American Outlaw - Jesse James [43]
Right off the bat, we started butting heads. About a week after coming back home, we got into a fight concerning some car parts that I’d sold out of the garage.
“Where’s my cut?”
“What are you talking about?” I said, outraged. “What does this have to do with you?”
“You stored ’em in my garage, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Are you paying rent around here?”
“No, but . . .”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so!” His eyes blazed. My dad’s temper had been ignited by the subject of money. All his attention focused on me now. “You come here whenever you want, and you use this house as your own personal storage bin . . .”
“I won’t anymore,” I said. “I’m gone.”
“. . . you’re making deals on my damn front steps and paying no rent? No, no way. Not in my house.”
“I told you I’m leaving.” I pushed past him. “So stop fucking talking.”
He laughed rudely. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you had so many places to go. Tell me, Jess, where are you headed? Back to school? Oh, no, they didn’t want you there.”
“Get away from me.”
“How about to your little friend Bobby? No, wait a second, he sold you down the river once already. Better not go there.”
My temper was rising, and so was my frustration. “I’m telling you to shut up, man.”
“You think you can get away from all this shit, don’t you? But the truth is right here. You can’t run. This is your goddamn life.” He stood for a second, his hands on his hips, a smug expression on his face. “Sooner you figure that out, the better.”
I looked at him—at the pitiful specimen that was my father. His bald head sprouting stray hairs. The beard he had always been so proud of was more gray than black, now. His 1970s big-collar print shirt looked faded and out of date, and a potbelly bulged out from beneath the lower half of it. The sags of age had added rings beneath his eyes, and crow’s-feet poked from the corners of them. He looked tired. When he smiled, his teeth looked worn down. It was a grim sight.
“I’ll clean out the garage this afternoon,” I told him. “You won’t see me after that.”
He scoffed. “Son, that’s what you said last time. That’s what you say every time.”
I looked at him. “This time, it’s real.”
He laughed, then walked back into the house, slamming the door after him.
I stood there for a second, listening to the silence.
“Dick,” I muttered. Then I packed up the garage. Then I left.
——
My mom hadn’t been in my life for several years. But there weren’t any options left. So I came begging.
“You want to stay here . . . with me?” she said doubtfully.
“Just for a while, Mom,” I assured her. “Just till I get my shit together.”
My mother lived alone in a house in Long Beach. Aside from the drunk boyfriend she’d had when I was just a little kid, right after my dad and her split, she’d never gotten another partner. You could tell she was really used to living the solo life, because every time she opened a cabinet, she slammed the crap out of it. Same with every door.
An earsplitting rattling of plates awoke me the first morning I was there.
“Mom,” I grumbled. “What’s the commotion?”
“Oh, hello, son,” she said, still a bit surprised to see me in her house. “You’re up early.”
“Didn’t really have much of a choice,” I mumbled. Rubbing my eyes, I came into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee.
My mother gave no indication that she’d heard me. A bowl smashed down powerfully on the countertop: “Oatmeal?”
“No.” I winced, putting a hand to my head. “Mom, do you get the paper delivered here?”
“No, sweetie. Not much call for me to read the paper these days.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll go out and get one.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“I need a job, Mom,” I said. “Don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet, but I’m kind of penniless, right now.”
She looked at me, unsure of how to take my comment. “Do you need some money for lunch, sweetie?”
“It’s all right.” I kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
I headed to the closest diner and bought a paper and a cup of coffee with change. Perusing the want ads, I saw nothing but a whole bunch of low-paying crap: