Jeff Jacobson - Wormfood

I still don’t know why I did it. Maybe I wanted to impress Misty. Maybe I wanted to simply scare them off. Maybe I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t really know. All I know is that calmly, almost like a casual reflex, I pulled the Anschütz to my shoulder and blew the tip of the left horn of the bull skull off into nothingness.

Junior and Bert froze.

I jerked the bolt back, slammed a new round into the chamber. “Get the hell out of here,” I shouted, hoping my voice sounded braver than I felt.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me. You didn’t … You didn’t just shoot at me, did you? Did you?” Junior hollered.

I yelled back, “I wasn’t shooting at you. I hit what I was aiming at. When I’m shooting at you, motherfucker … uh … you won’t know nothing; you’ll be fucking dead.”

Junior’s open mouth snapped shut. “Well, well … You just fucked up seriously, Archie,” he said. “We’re gonna be seeing you later.” I could almost feel the hatred rush across the quarry and wash over me like the putrid water from the pit.

Misty laughed. “Get the fuck out’ve here, you pussies.” She laughed again, a cruel, heartless sound.

Oh, please don’t laugh at them , I thought. Things are bad enough .

Junior just nodded. “Be seeing you. Be seeing both of you.” He jerked his head at the truck, and Bert climbed in. Junior nodded at us again, then walked around the front real slow, taking his time. He fingered the broken tip of the bull horn briefly, then climbed into the driver’s seat, gunned the engine, and whipped the truck around in a spray of mud and gravel.

“Oh, my God. That was fucking great!” Misty giggled, and hugged me tight before I had a chance to react. “You were perfect,” she whispered, and gave me a quick kiss. Right on the lips. It was the first time I had ever kissed a girl, and I gotta say, it felt so good I wished the Sawyer brothers would come back so I could shoot at their truck some more.

Then she kissed me again, longer this time.

It finally started to rain and somehow we ended up on the blanket next to the rifle, giggling, whispering, and panting. I don’t remember much, just distinct flashes and sudden sensory impressions. It was the contrasts, I think. The way she tasted sweet and salty at the same time. The hard, unyielding surface of the rocky ground and soft flesh. The way the rain made her skin seem slippery, yet almost sticky.

Her breasts were the smoothest things I had ever touched, smoother than glass, than silk, than oil.

Misty pulled out a condom from somewhere. I remember clothes being pulled off, the rough dampness of the blanket, and the strength of Misty’s arms and legs pulling me close, closer than I’d ever been to another human being.

I lasted about three seconds.

As it turned out, Misty kept a box of condoms in the glove box.

The second time, I lasted maybe a minute.

But the third time, boy, that was something. And Misty seemed to agree.

Afterward, I stared up into the clouds and felt like the greatest champion in the universe. But yet, at the same time, I felt like the scum that floats at the edge of dead, brackish water. It didn’t make much sense. Despite the nagging, ashamed feeling that I had just jumped naked into a giant mud puddle in front of my grandmother, I felt great. No, better than great. I felt like I could walk into Fat Ernst’s bar, piss all over the floor, and laugh in his face.

Misty planted her bare feet flat on the wet blanket, arched her back, and wriggled into her blue panties. As her left knee brushed my cheek I saw that a long, ragged scar curled out from the inside of her knee and down her calf. I caught her knee and held it still as she reached for her blouse. The scar looked like a white, curving zipper of melted flesh on tan skin. I slid my middle finger down the length of it, letting my other fingers whisper along her bare leg while I concentrated on the subtle bumps and ridges, feeling the strange logic of the contours.

Misty shrugged and buttoned her blouse. “Got bucked off a horse,” she said without any trace of embarrassment or self-consciousness. “Landed on a barbed wire fence and my leg got caught in it.”

The bottom dropped out of my stomach, like falling out of the very top of a tall tree. The thought of her getting hurt hit me like a solid kick in the gut, just below my stomach. I swallowed, found my voice. “If anybody ever hurts you ever again, I’ll kill them,” I said.

She laughed, looked me in the eye, and trailed her fingers down my temple, my cheek. “You’re sweet. I never heard that one before.”

“I mean it,” I said. Then I closed my eyes and kissed her scar.

CHAPTER 16

Misty didn’t drop me off at the restaurant until ten thirty, but I didn’t care that I was late. I felt too goddamn good. We’d kept our distance the whole ride back, kind of sizing each other up for real this time. Neither of us had tried touching the other one. We listened to country music instead. I was getting a little worried when she pulled into the parking lot, worried that I’d somehow done something wrong. After she stopped her truck out by the sign, she leaned over and gave me another long kiss.

I felt better.

I stopped at the top step and gave a little wave as she pulled out of the muddy parking lot. I saw her wave back through the rear window as the Dodge bounced up onto the highway and tore off, back toward the foothills. I realized too late that Grandpa’s 30.06 was still in the gun rack, but that was okay. It just meant that I’d get to see her again. I turned to the front door and realized I still had to face Fat Ernst.

I eased the door open as quietly as I could, feeling a flash of panic at being late. But it passed. I peered around the door and found the bar was empty except for Heck. He swiveled around on the bar stool, staring atme through red, sunken eyes, and greeted me with a tremendous belch that crumbled into wet coughing.

“Morning yourself there, Heck,” I said cheerfully, shutting the door behind me. “You need a napkin or anything?”

He shook his head and gave me the thumbs-up sign. I gave him the thumbs-up right back and moved through the tables. I counted three empty glasses on the bar, each coated in some sort of red, grainy liquid. Bloody Marys. Heck was getting started early. One of the glasses had a little purple umbrella sticking out of it. That was different. Fat Ernst must have been in a good mood as well. “Where’s the boss?” I asked, heading for the kitchen.

Heck jerked his head toward the restrooms. Perfect , I thought. All I have to do is collect up these dirty glasses and retreat into the kitchen before Fat Ernst gets out of the bathroom . That way, I could claim I’d been here for at least fifteen, twenty minutes. “Be right back,” I told Heck and ducked through the swinging doors. Once inside the kitchen, I stood next to the refrigerator and stretched, reaching up to the ceiling, standing on my tiptoes. Grandpa’s boots felt a little stiff, but comfortable. My body felt loose, relaxed, damn near strong. I grabbed the gray plastic bin under the sink and headed back out to the bar.

Heck hadn’t moved. He sat, leaning back against the bar, staring out the front windows. I followed his gaze and watched a shadow appear at the front windows. Darkness gathered at the top of the window and grew as a soft blanket of white noise enveloped the building. Rain spattered against the back wall and marched north across the roof. The wall of black clouds rolled out across the highway, slid over the foothills, and melted into utter blackness above the eastern mountains. Raindrops started landing in the flooded parking lot, creating thousands, millions of muddy explosions.