The Dust of 100 Dogs - A. S. King [7]
Pat left for boot camp that summer and Patricia became a certified nurse’s aide. Darren was doing well on his business degree and Junior was doing well driving the rest of us crazy. He would fight over the stupidest things, like watching a certain TV program or getting in the shower first. I thought it was to make up for feeling stupid in school. He wasn’t stupid, though, and that fall I found out what his problem really was.
It turned out he was into drugs and drinking and all the stuff that spoiled boys get into when they’re in high school. Some nights he would walk into the living room while I was studying and pick up my books and throw them at the wall. If I argued, he would chase me to my room and, when I locked the door, he would beat on it for ages. I’d never really trusted Junior, and this made me trust him less. One particular night right after New Year’s, when he pushed me onto the couch and sat on top of my head, virtually suffocating me, I decided to care whether he became a total loser or not. I squirmed free and pinned him to the floor, my knee on his neck. In my head, I was slicing his optic nerve, squeezing the juice from his eye, like a slimy lemon, into his choking throat. He turned purple and, when I let him go, he left, slamming the back door behind him. And then I told my parents about what was going on.
I asked them to join me in the kitchen. My mother seemed delighted about something, and I hated to have to kill her good mood.
“I have some bad news,” I announced. “And I don’t want you to freak out.”
They stiffened.
“Is this about your guidance counselor?”
“What?”
“She called us this week to talk about your future,” my mother chirped.
“No. This isn’t about that. We can talk about that later,” I said as sternly as I could.
“So?” my father asked.
“It’s Junior.”
“What about him?” my mother interrupted.
I was nervous. I could feel that they weren’t going to make this easy. My father sat on the edge of his chair just at the mention of Junior’s name. My mother looked horrified and jumpy.
“He’s on drugs,” I said.
My father hit the table with a closed fist and then sat seething, while my mother tried her best to look surprised. After five seconds, he looked over at her. “You knew this, didn’t you, Sadie?”
“I, uh…”
“You knew?” he asked again.
“I—uh—I found some pot in his room a few months ago. Flushed it down the toilet and told him that if I caught him again I’d tell you.”
“Jesus, Sadie, why didn’t you tell me then?”
“He’s on more than pot now,” I added. “I think he’s trying everything.”
“What is it with this kid? Why’d you let him get away with everything for so long?”
“I gave him one chance, that’s all.”
“One chance too many.”
“Everybody deserves a chance,” she said, looking toward the cabinet that held her glorious bottle.
He sighed and looked back at me. “Let’s not argue while Saffron still has things to say. How’d you find this out?”
“Everyone knows. Plus, he’s been acting weird. It’s scaring me.”
“Scaring you, love?”
“He’s been pounding on my bedroom door so much lately that the hinges are starting to buckle.”
“Alfred, you talk to him tonight and make sure he stays away from Saffron. She can’t be bothered now that she knows what she wants to do with her future.”
“I’ll talk to him all right.” My father nodded. Was he beating Junior with his M-16? Was he half drowning him in a marshy paddy field?
“I didn’t want to get him in trouble. He’s just