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“Yeah…” I mumbled, completely to myself. “I’ll meet you there.”
He was pulling out of the parking lot by the time I reached the mall exit. Ever the showoff, he made it scream as he pulled out into traffic. I wasn’t really worried about it; he knew better than to disobey Birdman.
He’d been surviving the bastard longer than me, after all.
I swung through Sonic and grabbed a drink to help me cool off. There was just something about those tiny pieces of ice that made it extra refreshing. And I needed it after that shitshow.
I’d been away at college for a while, so once I finished, I made the usual lap through our small town, checking out all the changes.
The local small-town grocer had closed since Wal-Mart opened up in the next town over, and the video store that had been popular all through my high school years was now boarded up and out of business.
Our town was small, so it didn’t take much time to see the highlights. Still, I didn’t want to cramp King’s audience with Birdman. Whatever had the ol’ man frowning and growling with every exhaled breath had nothing to do with me.
Better to let them work it out amongst themselves, I’d reasoned at the time.
One look at Birdman’s face where he stood glaring at me from the top step when I arrived home told me just how misguided that logic had been.
Shit.
I sniffed and killed my bike, taking my time as I gravitated toward him.
“Are you fucking simple, boy? What part of fetch your fucking brother to me didn’t you comprehend? Hmm? You know the term ‘fetch’ means to bring, yes? Bring.” He slowly enunciated the word, like he suspected it was the first time I’d ever heard it put to use. “Not send. Fucking bring. Get your ass in here.”
He shook his head, thrust the screen door open like it had offended him and stepped into the house with a string of muted curses.
“Welcome home, Roy,” I pitifully sang to myself as I rolled my eyes and followed along.
The trailer reeked of the familiar scent of stale cigarette smoke. King’s mother was funny like that. The woman vacuumed the floor every day, lifting the coffee table up to rest on the sofa while she done it. Once the ground was clean, however, she forgot about everything else. I never turned the ceiling fan on for fear of what it might kick up into the air.
I coughed and took a seat at the kitchen table between my brother and my father. I didn’t have a clue what he had up his sleeve. He usually just wanted us to back some vote or other, and as with all things, the path of least resistance was usually the best route where Birdman was concerned.
I gave my back to the wooden chair, and took a deep breath as I prepared to tune out for the next thirty minutes.
When no one spoke, I lifted my gaze and found them both staring at me.
“What?” I spat on instinct alone.
“You done?” Dad hefted both brows up like he’d interrupted a performance rather than my stoic silence.
“Uh–” I jerked my gaze toward King, as concerns over the pair’s sobriety suddenly hit me.
“Don’t fuckin’ look at him. He can’t give you direction. I got one with brains, one with brawn. I swear, the two of you will argue over what fucking color the sky is if I didn’t hold your hands and spell out every step. Are you fucking paying attention, Dickweed?”
“I’m dickweed, or…” I hesitantly hitched my thumb toward King, and Birdman’s face flushed.
I thought he was going to come out of his chair.
“I’m not messing around with you, Roy. You wanted an education… Fine. I tolerated it.”
My eyes nearly leaped out of my head.
Tolerated? He tolerated my going off to college?
“You want to go on vacation and chase uppity skirts, fine. Son, fine. Plow a field of them, I don’t give a fuck. Long as they ain’t sniffing around for support and intel, I don’t care if you ran through every bougie bitch that campus had to offer you… But that time is over now. Hmm? Playtime is done. Enough with the paint by numbers, and the fucking….”
He moved his hands in front of him, but it really wasn’t clear if he was shaping clay or jacking off a watermelon.
My expression must have said as much.
