Whitney Collins - Big Bad - Stories

Teddy did the best he could to ride Leonard less hard. He stuck with “Peoria” and “Ozzie” and dropped “Nebraska” and “Dorothy.” A few times a week, he went by Leonard’s room to watch him work. He’d sit on the bed and Leonard would sit at his desk, and for a while, Leonard would talk about Illinois, the family farm, the cow he’d raised that won a trophy, the way his mother made three-day beans. Sometimes he amused Teddy with rural tales he swore were true, like how he’d trained a cat to nurse a litter of possums or how a tornado had once corked their chimney with a live goat. One day, however, he really set Teddy’s head spinning with the casual announcement that his maternal grandfather was a full-blood Shawnee.

Teddy snorted. “Please. I refuse to go on believing your 4-H bullshit.”

Leonard kept at work at his desk, intent and scraping. “It’s true blue,” he said calmly. “I’m related to Tecumseh. He’s my great-times-five-grandfather. Great, great, great, great, great.”

Teddy sat up on Leonard’s bed and stared. “Stop yanking my chain,” he said. “What sort of Tecumseh grandkid sits around on his blond ass making Revolutionary War collectibles?”

Leonard scraped and scraped. “No man is without conflict,” he said. “That’s what Walter Salts always says.” Leonard turned around and gave Teddy a big, mid-American grin. “You should try to get into the enemy’s shoes some time. To see things from the other side.” Leonard turned back to his work. “My father says if you don’t fight the war on the inside, you’ll fight it on the outside.”

Teddy didn’t know what to say. Leonard suddenly struck him as complicated. If Leonard was telling the truth, he was a hypocrite. If he was lying, then he was everything Teddy had never imagined he could be. Teddy sat and stared at the back of Leonard’s twenty-four-karat head until he could name the feeling he felt. Impressed . Leonard turned as silent as a monk, and Teddy sat in admiration until the whole room went golden and time stopped and the two of them were suspended in amber. Teddy watched until all he could see was a column of light. Until all he could hear were the soft sounds of industry. The next thing Teddy knew, he was waking, blissful, in Leonard’s bed. Leonard stood smiling at the bedside looking down at Teddy. In one hand, Leonard held his scraping tool. The other hand, empty, reached out slow and tender to brush Teddy’s cheek.

“You fell asleep,” Leonard laughed gently. “Right on my bed like a big ole teddy bear.”

Teddy’s face burned where Leonard had touched it. Teddy put his own palm to his cheek and sat up, overcome with a sudden, inexplicable sorrow that he quickly replaced with anger. “I have to go,” he said, his palm still on his cheek. “You shouldn’t have let me stay so long.” Then Teddy rose and left without another word.

After that, Teddy didn’t go back to Leonard’s room. In fact, he avoided him altogether for a good while out of fear. Then one October morning, Teddy saw Leonard alone at breakfast. Leonard looked lost and vulnerable, like he had the first day, and Teddy joined him at the table despite himself.

“Making any boots?” Teddy asked. “Any pork rib dentures?”

Leonard lit up like a harvest moon and set down his milk. His upper lip was foamy. His eyes were bright. It seemed to Teddy he had grown more pure and perfect in his absence. “Why, yes I am, thank you for asking,” Leonard said. “My great uncle wants a set of Washington teeth. He knows a fellow who knows a fellow who knows someone who works at a famous history museum, which is actually located right here. Well, not here in New Hampshire, but here in the United States. Massachusetts, maybe.” Leonard leaned forward confidentially. “This could be a big break for me, Teddy. I mean, I’d still go to school here and get my history degree, but I’d have something waiting for me when I got out.” Leonard looked as if he might cry from joy and Teddy’s stomach did the same somersault it had the night he’d resorted to prayer. “Don’t say anything, promise? I know you won’t. You’re the best friend I’ve got here and I trust you.” Then Leonard reached out and touched Teddy’s hand on top of the table and answered a prayer. “You’re a good guy, Teddy.”

Teddy felt his hand go hot and his brain go cold. He shot up from the table with such force his tin plate clattered to the floor. “Don’t do that,” Teddy commanded. “Not ever.”

With that, Teddy ran from the Collective and out to the campus’s far field. When he made it halfway across, he stood in the damp morning grass and leaned over with his hands on his knees and was sick. He stayed that way for some time, fearing he might collapse if he straightened his spine. Bent over, Teddy fought against something inside himself that he couldn’t name and was sick again. Maybe the problem was that the horse hadn’t been trained at all. Maybe Teddy had let it out to pasture before it had learned a single thing. Teddy remembered the woman and the show horse. He remembered her whip, rare but ready. He wondered what kind of horse she had ever had to use it on. Maybe it wasn’t on one that was too wild, but on one that was too mild. Teddy spit into the grass and put his hands on his hips. He decided that was the case. If he didn’t act fast, Leonard would wither before Thanksgiving. Teddy frowned for a long time at a span of yellow maples. When he had come up with a good plan, he went on to class empty-handed so he wouldn’t have to go back and chance Leonard.

Teddy’s original plan was to feed Leonard a few pot brownies in the common room. A gathering of Collectives would put on some Pink Floyd, pass around a plate of cosmic fudge, and the next thing everyone knew, Leonard would break free of his cornhusk. It would be like attending the birth of a baby. Everyone Teddy ran the idea past thought it was the greatest undertaking the Collective could ever attempt. But then things got out of control. Teddy made the mistake of mentioning Leonard’s war hobbies. He made the mistake of mentioning the Washington teeth and Tecumseh and the goat in the chimney and the colonial boots. He made the mistake of picking Leonard’s dorm room lock while Leonard was at class and taking a bunch of Collectives on a tour of Leonard’s collectibles.

They tried on his wigs. They tried on his tricornered hat. They laughed and laughed until they had a better idea than pot brownies in the common room.

“A tea party,” someone suggested.

“Like a Boston one,” someone countered.

At that point, Teddy knew it was beyond him. But having it beyond him relieved him of responsibility, so Teddy gave his blessing. An enthusiastic one.

“Your only job is to get him there,” Howie Ames said.

“Dressed as George Washington,” Gavin Thomas said.

Leonard wasn’t too keen on going in uniform after what Teddy had told him about the original flower children, but after a few brownies, Leonard didn’t know Illinois from Nebraska.

“You look great, Peoria,” Teddy said, as he buttoned Leonard’s waistcoat. “More all-American than ever.”

Leonard didn’t respond. His eyes were big and black, as empty as a shark’s. Teddy equipped Leonard with a cardboard musket and straightened his wig and the two presidents went out to the far field where a bonfire the size of a teepee raged.

“They’re coming!” someone shouted, when they saw Teddy and Leonard approaching.

“Who’s coming?” a chorus asked.

“The British!” another chorus answered. “The British! The British are coming!”

Though incorrect, Teddy found this hilarious, but Leonard, in the flickering, distant glow, stopped in terror.