Donna Andrews - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 130, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 793 & 794, September/October 2007

“I don’t want to fight you, Bill. Spence, pull him back.”

Whatever Bill said was lost in his second lunge. This punch connected. He got me on my right cheek and pain exploded across my entire face. He followed up with a punch to my stomach that doubled me over. “Kick his ass, Bill,” Spence said.

Even though I was in pain, even though I should have been focused on the fight I was in, his words, the betrayal of them, him choosing Bill over me when it should have been Spence and me against Bill — that hurt a lot more than the punches. He’d been my friend since third grade. He was my friend no longer.

Bill hit me with enough force to knock me flat on the sidewalk, butt first. If this had been the other night, I would’ve jumped to my feet and started swinging. But I was still hearing Spence say to kick my ass and I guess I didn’t have enough pride or anger left to stand up and hit back. I just felt drained.

“You all right?” Spence said to me. I could hear his confusion. Better to stick with Bill. But still, we’d been friends a long time and to see me knocked down—

“He’s just a pussy,” Bill said. “C’mon.”

I didn’t stand up till they were gone. Then I walked home slowly. I took the long way so that I’d go past Michele’s place. The light was on. I turned off the sidewalk and started moving toward the house, but then I stopped. I wasn’t up for another disappointment tonight.

Video Vic’s real name wasn’t Vic; it was Reed, Reed Patrick, and when I called him next morning and gave him my week’s notice, he said, “You don’t sound so good, kiddo. You all right?”

“I just need to be movin’ on, Reed. I enjoyed working for you, though.”

“You ever want to use me for a reference, that’ll be fine with me.”

“Thanks, Reed.”

That night, I surprised my folks by showing up for dinner. Mom had made meat loaf and mashed potatoes and peas. I figured that was about the best meal I’d ever had. They were surprised that I’d quit my job, but my Dad said, “Now you can start looking for something with a future, Jason. You could start taking classes again out to the college. Get trained for some kind of computer job or something.”

“Computers, honey,” my mom said, patting my hand. “Jobs like that pay good money.”

“And they’ve got a future.”

“That’s right,” Mom said, “computers aren’t going anywhere. They’re here for good.”

“You should call out there tomorrow,” Dad said. “And my buddy Mike can get you on at the supermarket he runs.”

I pretended to be interested in what he was saying. I’d never seemed interested before. He looked happy about me, the way he had when I was a little kid. I hadn’t seen him look this happy in a long time. He also looked old. I guess I hadn’t really, you know, just looked at him for a real long time. The same with Mom. The lines in their faces. The bags under their eyes. The way both my folks seemed kind of worn out through the whole meal. When I left I hugged them harder than I had in years. And all the way back to my little room, I felt this sadness I just couldn’t shake.

Over the next week, the sadness stayed with me. I’d realized by then that it wasn’t just about Mom and Dad, it was about me and everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks. I tried Michele a couple more times. The second time she was real cold. You know how girls are when they aren’t happy to hear from you and just want to get you off the phone. After I hung up, I sat there in the silence with Churchill weighing a ton on my lap. I felt my cheeks burn. It was pretty embarrassing, the way she’d maneuvered me off the phone so fast.

The next night, no longer gainfully employed, I walked across town to the library. I was reading the whole run of Robert Jordan fantasy novels. He was one of the best writers around.

Even though the library had bought six copies of his new hardcover, they were all checked out. I picked up a collection of his short stories. He was good at those, too.

On the walk back home, I saw them coming out of a Hardee’s. He had his arm around her. They were laughing. I was ready to fight now. Just walk right up to him and punch him in the freaking chops. He’d be the one sitting down on his butt this time, not me. And I’d remind her that she still owed me an apartment cleaning.

Good ole Michele and good ole Bill. That’s the thing I’ve never understood about girls. Hard to imagine a guy more full of himself than Bill. But she obviously thought he was just fine and dandy. Otherwise she wouldn’t let him have his arm around her. He was going to sleep with her and then he was going to tell everybody. I wondered how she’d react if I told her.

But I couldn’t. Much as I wanted to go over there and tell her what was really going on, I couldn’t make my legs move in that direction. Because I could live with my self-image as a geek, a loser, a boy-man, but I could never live with myself as a snitch.

A few days later I signed up for computer classes at the community college. I gave up my room on the rent-due day and moved back home. The folks were glad to have me. I was being responsible. Dad said his buddy Mike could get me on at his supermarket and so he had.

What I did for the next few nights, after bagging groceries till nine o’clock, was glut myself on the past. I still had boxes of old Fangorias and Filmfaxes in my closet and I hauled them out and spread them on the bed and just disappeared into my yesterdays, back to the time when there was no doubt that I was going to Hollywood, no doubt that I’d be working for Roger Corman, no doubt that someday I’d be doing my own films, and no doubt they’d be damned good ones.

But my time machine sprung a leak. I’d get all caught up in being sixteen again and grooving on Star Wars and Planet of the Apes and Alien but then the poison gas of now would seep in through those leaks. And I’d start thinking about Michele and Bill and Spence and how my future seemed settled now — computer courses and a lifelong job in some dusty little computer store in a strip mall somewhere — and then I’d be back to the here and now. And not liking it at all.

On a rainy Friday night, my mom knocked on my door and said, “Spence is downstairs for you, honey.”

I hadn’t told my folks about the falling out Spence and I had had.

I just said okay and went down to see him. He was talking to my dad. Dad was telling him how happy they were about my taking those computer courses.

I grabbed my jacket and we went out. I hadn’t so much as nodded at Spence. In fact, we didn’t say a word until we were in his old Dodge Dart and heading down the street.

“How you been?” he said.

“Pretty good.”

“Your Dad seems real happy about you being in computer classes.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t sound so happy, though.”

“What’s this all about, Spence?”

“What’s what all about?”

“ ‘What’s what all about?’ What do you think it’s all about? You took Bill’s side on this whole thing. Now you come over to my house.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. We just drove. Headlights and neon lights and streetlights glowed like watercolors in the rain. Girls looked sweet and young and strong running into cafes and theaters to get out of the downpour. His radio faded in and out. Every couple of minutes he’d slam a fist on the dash and the radio would be all right again for a few minutes. The car smelled of gasoline and mildewed car seats.

“He’s getting really weird.”

“Who is?”

“ ‘Who is?’ Who do you think is, Jason? Bill is.”

“Weird about what?”

“About her. Michele.”

“Weird how?”