The Last Exit to Normal Page 4

  I took a smoke out, lit it, and took a drag. “Oh, yeah, I guess you forgot about Edward being run out of town because they don’t like queers around here.”

  “I didn’t say it was all good, Ben. But there are good things to learn here. It’s all perspective.”

  “Bullshit. I’m done. I’ve tried.”

  He sighed. “You’re missing the point, Ben. And besides that, it’s been barely over a week.”

  Time didn’t have a definition in this place, of that I was sure. Rough Butte was an infinite shit recycler, and I was caught in it. “What point?”

  He cleared his throat. “The point that you can disagree about certain things people do, but to disrespect them because of it makes you less of a person. The people here are good, but they live by different standards.”

  “Stupid standards.”

  His eyes sharpened. “No, not stupid standards. Real standards for where they are. Mae doesn’t treat you with respect, because you know what? She doesn’t think you deserve it. And coming from a woman who has worked from sunup to sundown for the last seventy-three years, maybe you don’t deserve respect.”

  I bugged my eyes out. “What? Why? I didn’t do anything to her, and besides that, what does a redneck old woman know about me? What does she know about what I’ve gone through?”

  “More than you know, Ben.” He sighed. “You have to earn her respect. I do, too. She sees you sleep in, eat her food, complain about being bored, and do nothing all day long, and she doesn’t respect it or accept it. It’s just not her way, and I understand that. It’s part of the reason we came here.”

  I looked at him. “You’re just chicken to stand up to her.”

  He shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t have allowed this if I didn’t agree.”

  “Yeah, right. And if you did disagree, you’d do what? Tell her no? Pack up and leave? Give me a break. She’d whack you, too, and you know it. You don’t have the guts.”

  “You’re my son, and I’m doing what I think is best for you. That’s it, and if you don’t understand what I’m trying to say, it’s your loss.”

  I turned away. “Fine.”

  He set the pillow and blankets down, then placed a piece of paper on the pile. “Good night.”

  I didn’t look at him. “Yeah, and you sleep good, too. By the way, if I get eaten or something, give my stuff to the Goodwill.”

  After he left, I looked at the piece of paper and realized it had been on the refrigerator. A list of chores. “Great. Now I get to be Billy’s twin slave.” I read them: Mow, edge, water, weed the vegetable garden, paint the fence behind the garage, rebuild the half fence on the Hinkses’ side, fix the mailbox, and clean out the shed. The top of the list noted that I had a week to complete everything besides rebuilding the fence. I crumpled up the list and threw it. They could rot for all I cared.

  CHAPTER 5

  The one thing about hot days in Montana is that the nights are chilly. It’s like a teeter-totter of heat and cold, and I knew I’d freeze my butt off. My stomach crawled with hunger, too. I looked around the shed and there wasn’t a clear place to sleep. Then I saw the crumpled chore list. Fine. I’d clean the shed. That’s all, though. She could come out here and beat me with the biggest wooden spoon in the world, but I wasn’t caving in. Not to some short old woman with a nasty attitude who thought she knew everything.

  An hour later, I’d cleaned half the shed up, found a candle and lit it, and set up my bed on the dirt floor. Whoopee. I’d probably get eaten by some wild animal or kidnapped by a bunch of lunatic hicks out for a midnight ballyhoo. Then I remembered the girl I’d fallen in love with earlier. She’d keep me warm.

  I woke up the next morning in a puddle of sweat, and the mosquitoes had feasted on my flesh. Billy Hinks was standing at the entrance of the shed, his big eyes locked on me. As usual, he wore a long-sleeved shirt and too-short Levi’s. He tilted his head, squinting at me. I sat up. “I thought you weren’t supposed to talk to me,” I said.

  “I ain’t.”

  “You ain’t what?”

  “Talkin’ to you.” He pointed to the back door. “Pa told me to ask Miss Mae for her wheelbarrow. Ours got a busted handle.”

  I looked toward the back of the shed, saw the wheelbarrow behind a roll of chicken wire, and stood up. “Here.” I threw the chicken wire aside and grabbed the wheelbarrow. “What are you doing?”

  “Moving bricks.”

  “Building something?”

  He shook his head. “Moving them.”

  “Why?”

  He looked at me for a second, almost like he was deciding something. “Ain’t none of your business.”

  “Secret brick-moving mission?”

  He shook his head, the tiniest smile playing on his lips before it disappeared. “I gotta git. Pa don’t want me talking to you.”

  I looked at Billy’s house. No one in sight. “So what?”

  He laughed. “So I don’t want to get in trouble again, that’s so what. Bye.”

  He left me scratching my head, wondering how he’d gotten in trouble. I’d been the one talking to him, and besides, he hadn’t said more than two sentences to me. I stretched, raising my arms above my head and looking at the driveway. Dad’s car was gone, and I remembered Edward and him talking the day before about checking out a building in town to lease. Some sort of business they were thinking of starting. I figured it would be a hit with all the gays in town.

  I walked to the back porch and checked the door, but it was locked. I had to take a dump, so I walked to the front door. It was locked, too. Great. I sat down, dragged my last cigarette from the pack, and lit up. The other packs were inside. My stomach growled, so I turned on the hose and drank.

  This was going to be a fantastic day. Miss Mae wasn’t going to let me in. No food, no toilet paper, no money for smokes, no nothing. Fine. I stood up, headed back to the shed, and found an old towel. If I couldn’t go in, I’d go out. I walked over to the garden behind the shed, dug a hole with my heel right in the middle of a bunch of potato seedlings, dropped trou, and planted my own version of nature’s bountiful harvest, smiling as I grunted the last out. Never let it be said that Ben Campbell couldn’t get in the country swing of things.

  I un-squatted after wiping with the towel, then kicked dirt over my gift to Miss Mae. I peeked around the other side of the shed; an old Chevy pickup was sitting there. Miss Mae didn’t drive anymore, and I figured it was her dead husband’s. I walked around it, kicking the tires and looking inside. It was in great shape—if faded and worn a bit.

  The Hinkses’ house was on the other side of the yard, and a portion of the fence had come down in a windstorm a month ago or something. That’s the one I had to rebuild. As I turned from the truck, I saw Billy Hinks staring at me through the space, the wheelbarrow in front of him. He’d seen me squat. I rolled my eyes, then walked over to him. “I’m locked out.”

  He smiled, looking to the garden-turned-outhouse. “I won’t tell.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Helping some guy sell cars at the auction in Cedar Hollow.”

  I looked at the pile of bricks. Almost all of them were broken, and the pile was big. At least four hours of work for a kid his size. “An auction, huh?”

  He wiped his brow. “Yep. He makes money doing it. Talks real fast. Practices in the bathroom.”

  I nodded, thinking about what the kid had said earlier about talking to me. “Did you get grounded or something because I talked to you yesterday?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then what?”

  “I gotta move these bricks.”

  I looked at the pile, then at the smaller pile ten feet away that he’d made. “You have to move bricks because I talked to you?”

  He nodded. “Gotta get it done before he gets home, too.” He bent and picked up a broken brick, throwing it in the wheelbarrow.

  I realized then that there was no reason for moving those bricks other than punishment. I
also knew it was my fault. I hopped the downed fence.

  “What’re you doing?”

  I picked up a brick. “Helping.”

  “You can’t. I’ll get in trouble if he finds out.”

  “Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t find out.”

  He shook his head, his big eyes scared. “You gotta go.”

  I put the brick in the wheelbarrow, thinking for a second. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help you do this, and when your dad gets home I’ll tell him that it was my fault you got in trouble in the first place and that you didn’t want me to help, but I did anyway. It’ll all be my fault, so you won’t get in trouble and you won’t have to do this whole thing yourself.”

  He looked at the pile of bricks, then wiped his forehead again. It was at least ninety degrees out already. “You sure you ain’t lyin’? You’ll really say that to him?”

  “I promise.”

  He took a moment, thinking. “Okay.”

  So we worked. Billy Hinks didn’t talk when he worked, and I found out what a big pussy I was after an hour nonstop. That I couldn’t compete with an eleven-year- old boy didn’t do much for my self-esteem, and I thought about what my dad had said the night before. I decided I wouldn’t take a break until Billy spoke, but the sun was relentless, my head pounded, my stomach crawled with hunger, and my hands were blistered and bloody. So we continued, lugging a pile of broken bricks ten feet for absolutely no reason.

  Then my angel-disguised-as-Satan came out the back door with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. She stood on the back porch until she could tell we saw her, put the pitcher and glasses on the little table, and went back inside without a word. Billy eyed the lemonade. I worked my hands, wincing every time I balled them into a fist. “How ’bout it? You thirsty?”

  He looked at the original pile of bricks, which was half gone, then back to the lemonade. “Sure.”

  At the table, Billy slumped in a chair and glugged. I did, too, and the shade from Miss Mae’s awning over the stones of the porch felt like a piece of cool paradise. I cupped my swollen hands around the icy glass, sighing. “Big pile of bricks.”

  He nodded, an ice cube bulging his freckled cheek out. “Yep.”

  “Your dad doesn’t like us.”

  “Nope.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged, leaning back in the chair and drinking more. “Because yer goin’ to hell.” He kicked his legs under the chair. “He took me to the potluck last year. It’s comin’ up again.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but knew he didn’t want to talk about us moving in. Besides, I’d heard the hell thing too many times before, and I didn’t want to get into it with an eleven-year-old kid. “Was it fun?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Got my face painted.”

  I laughed. “I’ve done that, too.”

  “I won a prize throwing beanbags, too.”

  “Awesome.”

  He nodded. “Yep. Stuffed animal. Still got it. Keep it in the secret place so it don’t get thrown out.”

  “The secret place?”

  He glanced sideways at me. “Yep.”

  “What’s the secret place?”

  He bobbed his head when he talked. Almost like a cartoon character. “Can’t tell, wouldn’t be secret no more if I did.”

  I poured more lemonade for us, thanking God for Miss Mae even though she was a monster woman, and then looked up. Mr. Hinks stood at the fence, staring at us. “Shit.”

  Billy looked at me. Then turned and followed my eyes over his shoulder.

  I watched his face go from animated to stony. He set his glass down carefully, then stood up. I got up, too. “Wait here, okay?”

  He shifted on his feet. I walked over to Mr. Hinks. “Hello, Mr. Hinks.”

  He looked at me. “You’ve got no call being around my son. You know my wishes.”

  I cleared my throat. “Miss Mae brought us some lemonade.”

  He looked at my bruised hands, then at Billy. “Come home, Billy.”

  I shook my head as Billy walked over. “He didn’t do anything, Mr. Hinks. I was the one who talked to him yesterday, not him, and when I found out he got in trouble, I decided to help with the bricks. That’s all. He didn’t even want me to help him, but I didn’t think it was fair.”

  “Don’t you tell me what’s fair and what’s not.” He turned to Billy. “You had lunch?”

  Billy shook his head.

  “Get on in, then. I’ll be fixin’ sandwiches in a minute.”

  As Billy ran past, Mr. Hinks cuffed him on the shoulder, pushing him toward the door. Billy almost lost his footing, his arms and legs sprawling wildly before he regained his balance. I looked at Mr. Hinks. “I told you it was me.”

  Mr. Hinks looked at me, then adjusted his baseball cap. “You mind your business.” Then he turned and began walking to his back door.

  I watched him go, an icy feeling running through me. “I was just talking to him, sir. That’s all. He didn’t want to talk to me. He told me he couldn’t, just like you said.”

  Mr. Hinks called over his shoulder for me to mind my business again; then the door closed and I was left with the sun beating down on my head and my blisters stinging like a sonofabitch.

  I looked at the remaining bricks, knowing Billy would have to finish moving them and knowing, too, that the crawling in my stomach didn’t have to do with being hungry anymore. I hopped the fence and started loading bricks. Screw him.

  Ten minutes later, Mr. Hinks came out with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. He didn’t say anything, just stood on the porch, chewing away at his lunch. I righted myself from the pile and we stared at each other for a moment, challenging each other with our stares before I bent to my work again. He could pound sand for all I cared, and if he wanted to push me around, he could come over and try. He wasn’t an old lady.

  He didn’t, though. He stared at me as he finished his sandwich, then took his belt off and went inside. I heard him call Billy to the back-door entry. A minute later, I heard the belt cracking against Billy’s skin, and I heard Billy take it without more than a grunt every time the leather made contact. Six hits.

  I quit loading the bricks and stood there for a couple of minutes, deciding what I should do. I’d messed it up again, and I realized that even if I tried to do the right thing, it just got screwed in the end.

  By the time I’d hopped back over the downed fence, my hands had pretty much gone numb, but they were shaking. I was shaking. I couldn’t believe he’d just done that. My brains were stewed, my legs were jelly, my shoulders killed, and not two minutes after I collapsed in the porch chair, Miss Mae came outside, carrying a plate with two huge meat loaf sandwiches and a big lump of homemade potato salad on it. She set it in front of me, poured me another glass of lemonade, and patted my shoulder.

  I stared at the food. “Did you see what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was just trying to help.”

  She cleared her throat, and her voice, amazingly, was soft. “Stay away from that boy for his own good, Benjamin.”

  “Mr. Hinks is a scumbag.”

  She patted me again. “You come in when you’re done and we’ll fix your hands up. I’ll tell you something then.” She went inside.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Thanks for lunch. And the lemonade.”

  Miss Mae smiled, dunking my hands in some sort of country remedy that made them feel like the skin was peeling from my bones. She nodded. “Man works hard, he needs to eat.”

  I clenched my teeth against the pain, for some odd reason trying to live up to her calling me a man. “My dad was right.”

  “About what?”

  I shook my head. “About a lot of stuff, I guess. I’m sorry about last night. And about everything since we got here.”

  She chuckled. “Don’t ever apologize.”

  I looked at her like she was crazy. “Why?”

  “Eddie’s father used to tell me that a man apologizi
ng meant he’d done something shameful. I suppose the secret’s not to shame yourself in the first place.”

  I didn’t have a reply for that. How she could make me feel so good about myself one minute, then make me feel like the biggest loser in the next, was beyond me. I had to remind myself that she was a monster, but it wasn’t working. I was too exhausted, and thinking about that kid getting strapped because of what I’d done made me want to shrivel up and die. “What were you going to tell me?”

  She rubbed my hands gently. “It ain’t your fault Billy got in trouble. He’s old enough to know his duty to his father.”

  “But . . .”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes two rights make a wrong.” She finished with my hands, gave me a towel, then dug in a drawer. She turned around and held out a pair of worn gloves.

  I looked at them. “I’m not going to do the bricks. He’ll get in trouble again.”

  She nodded. There was no twinkle in her eye, no evil sneer, no malice on her face. Just matter-of-factness. “You’ve got chores. I’ll call you for supper.”

  I’d skated for hours at a time, crashed and burned a million times, and been dead-dog beat and in pain from doing it, but right then my body was on the verge of melting into the kitchen floor. I’d never been so exhausted and hot in my life. Then a weird thing happened. I wanted to please her, and it went against every cell in my body.

  I took the gloves and walked outside. The first thing I did was dig up my lump of potato fertilizer from the garden and put it in the garbage can. Then I got on my knees and started weeding, all the fight gone from me.

  Edward had taken over tending the garden, which covered what seemed half a football field. Squash, potatoes, peas, corn, a small watermelon patch, cucumbers, strawberries, raspberries, tomatoes, and a bunch of other stuff were lined up in meticulous rows and neat clumps. I spent three hours weeding and got halfway through it before Miss Mae banged out the back door and told me to get washed up. I lurched inside and slithered into the shower, letting icy water rush over me.

  I came downstairs to the smell of buttered peas, buttermilk biscuits, leftover meat loaf, loads of gravy, and mashed potatoes with the skins on them. Miss Mae sat me down, brought me a plate full of food, and lathered my potatoes in sour cream and butter. Then she lathered my meat loaf in gravy. She poured me a glass of milk, then got her own plate. I watched her. “Thank you.”