Cruddy - Lynda Barry [72]
I shrugged. “Probably.”
She said, “Well, we have to go get it.” And then she told me my crying was really getting on her nerves and I needed to stop before she got violent. I wanted to stop. In my mind I had stopped, but my eyes stayed wet, wouldn’t stop spilling over. She never asked me why I was crying and I was thankful because I didn’t know if the answer had words and if it did have words I doubted that she would listen to them.
A ruler poked up into the door crack and knocked the hook out of the latch-eye. In he walked, in he strolled. The Stick. His jeans hung low on his hips and his eyes were brown and his nose was a little bit smashed looking and his mouth was full and all of him looked the way suede feels. He said, “Who are you?”
Vicky said, “GET OUT!”
Downstairs the hack-coughing began. “Vidjki! Shit and goddamn! VIDJKI!”
The Stick said, “Susie’s hungry. It’s your turn.”
Vicky said, “I don’t care if he eats.”
The Stick said, “Yes you do.”
She said, “No I don’t.”
Louder hacking. “VIDJKI! SHIT AND GODDAMN, YOU KNOW!”
The Stick looked at me. “Who are you? Seriously.”
“VIDJKI! SHIT AND GODDAMN I DIE!!”
Vicky said, “Don’t talk to him, Roberta. Don’t say anything to him. And don’t give him anything. I’ll be right back.” Then she told the Stick to fuck himself and walked out the door.
He had a boy-smell coming off of him that made my stomach undulate. It was making me lean toward him and I could not stop it. He said, “Can I talk to you about something? Let’s go out on the roof. You scared of heights at all?” He was staring at my face with the usual curiosity. I turned away. He said, “You ever seen a satellite? You should come out on the roof.”
I followed him and my eyes spilled harder. Everything was blurred and mixed together. We went into his room. The boy-smell was very strong and it made my legs wobble a little. The walls were bare and painted brown, a chocolate brown, and his mattress was on the floor and the floor was covered with piles of clothes and books and papers and there was a truck-tire inner tube inflated. It had a lamp beside it.
He told me to take off my shoes. That it’s easier to walk on the roof barefoot and he went out the window first, and then turned and waited for me.
The warm composition shingles felt good on my feet. I hadn’t climbed anything in so long. I followed him up around the dormer to the peak of the roof. We sat for a few moments without talking. Vicky’s house was nearly at the top of the hill that was opposite mine. I looked across toward Dunbar and saw the yellow Diggy’s sign lit up and turning. I knew that right across the street was Black Cat Lumber, although I couldn’t see it, and I knew that behind Black Cat Lumber, life was going on in the mud of East Crawford.
The Stick gave me a cigarette. He lit his and then lit mine. He said, “So what’s the deal?”
I shrugged. I was grateful for the cigarette. My eyes spilled harder from the gratitude. I blew a smoke ring and it hung in the still night air. Above us were the random pale stars.
He said, “Seriously.”
I said, “I’m a fucked-up person.”
He said, “I mean with the cops.”
I heard Vicky screaming, “ROBERTA! RO-BER-TA!” The Stick said, “She won’t come out here. She can’t take the roof. If you want to get away from her this is the best place.” I heard her shouting my name from the dormer window. And then in a few moments I saw her backing up in the front yard and spotting me and having an instant fit. The Stick started laughing a little and I started laughing a little too, and I thought about jumping, wondered how bad it would be, and wished there was concrete around the house instead of bushes and grass.
Vicky shouted, “You’re STUPID, Roberta! STUPID! He’s a USER, Roberta! My brother’s a USER!” I couldn’t think of anyone who wasn’t.
A little bit later Vicky left the house with her trained purse hanging from her shoulder. She was dressed up. She had her crinkle-vinyl boots on. She hollered, “I’m going to get it. Because obviously I’m the ONLY ONE WHO CARES! You’re going keep your promise to