Steve Hamilton - The Lock Artist

The code never came. The driver took me all the way into the city, softly humming a tune the whole way. I took the paper back from him and wrote down an address a few blocks away from the restaurant. Don’t let him know exactly where you’re going. One more precaution, just in case.

The fare ended up being $150, including tip. The man thanked me and told me to get inside because it was too cold to be running around like a fool with no coat. He seemed to want to tell me a few other things, but I tipped an imaginary hat to him and walked away.

When he was gone, I went down the street, turned the corner, and saw the restaurant. The lights were glowing in the dark. Customers were lined up at the counter, even this late at night. I went through the side door, up the stairs, and into my little room.

There, in the shoebox, the white pager was beeping.

Michigan

June 1999

Last day of school. I had one more year left, of course, but it still felt like a big day to me. Griffin would be going to art school in Wisconsin. Not far enough away from home to suit him, but he apparently didn’t have many other options. I wasn’t sure how well I’d do without him, but Mr. Martie took me aside that day and told me that a couple of the art schools were asking about me. They had seen some of my stuff at a district-wide portfolio day, and they were already liking my “special circumstances.” It made a good angle for them, I guess. The Miracle Boy healed by art.

“This could be your big ticket,” he said. “You know what happens to you at art school?”

I shook my head.

“All that good natural technique you have? All that detail? They’ll beat it right out of you. They’ll be so threatened by it, they’ll make you start throwing paint at the canvas like a monkey. By the time you graduate, the only thing you’ll be able to do is teach art to high school kids.”

Okay, I thought. I’m glad he’s excited for me.

“On the plus side, you’ll probably get laid a lot.”

I gave him a nod and a quick thumbs-up. He patted me on the shoulder and then left me alone.

I kept thinking about it for the rest of the day. Maybe I’d end up at Wisconsin with Griffin. Or hell, any art school that would take me away from this place. I had this feeling in my chest, this helium lightness that I’d never experienced before. When school let out and we all had this long summer stretching out in front of us, I wondered what the evening would hold for me. There were parties, of course. I wasn’t exactly a party animal, as you can imagine, but I knew Griffin and all of the other art students would be doing something that night.

He had arranged to pick me up at the liquor store right after dinner. I was waiting outside when he arrived in his red Chevy Nova with the plaid seats. When he got out of his car, I pointed at myself and made a driving motion.

“No, I’ll drive.” He looked over at Uncle Lito’s old Grand Marquis. “Come on, get in.”

I pointed at him, made a drinking motion, spun my hands around both ears, then made like a man driving like a maniac. He got the general idea then. So that’s how we ended up in the Grand Marquis. It was total style, of course, with the two-tone finish, light brown and dark brown. Big dent in the back fender. Just over a hundred thousand miles on it, and smelling like a cigar factory. It was the only way to hit a summer night in Milford, Michigan, on the last day of school.

We drove to the house of one of the girls in our art class. There were a dozen people sitting around in folding chairs, looking bored. We hung around a few minutes, then moved on to the next. The sun went down. The air was turning cool.

We kept making the rounds and ended up at another art student’s house. It hadn’t been a winning formula yet, but here, finally, things were looking up. There were a lot of people there, for one thing, and the growing darkness seemed to be a signal to everyone that the real party was just beginning. There was loud music coming from the backyard, smoke rising in the sky from a barbecue. I found my classmate and shook her hand, didn’t flinch when she wrapped her arms around me. She whispered in my ear that I could have anything I wanted in my life if I kept working hard enough. The kind of thing you say only after a few beers on an empty stomach.

She dragged me into the backyard, where the music was so loud it hurt. She was into obscure techno music, as I remember, so all the kids were dancing away or voguing or whatever the hell they were doing. Another six or seven kids were jumping up and down on a trampoline, bumping into each other and almost falling off the damned thing. The one oblivious adult stood flipping burgers at the grill, a thick pair of acoustic headphones on his ears.

My classmate tried to yell something to me. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She gave up and pointed to a group of girls who were standing in the far corner of the yard. Nadine spotted me and waved me over.

I caught an elbow in the ribs as I made my way through the crowd, from somebody doing some kind of robot dance. When I finally got to the other side, I saw that the girls were all standing around a huge silver tub filled with ice and beer bottles. Nadine separated herself from the other girls and came to me, one bottle in each hand. She was wearing shorts and a sleeveless blouse, looking more like a tennis player today than an art student. She handed me a bottle.

I opened it and took a sip. It was cold enough to taste good, even if alcohol was still not high on my list. You see enough drunken wreckage walking into a liquor store every day, it sort of puts you off the stuff. But tonight… What the hell, right?

She tried to say something to me. I couldn’t hear her over the music. I leaned in close, and she spoke right into my ear. “It’s good to see you here.” I could smell her soft scent as our heads came together. I could feel her breath on my neck.

We stood there for a while, watching everyone jumping around and having a great time, or just standing on the fringes trying to look cool. I didn’t see Griffin anywhere, but I figured he could take care of himself for a few minutes. The stars were coming out. I had only drunk half the bottle of beer, but it went down fast and it was enough to make me feel a little dizzy. It wasn’t a bad feeling.

Maybe best of all, it was okay to be standing next to Nadine and not saying anything. Everyone in the party was effectively just as mute as I was, because nobody could hear a damn word you were saying anyway.

Nadine went to get another beer for herself. I couldn’t help wondering how many she had already had before I got there. When she came back to me, she put her hand on my arm. She left it there. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do in response.

The music stopped for a moment. The sudden silence roared in my ears.

“Mike,” she said.

I looked down at her.

“Come here.”

I know I must have looked a little confused. She wasn’t more than eighteen inches away from me. How much more here could I get?

She grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me closer. Then she kissed me.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t respond in any way. I just kept looking at her. The music started again, just as loud as before.

The other girls she was with pulled her away from me. She waved at me to follow them. So I did. I found Griffin on the way out, gave him a little head bob. Follow us. When we were back in front of the house, away from the assault of the music, she told me that they were all going to another party and that I should follow them. I stood there feeling a little bit embarrassed by the Marquis.