk away. He took the ball and threw it right at me, and it hit me on my ear. Then he came to get the ball and punched me in the stomach too.”

“What a fuck this kid is.”

“Teresa! Let him finish!”

“I went up to the nurse’s office,” James continued. “And I must’ve not heard the bell, cause I went back outside after they gave me the ice pack and everyone was gone.”

“Wait,” I said. “So when did you pee on the ball?”

“He did what ?” Casey asked, then shook his head. “You peed on Kevin’s ball?”

James shifted nervously. “I thought about what Mom said. About me sticking up for myself, so I peed on it. The P.E. teacher saw me.”

“But Kevin didn’t see?” I asked.

“No, he was in class.”

“So he doesn’t even know you did it?” I asked.

“No,” he repeated, “he was in class.”

I fell back into my chair, deflated.

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Casey said. “I can understand wanting a little revenge.”

“Are you crazy?” I hollered at Casey. “ That’s okay to you?”

“You seemed thrilled a minute ago,” he said, shocked.

“That’s when I thought he did it in front of everyone.” I looked at James. He seemed terrified. “That’s just sneaky,” I said, and I walked upstairs.

When I was a kid, I’d stay barefoot until November, about the time my mom started wrapping me in jackets. The walks my dad and I took across the desert would continue all year. Dad always with the .44 on his hip, me carrying my BB gun, then a .22 as I got older. Once, we were about a mile from home checking out a nearly dried-up spring. I was young, carrying a salami sandwich in one hand and choosing rocks to put on my windowsill with the other.

“Look, Teresa,” Dad said. “A dust devil.”

In the distance, a funnel cloud twirled and spun dust into the air. We watched it hop and bend, twisting itself like an exotic dancer. The wind around us picked up. Wrappers from our sandwiches lifted into the air. Dad kneeled next to me. Bullet casings rattled on the ground. The dirt devil continued twisting toward us. My jacket and my hair pulled away with the wind. I dropped my sandwich in the dirt.

“Daddy?” I said. I wanted to ask what would happen if it came straight at us. We were too far to run back to the trailer. There wasn’t anything to hide under. The dirt devil moved closer, like it was coming to shake our hands. Everything around us jumped and clattered. Our clothes flapped against us like loose tarps. My hair covered my face. My heart pounded. I wanted to run.

“Just stay next to me,” Dad said calmly. The devil tore toward us, whistling and leaving rivets in the dirt. It was bigger now, as tall as a house. I looked up just as it was about to engulf us. Then it was gone. I was wrapped tightly in my dad’s jacket, crushed to him in a comfy nest of chest hair and warm skin. I’d been plucked from the world and sheltered. Even though the earth rattled around us, I was safe and still.

I lay in bed thinking about the dirt devil the night James peed on Kevin’s ball. I stared up at the high ceiling, the fan turning slowly. If it had been me and James in that wind, I wouldn’t have been able to protect him. The thing was, though, I hadn’t seen a dust devil in years. Maybe the town was too built up now. There was no room. Maybe Las Vegas had grown out of its tantrums of youth. And maybe I was trying to fit James into a mold that was no longer necessary.

Casey cracked the door, slipped into the room, and shut it silently. I watched the strip of light from the hall widen and disappear. I didn’t move. I listened as he put his watch on the table, put his shoes in the closet, and emptied his change onto the dresser. Then he went into the bathroom and turned the water on in the bathtub. The bath was for me; he knew I’d still be awake. I peeked over the covers and watched him shuffling though my bottles of scented bubble baths, choosing something special for me. He put one down and picked another. He poured some into the water. He dimmed the lights, lit candles. Then he came into bed and lay down next to me.

I rolled over and rested against him. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“Me too,” he whispered.

I moved my leg over his and rubbed his chest. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I put my lips against his ear. “You’re right,” I said softly. “James needs to learn the right way to handle these situations.” I kissed the line of his jaw. I wanted to feel him submit. I needed him to forgive me.

He leaned closer. “I just don’t want him to get into more trouble than he has to.”