The Lesser Blessed (10 page)

“It’s not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about us,” Jed would explain over and over again. “I don’t want to lose what we’ve got.”

My mom would say something to him in a calm voice, too low for me to hear. Jed would quiet. I became still, became like death, and prayed to God they’d fuck.

I came home one day and Jed was chopping wood for the wood stove. The days were getting colder and we had had our first couple of snowfalls. Hallowe’en had passed, and surprisingly, the snow hadn’t
stayed. I put on a pair of Jed’s old coveralls, ones he had “forgotten” the last time he left. I loaded up the wheelbarrow while Jed chopped, then I stacked the wood by the porch. After we finished, we took leaks side by side.

“What do you figure there, Jed?”

“I figure,” he said, looking down and flexing his ass cheeks, “it couldn’t be too much bigger. ”

“Seriously.” I smiled.

“I figure,” he said, shivering from a soothing piss, “you can jiggle, you can dance, but the last two drops always go in your pants!”

I laughed at that one.

“I mean, what do you figure about Simmer?”

“Well,” he said, putting his thumb over his right nostril and blowing out a thick gob of snot into the air, “I figure it’s not going to be good trapping this year.”

“No?” I asked. “How come?”

“When you have lots of snow, the animals follow the trappers’ Ski-Doo trails and get caught in the traps. If there’s hardly any snow, the animals wander around and don’t have to stick to the Ski-Doo tracks.”

He put his thumb over his left nostril and blew another gob out onto the frozen ground.

“Can you do that yet?” he asked.

“Naw. Don’t want to, either.”

“No? They call that a trapper’s blow. It’s essential if you want to pick up women. They love it.”

“Yeah,” I answered. “Real classy.”

I waited. I think Jed knew what I was getting at.

“Larry,” he said, “your mom is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s just like I’ve been given a second chance. I don’t want to let her go.”

“Did you tell her that?”

He looked away. “No.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Mahsi. Hey? You know if my box of tapes is still around?”

Jed had this little cardboard box of tapes, mostly CCR and John Fogerty. Whenever Jed left, Mom would threaten to throw them out, but I always talked her out of it. Sometimes, when I’d come home, she’d be listening to John Fogerty turned low and she’d be crying, missing Jed.

“She hid them downstairs, behind the furnace.”

Jed smiled and looked up to the sky. He mouthed a “Thank you, God” and started to do a little jig.

“She couldn’t shake old Jed, eh? Boys, that’s good to hear.”

“Naw,” I joked, “she knew you’d come crawling back.”

“Time for the pythons to do their magic,” he growled.

“Come to papa,” I said.

With that we wrestled in the snow. Jed gave me the back-breaker but went easy on me. I gave him a few bannock slaps to the chest but he counteracted them with a souplex and a leg drop. Jed won like always—but this time it took him longer. Johnny had been teaching me the ways of Ninjalics.

Jed and I lay on our backs in the snow, looking up, breathing hard. Our steam rose together to the crystal blue sky.

“Clouds look like dry fish,” Jed said.

They did.

“So you got a little trap-line started yet?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Honeys. Got any queens lined up?”

“Sort of.”

“My man,” he smiled.

“Jed.” I said. “Don’t go.”

He looked at me and winked. “I don’t want to, partner. I really don’t want to.”

Our steam rose together as the snow sparkled on our faces.

There was the annual November dance coming up. Usually I’m a wallflower, but this year I decided I wanted to dance. Clarence Jarome was on stage playing the hits. Everybody was dancing away. Sure enough, all the boys danced the same: left right, left right. But the girls danced just like they did on
Soul Train.
Man, they could really shake it.

I didn’t really dance all that hot. One of the few times I had ever danced was with Mister Harris’s daughter a year before. She was on her break from private school down south. The song was “Dancing in the Dark” by Bruce Springsteen.

I danced like Jed told me. I closed my eyes and just let the music move me. I started with my feet and got with the beat and then I let the rhythm rise to my hips and then to my chest and even with my eyes closed I wasn’t bumping into anyone. I knew I was smiling and it felt so good. Pretty soon I got confident and started spinning around to the song and singing along, and Mister Harris’s daughter stopped dancing right when I was dancing deadly. She grabbed me and shook me.

“You can stop the thing with the arms!” she hollered.

She didn’t have to go ballistic on me. I just walked the hell out of there and went to bed early.

But this year I decided I was going to have a great time. If you make up your mind about something like that, you’d be surprised at how often it works. I knew Johnny wouldn’t show up, and that was just fine with me. Ever since the Floaters, I’d been sticking close to home. Maybe I’d see Juliet. Oh man, what I’d give to ...

“Larry!” a voice called out. I looked and I saw her. She cut through the crowd and boy, she looked good. She was wearing a tight shirt and my favourite black jeans, the ones that hugged her hips and thighs. Man, if she were to fall over right then, I’d hump her leg!

“Hey, handsome!” she said as she crashed into me.

“Hey,” I said, composing myself. I could smell the sour sting of booze on her breath and she had a smoke in her hand. She looked kind of rough. Her hair wasn’t all that perfect and her eyes looked kind of red.

“Wanna dance?”

“I kinda just got here.”

“Oh, come on, Larry. I’ve been wanting to get you on the dance floor forever.”

“Whoah,” I said. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She leaned her leg into mine and moved it to the beat. Damn, I wished I was sitting down. My little fireman was getting huge!

“Is there anything wrong?” she asked, and looked at me. She was pretty short, so I could look down her shirt. I could see the accent of her breasts, handfuls, and she saw that I was looking.

“No,” I squeaked, “mithin’.”

“Good,” she giggled. “I’m glad.”

“Where’s Johnny?” I tested.

“Mister Hay River?” she said, looking away. “Who cares?”

The music stopped and a slow waltz began. It was Night Ranger’s “Sister Christian.” “Oh, Larry,” she dropped her cigarette and held my hand. “This is my favourite. Come on.”

“Okay,” I said, not wanting to blow my chance. “Lemme get rid of my coat.”

I ran across the foyer and put my coat in the closet. I raced back and Juliet led me to the back of the gym, to where it was dark. Usually people went there to neck. She wrapped her arms around me and I wrapped mine around her. She pulled me close and ran her fingers through my hair.

“‘I won’t worry and I won’t fret,’ ” she sang, “‘because there ain’t no law against it yet.’ ”

I made a sound but it didn’t come out. I closed my eyes and she buried her head in my chest.

“You know,” she said and looked up, “there was this guy I knew once. His name was Larry. He was pretty cool, that Larry, but he was real quiet. You could tell a lot went on in that mind of his, but he kept it to himself. And Larry liked to play guitar, except it was always the same note. He would just strum it day after day after day. One day, this angel came down to see him and said, ‘Larry, that note of yours is wonderful. We’re really happy you like it. But do you think you could spread it out, you know, try a little something new? Like the other musicians?’ Larry just looked at the angel and said, ‘Those musicians are looking for the right notes. I’ve already found mine.’ ”

Oh, if ever I had wanted to melt into liquid and seep into somebody’s mouth, it was then. I held her as she undid the buttons on my shirt. I started to look around. Nobody was watching. She started to kiss me and grind herself around my leg. I closed my eyes, and she moved over to my fire-ant nipple. Woo hoo! I could feel her hot tongue; I moved my hands lower. I squeezed her patty-cake ass. I wasn’t shy any more. I kissed her hair, then her mouth, and it opened. She lent me her tongue and, somehow, I knew what to do. Yeah, I could taste the booze and nicotine. I wanted more. I ground my body with hers and she hugged me hot.

“Baby,” I said, “if you and I lived in a skyscraper, you could hear my love for you six floors up.”

“Oh, Larry,” she replied, giving me a squeeze, “that’s so romantic.”

I pulled a tough-guy special and said, “Yeah, baby. Yeah. Let’s put the ‘s’ back in sin.”

She pulled me down and breathed into my ear, “Let’s go.”

I buttoned my shirt. She took my hand and we started to leave by the back door. I didn’t know where she was taking me, but I was more than happy to go. Shit! I thought, my jacket.

“Juliet,” I said. “I have to go get my jacket.”

“Hurry up, Larry!”

I sprinted through the gym, saying, “Holy shit, holy shit!” I
grabbed my jacket out of the closet and ran through the gym, but I couldn’t find Juliet. Oh, the panic! I was just about hollering. Where was she?

Jazz was walking towards me with his arms out. He was wearing his tight little Nike sweat suit, the one that showed off his skinny ass, and he still wore his nose brace. It was white, and his eyes had raccooned black. He looked ridiculous, as if a black butterfly had landed on his face and spread its wings over his eyes.

“Fuckin’ foot-licker,” I thought. “What a putz.”

He strutted up to me, smiling, and I stopped, ready for a fight. People started to surround us like hungry panthers stalking, circling.

“Larry, my man,” he said, holding out his hand. “Long time no see.”

My mind raced, and I stammered, “Jazz, I’m sorry about your nose. Do you know where Juliet is ?” I shook his hand and he applied strong pressure. He was looking into me, and I was puzzled. Were we making up? Where was Juliet? Had she gone?

“I thought she was Johnny’s pussy,” he said. “I saw her over there,” and he pointed to the left. I couldn’t see very well because of lights thrown from the sound stage.

“Thanks!” I said, and ran past him. I heard someone call, “Hey, Rocky!”

I turned and I was hit. It felt like somebody took a jackhammer and hit me right in the ear. I saw stars as I went down. I felt something like a boot ram down on my neck. A white flash took me somewhere safe. When I came back, I could see my legs shaking. A million spider-bite stabs shot up my arms and legs, and I was convulsing. I could actually see myself convulsing. I could taste the blood in my mouth where I’d bitten my tongue. I could hear my father shiver again as I brought the hammer down and down and down and, for a second, I could see the stars before they went out. I could see the Blue Monkeys standing with steam coming out their eyes and I went
black and heard the hoofs scraping the pavement before he kicked again. I was close to the beast, and he was laughing.

“Now we’re even!” Jazz yelled. He was dancing around, holding his arms up. I didn’t try to stand. In my head, I could hear Johnny’s voice: “Just stay down.”

There was a wave of people tackling Jazz. Mongoloid Moose pulled me up. “Juliet?” I thought. “Juliet?” I scanned the couples on the floor, and then I saw her. She was dancing, wrapping her arms around someone else. As I looked, she buried her head in his chest. He had his eyes closed and his mouth open. Johnny! It was Johnny, and he was grabbing her ass, too!

I turned around and saw people pushing Jazz away. He still had his arms raised, and he was laughing. I felt with gentle fingers for any rips in my scalp but couldn’t find any. I ran by the track and down the street. I didn’t even stop to put on my damn jacket. When I got home, I ran some cold water and looked at my face in the mirror. I’d have my first shiner since the Darcy incident, and my head was pounding. I stood there for the longest time, feeling the throbbing of my skull.

If I could ride the waves of pain, I could remember things. I could feel them. I got a flash of Rae and our house; me standing over him; fire roaring from room to room; me standing in the crowd with a box of matches and the hammer; oh God in Heaven forgive me, my hammer, my secret tusk; me standing over Dad and bringing it down, slamming it down, knowing Dad’s passed out, knowing he’s dreaming. I wanted to take it away, the sin and dirt and cum and blood in my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes were crying. My lips were split. I wanted to sew stitches through my lips. I thought he wanted me to pray when he said kneel down. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted stitches. I thought, Oh God, why is he feeding me mushroom juice? I couldn’t breathe. He jammed it so far in I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to sew stitches through my lips so he could never fuck me there again. Mother. The flame light. The flame rush. You
stand there frozen. Why am I ? Why am I—the snow. My face. My skin. It’s not supposed to be black.

When I woke up, I was on the bathroom floor, bleeding from my ears. I went into my mom’s room but she and Jed weren’t there. I made it to my bed and slept for way too long.

I was underwater, but I was coming up for air. I was swimming through Missus Stephenson’s legs. She was my nurse, and she did this cheezy exercise with the “pigs” and the lesser burned. We all had to hold our breath and swim through her legs. Except, as I was swimming through, I noticed that she had stumps for legs and that her feet and shins were wooden. I tried to swim faster through her legs, and as I did she began to bleed. There was meat in her blood and I was swimming in it. I tried to rise but I couldn’t. I tried to breathe but I couldn’t. I tried to scream but I couldn’t. When I surfaced, I was in the sniff shack with my cousins. I stunk of gasoline and my father’s blood. My hands were sticky. It was in my hair. We were all sniffing and Franky had a nosebleed. He was staggering. There was red paint splashed on his shoes. He was crying. His father was punched out somewhere, bleeding daddy blood. My cousin Alex was crying, too. His sister was holding a torn starfish between her legs. And we wept because we knew we had no one. No one to remember our names, no one to cry them out, no one to greet us naked in snow, to mourn us in death, to feel us there, in our sacred place. We wept because we did not belong to anyone. I cried too for what had to happen. Our shadows were black. Mine was the only one with fire in its eyes. I spilled two jerry cans of gasoline empty and there was a lake in the room. Other kids had paint bags around their faces. Andy’s was leaking blood and propane, so much propane you could push the air, the water-weight air. And me lighting a hundred sticky matches, thinking, “The angels are igniting. Their thoughts are fire-strike matches.”