The Room (8 page)

One of the cops opened the door and he got in the back seat. He looked straight ahead as the 2 cops got in front, but adjusted his head just enough so he could see, from the corner of his eye, the gaping crowd. One of the cops asked him where the dog lived and he told them. As the car pulled away he could feel the stares and was sure he could hear their voices.

Then a jolt of panic almost made him bolt from the moving car. Suppose they searched him. Suppose they found it. They might send him to jail. They might tell his mother. How could he get rid of it. If he tried to sneak it out of his pocket they might see him. And if he did get it out what would he do with it. They kept talking to him. Telling him not to worry. Must be something wrong with the way he looked. Cant let them know. Maybe they do know. Maybe they saw it when they came downstairs. Maybe theyre not going to the dogs house. Its only half a block. Should be there. The car stopped and one of the cops asked him which house it was. He wanted to yell he was sorry. He wouldnt do it again. He just stared. The cop asked him again and he pointed. One of the cops got out and went into the house. The other cop sat in front, silent, and he thought everything would be all right. Maybe they didnt see it. But the cop was gone so long. Maybe he would have to go in the house and they would see it in his back pocket. Please God, dont let them see it. I/ll be good. I/ll never do it again. He was afraid he might wet his pants.

Then the cop came out with the woman and she was holding the small dog. He could see their lips moving and heard
voices, but didnt know what was being said. He just sat rigidly in the back seat hoping God would protect him. The cop got in and he vaguely heard her say something about the dog just got scared by the noise – sorry little boy – good dog – tried to catch the boy …

It seemed like he didnt breathe as they drove the half a block to his house. The cops stopped in front of his house and let him out. His friends came running over. They yelled. Asked. He remained silent until the cops drove away. He ran around the corner. They screeched questions over questions over questions. In between he shot out a word here, there, wherever, whenever. The story was told. Understood. And the whole time I had my slingshot in my pocket. But they didnt see it. They had me cold, the dumb cops, but I got away. Wow!

And he knelt on the floor and looked out the open window. Pow. Pow. Gotya. The dirty coppers had him trapped on the 4th floor and the window was flooded with lights. A voice over a loud-speaker told him to surrender. You cant get away lefty. Go tahell copper. Pow. Pow. Gotcha. Pow. Then a shot from a sharpshooters rifle hit him in the shoulder and he fell on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder and his mother suddenly sat up in bed and ran to him. Whats wrong son. What is it. And she bent over him, feeling soft, but he had to kill a whole bunch of coppers.

Balls. Too bad it wasnt real. Wouldnt mind having shot a few. (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, the door. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, the wall.) O fuck it. Cops and robbers. (find the spot you stepped in before. dont miss it. each foot where it was. follow your footsteps. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6. about face. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6. sometimes 1 is 6 and 6 is 1. and 3 is always 3. so that would make 5 the same as 2 – no. wait … lets see. 1 is 6. 2 is 5. 3 is 4. 4 is 3. 5 is 2. 6 is 1. and vice versa. but its its own vice versa. 1 to 3 – 6 to 4. and 4 to 6 – 3 to 1. it goes up and it goes down. theres no middle. except maybe 3½. thats always the same. yeah thats it. only the ½, of 3½ is the same. all the rest goes up and down, up and down. hahaha. its just like screwing. up and down. up and down. oh fuck it. There were 3 full flights of stairs to the house. 6 half-flights. 8 steps in each half-flight.
Go up 8 steps in one direction. A small landing. Turn around and go up 8 more steps in the opposite direction to the floor. 5 doors. 5 apartments. Then back the first way to the next landing. Opposite to the next floor … O balls.

motherfucking cops. Should have spit in their faces. He lay on his back, an arm over his eyes.

The mist persisted. Or was it light seeping through his arm and the closed lids of his eyes? No, it wasnt light. It was just a blur. Had to hunt. Hunt a fucking cop. Play a new game: hunt a fucking cop. 2 faces hung with crape. Guilty. The wives weep. The mothers of their children. Mothers. Mothers, all of them. The tumbling of turned backs. Despair. Pain. Pain. Hungry baby sucking on a dry tit. Swollen bellies. Despair. No direction. Only death. A gun. Pills. No. A rope. A kicked stool. Slow. Agonizing. Very slow. Pain. Yeah, pain. Slowly blue. Very slowly. Tongue swollen like the bellies. Eyes pop from sockets. A gurgle. So slow. Blood. So very slow. A little sleep

and then a little wakefulness.

Then a slipping to some soothing place in between.

Mary used to baby-sit on Saturday nights. After the people had gone he would join her. They would sit on the couch. Afraid to mess the bed. Werent sure what to do anyway. After kissing for a while he would put his finger in her snatch. Then she would open his fly and play with his joint. They would sit like that for hours, his finger up her snatch, her hand around his joint. From time to time he would push her head down and she would put his joint in her mouth. And, from time to time, he would stand and make her kneel in front of him and he would shove it in her mouth. And so passed another Saturday night with her hand around his joint, his finger up her
snatch, and, from time to time, him shoving his joint in her mouth.

Then he would wash his hands and leave before the people came home, and each Saturday night when he went home he was always afraid his mother might smell his hand.

A
. Well, when they told me to lean against the wall I refused and told them they could not search me, that they did not have a warrant. That is when they shoved me and I literally bounced off the wall.

I should have played stinkfinger with the motherfuckers. Take their goddam guns and shove them right up their asses. Stupid fucking assholes.

No one heard the shot over the rattling of the trolleys and the noise of the cars and trucks. The woman just fell under the marquee of the movie theater. A few people just looked for a second then went over to help her. An ambulance came and the police. She had been shot with a .22 caliber rifle. Soon after the neighborhood was swarming with cops, uniform and plainclothes. He was in his room when 2 came to the house. They explained a woman had been shot and they were searching the neighborhood for guns. They came to his room and found his toy shotgun. You broke the barrel, closed it, pulled the trigger and it went pop. He looked at them as they inspected it very carefully, minutely. They then inspected his cap pistol (tom mix) very carefully and minutely.

When they left his mother explained what had happened. He quickly grabbed his cap pistol and ran down the 3 flights of stairs. He met several of his friends in the alley behind the apartment houses. They slinked around corners, looking both ways before advancing very carefully. They could see the cops on the roof tops and tried to stay in any shadows. It was the best game of cops and robbers they ever had.

A regular bunch of Sherlock Holmeses. (brass buttons, blue coat,
couldnt catch a nanny goat.) Just like that motherfucker that broke my hand. Wish I could have grabbed his goddamn club and shoved it up his fucking ass. Right the fuck up until it came out his head. No wonder judges wear black. They should be in mourning. The goddamn assholes. Wonder what happened to the kid that shot that woman. Said he was shooting at the marquee. Trying to hit the lights, but missed. Funny, when he heard that the kid was shooting from his house 3 blocks away he couldnt believe it. Didnt think a bullet could go that far – o shit. Who gives a fuck. She was probably a fucking bitch anyway.

No. Have to push that away. Cant think of it. Get rid of the smell. Oo something to get rid of it. Maybe get up and walk. Not in the mood. Feels nice just drifting. But can smell it. Maybe its time to eat or some damn thing. Maybe the door will clang open. N, NNE, NE, ENE, E. Theres a girl scout in the grass with a boy scout up her ass. Bowlines, sheepshanks, square knots. Got kicked out of the boy scouts for eating a brownie. Theres a boy scout in the grass with a boy scout up his ass. Fuck it. Mary had a nice tight cunt. Wonder what its like now. Yeah, thats better. A nice tight cunt. Get a hard on. So hard it hurts. Something to do. Mary had a nice tight cunt. Mary had a nice tight cunt. Wonder if I/d recognize her now? Seems she wasn’t too bad. Too young to screw. Afraid of jail. Mary had a nice tight cunt. Wonder what
that
broads name was. Good thing she was cherry. Yeah. That will keep the smell away. Away. Providence. Good name. Providence. He was 15 and had run away from home again. This time he got a job on an oil barge. It was during the war and very few questions were asked. All they wanted to know was if you were able to do the work. They had docked in Providence and he and the other deck hand got the night off and went into town. They walked around for a while, then went to a movie. It was a big movie house. No idea what the picture was. Came out and started walking around again. They were walking through a park and they met a girl. They walked and talked and Tom suggested they go behind a small house in the park. Tom led the way and went first while he waited. Then Tom said its your
turn. He kissed her and squeezed her tit, wanting to do so much more but ignorant of what and how. Scared, with a painful hard on. Then the 3 of them went behind the building together and felt her up until they were sated with what they were doing, but afraid to go any further. So they started to walk to the bus stop to go back to the barge. They werent sure how to get there so she walked with them to show them the way. They were walking down a dark, narrow street when suddenly a car stopped beside them and 2 men jumped out and grabbed them and told them to get in the car. He trembled as the man held his arm. He tried to ask what was going on, but couldnt speak. The men showed them badges and told them they were police officers. He was told not to worry, that they just wanted to check up on the girl. We think shes a runaway. They rode to the station house in silence. The girl was taken to one room (guess I never did know her name) and they to another. Their pockets were emptied and the contents put in envelopes. Then they were separated and questioned. them where he came from, what he was doing in town, etc. He was asked what he was doing with the girl.

Nothing. She was showing us the way to the bus stop.

You were picked up at 2 in the morning. What were you doing all that time?

Just walking. We went to a movie then walked around.

With the girl?

Part of the time.

Dont bullshit me, punk. I know what you did. Your friend already told us. You took turns with her. Didn’t you?

He almost cried with panic. He tried to speak but only stammered. He knew he was wrong and his shame made it impossible to say anything. He nodded his head.

You punks make me sick. Im personally going to see that you get 20 years for this.

The tears started to well in his eyes, but he couldn’t let them see it. He could only think of his mother. What would she say. Twenty years. What would his mother say. He wasnt aware of them taking his belt and the laces from his shoes. His daze didnt start to clear until he heard the door of his cell clang shut.

He sat on the steel slab that served as a bunk. He looked out the bars up at the window in the wall across from his cell and could see the faint glow of a street lamp. He stared at the bars for many long, long minutes. What would his mother say. Twenty years. The tears finally seeped from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He didnt brush them away. He couldnt feel them. He stared and the tears rolled as he tried to imagine what it meant to go to prison for twenty years. It seemed like he had been alive for so very long, yet he was only 15 years old. He tried desperately to conceive of twenty years yet couldnt. It was an eternity. He soon stopped trying as he no longer had the energy. He sat with his head lowered staring at the floor watching it darken as the tears fell from his face. There was no reason to stop them from flowing, even if he had been fully aware of the fact that he was crying. He was alone. All alone. And as the tears flowed from his eyes, the energy flowed from his body. He slowly, unknowingly, lowered himself on the slab and lay on his side and slept.

He had to fight his eyes open as the light from the street-level window opposite his cell scraped his eyes. When he adjusted his eyes to the light he became aware of a stinging cold in his body. The steel slab felt like ice. He sat up trying to convince himself it was just a dream, but the truth was undeniable. He was sitting on that slab and there were bars on the door. It was all as real as the light coming through the window. He sat.

Then a jailer came around with a small cheese sandwich and a tin cup half-filled with black coffee. He took them, set them on the slab and stared at them for many minutes. The bread was hard as was the cheese. He put his hands around the cup to warm them and wondered if he should drink the coffee. He had never had coffee before except for a few drops in his milk as a special treat. He warmed his hands then rubbed his body with them. Then warmed them again. He didnt know why, but he forced down the sandwich. Not through hunger, but some sort of habit. He sipped the coffee. It was worse than medicine. He took a few sips then left it, just using the cup to warm his hands.

He looked up at the window and could see a small portion of the legs of the people who walked past. For a
while he simply stared then he started noticing the small portion of leg and wondered what the people looked like. He wasnt really interested, but it was something to do. It helped pass the time. Twenty years. How could he pass twenty years? How could he live twenty years? It was beyond comprehension. Too far beyond. It was unreal. But what would his mother say. He had to play a game. What do those people look like? Those people who belong to the 18 inches, or so, of leg he could see. How could you tell how tall a man was, or how heavy he was, or what color his eyes and hair were. How could you tell what he looked like when all you could see was a few inches of his pants leg. There was just no way of knowing or imagining. But it was different with the women. Of course he couldnt really tell, but at least he could see the shape of the leg and could imagine. He could even imagine what type of shoe they were wearing, especially if he could hear the click, click of heels. They had to be high heels. And if the leg were attractive, exceptionally attractive, then she was young with a nice figure and large tits. Firm and round and soft. The kind you rest your cheek on. The kind that had large, dark rosy nipples. And some had dark hair, some blond hair, and some had to be redheads. And they all had red lips and long painted nails, and their asses wiggled when they walked. But what color snatch hair does a blonde have? Redheads and brunettes were easy, but blondes???? Was it blond like their head or was it darker? Could they have black snatch hair or was it just sort of brown? If he could get close to the window he could look up their skirts and maybe some of them wouldnt have any pants on. He had heard of girls who didnt wear pants. But even if they did he might be able to see something. Anyway, that wasnt too important, the color, it would be great just to look. And they wouldnt know. He could just stand there all day and look. But not for twenty years. But he could look for now, anyway. He continued to watch those inches of leg walk by, then slowly became aware of a slight pain in his groin. He had a hard on. It scared him. Suppose the guard came and saw it. He had to get rid of it. He pushed it with his hand, almost shoving it back up in his crotch. It seemed to be made of the same steel as the slab he sat on. It ached, but he had to push. He placed both hands on the head of his prick and pushed even harder. For a brief second he
thought it would put a hole in his hands, but eventually it started to bend and slowly it softened. He stood for a moment to make sure there was no visible bulge. All was flat. He sat down on the slab and turned his back to the window and didnt move until the guard called him and gave him another cheese sandwich and a tin cup of hot coffee. He slowly ate his sandwich, taking small bites and chewing as long as possible before swallowing, his back still to the window. He waited as long as possible, then took another bite and chewed and chewed. When his mouth was as dry as sawdust he took a few small sips of coffee. Then back to the sandwich. Cheese and bread dry and hard, coffee bitter, but it passed the time.