T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 1 - Bear, Otter, and the Kid (3 page)
The second thing I remember was that Creed had said his brother could be a jerk and of course that meant he was capable of murder and that he would not hesitate to murder
me
. So I squeaked out my name, asking if Creed was home. He yelled for Creed over his shoulder and walked away. I didnt know if I should follow him or stay where I was. My legs wouldnt move, so I decided it was best if I stayed outside. Creed came to the door and grabbed my arm and pulled me in. I went in and said hi to his parents, who Id met a couple of times before. Creed led me to his room so I could put my stuff down. We walked past another door whose hinges were about to be blown off by music pulsating deep from within that had a sign with almost illegible handwriting. And I will swear to God till the day I die that it said
KEEP OUT OF OTTER’S ROOM.
Now, I didnt know the name of Creeds older brother when I arrived, and I puzzled all the way to Creeds room on why his brother was named Otter. I asked him this quietly in his room after Id made sure no one could hear me as I didnt want to incur the wrath of someone somewhere. I remember Creed laughing hysterically, to the point where he was crying. You know where someone finds something so funny that you just dont get the humor in it, but they are laughing so hard that you eventually start laughing too? Yeah, it was one of those kinds of things. There we were, laughing our asses off, with one of us not understanding what was so funny. Between hitching breaths and snot hanging out of his nose, Creed finally told him that his brothers name was Oliver.
Everything was going good until Creed brought it up while all of us were at dinner.
I wished at that point, as I had never wished before, that I could disappear, become invisible, drop down dead,
anything
to get away from my sheer stupidity. Of course, I naturally assumed they were all laughing at me. I could feel my face on fire as I tried to think of something funny Id seen to keep the tears from spilling over. Eventually, finally, the conversation switched over to something else. I kept stealing glances over at Oliver, wondering how mad he was at me and how he was going to get his revenge. One time he caught me looking and gave me a crooked grin. His eyes flashed.
I looked away.
The next time I went over to the Thompson house, everyone called him Otter.
back and shake the Kid a little bit, trying to wake him. He doesnt like to wake up in strange places, so this is gentle work. Eventually he opens his eyes and hunts around until he finds me and visibly relaxes.
“Whats going on, Bear?” he asks, yawning.
“Were at Creeds house. Remember how I said we were going to hang out here tonight? Is that still okay? If we stay here for a while?” I had
The Kid stretches in the seat and nods. “Do you think Creed still has the History Channel on his TV?”
I try to hide my smile but dont do very well. “Im sure he does. Dont you want to watch cartoons or something, though?” He looks at me like Im crazy. I sigh and remind myself once again how normal he isnt and how okay that is. I hesitate with my next words, but only for a moment. “Guess what else, Kid? Otters here too.”
The Kid pauses for a moment, thinking. “Its been a while,” he finally says succinctly. He quickly unbuckles his seat belt and steps out into the rain. I zip up his coat, noticing how small it is on him now, wondering if I need to go get him a new one. I try and think if he has any other coat in the closet at home, but I cant remember. But thats all right. For now. For now, he seems to be okay.
“Bear, you coming inside or what?” Creed asks from the doorway. I startle, realizing that Ty has already run inside, and Im standing in the driveway getting soaked. I grin sheepishly and rub my hands through my hair.
As I enter the house, I hear Ty yelling for Otter as he runs up the stairs. Creed rolls his eyes at me. “I guess Ive been replaced already.”
“Dont feel too bad,” I say. “The Kid thinks youre cool, but „Otter rocks!” My voice rises to the octave of the Kid.
I follow him into the kitchen, where I hear Otter thumping back down the stairs and Ty already babbling away at him. I see them pass by the aquarium near the bottom of the stairs, and I notice Ty already resting on Otters back, his arms thrown companionably around his neck as he giggles into his ear. Otter has the same lopsided grin on his face that he always has. I remember when he used to be able to carry me like that. Hes a bit shorter than Creed but more muscular than he is. Everything else, from the closely cropped blond hair to the green eyes is the same. Of course hes older than Creed and I, twenty-nine years old to our just-turned twenty-one. He hasnt really changed much over the years. I find myself uncharacteristically fascinated by the veins that bulge out on his massive arms, the way his back looks like it goes on for miles under the shirt he wears. His gigantic hands, the crinkles around his eyes that form when he smiles. Theres something there, in the back of my mind, but I cant look at it now and berate myself quietly for noticing these things about him. About myself. What the hell do I care?
Otter sets down the Kid on the countertop in the kitchen, still giving Ty his full attention. Tys telling him some story involving the evils of ham production and looks down for a moment. Thats when Otter glances up over Tys head just for an instant and searches for me. His eyes find mine, and Otter grins the Otter grin before quickly diverting his attention back to the Kid. He knows as well as anybody that when Ty is talking to you about something as important as ham processing, you pay attention like its the last thing youll ever hear. I try not to notice how my step stutters when he looks away.
I walk into the kitchen. Creed grabs beer out of the fridge and offers one to me, which I take. He throws one to Otter who catches it deftly with one hand while never tearing his eyes away from Ty. Ty pauses in a sentence, and then Creed interjects, “Kid, you want a beer?”
Tys eyes widen and then narrow suspiciously. “What if I say yes?” Creed shrugs. “Then Id tell you youd have to ask Papa Bear.”
I snort. “Like hell we did! You little liar.”
The Kid looks back at Otter, who is struggling to keep a straight face. “You believe me, right, Otter?” he asks, making his voice sound as if he
were some poor orphan boy asking for a meal. Otter cant contain it and bursts out laughing, a loud bellowing sound that echoes throughout the tiled kitchen. Ty crosses his arms and scowls.
Otter sobers up for a moment, looking down at the little boy in front of him. “How about this,” he says. Ty instantly perks to attention. “How about I give you a sip of my beer and
just a sip
, and then I go get you some soy ice cream?”
Soy ice cream? I should have thought of that.
Ty looks at Otter for a moment to make sure hes not joking and then looks at me, eyes pleading. I pretend to mull it over for a moment while
Otter picks up his beer bottle and hands it over to Ty, saying, “You can sip until I count to three, and then youre done, okay?” Ty nods and lifts the bottle to his lips. “One… two… three, and youre done.” He takes the bottle away from Ty, who sits there a moment before letting out a great burp. We all laugh, and Otter gives a high-five to the Kid, who is grinning, knowing hes one of the boys.
Otter picks Ty easily off the counter and sets him on the ground, asking him first in his gruffest voice if he is too drunk to walk and did he know that was against the law? Ty says he knows it was against the law, but he was peer-pressured into it, just like Creed pressured me to drink the first time.
“What can I say?” I whisper back. “I was young and impressionable, and you coerced me.” Creed snorts on his beer, spilling it onto the ground. He searches around for a towel while cursing my name. While smirking at Creed, I feel a strong arm drop onto my shoulder. I look over and see Otter standing next to me, crooked grin and all. His teeth are big and white.
For a moment he looks like hes about to speak but something must cross his mind, changing it, and he takes it back. He gives me a one-armed hug and then steps back to stand in front of me, looking down at the beer in his hand. I wonder what just happened and what he was going to say. I wonder a lot of things, but its all batted down by the sound of rain on the roof. I look down at Creed, but his attention is still focused on the spilled beer, so he didnt see anything. Not that there would have been anything to see. I look back up to Otter and am trying to make out the mess that is my mind when he says, “So, whats the word, Papa Bear?”
I shrug. “Same, I guess. Whats new with you? I havent seen you since what, the Christmas before last?” I say this last bit coldly, as we both know damn well when the last time I saw him was.
Hes about to speak again, but this time is interrupted by Creed. “Yeah, whats up, Otter? Not that I mind at all, but how come youre here? What, San Diego getting to be too much for you?”
Otter shrugs, and I dont think hes going to answer when he says, “Felt like I needed a change of scenery for a while.” He takes another sip of his beer and doesnt speak further, and it drives me fucking crazy.
Hed graduated from the University of Oregon in Eugene and had stayed in Seafare for a while. After my mom left, some shit went down, and then Otter was gone too. I have only seen him once in the last three years. I know he works for some kind of photography agency down there where his work is apparently hot shit. The house Im in right now is full of his pictures, his moms equivalent of hanging coloring pages and good test scores on the fridge.
Creed, but not before I see the warning look that Otter shoots him. Creed smirks and yells back “Whats up, Kid?”
“Did Otter go get my soy ice cream yet?”
Otter laughs. “Is that your way of telling me I need to go get it right now for you?”
“Yes. I was trying not to be rude, but I would like ice cream for when my show comes on.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I mutter. Theres nothing quite like the buzzkill of seeing how hamburger gets made. And nothing quite so boring as the history behind it. I turn to apologize to Creed and Otter, but Creed stops me, as he knows where Im going.
“Shut up, Bear, and let the Kid do what he wants.” He finishes off his beer and reaches in to grab another one, saying, “Besides, I want to watch it, too, and see how long it takes for me to get drunk enough to see if it gets funny. Why dont you go with him?” he asks me. “Give Ty some Uncle Creed time and you some time off.”
I can think of at least four hundred reasons why thats a bad idea and look at Otter who is scouting around for his keys. “Do you want me to go?” I ask. The moment I say the words, I regret them. My mouth tends to move on its own.
I walk through the hall, pausing to look every now and then at the pictures on the walls. Theres one from, like, fifteen years ago of Creed, Otter, and their parents. There are separate ones of Creed and Otter and other family: grandparents, aunts, uncles. It used to weird me out seeing these pictures. We didnt have anything like that hanging in our house. My mom said that when I was seven, she took me with her and had our pictures taken “professionally,” I remember her saying proudly. But when I asked her where the pictures were, she said she couldnt remember.
I get to another picture in the hallway and stop. Its black and white, taken when me and Creed were fifteen years old. Otter had taken it, showing us jumping on a giant trampoline that they used to have in the backyard. Otter had caught us mid-jump, our longer hair frenzied about our faces, our shirts bunched slightly up around our stomachs, revealing white lines of skin. I look at myself then and realize how different I look now. How different things are now.
I was too skinny all through high school, until finally I got sick of it and started working out. Im nowhere near as bulked up as Creed is, but its a lot better than where I started. My face isnt tragic and my skin is clear. I dont have a tan, but then most people that live here dont. I have brown eyes and black hair that needs to be cut. I have a white scar on my forehead near my right eyebrow where Creed had accidentally hit me with an aluminum bat when I was thirteen years old. That took four stitches, and my mom sat with me in the emergency room, saying I should see if I could get any Vicodin. I did and gave it to her.
Ive never been one to be concerned with looks or vanity (for the most part). To be honest, I dont have the time. I dont have fancy clothes or expensive haircuts and dont really see the need for it. Im more worried about keeping a roof over our head and buying Tyson new shoes almost every other week. I dont know how its possible for a nine-year-old to go through so many pairs of damn shoes. So, with all that, Ive learned its significantly easier to be humble when youre forced to do it. You can consider that a life lesson from me to you. Youre welcome.
I go out to the living room and see the Kid reclined out on the sofa, head on a pillow, eyes opened wide as he watches yet another show that looks like it belongs in the original
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
. “Kid,” I grumble at him, “I dont know how you dont have nightmares from this. This creeps
me
out.”
