Cruddy - Lynda Barry [27]
In my restricted life there has not been much opportunity for the exhilaration. The mother has given me a type of exhilaration by throwing sharp things at me, screaming about the various ways she is going to kill me, but it’s not the same thing at all. I never feel better afterwards. There is never any relief that comes from it except maybe to her.
I can hear the trains from my bedroom window at night, but I have never walked to find them. In my restricted life I have not been allowed to actually go anywhere except school.
I have had nightmares about the coal-car train. The truth of what happened roars back to mind, the father’s flesh gives way between my teeth, his fist knocks me down, his blood splatters across the dirt. Back-splatter. It’s one thing the evidence people look for at the crime scene.
The father broke the door to the Poky Dot Lounge. He needed a cigarette bad. He needed Old Skull Popper, and a tank of gas, but most of all cigarettes, and there could be other things he needed depending on what he found inside.
I was stationed at the door to watch for trouble. The sun went down and the world stood empty. No dust stirred anywhere.
The father said, “Clyde, give me a hand. You see a goddamned light switch anywhere?”
There was a pull string that brought a bare bulb to life. The place smelled hard of pee and the walls were filthy. Someone had gone insane with a spray can, blasting out dripping dots of paint on the rough walls and sagging ceiling. There was a short bar, a couple of stools with cracked vinyl tops, a pool table with a grease spot in the middle the size of a man, and a nasty-looking blanket. And there was a record player. A kid’s record player, the kind that plays 45s. There was one record. Hugo Winterhalter and his orchestra doing “Canadian Sunset.” I switched the record player on and it spun. When I put the needle down the sound of sudden music made the father jump. He said, “Jesus! Give a man some warning!”
It was strange to stand in such a decrepit place listening to the sounds of pianos and violins. The father was getting frustrated. “This place is such a shit hole. Goddamn train bums. I don’t know why I wasted my time beating that front door open because the back door ain’t even attached. Always walk around a place before you bust into it, Clyde. Remember that.”
The father gave up hope of finding anything he could use. He said bums were better scroungers than the civilized man. He said he was surprised the record was still there. He handed it to me. “Want it? Keep it. It’s yours. Shows I don’t got no hard feelings against you, but you try another trick like that and I’ll flay you in six pieces and drag you behind the car.”
He took a last look around the room. “Firetrap. Nobody would miss this place.” The father made a high pile of burnables and threw on a match.
Don’t ever disappoint the father when he needs something. Ever. You see what happened to the Poky Dot Lounge.
Chapter 15
O,” SAID Vicky Talluso. “You ready to meet him?” We were cutting through different back ways, different alleyways, heading to her house. I said, “Who?”
“Him. The future love of your life.”
“Oh.” I shrugged. I was feeling tired. Still floaty from the Creeper but it was a downward float. What I really wanted to do was sit down somewhere and just stare. I didn’t care at what. My legs were feeling rubbery and Vicky Talluso was starting to get on my nerves. I hadn’t known her very long but I already noticed she never asked a question without expecting a specific answer. She never asked, for example, a free-form question, like what was your opinion on something, or for more details about something you mentioned about yourself, like how you killed someone. And then I realized I hadn’t asked her any questions either. I tried to think of one but nothing came.
We turned