Late Summer Thunder, Page 2
J. Jacen De La Garza
family was a monthly disability check, after that came the methamphetamine and domestic violence.
A few weeks later Marcos handed the pink slip of the Camaro to his drug dealer to settle a five hundred dollar debt.
It was the last thing Tony had. It was his birthright, and now it, just like his father, was gone forever.
Now
The big pecan tree in the backyard rattled its papery dry leaves to bathe in the rich, damp perfume of rain. The hollow rustling sound was comforting because it sounded like home. It had been a while since Sam sat on the roof staring at the city. It had been even longer since he let these memories come back without blocking them instinctively. Memories of the day he went to the pool to retrieve a bicycle and found much more than he could have ever imagined.
A gust howled though the treetops causing him to shiver, his skin immediately reacted in a rash of goose bumps. Twenty years had passed in a blink of an eye and he marveled at the strange concept of the perception of time.
He allowed himself to be taken back, to his friend, to the pool and to the night of the storm.
Back Then
Lightning pulsed in the distance. By the time Sam made it over to the pool, the sunny warmth of day had succumbed to the cool, dark pull of night. A ten foot high chain link fence topped with barbed wire surrounded the pool which sat on a pie shaped lot facing away from the street. What would have been an eyesore was made beautiful by the planting of honeysuckle along the fence line many years before. By August it became a solid wall of perfection in bloom. That year was no exception. The heady floral scent mixed with that of the rain’s sweet promise possessed the intoxicating effect of an opiate.
Sam closed his eyes and followed the bouquet in the magnificent colorful darkness you can only see with your eyes closed. The sound of his footsteps along the crushed gravel driveway gave way to the soft swish of cool, emerald green grass. Each blade spread wide and full in thirsty anticipation of the rain it somehow sensed was coming. Sam reached out his hand and opened his eyes. There he stood in front of the gate; in his hand the padlock. He knew this place well, even with his eyes closed.
He clapped his hands over his front pockets then his back.
Damn, no keys.
He remembered taking them out and setting them on the kitchen table, one of those well intentioned time savers that usually wind up costing time in the end. No matter, he had jumped the fence before, but getting the bike over the fence, well the devil’s in the details of course.
After a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear he unbuttoned his jeans and stripped down to his boxers, he draped the Levi’s over the fence to cover the barbs and climbed over. He dropped down on the other side and dressed. Against a mesquite tree his bike waited to be taken home before being left out in the rain…again. He wheeled it around and contemplated the least destructive way to heave it over the fence.
As he walked the bike poolside he heard what he thought at first was an animal close by and in the darkness. He heard it again, though this time it was different, was it a person? A sob or a gasp from between the picnic tables under the covered patio by the ice machine and the ancient fridge helped him zero in on what it was. Sam stood motionless, he gripped the handlebars vise-like, and he strained in the dark to see what it was. A flash of lightning illuminated a scene he would never forget. In that instant of brilliance he saw Tony, wilted against the cinderblock wall, a wall adorned with poorly drawn tropical fish, an equally uninspired coral reef and a list of pool rules.
Rule 1: No running.
Tony locked eyes with Sam for a tiny slice of time and yet they conveyed years of emotion. Tired and haunted then cold and vacant, his tears reflected in trails that glistened down his face that changed into a blank and unreadable canvas. There appeared to be blood on his shirt even though it seemed like an irregular shaped oil spot on his chest. He was holding something or resting his head on something, was it a beer? Sam couldn’t make it out, but another flash of electricity lighting the sky removed all doubt.
Tony held in his hand and rested his head on model 1911 Colt .45 automatic, and he saw blood, it was blood on his shirt. The irregular shaped stain that should have been an oil spot was blood and what should have been a frosty can of Lone Star stolen from the big bullet shaped refrigerator was a cold steel firearm he pointed at his brain from beneath his chin.
The gun was alien but immediately familiar. Earlier in the day they were hit with that insatiable hunger that goes hand in hand with a day of swimming. The two hopped in the truck and decided on Whataburger. Tony turned the key and three hundred ponies rumbled to life.
“Reach under the seat for me.” said Tony and flashed a trademark Cheshire grin.
Sam fumbled under the seat and after blindly handling an empty coke can and some cigarette packs he happened upon something cold, heavy and out of the ordinary. His hand curled naturally around the handle of the aforementioned weapon.
Sam was in awe.
“Where did you get THIS?” He managed, looking stupidly at the gun then at Tony and back to the gun.
“I lifted it from Asshole.” (This meant Marcos, his step father). “He and my mom went over to their friend’s house for the next three days, but never mind them, how about that piece huh?” Tony relished the rush of clean, pure satisfaction his act of rebellion had afforded him.
It was the same gun.
The flash of lightning was gone punctuated by a clap of thunder. It was the same gun, but a different Tony. Sam tried, but found no words. He was frozen, locked in disbelief and confusion that left him dumbstruck.
Tony spoke first.
“Oh man Sammy what have I done?” He croaked. “I’m gonna end it man, I’ve lost everything. I have to end it right?” Tony began rocking back and forth against the cold cinderblock wall but now kept the gun pointed at his chest.
“What have you done, Tony?” Finally words had come to him. He eased the bike down and started toward his friend but Tony stiffened up and put the gun back under his chin.
“Don’t come near me, Sammy, really stay the fuck away.”
The look in his eyes was something completely unreal. They were vacant like fish eyes, nothing there.
Sam had a cousin that raised pit bulls. One dog, Bully, was the meanest of them all. Sam would later ask his cousin what ever happened to Bully.
“Turned on me,” his cousin explained. “One day Bully turned, and I knew right then I had to put him down.” It was the look in that dog’s eyes that scared him the most.
“They were like fish eyes,” he explained to Sam, “nothing there”.
It was that lack of humanity now in his best friend’s eyes that chilled him. Heavy drops of rain fell fatly on Sam’s head and the goose bumps brought him back.
“I just want to get out of the rain Tony, can I? It’s me man, it’s me.”
Tony motioned with the barrel of the gun for Sam to sit and he carefully, deliberately obliged. Tony let out a deep breath that hitched toward the end and wiped his eyes, then stared down the barrel of the gun.
“I would never hurt you man, you know that. Just give me a couple of minutes, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here tonight.” Tony put his head back against the wall and looked up at nothing. More of the hitching breathing followed and he seemed to relax. Lighting flashed and lit them up again. Framed by the backdrop of the painted fish and pool rules Sam could make out the next rule carefully painted on the cinderblock wall.
Rule 2: Never swim alone.
Sam figured he would ask another question. “I didn’t see the truck out front, did you walk here?”
“The truck is around a phone pole up on Quill Street,” answered Tony matter of factly. “I hit the curve too fast and spun it right into the pole. I wound up here because I didn’t know where else to go. I’ve always loved it here; I thought it was a good place to do…this.” he said holding up the gun. There in the dark as the rain fell, Sam cou
ld feel his friend Tony filtering back into the stranger the he had found sitting against the wall that reminded him of that dog with the sinister fish eyes, the pit bull named Bully.
He could talk him out of it.
Sam knew he just had to bring him all the way back and it would be like it was before. They could be those no good kids who stole cans of beer from the bullet shaped refrigerator at the neighborhood pool and shamelessly continued to waste their adolescence. But deep down a sense of dread, a small knot of leaden weight grew larger. It belied the untruth he so desperately wanted to believe. The untruth that everything would be okay and that everything could go back to normal.
“Is that where the blood is from?” Said Sam, pointing to what should have been an oil spot on Tony’s shirt “Come on man, you can get it fixed, your truck can be fixed, you don’t have to do all this.”
Even as the words left his lips he knew that this had nothing at all to do with the truck.
Now
In the sky a white bolt of plasma spread delicate fingers gracefully down from the clouds. First white then blue and finally purple, they flickered gone and back again as they touched the earth. The massive oaks and pecans on the property stretched and groaned in the wind. Sam produced another smoke from his beaten up soft pack he kept hidden from everyone and struck another match. He watched the soft orange flame flicker, breathing in deep the hint of sulfur,
A few weeks later Marcos handed the pink slip of the Camaro to his drug dealer to settle a five hundred dollar debt.
It was the last thing Tony had. It was his birthright, and now it, just like his father, was gone forever.
Now
The big pecan tree in the backyard rattled its papery dry leaves to bathe in the rich, damp perfume of rain. The hollow rustling sound was comforting because it sounded like home. It had been a while since Sam sat on the roof staring at the city. It had been even longer since he let these memories come back without blocking them instinctively. Memories of the day he went to the pool to retrieve a bicycle and found much more than he could have ever imagined.
A gust howled though the treetops causing him to shiver, his skin immediately reacted in a rash of goose bumps. Twenty years had passed in a blink of an eye and he marveled at the strange concept of the perception of time.
He allowed himself to be taken back, to his friend, to the pool and to the night of the storm.
Back Then
Lightning pulsed in the distance. By the time Sam made it over to the pool, the sunny warmth of day had succumbed to the cool, dark pull of night. A ten foot high chain link fence topped with barbed wire surrounded the pool which sat on a pie shaped lot facing away from the street. What would have been an eyesore was made beautiful by the planting of honeysuckle along the fence line many years before. By August it became a solid wall of perfection in bloom. That year was no exception. The heady floral scent mixed with that of the rain’s sweet promise possessed the intoxicating effect of an opiate.
Sam closed his eyes and followed the bouquet in the magnificent colorful darkness you can only see with your eyes closed. The sound of his footsteps along the crushed gravel driveway gave way to the soft swish of cool, emerald green grass. Each blade spread wide and full in thirsty anticipation of the rain it somehow sensed was coming. Sam reached out his hand and opened his eyes. There he stood in front of the gate; in his hand the padlock. He knew this place well, even with his eyes closed.
He clapped his hands over his front pockets then his back.
Damn, no keys.
He remembered taking them out and setting them on the kitchen table, one of those well intentioned time savers that usually wind up costing time in the end. No matter, he had jumped the fence before, but getting the bike over the fence, well the devil’s in the details of course.
After a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear he unbuttoned his jeans and stripped down to his boxers, he draped the Levi’s over the fence to cover the barbs and climbed over. He dropped down on the other side and dressed. Against a mesquite tree his bike waited to be taken home before being left out in the rain…again. He wheeled it around and contemplated the least destructive way to heave it over the fence.
As he walked the bike poolside he heard what he thought at first was an animal close by and in the darkness. He heard it again, though this time it was different, was it a person? A sob or a gasp from between the picnic tables under the covered patio by the ice machine and the ancient fridge helped him zero in on what it was. Sam stood motionless, he gripped the handlebars vise-like, and he strained in the dark to see what it was. A flash of lightning illuminated a scene he would never forget. In that instant of brilliance he saw Tony, wilted against the cinderblock wall, a wall adorned with poorly drawn tropical fish, an equally uninspired coral reef and a list of pool rules.
Rule 1: No running.
Tony locked eyes with Sam for a tiny slice of time and yet they conveyed years of emotion. Tired and haunted then cold and vacant, his tears reflected in trails that glistened down his face that changed into a blank and unreadable canvas. There appeared to be blood on his shirt even though it seemed like an irregular shaped oil spot on his chest. He was holding something or resting his head on something, was it a beer? Sam couldn’t make it out, but another flash of electricity lighting the sky removed all doubt.
Tony held in his hand and rested his head on model 1911 Colt .45 automatic, and he saw blood, it was blood on his shirt. The irregular shaped stain that should have been an oil spot was blood and what should have been a frosty can of Lone Star stolen from the big bullet shaped refrigerator was a cold steel firearm he pointed at his brain from beneath his chin.
The gun was alien but immediately familiar. Earlier in the day they were hit with that insatiable hunger that goes hand in hand with a day of swimming. The two hopped in the truck and decided on Whataburger. Tony turned the key and three hundred ponies rumbled to life.
“Reach under the seat for me.” said Tony and flashed a trademark Cheshire grin.
Sam fumbled under the seat and after blindly handling an empty coke can and some cigarette packs he happened upon something cold, heavy and out of the ordinary. His hand curled naturally around the handle of the aforementioned weapon.
Sam was in awe.
“Where did you get THIS?” He managed, looking stupidly at the gun then at Tony and back to the gun.
“I lifted it from Asshole.” (This meant Marcos, his step father). “He and my mom went over to their friend’s house for the next three days, but never mind them, how about that piece huh?” Tony relished the rush of clean, pure satisfaction his act of rebellion had afforded him.
It was the same gun.
The flash of lightning was gone punctuated by a clap of thunder. It was the same gun, but a different Tony. Sam tried, but found no words. He was frozen, locked in disbelief and confusion that left him dumbstruck.
Tony spoke first.
“Oh man Sammy what have I done?” He croaked. “I’m gonna end it man, I’ve lost everything. I have to end it right?” Tony began rocking back and forth against the cold cinderblock wall but now kept the gun pointed at his chest.
“What have you done, Tony?” Finally words had come to him. He eased the bike down and started toward his friend but Tony stiffened up and put the gun back under his chin.
“Don’t come near me, Sammy, really stay the fuck away.”
The look in his eyes was something completely unreal. They were vacant like fish eyes, nothing there.
Sam had a cousin that raised pit bulls. One dog, Bully, was the meanest of them all. Sam would later ask his cousin what ever happened to Bully.
“Turned on me,” his cousin explained. “One day Bully turned, and I knew right then I had to put him down.” It was the look in that dog’s eyes that scared him the most.
“They were like fish eyes,” he explained to Sam, “nothing there”.
It was that lack of humanity now in his best friend’s eyes that chilled him. Heavy drops of rain fell fatly on Sam’s head and the goose bumps brought him back.
“I just want to get out of the rain Tony, can I? It’s me man, it’s me.”
Tony motioned with the barrel of the gun for Sam to sit and he carefully, deliberately obliged. Tony let out a deep breath that hitched toward the end and wiped his eyes, then stared down the barrel of the gun.
“I would never hurt you man, you know that. Just give me a couple of minutes, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here tonight.” Tony put his head back against the wall and looked up at nothing. More of the hitching breathing followed and he seemed to relax. Lighting flashed and lit them up again. Framed by the backdrop of the painted fish and pool rules Sam could make out the next rule carefully painted on the cinderblock wall.
Rule 2: Never swim alone.
Sam figured he would ask another question. “I didn’t see the truck out front, did you walk here?”
“The truck is around a phone pole up on Quill Street,” answered Tony matter of factly. “I hit the curve too fast and spun it right into the pole. I wound up here because I didn’t know where else to go. I’ve always loved it here; I thought it was a good place to do…this.” he said holding up the gun. There in the dark as the rain fell, Sam cou
ld feel his friend Tony filtering back into the stranger the he had found sitting against the wall that reminded him of that dog with the sinister fish eyes, the pit bull named Bully.
He could talk him out of it.
Sam knew he just had to bring him all the way back and it would be like it was before. They could be those no good kids who stole cans of beer from the bullet shaped refrigerator at the neighborhood pool and shamelessly continued to waste their adolescence. But deep down a sense of dread, a small knot of leaden weight grew larger. It belied the untruth he so desperately wanted to believe. The untruth that everything would be okay and that everything could go back to normal.
“Is that where the blood is from?” Said Sam, pointing to what should have been an oil spot on Tony’s shirt “Come on man, you can get it fixed, your truck can be fixed, you don’t have to do all this.”
Even as the words left his lips he knew that this had nothing at all to do with the truck.
Now
In the sky a white bolt of plasma spread delicate fingers gracefully down from the clouds. First white then blue and finally purple, they flickered gone and back again as they touched the earth. The massive oaks and pecans on the property stretched and groaned in the wind. Sam produced another smoke from his beaten up soft pack he kept hidden from everyone and struck another match. He watched the soft orange flame flicker, breathing in deep the hint of sulfur,
