Payton Hidden Away (6 page)

Even though I graciously agreed
to give up what might have been the most important day of my young life,
Ritchie is pouting as we make our way out of the park, and to make sure I know
it, he’s wearing a scowl while refusing to look at me.

“Where are we
going?” I ask. “What’s so important?”

No answer.

“You just made
me walk away from my girlfriend, and I did it for you, so you’d better open
that pie hole of yours and tell me why.”

The Ritchie
Hudson silent treatment continues.

“Ritchie, if
you’re planning on pouting like a little bitch, I swear to God I’m leaving you
here.”

He frowns.
“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.
If you were sorry, you would have clued in to the fact that she and I were at
the top of the hill and away from prying eyes for a reason.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not
sorry.”

“I sorta am.”

“Where are we
going?”

He opens up into
a wide grin. “To make all your dreams come true.”

“My dreams were on
the verge of coming true, stupid.”

“I mean, like your
other dreams.”

“What are you
talking about?”

“Trust me.” He
rips my book-bag from my hands and tosses it into the ditch. “Now we’re even.”

“You’re such a…”
I climb into the ditch to retrieve it. “Now everything’s wet. My books, my notes—everything.”

“Quit yer cryin’.
You’re acing all your classes anyway.”

“Finals are in
two weeks, asshole. I need those notes.”

“What difference
does it make? You already got accepted. In two more weeks you’re all the way
gone. A new zip code, a new city, a new life. You’re leaving us all behind
anyway. You might as well skip finals and leave town now.”

“Is that what
this is about?”

“Is that what
what is about?”

“What did I ask
you like ten minutes ago? Where. Are. We. Going?”

“The one place
that might convince you to stay.”

“It’s not like
I’m leaving forever.”

“Yeah, well once
you see this, you might stick around. This is, like, the most amazing thing
ever.”

“What is?”

“I seen Sharon on my way past, and she was sunbathing. Nude.”

“Sharon who?” I ask. “Sharon Daniels?”

“No, Sharon
fucking Stone. How many Sharons do you know?”

“What do I care
if she’s sunbathing nude?” I ask. “Ritchie, I’ve got a girlfriend, and if you
hadn’t noticed, I was already on second base when you so rudely interrupted.”

“Kristie’s
cute,” Ritchie says. “I’ll give her that. She’s cute, but she ain’t no Sharon
Daniels.”

“And it’s not
like you can just
accidentally
walk by her backyard,” I argue. “What
were you doing, peeping through her fence?”

“There wasn’t
nothin’ accidental about it. And it’s not like she was hiding. She’s just
making it easy. I think she likes it. Hell, if I had a body like that, I
would.”

“You’ve got a
body like a Mr. Potato Head. I’m going back.”

I even turn
away, but Ritchie grabs me by the arm. “You’re not going nowhere. This is a
life-changing moment. Trust me.”

“This is
pathetic. Seriously, you should be embarrassed,” I answer, but I follow anyway.

For the record, Sharon is over twenty one. Four years may not sound like a lot, but to an eighteen year
old kid, it’s the difference between ‘girlfriend’ material and ‘untouchable’
hotness. Her dad is a salesman who’s always traveling, and her mom is a flight
attendant who’s also largely absent. Sharon never went to college, so until she
sorts through the long list of potential husbands begging for her attention,
she’s staying at home on her parents’ dime. She’s an only child, spoiled from
birth and starved for attention, and to her benefit, she has the kind of body
that warrants attention, so she puts it on display, advertising to the highest
bidder.

Ritchie leads me
along an abandoned train track that runs up behind Sharon’s fenced in backyard.
It’s one of those wooden fences where the slats are four inches wide with only
a half-inch gap in between. The fence is old and weathered, the planks gray and
shriveled from brutal summers under the hot sun. I feel like a thief stealing
my way into someone’s private life. The afternoon is dry, the bugs out in force
and the ground under our feet crunchy and loud enough to give us away.

“Are you sure
about this?” I ask.

“I will be if
you’d keep it down,” Ritchie hisses. “Come on.” He leads along the wooden
privacy fence that guards the Daniels back yard. I’m getting nervous. If we get
caught…

Ritchie stops
beside a knothole, crouches over and peers through. Standing, he looks at me
with a big teddy-bear grin and nods. “Take a look.”

I crouch down
and peer through the hole, and sure enough, there’s Sharon Daniels lying on her
back on a floating mattress in the middle of their swimming pool wearing
nothing more than her birthday suit. Her breasts are soft round mounds on her
chest, her nipples a dark pink. Her legs are long, tanned and toned from hours
upon hours of jogging. Her stomach is as flat as the sea after a storm. And right
there, as if her legs are runways leading all the way to Heaven, there is a
patch of brown curly hair at the center of every teenage boy’s universe. This
is the first woman I’ve seen naked in real life. It’s so much more amazing than
Playboy or some still life photograph. This is a girl every guy in town has
probably jerked off to at one point or another.

“Lemme see,”
Ritchie whispers, and I back off a step so he can look. He shakes his head,
licks his lips and sighs quietly. “Unbelievable.”

“This is wrong,”
I say. “I mean, we’re spying on her.”

“It’s right,”
Ritchie replies as he stands. Sweat is running in beads from his forehead. “It’s
right in so many ways.”

“Maybe we should
go.”

“Maybe we should
stay, and maybe you should be a little quieter so we don’t get caught.” He
bends down again, closes one eye and peers thought the knothole with the other.
His mouth curls into a smile. “That body was
made
to be seen.”

“Come on. Let’s
go.”

“Just take one
more look,” he says, backing away. “One more look, and if you still wanna go,
we’ll go.”

“You are such a
pervert.”

“Oh, and you’re
not? You’re just playin’ it cool ‘cuz you got a girl, and you want to act all
non-challent.”

“Nonchalant, dumb
ass.”

“That’s what I
said.”

“I’m not
looking.”

“Look.”

“I’m not
looking.”

“Look, or I’ll
yell so loud the whole neighborhood will know you’re here.”

“You’re such a—”

Ritchie fills
his lungs, puffing out his chest, ready to unleash a howl that will not only
alert Sharon to our position but everyone else within a fifty mile radius.

“Fine,” I hiss.
I shake my head and turn back to the fence. Crouching down, I peer through the
hole. By this time, she’s slipped off her inflatable raft and is swimming
toward the ladder. Her movements are graceful—sleek. The angel on one shoulder
is telling me to look away, while the devil on the other is insisting nobody
gets hurt. Besides, the devil argues, Ritchie’s probably right. She
wants
to be seen.

Sharon climbs out of the pool and turns to face the sun, giving me a perfect view of her
bare backside while she squeezes water from her hair. Of course, she has
absolutely no idea that I’m peering through her fence or that I’m even here,
enjoying her body in all of its glorious—

She turns
suddenly, as if she’s heard something, and looks directly at the knothole I’m
peering through.
Directly
at the knothole. We even lock eyes for a
second before she looks away. Maybe she didn’t see me. Even so, my heart is now
thundering in my chest, but I keep watching as she prances slowly across the
grass and sits on the porch swing only a few feet away. She’s sitting on the
swing, buck naked, kicking her feet out as she swings back and forth. She knows
I’m here. She has to. How couldn’t she? She’s just swinging away, her wet hair
dancing against her bare skin.

“Oh my god,” I
mouth silently.

“Lemme see!”
Ritchie hisses.

I raise a finger
to my lips and point at the knothole before drawing a finger across my throat.
Ritchie urgently points at himself then the hole. I back off so he can look,
and immediately his eyes widen with amazement, his mouth dropping open. I have
to admit, watching his expression is almost as entertaining as watching Sharon.

“Dude,” he
whispers.

“I know.”

“Dude.”

“We should go.”

“Kiss my grits,
you got a girlfriend,” he whispers back. “I got calluses.”

“You’re going to
get caught.”

“Find your own
peephole.”

“That’s not
the…” I’m frustrated. “That’s not my point.”

He just waves me
off.

I flip him off
before walking the fence until I find another peephole. This one’s not as big,
and the angle isn’t as good. I can see a bare leg and a white thigh, but that’s
about it. Even so, god sure knew what he was doing when he made Sharon Daniels.
She swings a few more moments before getting out of the swing. She watching
something, and I think it’s a butterfly. Or maybe just a bug. No, it has to be
a butterfly, because she’s following it, and why wouldn’t she? It’s perfectly
natural for naked girls to frolic after butterflies for no particular reason…

She’s walking my
way, allowing me a full view of incredibly nude body. Sharon stops only a few
feet away and leans over to smell a flower on the butterfly bush the Daniels’s
have planted beside the birdbath.

The stupid
bushes are blocking my view.

Sharon stands, a butterfly perched on her forefinger, and she’s facing me, but her eyes are
locked on the winged caterpillar. She looks amazing. Perfect. This is the most
amazing moment of my entire life. It’s the—

She looks up and
locks eyes with mine, and it’s like there is no fence. Or a peephole for that
matter. It’s like I’m standing naked in front of her instead of the other way
around. My blood freezes, my heart stops and my knees cramp. Then she winks.
She actually winks. It’s only a tiny gesture as if not to give herself away to
Ritchie, but it’s definitely a wink. She knows I’m here. But instead of
freaking out or getting mad or flirting or waving, she just stands there
looking at me while allowing me to look at her. She holds that pose for what
feels like forever before she turns and prances toward the house. She pulls
open the slider, steps inside and disappears. I stand back, barely able to
breathe. I can die now. I can die a happy man having lived a full life. I just
walked on the moon.

Ritchie
approaches and slaps me on the back while shaking his head in disbelief. “Can
you believe what just happened?”

“You’re
forgiven,” I answer.

Ritchie runs his
fingers through his curly black hair. “Damn right I am.”

Damn right. Damn
right he’s forgiven, damn right he’s my best friend, damn right Payton is my
hometown, Sharon is our angel and Kristie is my princess. Teenagers can spend
entire summers killing time doing dumb stuff like this. The sun never sets, the
leaves never fall, and youth lasts forever. We’re rebels with a one-track mind.
We’re lost when it comes to logic. Beer, girls and friends. That’s what it’s
all about.

“Come on,”
Ritchie says. “We need to celebrate.”

Damn right we
do.

“Where we goin’?” I ask,
following my friend back along the rusty old tracks.

“I got beers.”

“And I gotta
study. And since my books are ruined, thanks to you, I have to start all over.”

“You are such a
baby,” Ritchie snaps. “I ain’t got better than a C-minus on any tests yet this
year, and here we are, both on the verge of graduating at the same exact time.
Imagine that.”

I can’t imagine
that, but I also can’t argue with that, and I can’t help but grin as I follow
my best friend back to his place. We sneak into the basement where Ritchie
unveils a stash of bad beer he’s got hidden under his dad’s workbench. He
tosses me one, and we start drinking while playing video games on mute as his
parents shuffle around upstairs. I’ve known Ritchie since we were eight, but
I’ve only met his parents a couple of times. Ritchie doesn’t bring me here. He
doesn’t bring anyone here. He doesn’t often talk about his parents, and on the
rare occasions that he does, he doesn’t have a lot of nice things to say.

His mom is
sheepish—all painted smiles. She’s the kind of woman who makes the best of a
bad situation. And even when she knows things are bad, she’ll turn the other
cheek and ask that the rest of us do too.

Ritchie’s dad is
different story. He’s tough. I don’t think he likes kids. I’m not even sure he
likes his own son. He definitely doesn’t like me. He doesn’t even pretend to.
Ritchie and I met back when we were kids as I was getting pummeled by two other
guys. Ritchie took my back and changed the game. His dad knows this, which
means—in his eyes—I’m weak, and he doesn’t tolerate weakness. He was a Marine,
and now he’s a truck driver, and to him, I’m just the neighborhood ‘wimp’ who
can’t take care of himself.

From down here
in the basement, we can’t actually hear what they’re saying up there, but we
can hear enough to know they’re arguing, and as the beer settles in, I’m
starting to feel all giggly, and it’s hard to keep quiet.

“Keep it down,”
Ritchie hisses. “My dad catches us down here, and he’ll whoop both our asses.”

“I though you
said your dad was your hero?”

“My dad’s an
asshole, and if he catches us down here drinking his beer, he’ll kill us both.”

“He won’t kill
us.”

“Actually, he
might.”

“Then why are we
here?”

Ritchie grins.
“’Cuz sometimes it feels good to be bad.”

“I’m leaving,” I
say, setting the controller down.

“You’re staying.
Just keep it down.”

“You’ve told me
things about your dad, and I don’t think I need to see it up close.”

“Just be quiet,
and we’ll be fine. He never comes down here.”

“What if this
time he does?”

“Just be quiet!”
Ritchie hisses. He shakes his head as he returns his attention to the game. I
sit motionless, not sure what to do. Ritchie looks over. “You gonna play or
not?”

“Not sure.”

“Just ‘cuz he’s
up there don’t mean we can’t have fun down here.”

I smile and
reengage. What a day. What a perfect day. First Kristie, then Sharon and now
Ritchie. My girl, my fantasy and my best friend. Not even Hollywood could
script something like this. When you’re seventeen, the world is limitless—even
in a shithole, going-nowhere town like Payton.

“You don’t wanna
leave,” Ritchie mumbles, tearing me from my moment of self-actualization and
returning me to his basement and this lousy couch that has to be at least fifty
years old. The fibers feel like they’re attaching themselves to my butt.

“What?” I ask.

“Leave,” Ritchie
responds while keeping his mind and his eye on the game. He’s contorting his
face and moving his arms around as he manages the controls as if the added
animation will make all the difference in the world. “When we graduate.”

“This again?” I
look at him a moment before coarsely returning my attention to the game. “I
told you, it’s not like I won’t be back.”

“For what,
Christmas?” he shakes his head. “Don’t give me that. You ain’t comin’ back.”

“I’m coming
back. This is still my home.”

“Then why even go?
I mean, why go off to college if this is where you want to be? You don’t need a
fancy degree to be successful here.”

“I’m coming back
to visit. I never said anything about staying.”

He frowns,
shaking his head. “I’m just—” Then suddenly, his face contorts, and he
grimaces, closing his left eye and turning his head. He slaps at the right side
of his skull before shaking it off.

“You okay?” I
ask.

“Fine.”

“You don’t look
fine.”

“I get
headaches.”

“What kind of
headaches?”

“Headaches.”

“Yeah, but
still.”

“It’s cool.”

“It’s not cool.”

“I take
aspirin.”

“And that
works?”

“What do you
care?”

I shake my head.
“God, Rich, grow up, will you? I have a chance to actually do something with my
life. Why can’t you be supportive? As my friend?”

“But this is
home. You even said it yourself. This is home. This is where we’re supposed to
raise our families. Here you don’t gotta worry about things like money. You
don’t need a fancy degree to live the dream.”

“But there’s a
whole world out there.”

“Yeah, but this
is home. Here I’m somebody.”

“I’m not talking
about you.”

“I’m the best
pitcher in five counties.”

“Ten.”

“I
can’t
leave.”

“No one says you
have to.”

“But I don’t
wanna stay if you’re not gonna be here.”

“Look, even if I
go, you’re still my brother. I’ll drag your hairy ass with me.” I shower the
enemy with digital bullets, bringing dire consequences to my opponents who
‘oof’ and ‘grr’ in digital death.

“Yeah, you say
that now.”

“I don’t get
you. You’re not stupid. So, take some courses at the community college over in
Lawton. Get your grades up, and come with me.”

“I wouldn’t shit
in that town.”

“That’s a
colorful image.”

“My future’s
plain as ice. I’m—”

“Rice.”

“Huh?”

“Plain as rice.”

“My point is, I’m
gonna work for Taylor Collision all my life, and that’s just the way it is.
They’re already prepping me for when Jeff retires, and I already do 60% of the
runs as it is.”

“You should be
thinking about applying for baseball scholarships. Any school in the nation
would be stupid not to look at your numbers.”

He considers for
a second before again shaking his head. “I can’t do it out there. This is my
town. These are my fans. Here I’m somebody.”

“I don’t get it.
You can—”

“No,
you
don’t
get it.” His eyes are welling. “You’re not even…” He turns back to the TV.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“I’m not even
what?”

“You’re always
saying I’m not stupid, but I am.” He slams the controller on the couch cushion
beside him, the words ‘Game Over’ flashing on the screen. “They tested my
brain, man, and those tests say that I’m three points above being legally
retarded. That means I’m smart enough to know I’m stupid. Payton is all I’m
capable of. I’m not a big league pitcher. I can barely drive a tow truck. But
it’s enough to afford a little house and a coupla kids, and people will still
want to buy me a beer even when I’m old and fat because at one time, a long
time ago, I was pretty good at throwing a baseball.”

“You’re not
retarded,” I repeat. “If you were retarded, we would have nothing in common and
we wouldn’t be friends, but we do, and we are. We’ve been best friends our
whole lives. Besides, those tests are rigged. I scored low too.”

“Whatever.”

“The hell with
the tests. You’re not stupid. Don’t let them get to you. You’re tougher than
that. And you’re the best pitcher anyone around here’s ever seen. Stop whining
like a pussy, get off your ass and
make
them pay attention. Jesus, Rich,
let them
see
you.”

He pouts.

“You know what I
mean,” I grumble. “My vulgar, blasphemous language aside.”

“I just don’t
want to lose my best friend.”

“You’re not
losing your best friend.” This is weird. My great day has suddenly turned into
something sour. I’ve never seen Ritchie like this before. He doesn’t lean on
anyone—especially like this. He sounds weak, and I don’t know how to support
him.

“You’re movin’ to
another state,” He murmurs.

“Yes, I’m moving
to another state. For a little while. I’ve been working my ass off these last
twelve years so I’d have the opportunity to move to another state. UGA opened
their arms to me, so I’m flying south.”

Ritchie looks
depressed.

“Look,” I say,
knowing any explanation I give won’t explain a thing. Not to him. “I want a
lucrative future. I want something more than Payton County. Payton is nice.
Payton’s like a…like a…” I struggle to come up with a proper analogy. “Payton’s
like an Oreo cookie. An Oreo cookie is nice and good and all that, but if you
had to choose between an Oreo cookie and a whole cake, an entire cake with the
works—white frosting and chocolate chips and all that, which would you choose?”

Ritchie sits quietly.

“You’d pick the
cake,” I say.

“I might not.”

“Trust me, you’d
pick the cake.”

Ritchie says
nothing. He just stares at the TV.

“Payton doesn’t
have much,” I try. “It’s a population nothing, prospects zero small town out in
the middle of nowhere.”

“Can’t you at
least stay through the summer?”

“I can’t. I already
accepted that job at the university bookstore.”

“But you already
got a job here.”

“The university
pays more, Rich, and the job starts in June. If I work through the summer, my
first semester is already paid for.”

“But school
won’t be over yet.”

“For us seniors
it will be.”

“The baseball
season won’t be over yet.”

I bite my
tongue, considering my words carefully. “And I’m sorry about that. I mean it.
I’d love to be able to hang around long enough to see you finish out the
season, but I can’t. But if we make the state championship, I’ll come back and
watch you pitch. I promise.”

“Don’t make no
promises you can’t keep,” he murmurs. “
Bro
.”

“Don’t
guilt-trip me.”

“I ain’t doin’
nothin’ of the sort.”

“Are we going to
play or argue like little old women?”

“We’re playing,”
he grumbles.

“Good, then
let’s play.”

“Fine,” he
snaps, picking up his controller and turning his attention back to the TV. This
is such an odd conversation, and not a pleasant one either. He nods, and I feel
like I’m looking out for a little brother. Not that I have a little brother,
which just amplifies the weirdness especially when it’s usually Ritchie looking
out for me. Ritchie thinks for a moment, his eyes distant even though fixed on
the screen across the room. Finally, he swigs from his beer, burps and nods. “Are
we playin’ or what?” he snaps.

“We’re playing.”

“Well, you got
the thing,” he argues. “Press ‘play.’”

I smile as I
turn back to the screen and resume action. The battlefield livens and we are
tossed back into the action, our guns blazing as we shower our opponents with
bullets. Digital blood smacks the screen and we are amazed by how far graphics
have come in only a few years.

“Wow,” he
whispers, this glow all around him—an innocence, and for me, it’s a revelation.
Not the game or the beer or even Sharon Daniels. But Ritchie. Underneath his
tough-guy persona there’s a little boy who’s terrified of everything; school,
work, life, girls—the whole world. Even me. He’s afraid of growing up, despite
how much he hates his parents and the shackles they hold him back with. No
disrespect to God or anything, but Jesus Christ, that’s a lot to deal with at
that age.