Tricks (9 page)

stopped by a young police officer.

*

Give them some room. The little

boy is breathing. That's all

we know. Are you the mother?

*

"No. I'm his sister. But I--I--"

What else is there to say right

now? "Wha-what happened?"

*

Hit and run.
His radio scratches

some unintelligible information.

Hang on. I've got to take this call.

*

Your, uh, sister over there saw the whole thing. Why don't you

talk to her? But stay right here.

*

Like I would go somewhere?

Damn me. Why wasn't I here?

Must be what he's thinking too.

142

Mary Ann Stands Sobbing

On the sidewalk, eyes wide with fear. "What happened?"

I struggle to keep my voice gentle.

*

He--I--Sandy was kicking
a ball on the lawn. Pepper and Honey started to fight, and...

*

when I tried to stop them, I guess
the ball rolled into the street and Sandy ran after it and...

*

I guess a motorcycle came down
the street and ran over him and just kept going and... and... I

*

was right there and I didn't mean--

Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Oh

my God, I'm so sorry...

*

I grab her shoulders, shake hard.

"Stop it. It's not your fault. Go

take care of the kids. They're scared."

*

They all stand huddled together on the doorstep. Mary Ann goes over to them as another ambulance

143

arrives. Two ambulances for one

person? Talk about overki--

Don't dare finish the thought.

*

Two new paramedics open the back

doors of their ambulance, remove a gurney and a backboard.

*

Together, the four prepare Sandy for a ride to the hospital. I can't

do anything but watch them

*

lift his still motionless form, tubes

running into his arm and an oxygen mask over his face, onto

*

the wheeled stretcher. As they load

him into the waiting ambulance,

Officer Lemoore comes over to me.

*

Your brother has internal injuries.

They'll need someone to give

permission for treatment. Where

*

are your parents? Can you call

them and tell them to come to Emergency right away?

144

I Tug My Eyes

Away from the ambulance, finally really look at the policeman in front of me.

*

He must be straight out of the academy, not too many

years older than me. He's

*

good-looking, in a straight sort of way, with topaz gold eyes.

Eyes brimming sympathy.

*

"I--I'll try to get hold of my

mom. But it will probably be

my grandmother. Is that okay?"

*

He hesitates. The information

sinks in.
Your mother would

be best. She has custody, right?

*

I nod. "But she's not always, uh..." How can I say this?

"Easy to track down."

145

I see. Well, do the best you can.

If we need to, we can get a court

order, but that takes time. And...

*

He shakes his head, and his meaning is very clear: There

might not be a whole lot of time.

*

Guilt churns. I want to heave.

"Can't I go in the ambulance?

If he wakes up, he'll be scared."

*

He won't wake up. He's sedated.

Besides, you need to find your

mom. And someone needs to take

*

care of your brother and sisters.

He gestures toward the crew.

You're the oldest. It's up to you.

146

I Am the Oldest

It was up to me to make sure

something like this never

happened. But no, I needed to

*

hang out downtown, smoking with Alex. If Sandy doesn't

pull through, I'll make sure a hit

*

and run happens. To me. The cop

follows me to the front door.

I need to ask you a few questions,

*

he says to Mary Ann, moving her off to one side.
Tell me again

what happened. Can you describe...

*

I push the other kids inside.

"I need to get hold of Gram.

Go watch TV. And don't fight."

*

I try to call Iris first. Her cell

goes straight to voice mail. Big

surprise. Gram left the beauty parlor

*

number next to the phone. No

surprise there, either. She's

good about communication.

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Hands Shaking

I dial the number, ask to speak to Vivian Belcher. "Gram?"

I force my voice calm, hope

*

she'll respond in the same way.

"You have to go to Emergency

right away. There was an accident...."

*

I don't tell her everything. Don't

have to. Enough for her to know

Sandy's life hangs by a sliver.

*

I poke my head into the living

room. Porter lies on the sofa, absorbed in Hannah Montana.

*

Pepper and Honey sit on the floor, holding each other in silent

acceptance of one another, and

*

maybe of the small part they, too, played in the afternoon's

drama. I go to tell Officer Lemoore

*

that I got hold of Gram. He's finished with Mary Ann, whose face is white as smoke. "Let's go inside," I say.

148

A Poem by Cody Bennett
Smoke

You stand in front of me, pretending to be solid, but you are nothing

more than smoke and mirrors.

You said you'd never

leave, that you would

care for us forever.

But now you claim you

cannot

stay, that you've been called away. When you

go, who will I turn to when it all crashes down?

Tell

me who. Then tell me

how I can believe in anyone again, if all your

promises have been lies.

149

Cody Nothing's Static

If I've learned anything at all in sixteen years, it's that

things change. What you feel

bad about one day can turn around like that. Same goes for the things you care about.

*

Three weeks ago, I kind of liked

spending time at home, goofing off online or picking at my guitar, or just watching TV. But now

everything feels strained at the Bennett house. Not

*

really like home at all. Everyone is strung tight. On edge.

Concerned about the future.

Something to do with Jack's

digestive system. Whatever it is, neither he nor Mom

*

wants to talk about it. Silence, thick with apprehension, hangs over the place like a shroud.

No more dinner table banter.

No more cheerful ribbing.

No more stupid jokes.

150

Three Weeks Ago

I didn't have a girlfriend.

Not being partnered up wasn't so damn bad, not

that I totally mind having the hottest girl in my crowd

acting like she can't get

*

enough of me. It's just kind of complicated because, as

I suspected, Alyssa is not

very happy about Ronnie

jumping my bones, jumping

'Lyssa's ship in the process.

*

The first time 'Lyssa saw us

together, I thought she'd shit on the spot. We were sitting

together (okay, like glued

together, front to front, Ronnie in my lap) on the grass at

*

school. 'Lyssa came hauling around the corner, headed

somewhere in a hurry. But

when she saw us, she braked and did a double take.
Just

what do you think you're doing?

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I'm not sure if she was talking to Ronnie or me, but Ronnie

jumped right down her throat.

What does it look like we're

doing, Alyssa? Having tea?

Then she laughed. Too hard.

*

'Lyssa puffed out her cheeks and her face turned red--the rotten

red of an overripe tomato. Her

hands clenched. Unclenched.

I thought we were dog meat. But

all she said was,
That's fucked up.

*

Oil and water or not, Alyssa was the first girl I ever had

real feelings for. And now her feelings were shredded.

I felt like shit. Still do. But

not enough to tell Ronnie to

*

take a hike. She's freaking

beautiful, with black coffee

eyes, shiny dark hair, and legs

that go up to there. Slipping in between them is like making

love to warm milk and honey.

152

We Had Sex

The very first night we went

out together, although I didn't

think it was going to happen, what with her brother being a bouncer (okay, security guard) at Frozen75, something she

*

neglected to tell me until we

slithered up to the front of the line. Pissed off a bunch of people, for sure. But, just like any club, I guess, they

have an Invited Guest line.

*

And if your brother's a bouncer, you're invited. Especially if he's a bouncer the size of a VW

Beetle. Vince Carina plays

linebacker for the UNLV Rebels, a decent university team,

*

usually the second best in the state.

Never mind there are only two, and the one from that cowtown up north, Reno, generally comes

out on top. Not always, though, and when Vegas wins, it's party time.

153

Then Again

It's pretty much always party

time in Las Vegas. They don't

call it Sin City for nothing.

Ronnie and I partied down that first night for sure. And

we've been partying ever since.

*

See, Vince is not only okay with his sister and me being together.

He encourages it. Says she needs a guy in her life to keep her in line. Not that I'd ever try
that
with Ronnie. I'm a pacifist.

*

Vince is not. But he is a partier.

Drinks like no serious athlete

should, not that I think he's

especially serious. What I think

is, he likes knocking people down--

smashing them into the ground.

*

Glad he seems to like me. Booze

isn't his only bad habit, though.

Pot. Pills. Crack. Probably other

stuff, but that's all I've seen. And

that's plenty. I so do
not
want to know too much about Vince Carino.

154

Vince and I Have Shared

A bottle or two, a fistful of doobs, pipes and pipes and pipes. Tonight, we'll pass around all three at his regular Friday poker game. Not sure

how I reached the heart of his inner

circle so quickly. Suppose it could

*

be because I'm usually the one

supplying the weed. Anyway,

I know zip about poker, but it sounds like a hell of a lot more

fun than staying home, listening to Jack cough and Mom sigh.

*

Before I go, I guess I should

brush up on the rules a little.

Punch a few words into my

search engine and I come up with... whoa. Way too much

information. Let's start with

*

the basic what hand beats what?

One pair, two pair, three of a kind.

Easy enough to remember. Straight.

Flush. Full house. Four of a kind.

Straight flush. Royal flush. Together, do those equal a hetero queen's toilet?

155

Damn It, Jack

You've cursed me!
You're
the one who's supposed to be coming up with corny jokes.

I'm
supposed to laugh at them, whether or not they're funny.

Now I need to check up on you.

*

He's in the living room, adrift on anonymous painkillers. The TV is blaring, and his eyes are aimed at it, but vacant. Dread shoots through my body on a wave of adrenaline.

"Hey, Jack. How's it going?"

*

He jumps a little.
Huh? Oh.

Hey, Cody What's up, son?

His speech is slurred, just

barely coherent. Fucking

meds.
Where's your mom?

Is she home from work yet?

*

Damn. For a minute, I really

thought he might be dead. But

why would I think that? He's

only got indigestion. Jeez, man.

Talk about jumpy. Freaking

crack is famous for that.

156

But I've got to admit I like the way it makes every nerve

come alive. Just like Ronnie

said it would. She's got a tidy

little habit. I have to be careful

not to let my own toking get

*

so out of hand. I swear I never

had a clue she had made friends with the pipe. Best thing about it is what a little horndog she turns into when she's smoking. Boo

frigging yah! Whatever I want.

157

Jack Coughs

Pulling my mind away from

Ronnie's superior body, back into the present, toward the sofa.

I go sit next to Jack. Boy, is his face pale. "Mom's not home

yet. Can I bring you something?"

*

He turns toward me, eyes wet with tears. (Tears?)
No, Cody,

I'm okay. Where are you off
to tonight anyway? Got a hot date?

Before I can answer, a door slams.

Must be Cory. He's the only one

*

who comes into the house like that. Sure enough, he stomps into the room, grinning like a goat.

Damn, even from here he smells like a brewery.
Hey! What's up?

Why you look sho--so serious?

*

Jack takes it in. Turns to me.

He's messed up, huh?
I could

say no, and Jack might even

go for it. But Cory's way too young to start down this ol' road. I nod.

You been drinking, Cory boy?

158

Cory's face flushes, from beer and defiance.
So what? Cody

drinks all the time. You never

sh--say nothing to him!
Fingers

knotting and unknotting, he waits for someone's next move.

*

If he's expecting me to deny

it, he's drunker than he looks.

I don't want the situation to get out of hand. I'll try humor.

"'Never say nothing' is a double

negative. What you said means--"

*

Suddenly Cory wobbles.

Weaves. Drops face-first to the floor.
Holy shit,
says Jack, trying to get up, and wobbling

almost as bad as Cory before he took his literal nosedive.

*

I nudge Jack back down on the overstuffed cushion. "No

worries. Other than a lump or two, I'm guessing he'll be fine

once he sleeps it off. I'll get him to bed." Like when he was little.

159

I Pick Him Up

Off the floor, haul him to his room, thinking about when we were younger, before Jack came

along. I took my big-brother job

seriously then, and often helped

Mom feed him, bathe him, put

*

him to bed. Déjà vu! Except this

time he smells like cheap brew.

Thirteen! How did he even get

hold of the stuff? Ripped it off, no doubt. But from where? Or

who? Damn it all, Cory! I tuck

*

a light blanket around him, go to check on Jack. He's snoring, pushed down into a painkiller

pit. I pull up the foot of the Las-Z-

Boy, cover him with Mom's

favorite afghan. She'll be home

*

soon. Think I'll make my escape

now. Things could get ugly, or at least complicated--when every-

one wakes up and accusations get

kicked back and forth. I don't want to play explanation dodgeball.

160

It's a Short Drive

To Vince's apartment, not far from the UNLV campus. But since it's Friday evening, just past six, the freeway looks like a boulder

field. I opt for surface streets, which aren't a whole lot better.

*

Which gives me way too much

time to think about what's going on with Cory. I've been watching the anger build up inside him, and

I know it's because things feel

fragile in our once rock solid home.

*

I wasn't much older than he is the first time I sucked a few down.

But I drank those Coronas for fun.

I think Cory wanted to swallow his fear and it took a couple too many

brews to make that happen.

*

Ah, here we go. Magenta Springs.

Why does that remind me of blood?

It's a pretty nice place, at least from the outside. I park in a visitor's space behind a tall stucco wall. My beater

car is probably safe. What about me?

161

The Game Hasn't Started Yet

Four or five guys are drinking.

Smoking. Snorting something off the glass-topped coffee table.

They barely notice me join the party, and that makes me a little nervous.

Vince is setting up the card table.

*

He, at least, sees me come in.
Hey.

Help me out here. You brought

some of that good green, didn't you?

As I suspected, the key to my invite.

When I nod, he surprises me.
Cool.

I'll throw some extra chips your way.

*

When he actually does, I'm even

more surprised. Six of us belly up to the table, and I light a big fat one.

I buy in for fifty, and he slides me

sixty in chips. The dope is worth

more, but I didn't expect anything,

*

so I figure I'm ahead. "Thanks."

The poker-for-beginners rules

said to watch the other players, learn how they "tell." In other

words, read their body language.

Three might as well tell for real.

162

You can see what they've got in their eyes. But Vince and some guy

called Fly (pretty sure I don't want to know why) are damn good at bluffing.

I keep my bets low. One pair ain't going to beat much, and that's all I'm dealt

*

for several hands. I bluff a couple of times, to make 'em think I know the game. Down thirty, the deal goes to Fly. I turn my cards over one at a time. Ten. Eight. Ten. One pair.

Here we go again. King. Ten.

*

Holy crap. I swallow the rush. Can't

tell 'em I've got three of a kind. Ante up.

I don't bet too much. Ask for two cards without smiling. One dude folds.

Another bets five. Vince calls, raises

ten. I flip one card. It's a three. Fuck.

*

Bet comes to me as I flip the last card.

Ten. Four of a kind? Calm. Stay calm.

I raise Vince twenty. Fly folds. Vince

looks into my eyes, but I give nothing

away. He calls, shows two pairs.

I win! For once in my life, I win!

163

I Leave Vince's

Two hundred dollars richer.

I'm walking on water, oh yeah, and the rush is effing amazing.

Only one thing could make

this night better. I dial Ronnie's

number. "Hey. It's me. You

*

up for some fun?" I knew her answer before I asked the question, and she doesn't live far. When

I get there, it's too late to knock on the door, so I go to her window.

It's the only one with a light in it.

*

My head is Tilt-A-Whirling with substance abuse, but more because of finishing off the evening as a winner. I won at poker. And I'm about to win at something even

better. Ronnie comes to the glass,

*

opens it, lets me inside. Her room

smells of roses, and she has nothing on but a thigh-length shirt. She puts a finger to her lips, but there's no

need for words once we fall together into her bed. Night slips away.

164

A Poem by Eden Streit
Once

I thought fairy tales were lies or worse, promises

spoken, yet meant to be

broken. Intent is all.

Why

do grown-ups feel the need to make up a story, only to later

confess that it was a lie?

Why look for a prince

when frogs are much

more common? Why

reach for a dream

when

you're at ease within your nightmares? Why

scramble to disguise

what your personal

truth is when reality not only

hurts less in the long

run, but is most often the easier path?

165

Eden Spring Break

And for once, it actually feels like spring in Idaho. For most of my life, spring break

*

was called Easter vacation. Daddy about had a meltdown when the school board caved

*

in and changed it.
What's this country

coming to when the Spring Bunny delivers

*

spring eggs to children?
As if he ever gave

two cents about bunnies and egg hunts. Not

*

in
his
church. Not on the holiest day of the year, and Easter Sunday remains that for Christians

*

near and far. For the family of Pastor Streit, it is even more, because at Papa's church,

*

it's an all-out celebration of the Resurrection, and, dressed up in our Easter bonnets, we sit

*

front and center. I've never really minded

that before. But today, I'd much rather hang out

*

in back, pretending not to notice the good-looking

reformed Catholic sitting nearby.

166

Papa Has Noticed

Andrew, of course. No way would he miss a possible convert wandering into his hallowed

*

sanctuary. Once or twice he's made the effort to engage Andrew in conversation and Andrew,

*

bless his heart, does his best to respond

positively. No dunking yet (and Papa is quite

*

likely the reincarnation of John the Baptist himself!), but he is cordial almost to the point

*

of brownnosing. Almost. And speaking of nosing, Mama's ever-observant gaze is harder

*

to avoid. She must have seen something, because two Sundays ago, she went fishing:

*

That McCarran boy is a fine-looking, young man, don't you think, Eden?

*

If Papa is John the Baptist (again), Mama is the Inquisition incarnate. I tried not

167

to gulp, struggled to meet her eye. "Who?

Him?" I pretended to study his face

*

for the first time. "Well, now that you mention it..."

Then I almost blew it, almost smiled.

*

My mouth twitched. Mama pounced, all lioness to my poor little gazelle.

*

Appearances can be deceptive.
Her hand

settled on my shoulder.
Why if! had tumbled

*

for every handsome boy who looked my way,

I shudder to think where I might be today!

*

I bit hard on my lip, excused myself to go to the bathroom, barely making it

*

through the door before shuddering

myself--with uncontainable laughter.

168

Needless to Say

Andrew and I have been completely

discreet at church since then. And today,

*

no way to flirt even a little, it's going to be

really tough. But you know, just seeing

*

Andrew at all makes any day special.

He's already there, with his sister

*

and mother, when we arrive. Mariah

smiles and waves. She is four years

*

older than Andrew, but the two are tight.

So tight, in fact, that he has confessed

*

our secret to her. So tight that, despite a little

righteous worry, she has chosen not only

*

to keep quiet about our relationship, but also to nurture it. She comes over now.

*

Happy Easter,
she says to Papa before stroking

Mama.
Lovely dress. That color is wonderful

*

on you!
She takes my arm.
May I borrow Eden?

I'd like to introduce her to my mother.

*

Andrew and I are hoping to get her to church

more than two or three times a year.

169

If Mama is surprised that Mariah and I are acquainted, she hides it well.

*

Of course. Eden, you know where
to find us. See you in a few minutes.

*

Mariah steers me toward love. Andrew wears it like skin, so obvious it makes me blush.

*

His mother's face, so like his, lights as she takes my hand in hers. Her voice is soft,

*

and still she forces it low.
Hello, Eden. I hope

you don't mind that I tagged along today,

*

but I simply had to meet you.
She draws me a little bit away from anyone likely to overhear.

*

Then she looks me in the eye.
I've never

seen Andrew so happy. Thank you for that.

*

My reply comes easily. "There is no

one like Andrew. Thank
you
for
that."

170

Old Mrs. Beatty

Launches a spirited "Old Rugged Cross" on the aging organ, and I must fall back

*

into the role of perfect preacher's daughter.

I take my expected place in front, but find

*

every opportunity to glance behind me, even as I hear the well-known story

*

of a love greater than any human love

could ever be. So sayeth Papa. Again.

*

Three rows back sits the greatest love

I'll ever know, and my heart promises

*

that our love was sparked, as all love is, by God's love. So why--WHY--is it wrong?