The Wally Lamb Fiction Collection: The Hour I First Believed, I Know This Much is True, We Are Water, and Wishin' and Hopin' (135 page)

“Hey, I know,” Leo said. “Let’s get some eggs. That’s what I could use right now. Some eggs and toast and home fries. And coffee, too. About two gallons of coffee. Enough coffee so I can piss this whole experience right out of my system.”

I kept staring out the sideview mirror. “What’d you tell them?” I asked him again.

“The cops? I don’t know. I partly told them the truth and partly bullshitted them a little. Mixed it up, you know? Something would come to me and I’d just . . .
use
it. Hey, not to change the subject, but you got any money on you? All’s I got is three bucks. The Oh Boy’s open all night, isn’t it? I’ll pay you back.”

We rode on in silence, half a mile’s worth or more. “And they
bought
it, too, you know?” Leo said. “That’s the funny part. I
knew
they would. Cops are so fucking stupid.” He patted his box of eight-tracks. “Put a tape in. Go ahead, Birdsey. Ladies’ choice.”

“What’d you say about my brother?” I said.

“What? I didn’t say anything about him.”

“You must have. They knew all about him pulling his pants down at work.”

“Oh, yeah, that. I forgot. I was talking so fast, you know? Talking a blue streak. They were asking me all about the work crew and—”

“What did
that
have to do with anything? Why’d you drag Thomas into it? They made it sound like we were all sitting around getting queer with each other.”

“I was just—okay, look. Cops
hate
queers, Birdsey. Ask my mother. Ask
anyone
in law enforcement. So, what I did was, I created this smoke screen, okay? Made it sound like Dell and Ralph were, you know, trying to get funny with us and Thomas just . . . It was a
smoke screen,
Dominick. Something to draw attention away from us getting wrecked out there by the bridge.”

“So you just bag my brother—slander Ralph—so that we can weasel out of—”

“I didn’t slander either of them. How’d I slander them, Dominick? Your brother started crying and he yanked his drawers down, didn’t he? Did I
imagine
that? . . . You saw those queer magazines they had out there. What, did those things just fall out of the sky and land there? Wake up, man. Ralph’s a flit and so’s Dell, and all I did was tell them.”

“So what if they are? That doesn’t mean you can just—?”

“Hey, look, Dominick. I did what I
had
to do. Okay? Why don’t you just shut your mouth and play a fucking tape and don’t worry about it. We’re both out here driving around instead of at the friggin’
state police barracks,
aren’t we? They didn’t
bust
us, did they? I did what I had to do, and I’m not taking any shit from you about it, either.”

I said nothing for a mile or more. Heard Balchunas asking me all those embarrassing questions again. Saw him chomp that pen of his, snapping-turtle style.

“You smeared
me
while you were in there, too. Didn’t you?” I said.

“No, Dominick, I
didn’t
smear you. I got you
out
of that mess is what I did. But, hey, thanks a lot for the accusation. You’re a real pal. You’re—”

“You sure? Because one of the things they wanted to know was if I’d ever let Ralph get funny with me for some hash. Why’d they want to know
that,
Leo? What’d you do—bag all three of us? Thomas, Ralph,
and
me? Fuck over three guys for the price of one?”

“Look, Birdsey, you ought to be thanking me right now instead of accusing me of all this shit. That’s all
I
got to say. As far as I’m concerned, the subject’s closed.” He turned on the radio, punched several stations, snapped it off again. “And anyways, it’s not my fault if the cops took what I said and twisted it around. They were just fucking with your head, you idiot. Trying to get you pissed off. It’s a
technique,
asshole. Don’t blame me. Cops do it all the time. Ask my mother.”

“So what did you say then? What’d you tell them about this supposed hash deal?”

“All’s I said was. . . . I told them Ralph made us this offer that he’d, you know, give us some hash if we’d let him go down on us. And that we
both
told him to take a flying leap. I’m telling you, Birdseed, cops
hate
queers, and they’re not exactly in love with blacks, either—especially groups like the Panthers. So I stretched the truth a little and—”

“Those are total fucking lies!”

“Yeah, and they worked, too, didn’t they? You want me to turn around, drop you back off at the barracks so you can tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God? Well, sorry, Dominick. I guess I ain’t as much of a saint as you. I’d rather be out here than inside that station.”

I stared up at the moon. Didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to think.

“Look, Birdsey, I had to think of something fast, okay? And on top of that, I was wrecked out of my mind. Remember? It was the best I could come up with. What was I supposed to do—sit around and wait for
you
to get us out of this mess?”

He had a point. If it was me handling it, we’d probably still be back at Barracks J, getting fingerprinted, having our mug shots taken. Not that I was willing to admit that.

“Well, I just gotta hand it to you, Leo, that’s all,” I said. “When you decide to slander your friends, you can be pretty goddamned merciless.”

“I wasn’t trying to ‘slander’ anybody, Dominick. It was just . . . survival of the fittest. So just do me a favor and shut up about it, will you? Let’s just go eat.”

Survival of the fittest: I let that hang in the air for a mile or more. Let it good and goddamn piss me off. Leo fished a tape from the box and shoved it into the player. Started singing along.
I’m your captain. Yeah yeah yeah yeah
. . . .

I reached over and yanked the fucker out of the machine. Yanked out two or three yards of tape and chucked the whole pile of spaghetti out the window. “Hey!” Leo protested. He braked hard enough to throw us both toward the dashboard. Then he changed his mind and gunned it. “What’d you do
that
for?”

“Because I wanted to, asshole.”

“Yeah, well,
you’re
the asshole, Birdsey. You owe me a tape.”

“
Survival of the fittest?
” I said. “You frame the guy because he’s black, or because you think he’s queer, but it’s okay because it’s just the fucking law of the jungle?”

“Yeah, that’s
right,
Dominick. It was Ralph or us, so I chose us. You mind?”

“So the big, bad, black dope peddler tries to get us poor innocent college kids to deal for him. Right? That was
your
bright idea, Leo. Remember? Not Ralph’s.
Yours.
You were going to see if he’d sell us some shit and then we’d jack up the price and make a profit. Remember?”

“Did you tell them that? The cops? That it was
my
idea?”

“Geez, I don’t know, Leo. Did I? I was talking so fast—I was so wrecked—I don’t remember
what
I told them.”

“Cut it out, Birdsey. Did you tell ’em it was my idea or not?”

“Tell them the
truth,
Leo? No, I didn’t. And you know why I didn’t? Because
I
don’t bag my friends. Maybe I should have, though. Practiced ‘survival of the fittest.’”

“Hey, how do you know he’s
not
dealing, Birdsey? All that grass we smoked all summer. That’s probably
exactly
what he was doing—getting us interested so he could use us in his little drug operation.”

“Yeah, right, Leo. I think I saw that episode on
The Mod Squad,
too. Real life’s just like TV, isn’t it?”

“No shit.
Think
about it. We worked with the guy all summer long and we didn’t even know until tonight that he lives over at Dell’s. That he’s a fucking fruitcake. How do we know he’s
not
a dealer?”

“Who’s Roland?” I said. “Where’d Roland come from?”

“Roland? Roland’s nobody. Roland’s my great-uncle from New Rochelle. I was just giving them a false lead.”

“Yeah, and it’s probably going to backfire in your stupid face, too. In
both
our faces since I—”

“Since you what?”

“Since I covered for you, asshole. Since I said I
might
have heard Ralph say something about this imaginary pusher friend of his. Said he
might
have been interested in having us sell for him.”

“Oh, so you ain’t Saint Dominick after all, huh? You bagged Ralph, too.”

“Because you’d backed me into a corner, that’s why. What the
fuck was I supposed to do—tell the truth and let the cops nail you for possession
and
false information? I guess I just don’t know how to play bag-a-buddy as good as you do, Leo. Shit, man, you’re the big pro at that. You could give
Judas
a few pointers.”

He spat out the window. Turned back to me. “Hey, maybe Ralph’s
your
buddy, Birdsey. Maybe he’s
your
big pal. But to me he’s just some guy I worked with. Smoked a few jays with. Because, personally, I don’t hang around with fags. Okay?”

“No? How about that drama teacher of yours? That guy you made out with?”

“Fuck you, Birdsey! I didn’t ‘make out’ with anyone. Besides, I told you that in
confidence.
You just shut your mouth about that.”

“What do you have to do to get the lead, Leo—to play Hamlet in that play this semester? You got to let this guy fuck you in the ass or something? Or is that already a done deal? Are you
already
the fuckin’ prince of Denmark?”

“Shut up, Birdsey. You better shut your fucking mouth before you’re sorry.”

“Oh, big man. You don’t like it, do you? When someone makes up shit about
you
? Asshole!”

“Don’t call
me
an asshole, Birdsey.
You’re
the asshole!”

“Yeah, and you’re a fucking liar! You’re a fucking snake in the grass!” I grabbed his box of eight-tracks, threw the whole bunch of them out the window.

He slammed on the brakes. Shoved me against the car door. I shoved him back.

“What are you,
nuts
? You turning mental like that mental case brother of yours?”

I was on him instantly—choking him, letting my fist fly. I grabbed his head in both hands—was ready to smash it into the steering wheel. Knock his teeth out. Bust his nose.

“Stop it!” he screamed. “Stop it, Dominick! What’s the
matter
with you?”

It was the fear in his voice that stopped me—the way he suddenly sounded like Dessa out in the parking lot the night before. I saw blood
dripping from his nose. Saw my raised fist opening, closing, opening.

“Don’t you
ever
. . . !” I was out of breath. My heart was pounding so hard, it hurt. “Don’t you
ever
call
me
crazy. Me
or
him, understand?
Understand?
”

“Okay. All right. Jesus.”

I got out. Slammed the car door hard as I could and started walking, kicking his eight-tracks out of my way. When I turned back at about fifty yards, he was out of the car, bending over to pick up his tapes. I grabbed a rock and chucked it at his stupid Skylark. It rang out as it hit the bumper. “You dent this car, you’re paying for it!” he shouted back. “My tapes, too. I’m going to play every single one of ’em tomorrow, and whatever ones don’t play anymore, you’re paying for! I mean it!” I heard his door slam. Heard him peel out, drive off.

Fuck
him,
I thought. Asshole. Cool Jerk. Good riddance. . . .

I walked along the dark road, my head filling up with sounds and pictures of things I didn’t want to think about: Thomas, sobbing and yanking down his drawers for Dell. Dessa beneath me, crying, pushing me away. Balchunas’s big face. . . .

I walked for hours—for eight or nine miles. And by the time I reached Hollyhock Avenue, my arms and neck were scabby with mosquito bites. My feet burned like I’d been walking on hot coals.

I just stood there, looking up at our house—the house my grandfather had built. I couldn’t go in, no matter
how
exhausted I was. Couldn’t bring myself to go up the front stairs, unlock the door, climb the inside stairs, go down the hall to mine and my brother’s room. Couldn’t go in there and see my sleeping brother. Something was wrong with him, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

I couldn’t do it.

So I kept walking. Up the rest of Hollyhock Hill, then out through the pine grove and down to the clearing, to Rosemark’s Pond.

You know what I did? I shucked off all my clothes, waded into the water, and swam. Swam until my limbs were numb, leaden. Until they couldn’t kick or push aside any more water. I guess . . . I
guess I was trying to wash myself clean of everything: the stink of sweat and marijuana, the stink of what we’d done to Ralph—of what I’d done to Dessa out in that parking lot. What kind of a person
was
I? If my brother was cracking, maybe I’d helped cause it. Ray wasn’t the only bully at our house. . . . Survival of the fittest, I thought: whack whoever’s vulnerable, show ’em who’s in charge.

It didn’t work, that swim. You can’t swim away your sins, I learned that much. I came out of the pond feeling just as dirty as when I’d gone in. I remember standing there on the shore, naked still, panting like a bastard. Just looking at my reflection in the water.

Not looking away. Not lying to myself for once in my life.

Facing what I really was.

“
And what was that?
”

“
What?
”

“
You said you stood there at the pond that morning and faced what you really were. I’m wondering what that was. What was your conclusion?
”

“
My conclusion? That I was a son of a bitch.
”

“
Explain, please.
”

“
A bastard. A bully. I think it was the first time I’d actually ever admitted it to myself. . . . At least that’s how I remember it, anyway. I never know, during these sessions, whether I’m rehashing history or reinventing it.
”

“
Well, yes, memory is selective, Dominick. An interpretation of the facts as we recall them, accurate or not. But what we select to remember can be very instructive. Don’t you think?
”