Texts from Bennett (14 page)

“. . .
and that’s why starting a tabby rescue is my calling. I think it should be pretty amazing.”

At first I was sympathetic and apologetic to her for how Bennett acted, but after fifteen minutes of listening to her pine away at all sorts of nutty, hippie, catsexual propaganda: I no longer cared.

Especially after she revealed to me that she inherited her house and a hefty life-insurance sum when her father died. She really
didn’t count as a neighbor whose respect I wanted to earn. Her whole plan was to donate every dime she inherited to animal charity, then use her late father’s very nice five-bedroom house for her cat rescue.

I apologized multiple times for my cousin and for suddenly having to “attend to something” in the kitchen and exited the conversation. I don’t care if you started doing meth the moment you woke up, there is
never
a justifiable reason for being as energetic as Tallulah was that early in the morning.

I went up to my bedroom, stripped to my boxer briefs, and texted Bennett from my bed.

ME:
I don’t want to wake you up but here’s the deal:

BENNETT:
im up

ME:
You’re up?

BENNETT:
yes i got a job inerview at popeyes chikin

ME:
Really?

BENNETT:
yes they R hireing im gnna ride my bike and talk 2 da manger he call me last night

ME:
Good. GOOD.

ME:
Well shit. I won’t keep you then. But . . .

ME:
Your girlfriend Tallulah came over to complain about you. She showed me all the texts you sent her.

BENNETT:
did u tell her N E thing ?

ME:
Nothing she didn’t already know.

ME:
You really struck out with that one.

BENNETT:
i like getto bitchez not yuppyz wat can i say

BENNETT:
dat bitch drinkz green Tee and feeds her cat wit da same fork she eats with why da fucc wud i try hard

ME:
Don’t make me laugh. Hahaha.

BENNETT:
i bet she wud make out wit a cat at da moviez

BENNETT:
i bet she givs lap dances to Sluger

BENNETT:
i just wanted 2 C her tittys cuz i can get pix on my fone now

ME:
So you purposely offended her?

BENNETT:
no i jus didnt want to put 4th da efert

ME:
Why?

BENNETT:
i basicly said Hi bitch im bennett lemme get sum loven

BENNETT:
she said no and i wuz like watever

BENNETT:
bcides she wuz talken shit abt da way i type i aint no english prafesser bitch i wanna study ur tittys all nite not vocabalarry wurdz

ME:
So you didn’t want to spend the energy on trying to make her like you?

BENNETT:
make her like me ?

BENNETT:
nigga U aint followen me i dont even like her why da fucc wud i cared if she liked me

ME:
Um.

BENNETT:
she wud cheat on a dood with a cat..she wierd as fucc . sumtims U gadda see what a persen has 2 offer u and try 2 get it

ME:
Right. I thought you were going to use her car to deliver pizzas?

BENNETT:
u said i cudnt so i had no reson 2 macc on her she alredy gave me money it wuz titty time or goodbye on 2 da nex one

ME:
Fair enough. Honestly she seems like a nutjob. So I really don’t care.

BENNETT:
were r u

ME:
I’m in bed about to go back to sleep. Here’s the deal. Read this out loud to yourself if you have to.

ME:
Do not fuck up one more time. NOT ONE MORE TIME. I’m dead serious. I’ve told you this a few times, but I mean it. I’m not gonna tell Harper or anything. No one. Just stay on point. Okay?

ME:
Nail this fucking job interview and give me a reason to let you stay here.

ME:
No more bullshit. I am really enjoying your mom’s presence, so don’t fuck it up.

BENNETT:
Ok..my mom is a gr8 lady i wont fucc it up

ME:
I’m serious.

BENNETT:
me 2 . . .

ME:
I hope so.

Somewhat to my amazement, Bennett was hired on the spot. He started the next morning. By that first afternoon, and then every single day after that, he was blowing off his responsibilities and texting me instead of working.

BENNETT:
How do chikin fingers get so big? thier hands are way smaller.. i bet its really da chikins penis and they lie for markiting

ME:
I think my question would be, “Why do they call them chicken fingers?” Chickens have claws.

BENNETT:
i know..my girl got claws to.i wish i cud drive sticc. if i cud id locc my girl in a cage to stop her from clawin me..

BENNETT:
but her car is sticc n i can drive sticc..so if i locc her in a cage i wont have a ride to da arcade my nigga :( shes a Wearwolf man

Part 4

i was jaken off this mornin and my mom yell “BENnet wats dat loud gruntiNG noise ! “

Grunting?

fuk yea cuz i go hard when i jakk off. so i tell her “im watchin transformers 2 and a bad guy just die”

(but den i put lotion on my dik and my mom yell “son wuts dat clapping noise tell me at once . . .” so i say

“im clapping cuz transformers is so good !”

It was late morning and I had just pulled into town from a short, two-day show run to Iowa City, Iowa, and Chicago, Illinois. The shows went well, so the drive home was a breeze. I dropped my DJ, Astroblack, aka Patric, off at his house and headed home. Luckily, the couple of days I was gone were pretty tame. Harper gave me reports every few hours, and while she seemed detached and brief, during her conversations with me, she seemed to be getting used to Lillian et al being around the house.

ME:
I just got home. Please, man, don’t smoke weed in the front anymore. Smoke in the garage where Harper’s car used to be.

BENNETT:
Ok will du how was da shows

ME:
Great, actually.

BENNETT:
well hey

BENNETT:
i no u jus got home but man..can u cum up hear i gadda talk to u abut sumthin

BENNETT:
im off work

BENNETT:
if u hungry u can come git sum free food my manajer lets us hav wat we want

BENNETT:
i gadda talk 2 u abut sum crazzy shit

BENNETT:
come up for lunch it free

ME:
Yeah? That sounds amazing. Popeyes chicken is great.

BENNETT:
come allone its improtant

ME:
Is everything ok?

BENNETT:
i dunno..i need 2 talk 2 u doe

ME:
Okay. I’ll be there shortly.

BENNETT:
K

I had never had Bennett tell me something was “improtant” before. I imagined it was going to be about the financial situation he and his family were in. Under all the hoodlum lingo and idiocy, a sliver of him was starting to appear responsible enough to realize this was a serious issue.

I went inside and unpacked my show merchandise in the unfinished section of my basement, putting everything back on the wooden shelves I built some time ago. Except for the sleeping bag and pillows on the couch, Bennett’s area of the basement was surprisingly really clean and smelled like perfume. There was a pair of high heels on the floor, which, seeing them, gave me a brief sensation of annoyance that Harper didn’t keep them with the rest of the shoes she kept in the storage area of my basement.

I walked upstairs and found Harper ironing her work clothes in our bedroom.

“Hello, my love,” I said.

“Hey,” she said, without breaking concentration.

“I’m home!” I announced.

“Welcome home, baby,” Harper said quickly, kissing me but distracted by something else.

“Okay. Um. You wanna go with me to Popeyes and eat lunch? I gotta talk to Bennett about something.”

“Ehhh . . . no. No thanks. But you go ahead.”

I kissed her a few more times, attempting to stare into her eyes so we could intimately lock irises. She still wouldn’t look at me for some reason.

“Are you okay, Harper?”

“Yes. Fine.” Nope. Nothing. She didn’t tilt her head upward to even make eye contact.

•

When I got to Popeyes, Bennett was outside smoking a Newport cigarette. He flicked it upon seeing me and gave me a high-five and hug. I followed him inside.

He ordered us some crispy chicken leg and breast combos, with Cajun rice, mashed potatoes and gravy, and New Orleans–style pecan pies. His boss, Ned, a skinny, gray-haired Latino in his forties, told us to eat in the back corner, “away from the general population of customers.” I tried to introduce myself to him, but he seemed very uninterested and acted as if shaking my hand was completely beneath his station. This, from the day manager at Popeyes, mind you.

The food was delectable, but Bennett seemed tired. Bothered by something. He’d been really quiet this whole time. I figured the early work shift must have made him lethargic. He was exercising work muscles that he probably had never known he even had.

Entranced by his phone, he sat still, rapidly text messaging someone, his lower jaw hanging wide open and slightly moving as he mouthed the words he was reading. Drool would ooze out of his mouth any second. He was covered in a layer of kitchen sweat, which caused the homemade EA$T$IDE tattoo on his inner arm to glisten on his pink epidermis. His forearms were covered with scrapes, cuts, burns, and scratch marks. I knew the signs from many a friend’s arms: he had been making fries all day.

“So what’s going on?” I asked.

“Man . . .” he said, shaking his head.

“What?”

He didn’t respond and didn’t want to look me directly in the eyes.

“What, dude? What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Aw, man . . . nigga . . . did you see da video I shot?”

“What video?”

He stared at me blankly.

“What video, Bennett?”

“I shot it with your phone da other night.”

“Huh?”

“Lemme see yo’ phone, nigga. I’ll show you.”

“Uh . . . hang on, I’ve gotta go get it.”

I had left my phone in my car, charging. Puzzled by where he was going with this, I decided to grab it so he could show me whatever moronic thing he was talking about, and also so afterward, I could peruse the news websites and music blogs I checked on a daily basis. I ran out to the parking lot and, as I unplugged the phone, noticed I had four missed calls and eleven missed texts.
All
from Harper.

I read them with growing concern while walking back inside to our table.

HARPER:
HEY

HARPER:
Answer your fucking phone!!!!

HARPER:
Hello? Answer!!!!! I think a burglar is here.

HARPER:
Some strange girl was in our basement. She just kicked open the basement door and started cussing really loud, my Magritte print fell off the wall and shattered!

HARPER:
Motherfucker, please answer!!!!!!!

HARPER:
?????????????????????????????????

HARPER:
OH MY GOD!!!! I’m calling the cops!!!

HARPER:
She’s screaming at Lily.

HARPER:
GET HERE NOW WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU

HARPER:
??????

HARPER:
HELLO!!!!

She didn’t answer repeated, back-to-back calls. I left a voice mail: “Hello? Are you okay? Hello? What’s going on? Call me back, damn it! Is everything okay?”

I hung up the phone, then immediately dialed again but ended up disconnecting when I once again got Harper’s voice mail.

In a frenzy, I ran inside of Popeyes and found Bennett sitting alone at the table.

“We gotta go, dude. Something’s happening at the house. Someone broke in!” I yelled at Bennett.