Cruddy - Lynda Barry [85]
And with no hesitation the Stick went into the kitchen and opened the back door and went right out. “Roberta,” whispered Vicky into the back of my neck. “You just saw history.”
We were in the backyard and the Stick was staring at average things around him. He pointed to the glass-domed electric meter and said, “Whoa.”
He kept stretching and I admired the way he looked against the peeling paint of the collapsing garage. I admired the blue shadow thrown by him. He said, “Let’s go.”
Vicky said, “Go? Stick. Stick. Wait.”
But he was already out of the one-hinged gate. He was already in the alley. He told me he didn’t feel it, feel anything from the Creeper and I could tell he didn’t know it, but the Stick was very high. He was gazing at me. It was different from watching. Different from looking. He was gazing. And I was gazing back. And he said, “You have such a fucked-up nose. And your teeth and your finger. All of you is so fucked up. I have never seen such a fucked-up person and it makes me so sad.”
“Don’t listen to him, Roberta,” Vicky said. “He doesn’t really mean it. He’s not sad about how skanky you are.”
To the Stick she said, “OK, you need to go home now because Susie is alone and Susie can’t be alone and me and Roberta have to go someplace, OK?”
“OK,” said the Stick. And he turned around and went back to the house. And then it was my turn to be so sad.
Vicky said, “Don’t start liking him, Roberta. He’s a user.”
I said, “How? How is he a user?” But she wouldn’t say. She started talking about Dane and his amazing brother and interrupting herself with Creeper revelations like, “Electricity. It’s in the wires,” and, “You should never feel bad about being a skag because for you being a skag is beautiful.” She said she felt like she was in a HeavenScent commercial and she started doing slowmotion running in the middle of the street and flipping her hair up and saying, “Who am I? Who am—I TOLD YOU TO GO HOME!”
The Stick came up behind me.
Vicky yelled, “YOU CAN’T COME WITH US!”
“Hey,” said the Stick, and his hair was falling in his eyes and I was thinking the word “palomino” and the word kept circling in my head palomino palomino palomino and the boy-smell of him was making me lean close.
“GO HOME!” shouted Vicky.
“OK,” said the Stick, and he dropped back into the shadows.
And the whole way to the house of Dane and his amazing brother I was certain the Stick was behind us, following us, and I was very happy about this until I realized it wasn’t true. We were at the gate of 11 Circle View and the long road behind us was empty. Big big trees and some streetlight shadows but no one with hair falling in his eyes.
“What,” said Vicky. “You’re not chickening out on me, are you? I mean, Roberta, look.” She gestured at the house behind the tall wrought-iron gates. It was huge and very brick and very royal in its details. We crossed the curving walkway to the front door. I heard a piano playing inside. Vicky rang the doorbell.
An eyeball looked at us through the peephole. A voice said, “Yes. Absolutely.” The front door swung wide. It was the Turtle who greeted us.
Vicky said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
The Turtle said, “Please. Come in. The Great Wesley is leaning forward in anticipation.”
Vicky said, “Who the fuck is the Great Wesley? Where’s Dane?”
I kept my eyes down. I did not expect to see the Turtle and I had not wanted to see the Turtle. He said, “Hillbilly Woman. Is it love? You have returned to me.”
Vicky pushed past him. “Dane!?”
A harsh voice answered, “What?”
The Turtle said, “My love.” His eyes were pink. He was extremely high. I followed Vicky into the living room.
The furniture was modern. Big leather couches. Black leather swivel chairs. A huge glass table in a paramecium shape. On it was a tall brass water pipe with