Kyle Minor - Praying Drunk

Soon as Ben Holbrook left, I went into the bathroom with my pocketknife and dropped two tablets on the sink counter and chopped them to powder and made a line. Then I put my nose low to the Formica and closed off my right nostril with a finger and snorted the line through my left.

I must have left the door open a crack, because I saw Danny there, just outside, watching. He knew it was a thing I was doing, but I don’t think he ever saw me do it before.

I knew good and well that wasn’t the type of thing I wanted him to see. Any other time I would have thrown a shoe at him if I caught him spying like that. But when you take your medicine through your nose, it hits your bloodstream fast and hard. That’s why you take it that way. So my first thought was to throw a shoe, but before that first thought was even gone the juice hit my bloodstream, and there was my boy, his eyes looking at mine through the crack in the bathroom door, and if I ever loved him I loved him more in that now than in any ever, and right alongside that first thought was the second, which came out my mouth the same time it came into my head, even though I knew it was wrong as I thought it and said it. “Boy,” I said. “Come on in here and try a line.”

Some things you see like from outside yourself and from above, and that’s how I see what happened next. Right there, below, there’s big old me, and there’s my boy Danny, and I’m coming around behind him, putting my arms around him like I did when I showed him how to line up a cue stick at Jack’s Tavern or sink a putt at the Gooney Golf, and he’s got the open pocketknife in his hand, and I’ve got his hand in my hand, pushing down on it, showing him how to crush without wasting anything, how to corral the powder, how a good line is made. That’s me, leaning down, pantomiming to show him how. That’s him, fast learner, nose to the counter, finger to nostril. There’s the line, gone up like the rapture. Danny, standing up too fast because he don’t know any better, and the trickle of blood down his lip and chin, and me, tilting his head back, cradling it in the crook of my arm, putting the old Boy Scout press on his nose with a wad of toilet paper, saying, “Hold still now, baby boy,” and his eyes bright, and his cheeks flushed, and his voice like from a hundred miles away saying, “Lord, have mercy,” then, “Weird,” and us lying back, then, on the cold tile, his shoulder blades resting on my chest, both of us waiting for the hit to pass so we could take another.

The days and nights started going by fast after that, and sometimes there was no cause to tell one from the other. One morning or afternoon or midnight, for all I know, I went into my room and found Danny half-naked underneath the bed I shared for all those years with Penny, and when I asked him what he was doing under there, he said, “She’s been after us all this time,” and I said, “Who?” and he said, “Her,” and hauled out a stash of scented candles his mother must have left under there, cinnamon and jasmine and persimmon-lemon.

At first I thought he was talking crazy, but then he pulled himself out from under the bed and walked real close and put the purple jasmine one under his eye and struck a blue tip match and lit the wick, and soon as it started to burn his eye went all bloodshot and swelled up. Even still, I wanted to take up her case.

“How was she to know?” I said, but he was looking at me hard. “Turn around,” he said, “and look in that mirror.” And sure enough, my eye was tearing up and swelling and all the blood vessels were turning red.

“Benny Gil,” he said, “told you where she is.”

“That’s not strictly true,” I said, except it was.

“The general area, then,” he said.

“The general neck of the woods,” I said.

He went into me and Penny’s bathroom, then, and for some reason, even though we had being doing it together, I couldn’t go in there just then and do it with him. I could hear him, though, and then I heard a few more sounds I knew but hadn’t expected to hear, which were the sounds of him loading my old Browning 9mm, which I kept under the sink in case of emergencies. When I heard that, I got scared, because for a while now I had been feeling, like I said before, like things were getting out of hand, but now, him stepping out of the bathroom, hand around the grip of that nine, I had the kind of proof that makes it so you can’t look the other way anymore.

“Killing,” I said, “isn’t a kind of thing you can take back.”

“I don’t mean to kill her,” he said. “I just mean to scare her a little.”

That was more sensible talk than the talk I had been expecting from him, but still not altogether sensible. He was angry, I knew, after finding those candles, and I can’t say I wasn’t angry, either, but when you’re young and full of piss and vinegar, caution is not a thing you take to naturally, and, besides, neither one of us was going through life in any kind of measured way at that particular point.

“I’m not saying she don’t deserve a little scaring,” I said. “When the time comes you’ll see me front and center, taking the pleasure you and me both deserve after everything. But what I’m saying is that the time isn’t come. Not yet.”

“Look around,” Danny said, and all around us was eighteen kinds of mess, some we’d made, and some that had just kind of grown while we weren’t paying attention. “Sheila,” he said, which was the name of a dog we’d had once who had abandoned her young before it was time, and all five of them had died, and who I had taken out back and shot because there wasn’t one good thing about a dog who would go and do that.

“We’re grown,” I told him.

“Not me,” he said.

There wasn’t much I could say to that, because it was true, but I got him to hand over the Browning, and then he went upstairs and didn’t come down for the rest of the night, and I figured he’d be down when he got hungry enough.

I went into the kitchen and made some pancakes and made some extra and wrapped them in foil and put them in the refrigerator so he could have them later. Then I put some butter and maple syrup over mine and ate them and drank some milk and fell asleep in front of a old Wesley Snipes movie and figured when I woke up I’d see if he didn’t want to put on his boots and go out into the Daniel Boone National Forest and hike for a while and get cleared out the way the cold air will do you.

When I woke up, though, the car was gone, and the extension cord for the battery charger was running from the living room out the front door, and I followed it on out to the side of the house where we parked the car, which was sure enough gone, and with juice enough to go to Lexington and back probably. That’s when panic kicked in, and I ran back into the house, toward me and Penny’s bathroom, knowing the Browning was going to be gone, but hoping it wasn’t, and when I got there and didn’t find it where it should have been, I figured there wasn’t any way I was going to see Penny alive again, but I was wrong.

2.

It was Penny who found him. It took some time, but after a while the authorities pieced together what had happened. Around six in the evening, they said, must have been the time I fell asleep. When the house got quiet enough, Danny went out to the shed and brought in the long extension cord and ran it to the car battery. While it was charging he loaded up three assault rifles, including the Kalashnikov 3000, the one made to look like a AK-47 but with the guts of a MicroKal, laser gun and flamethrower and all. He took the Browning, too, and my bowie knife, and his old play camo war paint, and a cache of armor-piercing bullets, although he never did use any of it except the 9mm. Then he sat down and ate the pancakes I had made, and washed off the plate and knife and fork he had used to eat them, and left them out to air dry.