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Prologue
Gunner – Eleven Years Old
“Come on, Doodlebug. You have to put your things away. We’re going out.”
I look up from my spot on the living room floor as Mom rushes across the room to snatch up her purse. My pencils line the original tray they came in, and sit just half a foot from my elbow. They’re all sharpened and in the order of the rainbow, because I don’t want them to get lost or broken. I sketch on old scraps of paper my mom swiped from the office at her work, but that’s fine, since only one side has stuff printed on it.
I live on the crappy side of town in an apartment building that has more bugs than humans – times a hundred. Cockroaches sometimes tickle my face when I sleep, and moths wreck my clothes, so I have to keep checking on my favorite sweater.
I don’t want it to be ruined.
My apartment is dark and crowded. Only one bedroom; and the bedroom isn’t mine. The floor is more comfortable for drawing than my couch, so I draw down here and try to stay out of the way.
My home is pretty crappy. It’s small, a little bit wet most of the time, and I think the metal bar in the couch has permanently warped my back while I sleep. But it’s clean. There’s no dust down here, no spilled food or dead bugs.
We let off a bug bomb once a month, spend the next week or two sweeping the dead bodies up as they appear, and then two weeks later, we bomb again and try to make sure cockroaches stay away at night.
It’s not so bad.
We’re going for a trip today, somewhere a few hours away. Mom’s been talking about it for ages, so I’m already dressed and have my shoes on. My favorite sweater sits on the couch so I don’t forget it.
Mom rushes to the bathroom one last time, so I set my pencil down in the tray and stare at the drawing in front of me.
It’s a man. A man I don’t know, but I’m supposed to be meeting him today.
Mom gave me a photo of him ages ago, so I drew his black hair from memory, since I spent forever staring at that picture. I drew his dark eyes and heavy forehead. His neat combover, and his broad shoulders.
I’ve never met anyone so big before; I guess I will today.
In the picture, he and another man smoke fat cigars and smile, but I don’t draw the cigars in. Or the other man. They look like they’re mid-joke, mid-laughter, and white smoke plumes around their heads.
“Doodlebug!” Mom flushes the toilet and rushes back through the living room. “Get up.” She claps her hands. “We have to go.”
“Okay.” I slide the tray of pencils under the floral print couch and stack my loose sheets of paper on top where they’ll stay safe. Pushing to my feet, I catch sight of my red sweater and reach out to pick it up, but the thought of needing to pee on our drive makes me turn away and rush to the bathroom.
I’m nervous for today, and I don’t know why. I’m nervous to meet this man, but I shouldn’t be; I meet new people all the time.
Heading across the living room and into the bathroom, I work fast, flush, wash my hands, meet Mom in the living room, and when she smiles and pulls me into a hug, I wrap my arms around her waist and snuggle in.
She’s busy all the time. Always working. Always hustling so I can eat. She’s often short-tempered, she yells a lot, but she does it all because she has to. Because no one else will feed us. No one else will pay the rent so the cockroaches have somewhere to stay.
“This is going to be fun, okay?”
I’m the same height as she is now, so I bend my neck a little and rest my face on her shoulder. “Okay.”
“Don’t be nervous. This is an exciting day.”
Again, I nod. “Okay.”
“Alright.” She pushes me back and grins. “Let’s go. Our new adventure awaits.”
* * *
Three hoursin the car isn’t so bad for an eleven-year-old kid with loads of music and a mom with an angel’s voice. We play “I Spy” with license plate letters, eat our pastrami sandwiches when we get hungry, and make good time when we don’t stop the whole way. I’m glad I peed before we left, because by the time we pull up out front of a large club and switch off the engine, I’m ready to go again.
The music cuts out, so we sit in the silence and study the multi-story building in front of us. “This is it.” Mom turns to me; she looks both happy and terrified. Nervous, but giddy. Emotions I’m not used to seeing on her usually serious face. “Are you excited?”
I nod and turn back to the club, to the blacked-out windows, and the overflowing dumpster at the far end of the lot. This place is dark, which sticks out weird, considering it’s the middle of the day and the sun shines down. It almost feels a little… I don’t know. Addams Family, maybe.
