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“I thought you liked those cats,” Jason said.
“I do. But there’s an old man a couple trailers down that tries to shoot the strays that come through. He thinks it’s funny.” There was a cat I’d trapped and taken to the vet a couple weeks ago that had multiple BBs lodged in him. Seeing it made me sick. I’d happily beat that old man’s lights out if it wouldn’t send me to prison. But I was on my last strike with the cops around here as it was. One little peep out of me and they’d gladly lock me away. “I gotta scare ‘em. I hate to do it, but it’s not safe for them here.”
I’d never understood why some people had such a loathing for cats. There were dozens of strays who made their home around the trailer park, living off scraps and sheltering in discarded trash. Cats were moody, mischievous, independent little creatures, and humans tended to like animals that fawned over them. They tended to like people who did that too. The moment a creature wasn’t instantly submissive, obedient, and compliant, humans called it a “problem.”
“You’re just trying to protect them,” Jason said. “I get it. If they could understand...they’d be glad.”
He stood up, staring at his warped reflection in the trailer’s windowpane. His short hair was now a pale yellow-blond. He ran his fingers over it, touching it lightly, uncertain.
I hoped he understood that I was trying to protect him too. Because I’d seen the cruelty, I’d felt the pain. Every day, I got up and told myself that it was worth it to fight. To survive. To raise a proverbial middle finger to the world and say, “You haven’t fucking killed me yet.”
He’d need to be strong enough to do that. Looking at him now, at the hardness in those blue eyes, I knew that he was. He was strong. He’d survive.
But damn, I wished he didn’t have to do all of that.
Where the hell was there room for the soft boys of the world? Where was there safety for gentleness? Why did we all need to become warriors, to be soldiers, when we were still barely more than kids.
We had nothing but each other. And maybe we could make our own space for gentleness, maybe we’d have to fight every day and we’d never know what “safe” meant. But we had each other.
I slung my arm around his shoulders, directing him away from his reflection and back inside. “Let’s get that dye on you, kid. Come on.”
15 - Jessica
We spent our last nightin the cabin watching movies on the couch. Manson and Jason both voted for a horror film, Vincent wanted comedy, and Lucas just wanted beer. My vote decided the matter, and we settled on a marathon of the campiest 80s horror films they could possibly think of.
“We’ll start withSleepaway Camp,” Jason said. “ThenKiller Klowns from Outer Space.”
“ThenElvira: Mistress of the Dark,” Manson said.
“Pay attention, Jess. This is going to be Manson’s very roundabout way of convincing you to dress as Elvira for Halloween,” Vincent said, ducking out of the way before Manson could smack him.
“Hey, Elvira is a beautiful, iconic lady,” Manson said. “She also happens to have amazing tits, which is irrelevant to my appreciation of her.”
“Right, right, we’ll check in with your dick halfway through the movie and see howirrelevantit is,” Lucas said. Jason had returned from the kitchen with beer for both of them, and Lucas dragged him onto his lap instead of letting him take a seat on the couch.
“Need a cuddle buddy so you won’t be scared?” Jason said, as Lucas got comfortable and cracked open his beer, then popped open Jason’s too.
