The Boy Who Killed Grant Parker (7 page)

I took a can of beer and drank it quickly, grateful for something to do with my hands and my mouth, feeling like a conspicuous outsider. The old
Sesame Street
chant played in my mind:
One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong.…
I was the other.

While everyone gathered around the campfire, I sat with my legs hanging off the tailgate of Grant's truck and contemplated the size of the sky. It was as if I had gone my whole life without ever really seeing the sky before. In the city you can see only patches of sky between the rooflines, and even with a long view of the horizon, the city is so clogged with buildings and cars and bridges and exhaust fumes, the sky is only a backdrop.

But here, I was overwhelmed by the immensity of the sky, the horizon broken only by the rolling pastureland. Stars struggled against the gauze of the thin, low-hanging clouds. Though the moon was only a crescent sliver, the full roundness of its dark side was visible from where I sat, small and insignificant, on the Chevy truck.

I was on my second beer, and the alcohol was traveling quickly to my head. I wasn't drunk, but I felt a pleasant buzz, just enough to make me want to hurry up and finish the second beer so I could crack a third, knowing the first few sips would be cold and crisp.

The noise of the others talking and laughing faded into the background as I continued to study the sky, wishing that I knew something about constellations so I could read the stars. As I sat in comfortable silence, Penny settled into the seat beside me and offered me an unopened beer.

“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “I was just thinking I would like another one, but I didn't feel like getting up.”

The smile she gave me was partially hidden by a curtain of wavy blond hair that glowed even in the dim light cast by the moon and the campfire. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking at the stars,” I said as I turned back to the beauty of them, which had paled slightly in comparison to Penny's smile. “I just realized that back home I never really see the sky. Not like this. At night you see only streetlights and lighted buildings. In the city we've built up these walls around us, as if we aren't part of nature, as if we're somehow stronger than nature. Here—” I stopped suddenly as I realized I was babbling. I took a quick drink from my beer to cover my awkwardness.

“What were you going to say?” Penny asked as she gave my knee a nudge with the side of her hand.

“Nothing,” I said with a self-conscious chuckle.

“No, really. Tell me. I want to know.”

I shook my head but finally said, “I don't know. Here I feel so insignificant. Almost like you have to believe in a higher power because how else could you explain all of this.” I waved vaguely at the sky and moon above us.

“I guess I never really think about it,” she said, her voice soft. “But it's a real pretty thought.” As she said this she shifted a little closer to me. It wasn't anything obvious, almost as if she was just resettling in her seat to get comfortable, but I was aware that now her hip and shoulder were touching mine. I became acutely aware of my posture and that my underarms were slimy with sweat. “Most people I know don't think about a world outside of Ashland,” she said, her gaze still turned up to the sky.

“What about you?” I asked.

She laughed in a self-conscious way and rubbed her hands together as if to warm them. “I think about getting out of Ashland all the time. Leaving everyone and everything I know behind. But then I think…” She paused, and the silence dragged on for so long that I didn't think she was going to finish the thought.

“But then you think what?” I asked.

“I don't know,” she said. “What would I do? Where would I go? How would I make new friends?”

“You've just summed up my entire life,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “You moving here, seeing you … have to adjust to a new life. It's made me think about it even more.”

I was still formulating a response to Penny's comment when someone put a heavy hand on my shoulder and the weight of a knee in my back.

“Hey, city boy,” Grant said, and I turned to find myself in the light of his easy smile.

“Hey, man,” I said as I cracked the beer Penny had handed me. I held up the can I had just finished and said, “Where are you putting the empties? You take them back to recycle?”

Grant took the can from my hand and flung it into the field as he dropped into a seat beside me in one fluid motion. “I can't tell if he tries to be funny or if he's just kind of simple,” Grant said, leaning forward to direct his comment to Penny across my chest.

“You're hilarious,” I said with a roll of my eyes. Though Grant came across as the typical jock douche bag at first, I regretted that I had been so quick to judge and dismiss him as a one-dimensional character.

As I sat there between Grant and Penny, sipping on my beer and swinging my legs off the tailgate, I found myself thinking that maybe my last year of high school wouldn't be so bad. Earlier that week my whole senior year had stretched out in front of me like a lonely abyss, but now I felt a certain warmth under my skin at the prospect of autumn nights out sipping beer under the stars, weekend fishing trips, and Friday-night football games.

Maybe it was just the beer talking, but it was the first moment since I had arrived in Ashland that I felt something other than anger, loneliness, or angry loneliness.

“All right, city boy,” Grant said as he nudged me with his elbow. “Time for your initiation.”

The unofficial nickname he had given me was starting to wear a groove in my patience, but he seemed to mean it in a good-natured way, so I didn't correct him. Instead I gave him shit in return.

“It doesn't involve having sex with barnyard animals, does it?” I asked as I turned to Grant again. “Because I know how you
country boys
like to get your kicks.”

Grant was smiling at my joke, but I thought I detected the glint of anger in his eyes. Before I could really tell if I had insulted him with my comment about sexual relations with barnyard animals, the glint was gone and all that remained was his good-natured smile.

“If that's what you're into, you'll have to manage that in your own free time,” he said as he slapped me on the upper back, hard enough that it actually hurt, but I fought back a wince. I didn't want him to think I was a complete wimp, which, if I'm being totally honest, I am. “Your initiation,” Grant said as I felt the others go silent behind us, “is going to be your first cow tipping.” A stifled laugh behind us from the group. I knew it wasn't Tony, since he never laughed at anything, but this seemed to generally amuse everyone.

“You're joking,” I said.

Grant shook his head. “Nope.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” I asked.

“It's easy,” Grant said. “Just walk on up to one of them out sleeping in the field and push it over. But you've got to really get your shoulder into it.” With this he demonstrated as he dropped his shoulder and knocked his weight against mine in the parody of a football tackle.

Since we had arrived past dark I hadn't really taken much notice of the few cows scattered in the pasture. They were just part of the scenery. Now I turned to glance around the fields, only one or two of the cows now visible in the dark.

“Luke, you don't have to,” Penny said as I sat considering what I should do.

“He wants to,” Grant said. “He wants to prove he isn't just a city boy.” Grant's voice held a warning, and I looked questioningly at Penny, but she just rolled her eyes and looked away.

“What are the chances the cow will kill me after I tip it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual to hide my unease.

“Mm,” Grant said as if he were really considering the odds. “Slim to none. Just run real fast while it's still on the ground.” He laughed after he said this, a laugh that invited me to join in. I tried to laugh along, but my heart wasn't in it.

“If I don't do this, you'll never let me live it down, right?” I asked as I suppressed a small sigh.

“Not likely,” Grant said with a nod toward the closest cow, just a black hole in the absolute darkness beyond the light of the fire.

As I walked toward the cow I found myself high-stepping quietly through the grass as if I were a caveman sneaking up on a mammoth, or maybe Elmer Fudd sneaking up on Bugs Bunny. This was the closest I had ever been to livestock, and the experience was somewhat disquieting.

The cow remained still as I approached, and I silently prayed that it would not make any sudden movements, would not stampede and trample me to death or whatever it was cows do when they react with fear or anger. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I couldn't believe the noise wouldn't wake every cow within a mile.

The headlights from Grant's truck cut on suddenly, startling me so much that I jerked in fright. I was so tightly wound that the abrupt introduction of artificial light was almost audible. My eyes had been adjusted to the dark, but now I could see the brown of the cow's coat and the white mask of its face. The light did not disturb the cow, and it remained still.

When I came alongside the cow, I paused to take a deep breath and steel my resolve. I turned sideways and dropped my shoulder in preparation for my attack. With one final glance over my shoulder at the group that hung clustered near Grant's truck, just a mass of silhouettes from my perspective, I planted my right foot and leaned into it, slamming my shoulder into the thickest part of the beast and pushing with all my might.

Almost immediately, I realized that I was doomed to fail. Pushing the cow was like pushing against a house or a car. The cow didn't even stumble but instead swung its head on the massively powerful neck to eye me curiously. Not docile and bovine, but self-aware and seriously annoyed.

The cow had not been asleep. It had merely been standing still, as any large animal with the same cranial capacity of a cow would, stupidly surveying its surroundings and contemplating the meaning of life.

The cow dropped its head as if it had a sudden interest in grazing, while I stood frozen, waiting to see how the situation would play out. Before I could decide whether to run or back away slowly and quietly, the head, bigger and heavier than an anvil, swung up and cracked me under the chin with the broad flat of its nose. My teeth cracked together and I saw stars, both literally and figuratively, as I fell onto my back.

My fall to the ground didn't really hurt anything other than my pride. The long grass was soft, and my fall was additionally pillowed by a pile of cowshit, made slimy from a recent rain.

I stood quickly to avoid being stepped on by the cow, now eyeing me menacingly as it waited to see what I would do. It took one threatening step toward me, and I was so scared I stumbled backward and fell again.

By now I was aware of the howls of laughter coming across the field from my audience, and I was so angry I forgot to be afraid. I stood for one minute looking at them all as they laughed; Grant was doubled over hugging his gut as he laughed the loudest.

I started to brush off my backside to remove the worst of the debris that clung to my clothes but I ended up just spreading the cowshit or grinding it into the fabric of my jeans.

Grant and his disciples continued to laugh with more enthusiasm than the situation really warranted. Instead of walking back to the circle of firelight, I walked toward what I hoped was the direction of town.

I heard my name called. Maybe the voice was Grant's, though I couldn't tell from that distance. The tone insisted on my return to the group, but I ignored it and kept walking. I wasn't sure I was headed home. I was just headed away.

I'll admit I was a little scared, afraid I would encounter a bear or even another cow, but going back to Grant and his friends was not an option. I was already embarrassed. If I had to face them now it would do nothing but compound my humiliation. I chose a cowardly exit while in my heart hoping that it conveyed only contempt and anger. My mortification manifested both mentally and physically, and I felt sick to my stomach.

*   *   *

Once I reached the road I walked quickly, my head down, angry with myself. Angry with the world. In my mind I was plotting the quickest way I could get back to DC. Maybe my mom would take me back. Maybe she would forget this idea of me forging some kind of relationship with my dad, would see that it was useless. After all, she had raised me, and she was nothing like my dad. I thought about calling her then. Calling to tell her I was done with Ashland and was coming home whether she liked it or not. I had friends in DC who would let me live with them. Maybe I could take the GED, graduate early, and get a job until I got accepted to some mediocre state university a thousand miles from either of my parents.

There were no streetlights on the outskirts of town, and the houses were dark and quiet, watching me with silent judgment as I passed. I had no concept of how far we had driven outside of town, but it took me over an hour to reach civilization on foot.

On the empty residential streets I wandered a circuitous route, so lost in my thoughts I didn't even notice as a car slid up alongside me, creeping at the same speed as I was walking. I half-turned to look over my shoulder, expecting to find Grant or one of his friends in the car, coming after me to apologize or try to make nice. I was angry enough to knock someone out but didn't like the idea of anyone, especially Penny or one of the other girls, seeing me covered in cowshit and shame.

The car was painted green and white, the colors of the local police department. The passenger window slid down and released a puff of cool air into the night.

“Evening,” came the baritone drawl of the driver as he put the car into park and leaned one arm along the back of the passenger seat to look up at me. Chief Perry.