The Obstacle Course (26 page)

What a dumb fuck—I shouldn’t have said that, I’d known it as soon as the words came out of my big mouth.

“It’s dark, there ain’t gonna be hardly any cars on the road. Not any that’ll pick me up,” I added. Hell, it was the truth, speak it.

“Be grateful for what I gave you, boy. It was still a cut-rate price. Now beat it out of here, I’ve got to get my beauty sleep.”

She opened the door to her apartment. “Feel free to come back any time, and bring your friends. Ruby does not discriminate who she fucks, either by race, creed, or size of dick.” She laughed. I didn’t.

“I could send it to you,” I offered, grasping for straws. “I could send you the whole ten.”

“A bird in the hand’s worth two in the bush. Or in your case, vice versa.” She stopped smiling. “Now get out, or there’ll be trouble.”

I didn’t know what kind of trouble she was talking about, but I wasn’t going to test her and find out. She could have some monster pimp with a twelve-inch switchblade waiting around the corner, I’ve heard all kinds of shit around that.

“See you around, Ruby,” I told her as I walked out, trying to affect a swagger.

“Bring money.” The door almost hit me on the ass as she slammed it.

I had no choice but to thumb it. Luck was with me; a taxicab deadheading to Mt. Rainier to pick up a fare stopped for me within five minutes. A nice guy, too, even if he was colored.

Even with that free ride I barely caught the last county bus home, with hardly a minute to spare. At least Ruby had left me my bus pass. The bus dropped me off on Defense Highway. I didn’t even want to think what would’ve happened to me if I’d missed it and had to hitchhike the rest of the way home, because by this time there were absolutely no cars on the road.

As I got near my house, I heard the town clock tolling midnight. All the lights were out. I tried the front door, which was locked, naturally. I could have opened it with my key, but then I remembered my old man might be zonked out on the couch, sleeping off a night of drinking. If I woke him up this late I’d be road kill tomorrow, so I went around to the back, climbed up to my window on the second floor, and let myself in.

I sat on the edge of my bed and took off my wrinkled clothes, double-checking in my wallet to make sure I had her address, which I’d copied down on the sly while she was in the bathroom doing what it is women do after they’ve fucked. Even though she’d copped my remaining money I figured I should send her a couple bucks; I had lied to her, for one thing, and she deserved it, for standing up for me in the bar and feeding me dinner and cutting her price to fuck me.

Lying under the covers, I thought about her. I had her address, I could go back down there again. I could use my slow hand. I liked using it on myself, but I liked using it on a woman better.

M
Y ALARM DIDN’T GO
off, since I’d been so wound up when I went to bed I’d forgotten to set it, which made me late getting up, getting dressed, having breakfast, getting out of the house. I got lucky for once—my folks didn’t say a word about my coming home after midnight. My mom must’ve gone to bed early, like she usually does, and my old man was either sleeping off a pint of Four Buds or didn’t give a shit, or both.

The last warning bells were already ringing as I grabbed my books out of my locker and took off down the hall for homeroom. I was on a roll, starting to do good in school, I didn’t need another detention slip for being tardy.

So guess who I almost knocked over as I barrel-assed around the corridor?

“Roy!” Darlene meowed, smiling up at me like butter wouldn’t melt in her lying mouth. “You almost knocked me right off my feet.”

“Sorry,” I said, real brusquely, picking up her books, which I’d knocked over. “I’ve got to get a move on, I don’t want to be late, I’ve already seen Mr. Boyle too many times this year,” I told her impatiently, as I shoved the books into her arms.

I started off down the hall but she grabbed me by the elbow, stopping me.

“Roy, are you mad at me?”

“Who said I was?”

“You never met me at the fountain after lunch even though I waited for almost half an hour and I didn’t see you at all on the bus and you didn’t call me last night and now you’re not being very nice to me and I’d like to know why.”

Her lip was shaking like she was about to cry. Girls can do that, cry at the drop of a hat, even when they don’t mean it. Yesterday, I would’ve been all over her like a lovesick puppy dog, but today I was a new man, in more ways than one.

“Why don’t you ask Danny Detweiler why?”

“Why should I ask him? I don’t even like …” Her big baby-blues suddenly got real wide.

“Did you … were you
watching
us … that wasn’t even …”

I was already walking away, I didn’t need to hear any more.

“Roy, that wasn’t nothing!” she called after me. “I didn’t want to. He
forced
me to …”

Tell me another one, I muttered under my breath as I reached my homeroom door.

“Roy, he forced me! I swear he did!”

I turned back to her. She looked pathetic as hell, standing there in the empty corridor. She really was crying, too, I could see her mascara running down her cheeks. Tough titty for her; she’d had her chance, it wasn’t my fault she’d blown it. Fool me once, that’s life. Anybody can rise to the bait one time. But do it twice, I’m a prime asshole, and my mama didn’t raise no fools. I flat-out wasn’t interested in Darlene anymore—I had bigger and better plans for my future.

Even in the gloom of winter, when the trees are bare, the branches black and spindly, the trunks frozen, when the air is wet with foggy air rolling in from the Chesapeake Bay, Annapolis is a beautiful place, all over the town, especially the Academy; the snow is on the ground, the birds that stay here all year ’round are circling high above the stone buildings. In some ways I like it more then, because there aren’t as many people around, especially on weekdays, it’s only midshipmen and other Navy people, and me. Still, when spring comes, which it’s done this past week, overnight it seemed, everything suddenly turns green—the trees, the lawns and fields; the sky is blue instead of dull white like cataracts on old people’s eyes, the water in the bay and on the Severn River lightens up, the dark green-black foamy waves become more turquoise, and everything smells like an explosion of blooming. Then it’s incredible, it’s my favorite time of year.

When I was little this is when I would come. My mom and dad would bring me and Ruthie. We’d make a day of it, walking around the campus, at lunchtime eating ham-and-cheese sandwiches down by the water that my mom had brought from home, then at night feasting on crab at one of the restaurants in town, smashing the shells open at long tables covered with butcher paper, having a good old time, all of us. My old man wasn’t the asshole then that he is now—he still liked the idea of being a father, of having kids. We were little, we did what he told us, no lip, whatever he and my mom said was great. I remember this one time he bought a kite in Annapolis, a real box kite, and me and him spent a whole afternoon building it together and then we flew it out over all the boats in the harbor. It was only later that he became the sorry prick that we all know today, that my mom started jumping at his shadow, that Ruthie ignored him, that I both turned my back on him and did everything I could think of to piss him off.

It’s been a long time since things were good. We haven’t come up here as a family since I was nine. Now I come alone, and when it’s beautiful like this it makes me sad for the good old days.

I ran the course three times. It’s my marker, I have to do it a little bit, even when I don’t feel all that much like it. A ritual, like a dog pissing on a tree, to let other dogs know it’s his, keep away.

Something was different today. It was me—I had changed. The change had come fast, over the last couple months, since I’d met Admiral Wells and he’d taken me under his wing and talked to me about my future, going to Farrington Academy and then here. Before, even though I knew every nook and cranny of this place, I’d always felt like an outsider, an intruder—which I was—because I wasn’t a part of it, I was only here on a pass, I always knew my time would be up and I’d have to leave. Now I felt like I was part of it, that it was mine, waiting for me.

Melanie’s recital was set for Sunday afternoon at four o’clock. She had mailed my invitation to me at Admiral Wells’s house, since she didn’t know my address and I wasn’t about to give it to her. I hadn’t even given it to the admiral, or my phone number either, even though he’d hinted a few times it would be nice to be able to get in touch with me, in case something came up. I gave him a story about how my parents don’t like me using the phone, which is true enough, since my old man (my “father” to the admiral) uses the home phone a lot for his business, which is total bullshit. He could look it up, I guess, but there’s several families named Poole in Ravensburg, he’s too dignified to cold-call them one by one. I call the admiral every weekend before I’m scheduled to come over, and if he’s got other plans I move on, it’s no skin off my ass if I don’t go over there, it’s more of a habit than anything. Especially since I found out how much Mrs. Wells doesn’t like me, although she’s always nice to me in the flesh. People are like that, they’ll smile to your face, then they’ll knife you in the back when you aren’t looking.

One thing I’ve got to say about Admiral Wells—he was still on my side as much as ever, even after Mrs. Wells had put the kibosh on me. He and I had spent a Saturday afternoon filling out the Farrington application together, fudging it a little to make me look better. Instead of giving him my grades to send in, which would have been the kiss of death, I gave him a couple of my recent test papers, a math one and an essay I’d written in history class about the building of the Panama Canal. I’d gotten A’s on both, the first A’s I’d ever scored in my entire junior-high tenure. The admiral had especially liked the Panama Canal paper. I didn’t tell him it was mostly from a book I’d found in the county library. I put it in my own words, though, it wasn’t like I copied it out of the book line for line. Anyway, I’d gone all the way to Hyattsville to do it and it had taken me most of an entire day, so I figured I’d earned that A.

Melanie had written a note on my invitation: “I’m
really, really
”—she’d underlined both
reallys
—“looking forward to your coming, Roy. Every day when I practice I pretend I’m playing just for you. Melanie. P.S. I’ll be wearing a new dress. It won’t be like the one you saw me in last time. Wait and see.”

I folded it up and put it in my pocket, so the admiral wouldn’t see her handwriting on it. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her and me. Melanie was a nice girl. Too nice. I wasn’t in love with Darlene anymore, but I was way past girls like Melanie in experience, especially now, after that time I’d spent with Ruby. Anyway, I could see me bringing her around to Ravensburg for my friends to meet. They’d laugh my ass out of town, even if she did have knockers as big as grapefruits.

It hadn’t turned noon when I showed up at Admiral Wells’s house with the new clothes he’d bought me (that I’d had to sneak out of my own house). I was nervous about going to this concert. That’s one thing about being around Admiral Wells and Mrs. Wells, I’m always seeing stuff I’ve never seen or imagined before, and I always feel like I have to be on guard so I don’t fuck up. It makes me so nervous I get a headache sometimes when I come home from being with them. There are often guests at their house, I meet them and talk to them and act nice and normal, but inside it feels weird, like I’m not really there, just part of me is, the other part’s standing outside of me like a ghost, watching. No one seems to notice this, they all treat me okay, but I feel it. What happens when I’m feeling particularly uneasy is the admiral will put his hand on my shoulder, or ask me if I want a Coke, or say it’s time him and me worked on our models, and we’ll go downstairs by ourselves. It’s like he’s reading my mind.

“Pretty stuffy up there,” he’ll say, working on his model, standing at the bench next to me.

“It didn’t seem too bad.”

“Cooler down here.”

Then we’d just work. We can go an hour without saying anything, it doesn’t bother me and I can tell it doesn’t bother him. Maybe that’s one of the reasons he likes having me over, so he can get away from what’s going on in his own house.

The day before, yesterday afternoon, I’d gotten a fresh haircut. I didn’t go to Ernie’s, my usual place, where everybody I know goes. I went across town, to a barbershop where they didn’t know me and where none of my friends get their ears lowered. Only old guys get their hair cut in this place, it’s so square even kids like Sarkind don’t go to it.

“Give me a regular haircut,” I told the barber, scrunching down in the chair. I felt like I was going to the dentist.

“A trim?” He was a short little guy who sported a pencil mustache and wore too much after-shave.

“Just a regular cut,” I said. “Don’t scalp me or anything, but shorter.” I pointed to a picture on his wall, one of those Wildroot ads. “Like that.”

“Robert Taylor,” he said. “Without the wave,” he added, pushing his fingers around on my skull like it was a bowling ball, “you don’t have the body for it, your hair’s straight as a string. But I’ll make you look good.”

It didn’t turn out as bad as I’d dreaded. It was pretty square, but I could still comb the sides back. What they call the Ivy League look, like kids in Catholic schools have to wear. I felt kind of naked, as the skin around my ears and the back of my neck was pale and stubbly, it was much more military than my old style, more like Annapolis. They’d rib me at school, but I could handle that. I wanted to look right for this recital, so the admiral wouldn’t be embarrassed by me, not that he’d ever said anything. It just felt like it was time for a change.

“Got a haircut,” the admiral declared when he opened the door for me. “Looks good on you.”

That was all, but I knew I’d scored one.

“Try these on for size,” he said. I’d gone upstairs to change, in his dressing room. He handed me a new pair of shoes in a box, the tissue still wrapped around them. Wingtip oxfords, in cordovan, the same kind he wore when he dressed up.