The sun warmed his
skin. Made him feel hot. A little sweaty, too. A dry breeze ruffled his hair. Michael started rocking back and forth
on his toes at the curb’s edge, but then stopped really quick when he wondered
if that made him look just like Pat, that kid in his Special English Class who
sat and rocked and picked his nose.
He didn’t want to look like that.
No way. Instead he squeezed
and rubbed his hands harder until he felt this tiny pin-prick of pain flash
really hot on the back of his hand.
“Ouch. OW.” He looked down at his hands. Saw red streaks on the back of one
where he’d scratched himself. He
did that sometimes. When he got worried or nervous or even scared, he scratched
the backs of his hands or even his wrists. Sometimes until they bled, like now. Didn’t know why. Just did. His OT teacher (occupational therapy teacher, who taught him
Life and Self-Management Skills), had tried to get him to stop but so far no
good. Not matter what they taught
him he still scratched himself when worried or scared.
Like now. Not scared, really, but a little
worried. Maybe sad, too. Worried because Mom wasn’t here yet,
like she said she would. She’d
promised to be here by 3:15. He
glanced at his square Tranformers
watch – a rectangle little Boom Box that unfolded into a a little toy robot
named Soundwave – and read 3:20.
Mom wasn’t really late, so he wasn’t really worried. Just a little late, so a little
worried.
He scratched his
palm harder. Winced. Gasped a little, too... but he kept
scratching, until he felt another sharp prick and then his finger slipped on
something wet across the back of his hand.
He looked down
again. Saw three little bright
smears on the back of his hand.
Oh, Geez. Now he’d done
it. He’d bleeded himself. Bad. Mom would be Grumpy.
Maybe even Mad.
He made fists and
stuck them into his pockets. Maybe
that would stop him from scratching them.
Hoped so. Guess he was more
than a little worried. Maybe
because he felt so sad, too.
Because no more Vicks.
No more Vicks
because Vicks was a senior and graduating and going to college and wouldn’t be
around to help him out over the summer like she usually did. And he felt really sad about that. He did lots of things over the
summer. He loved living in the
country because he could do tons of stuff during summer.
He went on walks in the woods out
behind the house (but never across the road on Old Man Kretzmer’s land because
it was Private Property and Old Man Kretztmer was a Crazy Old Drunk) and he
never got lost ever, remembered how to get everywhere he’d ever been. He liked to build forts and dams in the
creek behind the house with rocks and branches and of course he still had
Quadratic Equations whenever he wanted, though Mom made him play outside during
at least three hours a day, because it Just Wasn’t Healthy for him to sit
inside all through a bright sunny summer day.
The best part of
summers had been Vicks coming over right before lunch every day and reading
books to him for an hour or two, but not books like they read in school –
though he really loved those too – but really neat books written by people teachers never talked about, ever. Like Stephen King and Dean Koontz and
Brian Keene and some spooky dead guy named Lovecraft (who with a name like that
Mike had thought probably wrote dumb kissy-face stories but he’d been TOTALLY
wrong). Vicks had read a book by
the King guy about a killer clown that was really a monster but was also really
the Fear that everyone hides deep inside, and while most of the book was pretty
scary – and REALLY GOOD - he hadn’t thought the big spider thing at the end had
been all that scary, for some reason.
Vicks had also read
a story about a kid named Holden who Mike really liked because apparently
Holden hated fake people which Mike really hated too, plus Holden seemed to
talk and think a lot like him, but instead of doing Quadratic Equations this
Holden kid liked to tell stories about himself that maybe weren’t all that true
except for maybe that story about his friend Jane (who kept all her kinged
checkers in the Back Row, which seemed pretty smart because he did that too and
nobody ever beat him, ever) and that girl in the green dress that Holden had
wanted to give money to kiss him (though Mike hadn’t really understood that
part) but made him sad instead.
Mike squeezed his
fists tighter in his pockets. The
fresh scratches on the back of his hand itched and burned. He worried just a little more.
He wouldn’t get any
stories this summer. Vicks had to work a Real Job to help pay for college
because Mom couldn’t pay her much to come over and read to him. Mike was going to miss Vicks. What would he do this summer during
those two hours Vicks usually read to him? Build more forts? Extra Quadratic Equations, maybe even
sneak across the road onto Old Man Kretzmer’s land where he wasn’t supposed to
go?
He sighed. Missed Vicks already. Felt sad she wouldn’t be around,
worried about who would read to him no.
Maybe no one. And who would
help him in school? Some girl
named Jenna had helped him today and was supposed to help him next year too,
but she’d treated him like a little baby and didn’t talk to him at all, just
looked at all the other boys and smiled and flipped her hair really weird
around them. After he’d
finished doing Quadratic Equations today, she’d just left him here with a ‘Bye’
and skipped over to talk with a bunch of boys at the front of the school,
acting all silly and strange and smiling like she was a little girl or
something. Vicks would’ve stayed
and talked with him, Vicks would’ve...
Something cold
passed through him. He shivered. Swallowed. Felt real strange.
Like a wet, slimy blanket had been tossed on him. His skin got all goose-bumpy and his
stomach turned sour and icky.
Something was coming...
(from the drift)
Something bad.
He yanked his hands
from his pockets. Shivered
again. Hugged himself. Rubbed his arms. Tried to get warm. Suddenly it didn’t feel like June. Felt more like Fall. Hallo’een, even. He looked to the entrance of the school
parking lot as something...
(Jabberwocky)
...came in.
A beat-up black
truck. Driving slowly. No, crawling...
(like an animal
ready to pounce, like Jabberwocky)
...into the parking
lot. Coasting, looking...
(for something to
eat)
...for him.
Mike’s stomach
swirled. Legs trembled, felt all
stringy and gummy. He remembered,
now. A couple days ago when Vicks
said goodbye and her mean bigger brother drove up in his beat-up black truck
and got mad because Mike hugged Vicks and pushed him to the ground and...
Hurt him. Vicks’ mean big brother...
(Jabberwocky)
...had pushed him to
the ground and hurt
him. Scared him, too. So bad he’d peed his pants, even.
He swallowed. Mouth tasted funny. A little like puke. He stared at the beat-up black truck as
it rolled past the football field and pulled even with the school’s entrance,
not too far away now. It
slowed. Shifted into park.
Waiting.
For who?
Not Vicks. She wasn’t in school today. Went on a visit to the school she
wanted to go to next year. So if
the big black truck with Vicks’ mean big brother...
(Jabberwocky)
...wasn’t waiting
for her, who was it waiting for?
His eyes widened.
Belly twisted and
squeezed. He had to pee. REALLY bad.
Him.
Vicks’ mean big
brother was waiting for him.
Mike shuffled back
from the curb. Hugged himself
tighter. Too much. Too much to handle. Mom wasn’t here yet she was late and he
was all alone because the new girl Jenna left him to talk with boys and Vicks’
big bad mean brother...
(Jabberwocky)
...was sitting there
in his beat-up black truck waiting for him and like someone peeling an orange
or onion Mike thought he saw something inside the truck underneath, something
that wasn’t Vicks’ big
bad mean brother but something worse, something big and black and ugly scary,
the thing that hides under everyone’s bed and in their closets and basements
and bad dreams and it sat inside that big beat-up truck with Vicks’ mean
brother, waiting and waiting and waiting...
(to eat)
The big black truck
shivered. Something inside thunked.
The engine grumbled.
And it rolled
towards him.
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